“Benny is completely trustworthy,” Merinda said. Had she not been propping up Jem, her hands would have been planted firmly on her hips.
“Pardon me, Mr. Citrone, but these women are particular friends of mine, and I have never once heard either mention your existence.”
Benny looked up from repositioning Jem into a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm. “Well, we only met this morning.” He stood, slowly, and gathered Jem up completely. “Now, about that horse.”
* * *
*Readers familiar with the adventure titled The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder will of course recall that this stick doubled as a crowbar when needed.
?A reader familiar with the escapades of the intrepid girl detectives will be aware that this was not their first run-in with the Morality Squad.
CHAPTER SIX
An officer of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police must treat his horse as he would any other comrade—with sensitivity for its needs. Do not start off on any trip, large or small, at a frantic pace, tiring the horse. Do not forget to groom and care for your horse. In the northern posts, far from human contact, he will become your dearest friend, your family, and your closest ally.
Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson, Guide to the Canadian Wilderness
He’s a Mountie!” Merinda said, matching Jasper’s vehement stride across the alley and toward the crime scene. “If you can’t trust a Mountie, who can you trust?”
“He could be a number of things, Merinda. You just let him take Jem off like that?” He shook his head. Merinda had given him a quick summation of the case, detailing Benny’s accomplishments and Jonathan’s failings, but Jasper had not been put at ease. “Just because someone parades around telling you he’s a Mountie… ”
“But he is. I telephoned Regina.”
“Well, of course his name is listed. But who’s to say he hasn’t traded places with this mythical cousin Jonathan of his and is prancing around setting the explosives himself, and oh, good grief, there they go. He has Jem on a horse! And they’re galloping who knows where! Ray will have my neck.” He rubbed his face with his hand.
“Would you desist with the melodrama? There’s a delicious crime scene, the Morality Squad scattered, and you’re here prattling like a child! Benny will come right back with the horse. He will know better than you or I if Jonathan has been here. We just need to work together.”
“Forth! Forth, you’d better get over here!” They turned at a stern, deep bellow belonging to Chief Tipton.
“They’ve called in the cavalry,” Merinda said with a low whistle.
Jasper gave one last chastising look at Merinda before running toward the warehouse.
Merinda looked about her, watching people—some injured, most just terrified—moving over the pavement. Some went in the direction of the alley; others moved around the mounted policemen in the direction of Trinity Street.
Merinda inched her way through the throng and in the direction of the Hogtown Herald offices. She hadn’t had a chance to learn what Ray really thought about the trolley explosions, but perhaps there was information to be found at the office—notes and observations that hadn’t made their way into Ray’s articles.
Merinda employed her walking stick to hoist open the primitive lock to the newspaper office. She removed her torch from the waist of her pants, and with a click mellow light cut through the darkness. She thought of turning the overhead lights on but didn’t want to draw attention from the dispersing throng outside. She started with Skip’s desk, hoping there might be a few photographs of the streetcar scene. Not much to be had there. A few pictures of the wrecked streetcars. A requisition order for maple syrup from Spenser’s.
Finding nothing more of interest, she crossed to Ray’s desk. It was behind a sort of lean-to, and he kept the space as tidy as possible considering the sawdust that floated down anytime someone walked over the creaky slats in the attic overhead. Ray was perfunctory in his profession, and she knew that despite his meager salary and the paper’s wretched reputation, he took his job seriously. It was one of the things she admired about him. Though she would never tell him so.
She looked more closely at the desk. Not so tidy today. The telephone had toppled over and ink spots stained the wood. She picked up a scrap of paper and read closely.
It was hard to make out Ray’s shaky hand.
Chicago
Vi—
Tony Docks
MICH AVE
Need $
Anarchists? Accident?
Were the anarchists and Jonathan in Chicago? Had Ray tracked them that far?
Her thoughts drummed in her head even as a soft footfall at the front of the office drew her immediate gasp.
“Merinda!” the voice whispered.
Merinda let the torch guide her out of Ray’s cubby and toward the door, her knuckles gripping her stick in case of immediate need of defense.