Endorsements
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
With the witty wordplay and inventive plot twists of a classic Sherlock Holmes mystery, McMillan spins a detective tale sure to delight and fascinate those who love entertaining novels full of clues and sleuths and lively characters that live long after the story ends.
Virginia Smith,
author of the Tales from the Goose Creek B&B
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 Bronte Plot
A savvy and street-smart read. Rachel McMillan’s The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder is a wickedly clever debut, with the wit and intelligence of a classic Agatha Christie whodunit. It’s a vintage-inspired ride with a dash of mystery, romance, and just enough suspense to keep the reader guessing. I was drawn in and held captive with the turn of each page!
Kristy Cambron,
author of The Ringmaster’s Wife and the Hidden Masterpiece series
One does not merely read The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder. Rather, one enters the story, allows the author to take her on a wild ride through early twentieth century Toronto, and remains unable to do anything but turn the pages until the final scene has ended. McMillan has created characters whose exploits will live on well beyond this story. Well done! Now hurry and write the next one!
Kathleen Y’Barbo,
bestselling author of Firefly Summer and Sadie’s Secret
In her stunning debut, Rachel McMillan achieves a perfect balance of wit and warmth and invites readers into an entirely new world. More than intrepid detectives, Bachelor Girls Jem and Merinda are fully fleshed women, grappling with mysteries of the heart as well as those of the gritty streets of historic Toronto. A cast of supporting characters brings life and dimension, as well as the promise of more stories to come. McMillan’s homage to the spirit of Sherlock and Watson stands solid on its own, whether in pick heels or brogans.
Allison Pittman,
author of On Shifting Sand
Come for the gorgeous cover and promise of mystery; stay for the lilting romance and tingling wit. Rachel McMillan’s debut is the perfect mix of engaging characters and a fresh, enticing voice. Simply put, I’m hooked!
Melissa Tagg,
author of From the Start and Like Never Before
There’s nothing more delicious than discovering an author whose novel is as fabulous as the cover art suggests. Debut author Rachel McMillan is a refreshing new talent in the inspirational market, penning an enchanting tale of murder, mayhem, and Sherlockesque shenanigans. Jem and Merinda will captivate readers’ hearts as their adventurous spirits cause them to buck social norms for ladies of their day, resulting in humorous and dangerous consequences in equal measure. Toss in a charming Italian journalist with a penchant for verse and a dedicated member of the Canadian constabulary with a weakness for a certain woman, and sparks…and bullets…are bound to fly. Unique, witty, and invigorating, McMillan’s prose is smooth, her historical detail excellent, and her bachelor girls appealing in every way. Sherlock Holmes and Phryne Fisher may need to step aside as Herringford & Watts, Lady Detectives, are on the case!
Rel Mollet,
Relz Reviewz
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Harvest House Publishers
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.
THE BACHELOR GIRL’S GUIDE TO MURDER
Copyright © 2016 Rachel McMillan
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McMillan, Rachel, 1981-
The bachelor girl’s guide to murder / Rachel McMillan.
pages cm — (Herringford and Watts mysteries; book 1)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6640-5 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6641-2 (eBook)
1. Women detectives—Canada—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.4.M4555B33 2016
813'.6—dc23
2015028830
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 MAISIE
CONTENTS
Endorsements
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books by Rachel McMillan
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks go to…
My Tante Annette, who gave me not only my first copies of A Room of One’s Own and Jane Eyre, but a lifetime of a strong female role model to look up to.
My agent, Ruth Samsel, who called and said, “What about a female Sherlock Holmes?” and who always believed in my girls as much as I do.
Allison Pittman: You are the wind beneath my wings. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. #Team
McPitt
Kathleen Kerr, who has not only proven to be the brains behind this entire operation but also a truly kindred spirit.
My sister, Leah Polonenko, for the Easter Sunday at St. James that got me over the finish line.
Jared and Tobin, for popping the champagne and celebrating every milestone thus far in my writing journey.
Jessica Barnes, Jessica Davies, Sonja Spaetzel, Team Shiloh, Joanne Bischof, William Murdoch, Martha Kroeker, Bernice Wong, Chelsea Jarman, Christina Jolly, Tim Jolly, Rick and Barb Turnbull, Gina Dalfonzo, Ruth Anderson, Lori Smith, Melanie Fishbane—I love you all.
Gerald and Kathleen McMillan, who always believed that this bookish, anxious, hyper-romantic writer girl could do anything she put her mind to… especially if she kept Matthew 6:33 close at hand.
Prologue
JEMIMA,
Your father and I have decided that, after giving you several opportunities to prove you are pursuing a proper course for a lady of your station and background, we can no longer financially support your endeavors.
While we applaud your dedication to your job at Spenser’s, we think it is high time you settled down. Your father and I have long tired of presenting you with eligible suitors, only to have you dismiss them to follow Merinda Herringford around like a bee to honey. We have long felt, and expressed, that she is not fit company for a lady of your potential.*
As we seem to be making no headway in securing you a future worthy of your breeding, we can only keep you in our prayers and hope that soon you will see the error of your ways, return to your upbringing, and recognize that a lady of your not inconsiderable age (honestly, Jemima, four-and-twenty is hardly the age to be gallivanting about Toronto unwed) should be making prudent strides toward securing a husband.
Please see the enclosed pamphlet suggesting appropriate activities for young ladies who are, as you should be, in pursuit of a proper husband…
* The word potential was always used liberally by Jemima’s teachers at the Susanna Moodie School for Promising Young Ladies.
To the Ladies of St. James Parish
Hone your domestic skills, enjoy the company of other young Christian women, and even increase your potential of meeting your future husband.
Sunday: After-service box social
Tuesday: Sewing Circle for the benefit of the heathen children of India. Bring your needles and thread.
Wednesday: Visiting the invalids and shut-ins
Thursday: Crokinole
Saturday: Harvest Dance. Please see Hyacinth for raffle tickets.
CHAPTER ONE
A proper lady’s activities of choice are as important as the embellishment of her sleeve or the turn of her head. A potential suitor will want to see which hobbies and interests pique the attention of a lady before he pursues her. Ensure your selection boasts fine company, creative accomplishment and, in relevant cases, healthy and wholesome competition.
Dorothea Fairfax’s Handbook to Bachelor Girlhood
Toronto, September 1910
A murder scene is no place for a proper lady.”
Merinda Herringford tilted her chin defiantly and stared at Constable Jasper Forth with an icy eye. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a proper lady.”
Merinda had just declared, rather crassly, that it was “about time for a good murder.” And Jasper, powerless under the stare of her bright cat eyes, had had little say in the matter. She’d trailed so closely behind him as he’d set toward the Elgin Theatre that she’d scuffed the polished heels of his shoes.
Jem Watts swatted the constable playfully on the shoulder. “Yes, Jasper, it’s a good thing she’s no proper lady.”
“I’d get in hot water if they knew I brought the two of you down here.” He swallowed. “What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking it’s about time the police sought out someone as clever as me. And a woman to boot!” Merinda lifted her skirt, which was already an inch or two higher than respectability and fashion allowed, and stepped to the opposite side of the corpse. “She was strangled.”
“The rope burns would indicate strangulation, yes.”
“But there was no struggle. Look at her arms. Free of bruises.”
The constable had doubtless reached the same conclusion, but he grinned as he watched Merinda. “You’re a smart egg.” He narrowed his eyes. “For a woman.”
Jem peered at the corpse more closely as Merinda flashed a glower at Jasper. She was surprised that the body failed to inspire more horror. The white contours of the young woman’s face, the flames of her bright red hair, the freckles sprinkling her nose and cheeks, the mouth drawn wide, round, and unsuspectingly calm… Why, she might have been sleeping, though her translucent skin and the blue-green veins in her upturned arms said differently.
“I wonder who would do such a horrid thing,” Jem said, muffling her voice with a raised handkerchief. “She can’t be more than seventeen.”
“There’s no smell of decay yet, Jem.” Merinda spoke without moving her gaze from the body. “You can put your kerchief away.”
“Maybe they’re her smelling salts,” said Jasper gently.
“I don’t need smelling salts!” protested Jem.
“What was she doing here, anyway?” Merinda swooped down. “She’s not dressed the part.”
The girl’s homespun dress, apron, and rubber-soled boots were out of place in the foyer of the grand theatre where she had been discovered. True, her red-gold hair seemed a fit for the luminous interior of the theatre, but the rest of her was oddly mismatched.
“Name’s Fiona Byrne. She was from Corktown,” Jasper supplied, “in the employ of Tertius Montague, a member of his house staff.”
“Really?” said Merinda.
“When Jones and I first got here, Montague was identifying the body.”
Merinda’s eyes widened. Tertius Montague, mayor of Toronto, was known to be a benevolent mogul. His thumbprint brushed half a dozen philanthropic enterprises, from hospitals to affordable housing in St. John’s Ward, the poorest part of the city. A regular King Midas. Recently, he had decided to invest in the cultural expansion of Toronto, and the Elgin Theatre—a modern and beautiful space like those in New York and Chicago—was his latest addition.
But he was most familiar to Jem and Merinda as the creator of the Morality Squad, a band of plainclothes detectives who rumbled through the city arresting women suspected of incorrigibility or vagrancy. Lately, an offense as slight as a short hem or loitering after dark* could merit an arrest.
Montague was using his Morality Squad as a weapon against the immigrant women of Toronto—it was his trump card to move up in the polls for his reelection campaign. He vowed to return the city to “Toronto the Good” of the previous century. Montague was neck-and-neck in the polls with the reformer Horace Milbrook, but he had the backing—and the deep pockets—of Thaddeus Spenser, owner of Toronto’s largest department retail chain.
Merinda sniffed. “That Tertius Montague could actually identify or name one of the many scullery maids in his employ is impressive. You’re sure he’s not the murderer?”
“It’s too early to ascertain. He’s at Station One for questioning.”
Jem was still gaping at the woman in endless slumber splayed on the red carpet. She had an almost angelic stillness about her. “Surely it’s time to move the body to the morgue.”
“Oh, Jem, posh!” said Merinda. “If we removed the body to the morgue, we couldn’t investigate the circumstances of the corpse in its surroundings. Search for clues!” Merinda dug into her vest pocket for a small magnifying glass and held it up against the hair of the deceased. It caught a prism of light from the theatre’s modern fluorescent lighting scheme. Then she moved it slightly away to a small pile of ash.
“Morbid!” sighed Jem, following Merinda’s gaze. “Someone smoking beside a dead body!”
“A left-handed person,” added Merinda, stepping to the right and standing poised, mimicking lighting a cigar and holdin
g it to her lips.
“The mortician will be here in a few minutes, Jem,” Jasper said. “The police have finished their work here.”
“Pish. The police miss everything obvious,” Merinda said. “They probably even think this is the crime scene, when it must be clear to the greatest simpleton that she can’t have been murdered here.”
Jem and Jasper were silent.
“Oh, come,” said Merinda. “What are the odds of her arms falling so neatly aligned with the line of her waist?”
Jasper looked at Merinda brightly. “Yes. Of course. Her arms are equally balanced on either side. No human could naturally fall into that position.”
Merinda nodded. “So she was laid here. But why not hide the body? Conceal the murder? And there—feel her coat.”
“It’s damp,” Jasper said. “I noticed when we were looking for identification.”
“But it’s not raining.” Merinda crouched by the body and held up one of the girl’s ivory hands.
“Maybe she was shoved in clothes just from the laundry,” said Jem tentatively.
“Does she smell like she came from the laundry?” Merinda said. “Look here, Jasper!”
Jasper leaned in. The girl’s fingernails had the slightest coating of dust. Merinda was about to expound on another theory when Jasper said, “Shhh!” and raised his hand.
They froze.
Jasper put a finger to his mouth and pushed them gently from the foyer, through the side of the auditorium, and to the backstage door at Victoria Street. He clicked it shut behind them as loud male voices broke the silence they’d left behind. It sounded like police talk.
“You two scurry,” he said.
Merinda grabbed at Jasper’s elbow and pulled tightly. “Please, Jasper, let me back in. I haven’t finished investigating.”
“No,” Jasper said. “It’ll be the end of my career if the sergeant finds out you were at the scene at all.”
Merinda sighed. “Is Fiona… is the body going to the morgue now for an autopsy?”
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