A Lesson in Love and Murder (4 page)

“I found something last week at Osgoode.” Jasper reached into his pocket “And it caught my eye because it was so unusual. It could be anything, any scrap, really. But I thought it was of interest. Then, earlier, after spending too much time plying tweezers through that blasted rubble, my eye caught on something.”

He extracted two squares of plastic and held them out to Ray. Ray unwrapped the package and found a small wire that he held up with inky fingers. He squinted. “You have a very good eye to see these with all of
that
going on.” He inclined his head in the direction of the explosion. The wire was slight and black, charred really, but shaped in the most interesting knot. Ray set the piece down and attempted to mime the slight fingers that might have tied such a small, thin wire so intricately.

“I don't know what it means yet.” Jasper ran his fingers through brown hair still matted in the shape of the hat that he now dangled tiredly at his side. He didn't stand on ceremony when it was just the two of them watching Skip's bulb flashing, the medics loading vans to the hospital, and the passersby and witnesses dispersing to be questioned or sent home. “But something about it seemed odd.”

“How did you ever see that amidst all those wires and things?”

“Something Merinda said once, probably. From that Wheaton fellow.
*
‘Stop looking for what you expect to find.' It inspired me to widen my gaze.”

Ray gingerly rewrapped the small knotted wire and handed it back to Ray.

“No. Possessing this could land me back on traffic duty, but I'd like you to keep it. You see more of the city than I do. If it's something, maybe you'll notice it too. But don't come by the station. Tipton would be furious if I were even seen talking to you. We'll find somewhere to talk.”

Ray folded it into his breast pocket, patting its space emphatically.

Jasper smiled gravely. “I feel like a heel. Betraying Tipton's trust. Going behind his back. Even dragging you into this. I'll have no excuse if he catches us.”

“Jasper, we're allies. I need you on my side. I don't have many friends, but I trust you. You can trust me too.”

“I know that.”

“And I am your friend, whether or not Merinda Herringford is speaking to you at any given moment,” Ray added lightly.

“I wish I had her pluck. Would make everything easier.”

“There are many ways to show strength, Jasper.”

A ruckus across the street erupted, with Tipton at the center and camera bulbs flashing. Ray recognized a few reporters from the
Globe
, each trying to inch closer over the singed steel. He had no interest in a statement from the chief. Ray and Jasper exchanged a look.

“Interesting,” Jasper said slowly. “I spoke to him earlier, and he made no suggestion that he would grace us with his presence.”

Ray smirked at Jasper's tone.

Leaving Jasper and spotting Skip meandering closer to Tipton and his statement, Ray turned in the direction of the
Hog.
It was a long walk but preferable to finding a cab amid the insanity and
commotion. All the trolleys had stopped immediately, and a dozen empty streetcars sat abandoned and unmoving on their tracks.

Finally at his desk, hair damp with perspiration, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he thought about betraying Jasper's trust. It would make for an easy headline and spare several sheets of paper from a crumpled toss at the overflowing wastebasket.
Leading Detective Constable Suspects Foul Play.

He muttered in his first language, kicked a few overturned crates, and almost swept his typewriter from his desk to the floor. Then, immediately remorseful for the thought, he stroked the Underwood gently. Some nights it was his dearest friend.

He stared at the telephone. Made to pick it up. Then remembered the service had been turned off at home. Poor Jem. What a husband he'd turned out to be.

Jem deserved a stable home, matching dishes, and a happily-ever-after. But lately he'd been returning home to find her asleep fully clothed on the sofa in the front room, clearly waiting for him with a book open on her chest. If she had nicely set the table with flowers from their overrun garden and her one good lace tablecloth, it made him feel like a cad for days. What did he have to say for himself?

Of course he loved her. Loved the way she set the pace for ironing out their little spats and misunderstandings, results of their whirlwind courtship and an uprooting of their two worlds they were trying to graft together. Sometimes the barrier between them seemed greater than one of language, but then she'd look up at him as if he was the force that pulled in her tide and spun her earth. He didn't deserve any of it, really.

He flipped open his pocket watch. He hadn't noticed so much of the evening had ticked away with few words to show for his tired brain. He yawned and ran an open hand over his face, and then he focused his eyes on the picture inside. His sister, Viola, and his little nephew, Luca. His chest constricted as it did whenever he thought about her. When he worried about her. Was she cold? Did she have
somewhere to stay? Was her good-for-nothing husband, Tony, providing for her or just hitting her again? Did Luca have enough to eat?

He grabbed his hat from the rack. When he started drifting into panic about Viola, he knew he would get no more work finished for the evening and it was time to head home.

*
M.C. Wheaton, author of
Guide to the Criminal and Commonplace,
Merinda's detection manual of choice.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

A proper matron's place is in the home, and she should devote her hours to its upkeep. It is her sphere and her haven. As such, she should commit to making it as habitable as she can: not only to ensure her husband's comfort, but also for her own sense of personal pride and accomplishment. The best brands from the grocers, the sweetest smelling soaps and conditioners, are only a few ways in which she can transform her bower into a sort of garden.

Flora Merriweather,
Guide to Domestic Bliss

J
em fluttered about with a duster and then scrubbed at the dishes. She looked at her termination letter again and hugged her arms around herself. She brewed a pot of tea and held a steaming untouched cup to give her hands an occupation rather than trembling. So fixated was she on listening for Ray's key to turn in the lock that she almost dropped her cup when it finally did.

She straightened her back. She knew Ray would be tired. Probably in a horrible mood after a sleepless night the night before and from who knows what he had seen while pursuing his story.

Ray came in and gave her a slight smile that stayed in his eyes rather than spreading across his mouth. Nonetheless, his eyes couldn't help but flicker a bit when he saw her, even if his face was tired.

“I'm sorry,” he said by way of greeting. He leaned down and took her hand softly, turned it so her palm was facing up, and gave her a
light kiss at the wrist. Then he sank into a chair without even removing his coat.

“What are you sorry for?” She sipped her tea and offered him a cup that he refused.

“I didn't send any message.”

“I saw the evening edition.” Jem brightened. “You did such a wonderful job! And those photographs Skip snapped made me think I was there. How did he get so close?”

“I should've called,” Ray said. Something in his face had changed at the mention of Skip's name, and he chewed the side of his lip thoughtfully.

Jem wrung her hands. She had practiced. Even in front of a mirror. And now, sitting in front of him, the words caught in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and then exhaled. “Ray, I… ”

Ray looked up at her tone. “What's wrong?” He leaned forward in his chair.

“I lost my job.”

“Don't scare me like that. I thought it was something serious. Really, Jemima, you're shaking like a rabbit.”

“We need the money, Ray.”

He waved his hand. “Do you know how many copies of the
Hog
we've sold in the past few weeks, my love?”
*

“There won't always be these big stories! Besides, I don't want big stories if they're going to keep you busy. Even on Saturday afternoons.”

“I'm just surprised Spenser's kept you as long as they did. You know their policy on married women working. You only had that job dishonestly anyway.” He grinned at her. “We're not on the street yet.”

“We have no telephone, Ray. Some months no electricity if we can't pay the bill. Your sister needs more and more money recently.”

“You want me to stop supporting Viola and Luca? Leave them to starve on the street?”

“Of course not! But I need you to help me figure out what to do. I've spent the whole evening thinking, and all I've come up with is charging more for cases and taking more cases on.”

Ray shrugged and said lightly, “Fine. But keep it to jewelry and pocket watches. You know I hate any of the dangerous cases.”

Jem sipped her tea. It didn't fortify her the way she thought it would. “But we can't live on your salary, Ray.”
^†

Ray's eyes flashed. “Jem, we'll figure something out. Maybe by the time things become truly desperate, Viola will have come to her senses and moved back here, and I won't need to send money over to America.”

“Where will she live? With us?”

“What would be so horrible about that? You'd not take my sister and her little boy in?”

“No… no… Of course. A few weeks, perhaps, if there were no other options. Oh, it w-would… it might be nice to have them… if they had nowhere to go and… Of course I would!”

Ray studied her a moment in their silence, and his face softened. “You're looking pale. You've obviously spent too long thinking about this. Don't worry, Jem. The longer the anarchist groups stay in Toronto, the bigger
Hog
readership will grow.” He smiled. “And of course my lady detectives have had something to do with the growing readership.” He ran a hand over his face and smiled. “The two of us will be fine. Always. I promise.”

“What about the three of us?” Her eyes skipped to all four corners of the sitting room, looking anywhere but directly at him. She coughed. “You and I can scrape by, but I am telling you, we'll have our own family soon. I know you have to keep sending money to Viola. It's just a… ” She massaged her temples.

If Ray's dark complexion could pale, it did so at that moment. “Are you sure?”

“I've shocked you,” Jem said. “Most people find this news happy.” She tried on a brighter voice for size. It didn't fit. “I haven't been feeling quite myself and was dizzy on the trolley today. Actually, a bit more than dizzy. I fainted. No, no… ” She pasted on a false smile. “The lovely old lady I toppled on was so attentive and kind. So I stopped in at the doctor, and he confirmed what I had suspected.”

Ray froze in his chair. “I'll just find a better job.”

“You love your job.”

“I love you more than a job, Jemima.”

The clock ticked toward midnight. This conversation had gone differently in her head. She'd imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her proudly, flitting about her with concern, making sure she didn't exert herself, that she was rested and comfortable. Instead…

“Oh, Jem, what did we get ourselves into?” He stretched his hand out to her. “Penniless Reporter Marries Bachelor Girl Detective! And he doesn't even have two cents to rub together. You'd be better off if I had left you where I found you.”

“In trousers outside the Elgin Theatre? Ray, please!” When he didn't say anything, she feigned pleasantry, trying to mask her disappointment. “I think I'll go to King Street for the night.” She was sure he'd break into her sentence, but he remained quiet, watching her. “Merinda sent Kat over earlier about a client,” she lied, “and I think it would do my mind good to focus on a case.” She rose.

“Jemima, sit back down. I don't want you to think I'm angry with you. It's late and… ”