Praise for The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder
Book 1 in the Herringford and Watts Mysteries
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this much fun reading a historical novel, but [The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder] not only tickled my fiction-loving fancy, but made me want to put a Canadian stamp on my passport to discover the Toronto this author so clearly adores. This book is utterly delightful… and an all-around surprise. Fans of all incarnations of the Sherlock Holmes tales will love the humor, romance and sensibly feminist take on the mystery-solving-for-hire story. Highly, highly recommended!”
USA Today
“McMillan’s delightful debut is an original, humorous tale. The author describes the 1910 Toronto setting incredibly well, immersing the reader from the beginning. Jem and Merinda are perfect foils for each other; levelheaded Jem balances impetuous Merinda. With shades of Sherlock Holmes, tongue-in-cheek footnotes, and a great whodunit, put this one on your must-buy list.”
Romantic Times
“Canadian author McMillan makes a terrific debut with this Edwardian mystery, mixing Sherlockian deduction with humor and a side order of romance. Her protagonists—the mischievous Merinda and the more levelheaded Jem—are sure to delight readers who will also enjoy the snappy dialog and plot twists. Historical fiction fans will be intrigued by the fascinating details on Toronto’s early twentieth-century theater scene. A solid choice for devotees of Rhys Bowen’s mysteries.”
Library Journal,
starred review
“Fresh and beguiling, the Bachelor Girls are an engaging new addition to the mystery scene. They tackle criminals with a combination of unique moxie and an irrepressible sense of adventure. I want to be friends with the Bachelor Girls!”
Deanna Raybourn,
New York Times bestselling author of the Lady Julia Grey Mysteries
“In her fabulous debut, Rachel McMillan brings 1910 Toronto to rich and wonderful life. The intrepid Jem and Merinda make a winning detective team. Full of romance and derring-do, The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder will keep you turning pages.”
Nancy Herriman,
author of No Comfort for the Lost
“Smart, sassy, and chic. The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder is all that and more. A fabulous historical. Encore, Rachel McMillan!”
Laura Frantz,
author of The Mistress of Tall Acre
“A wonderful romp! McMillan’s delightful debut introduces us to a beguiling and intrepid crime-solving duo. The two lovely ladies defy expectations and social norms as they lead us across early twentieth-century Toronto and into the heart of a compelling mystery… with a dash of romance on the side. Can’t wait for more of these two and the adventure they’ll lead us on next!”
Katherine Reay,
author of The Brontë Plot
BOOKS BY RACHEL MCMILLAN
HERRINGFORD AND WATTS MYSTERIES
A Singular and Whimsical Problem
(ebook-only novella)
The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder
Of Dubious and Questionable Memory
(ebook-only novella)
A Lesson in Love and Murder
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Nicole Dougherty
Cover illustrations © Snusmumr, sibiranna / Shutterstock
Published in association with William K. Jensen Literary Agency, 119 Bampton Court, Eugene, Oregon 97404.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A LESSON IN LOVE AND MURDER
Copyright © 2016 by Rachel McMillan
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6642-9 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6643-6 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: McMillan, Rachel, author.
Title: A lesson in love and murder / Rachel McMillan.
Description: Eugene Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, [2016] | Series: Herringford and Watts mysteries; 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2016009768 (print) | LCCN 2016016124 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736966429 (softcover) | ISBN 9780736966436 ()
Subjects: LCSH: Women detectives—Canada—Fiction. | Missing persons—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PR9199.4.M4555 L47 2016 (print) | LCC PR9199.4.M4555 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016009768
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
FOR THOM LEVENE,
Who not only inspired my lifelong love of story but taught me it was okay to be myself.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks go to…
Kathleen Kerr. You went above and beyond (as per always) and are truly the brains behind this series.
The entire Harvest House team, for believing in me and my zany ideas.
Kathleen McMillan. My best friend, cookie-maker, research assistant, ledge-talker-offer. I “endeavour” to make you proud.
Gerry McMillan, RCMP chaplain, Canadian history buff, and teller of endless stories about his childhood summers in Riverton, Manitoba.
Jared and Tobin, who keep the infinity pool dream going strong.
My lovely Maisie. Tante Rachel loves you.
Ken and Leah, for support from the faraway land of Abu Dhabi (and for the camel pics!).
Thanks also go to Allison Pittman, Annette and Steve Gilbert, Ruth Samsel, Hannah Matthews, Olivia Matthews, Miranda Matthews, Tim Jolly, Christina Jolly, Sonja Spaetzel, Jessica Davies, Kat Chin, Mike Ledermeuller, Karin Chun Taite, Team Shiloh, Stephan Roberts, Melanie Fishbane, Marion Abbott, Ruth Anderson, and Gina Dalfonzo.
Contents
Praise for The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder
Books by Rachel McMillan
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Herringford and Watts Mysteries
About the Publisher
If in their economics the Anarchists were hazy, their hatred of the ruling class was strong and vibrant… To the workers thems
elves it was not the faraway rich but their visible representatives, the landlord, the factory owner, the boss, the policeman, who were the Enemy.
Barbara W. Tuchman, The Proud Tower
CHAPTER ONE
We regret to inform you that due to our company’s policy regarding married women in the workforce, we are no longer in need of your services. We are grateful for your loyalty to Spenser’s and hope you will accept this coupon for Maidwell’s Laundry Soap as a token of our gratitude.
Well, I suppose crime will just have to start to pay!” Jemima DeLuca said, flinging down the letter and the soap coupon with it. The notice was hardly a surprise—everyone knew the rules, and her marriage wasn’t exactly a secret. Still, the loss of her job in the Spenser’s Department Store mailroom was a turn of events Jem had not fully anticipated.
Ray wouldn’t be pleased when he found out. How would they pay their electric bill? It was time to stop solving mysteries gratis, Jem decided with a frown. The murder and mayhem she investigated with her best friend and former flatmate, Merinda Herringford, would need to result in cold, hard cash.
She stomped to the locker room to retrieve her coat and hat, her meager half-week salary note dangling in her shaking hand. A number of her colleagues were gathered there, just at the end of their shift.
“As I was saying,” the foreman bellowed at them, “Mr. Spenser has very strict rules about the conduct of his employees. If you want your employment to be terminated”—here he paused dramatically, a hush rippling over the workers—“you may very well go ahead and join the riffraff at Mrs. Goldman’s rally.”
“You can’t stop us from demonstrating views that have nothing to do with our employment. Not in our free time,” a squeaky voice said from the back.
“Mrs. Goldman speaks against honest work. She would have all of you overthrow Mr. Spenser and the kind people, like myself, who are entrusted to manage you.” The foreman drove a dart of a glare in the direction of a few giggling girls in the corner and went on. “Avoid any path that radical woman crosses. Do not associate with her or the anarchists who follow her. And you can be assured that Mayor Montague’s Morality Squad will be keeping the impressionable young ladies of Toronto safe from Mrs. Goldman’s rallies.”
Keep them safe, all right, thought Jem, slamming her locker shut for the last time. Safe in St. Jerome’s Reformatory!
“Ah!” The foreman had finished his address, and the murmurs from the gathered employees crescendoed into conversation. “Mrs. DeLuca. I see you are finally taking your leave.”
“It’s a silly rule,” Jem said testily. “Just because I’m married… just because… ”
“Your place is with your husband. You cannot tend to him and your family if you are spending eight hours on your feet in the mailroom.”
Jem wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and descended the employee stairwell.
She breathed a long sigh and looked up at the iron door as it clanged shut behind her. Her friend Tippy would keep her informed of the gossip and tales that had often filled their tea breaks. Jem couldn’t help, though, feeling the slammed door clutch at her heart. A part of her life was gone forever. And a new chapter was beginning, and… she really, really needed a job!
Jem walked the half block to Yonge Street, blinking back a prick of tears as the circus of Toronto’s busiest street thrummed into sight and sound. Trolley cars and automobiles and horse-drawn carts warred for space over roads sliced through with tracks and, on each side, gutted with construction. An officer directed traffic with a whistle, white-gloved hands, and a sign he turned to and fro. STOP. GO.
Jem was at the intersection, crossing in the direction of the streetcar, when the officer waved it to a stop. Jolting forward, she nearly collided with an automobile while the driver screeched several heated words and the horse behind him neighed its frustration.
She mustn’t have been paying attention. Thinking instead about home and Ray, who lately had been so busy at the office that she rarely saw him during the week at all. She looked forward to Saturday afternoons, when he would leave his notebook at home and they would explore Cabbagetown or see a nickelodeon or have dinner with Merinda and Jasper Forth, Merinda’s friend from the Toronto Police. (Mrs. Malone, Merinda’s housekeeper, would always send them home with plenty of leftover food for the week.) But lately, with the threat of the anarchists and Mrs. Goldman’s impending arrival in the city, Ray’s mind was in the office even when he was away from it.
Jem paid her fare and boarded the streetcar. It must be admitted that her head was no more in the present moment than her husband’s, for it took her two stops to realize she was going the wrong way. Silly emotional girl! she reprimanded herself as the streetcar rumbled along not in the direction of her home but toward King Street and the townhouse she and Merinda had once shared. She rerouted and trundled down Yonge Street in the opposite direction, her mind as jumbled as the traffic parading outside the trolley window.
“I never thought I would say this,” she muttered under her breath, “but I really hope we’re in the market for a good murder!”
And that was the last thing she said before teetering over and fainting on the lap of the elderly woman seated in front of her.
Merinda Herringford tripped into mysteries as quickly as she stumbled upon their solutions. This feat was made easier by the fact that she had long since given up on ice pick heels and day suits. Toronto’s summer humidity was much more tolerable—and her long limbs much freer—in cotton trousers, brogan shoes, and bobbed hair.
Jasper Forth admired her striking profile as she leaned over to peer into the test tube. Evidently pleased with what she observed, Merinda threw out her arms like a bird taking flight. “I’m a legend!” she cried.
“Easy there.” Jasper raised an amused eyebrow. He almost hoped she would fall so he could catch her and press her to him and smell the tendrils of her hair. “This isn’t becoming of a woman of your breeding,” he said slyly.*
“A legend, Jasper!” She spun on her heel and faced him, cat eyes sparkling in the bright lights. “This concentrated hemoglobin establishes beyond a doubt that Mr. Darryl was indeed the murderer!”
Jasper wondered briefly if Merinda knew that her smile made his heart complete. That she was the only person in the world. Merinda Herringford and her test tubes and her detection and the voice of her hero, Sherlock Holmes, pealing through her head.
“Elementary,” he said lightly, widening her smile. Jasper dabbed at the chemical stains on his fingers. “There we have it. Another win for Herringford and Forth.”
“Herringford and Forth.” Merinda played it over in her mind, closing her eyes and tasting it for a moment. “Yes. Herringford and Forth. I like that!” She smiled broadly, tipping up her chin. “Come, Jasper! Is there anything more we can possibly contribute to the fascinating world of forensic observation today?”
“Probably not.” He lit like a moonbeam when Merinda grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the broad oak door of the laboratory.
Jasper remembered the first time he saw her, the first time he heard her laugh. The first time he noticed the light outlining her angular profile. The first time he decided that his life would be nothing without her somehow a part of it, peppering it with her eccentricities, her buoyant personality, her trousers and bowler hats, her short hems. He wondered if this was the moment to say everything, to untie all the thoughts packed in a tight parcel in his mind.
He swallowed. This was it.
But the words didn’t come.† Instead, he stuttered, “You should have been a doctor. You would have made an incredible doctor. You would have been top of your class, Merinda, you know that.”
She brushed at her trousers and tugged the rim of her hat over her bobbed blonde curls. “And miss the adventure?”
“You might want to actually make some money someday.”
“You sound like Jemima!” She played with a loose thread at the bottom of
her vest, biting her lip. “But everything’s changing, isn’t it?”
“You mean Jem.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. Merinda… ” Jasper caught her hand, white and long-fingered. “Merinda, I won’t change or go away.”
“Of course you won’t, Jasper. You’re like my favorite sweater. It comes out every year just as it gets cold and… ”
“Merinda, I’m serious.”
Merinda blinked a few times and gingerly disengaged herself. “Come on.”
Jasper wished he could recapture the moment, but as they stepped outside, he knew time was shifting. He tried to shrug off the premonition as he tucked his hands deep in his pockets, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his fixed point, his Merinda, was going to be moving, changing—and at such a galloping pace that he’d never catch up.
Back at the station house, his thoughts still spiraled Merinda-ward. What might it be like if he left Tipton and the police behind and joined the ranks of her private investigation firm?
“Forth!” Tipton’s voice echoed through the corridor. The chief crooked his finger in Jasper’s direction.
Jasper took the hall in two strides and closed Tipton’s office door as requested.
“Take a seat.”
Jasper did.
“Drink?”
“Not while on duty, sir.” Jasper tugged at his collar, trying to hide his surprise when the chief poured himself a finger of whiskey.
“Good man.” Tipton inclined his glass. “There’s been another one of those trolley mishaps.”
Jasper’s face whitened, and he instinctively leaped from his chair, almost taking it with him.
“Not so fast, not so fast,” said the chief. “We have men on the scene already. You’ll get there and see that someone’s meddled with the wiring. It doesn’t take a genius to know these ‘accidents’ are premeditated.”
“I guessed as much. I was hoping they would strike again so I could find proof.” Jasper coughed to hide his embarrassment. “What I meant to say is that I would like to catch the culprits. Not for more innocent lives to be lost.”
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