A Lesson in Love and Murder (12 page)

An Asian woman with overrouged cheeks smiled with gapped teeth. Jem and Merinda gave their sweetest smiles as they were ushered into a room rank with the smell of incense and cheap cigars.

It was a fine thing that Jem's surname remained Watts in her association with Merinda Herringford. The anarchist group they infiltrated would not have taken kindly to a woman associated with Ray DeLuca, a man they had several times attempted to press into their group and services to no avail. She heard Ray's name several times as pamphlets and leaflets were distributed, most of them in languages she couldn't read.

The meeting commenced when a man named David Ross was introduced and took the center floor.

“You're here for our common goal!” His voice was a bellow. “To put Goldman's words into action. We submit to no man. We will, however, submit to our common cause. Toronto is held under the power of men who would feast and remain fat while we starve in the gutter at their feet—hungry, tired, and weak. Our friends in America, like us, are joined by the conviction of Mrs. Goldman's booming voice, and friends, they need us if they are to ripple a sound that will be heard across our great nations.

“Like my own, yours is a fledgling nation, just beginning to find her identity, and she cannot afford to wallow under the power of men who see a vision that would keep anyone—immigrants, children, the sick, or the poor—from their fair chance at survival. Equality! A
common social goal is our collective aspiration! And we are not alone. Friends, I beseech you to follow our cause. Right now, droves of our brothers are inspired by former President Theodore Roosevelt. At an upcoming convention in Chicago, he will attempt to win followers with his new Progressive Party. Roosevelt stands for resilience. Not two months ago, in the same big city he tasted defeat and President Taft won the day.”

Ross expounded on the failed attempts at an uprising of any sort during the American Democratic and Republican conventions of the early summer. Supporters of each candidate had pressed for change, but the time had not been right for the upheaval that was coming. “The time is coming to shake the future,” Ross said passionately.

At that, Merinda interrupted.
^†
“Why should we care so much about what change is happening in America when clearly our own city is sinking under the weight of Montague's corruption?”

Ross picked up his theme more loudly. “Because you look to their freedom. You are colonials in service of our Queen. When the British sparked a fight over in South Africa, you blindly went. America is its own country now. They had no need to join a fight that wasn't their own. You can learn a few lessons from your friends.” He stopped for water, and when he picked up again, it was about Roosevelt.

“Our American brothers are using Roosevelt's platform as a means to elevate our voice and our cause. When history records this season of change, Roosevelt's name will be on every page. The men who will rally to him are the men we need for our cause. Roosevelt is a man of battle and precision—of pomp and circumstance. But he is also a man who is rough around the edges, without the smooth finesse of his former friend and now rival. He is the perfect man for the moment.”

Merinda thought Ross a man at odds—a man who was so aligned with Goldman but so amused by Roosevelt? What kind of anarchist was he? She confronted him again and again while the other members of the audience snickered at her boldness and he entertained her
with a skeptical eye and his head cocked to the side. Jem covered her mouth with her handkerchief so as not to blurt a laugh as Merinda surmised, “So because we're a fledgling country without our own agenda, we are throwing our support to the People's Labor Movement in Chicago to blast the convention with this Roosevelt?”

Ross raised an eyebrow. “You certainly have us all figured out already.”

“I am playing devil's advocate,” Merinda said smoothly. “A cause with innocent blood on its hands?”

“None of the great change in the world is ever purchased without blood,” Ross said smoothly. “Not unless completely necessary. We will barge in”—he used his outstretched hands to measure an imaginary canvas—“with words and precision. If we need to make a blast, we will, but only in pursuit of our cause falling on ears that will listen and take heed to our growing movement.”

Minutes ticked on and Ross's voice ebbed and flowed. He spared a moment in Merinda's direction now and then, but she remained silent. Finally, he finished. Merinda and Jem waited for an opportunity to speak privately with him.

“I must confess to being impressed by you.” He took Merinda's hand and shook it with strength. His grip on Jem's own hand was gentler.

“We're here because we are interested. And because our association can be far more than merely symbolic.”

“How do you mean?”

“You need your best people in Chicago, and
we
”—she waved between Jem and herself—“are your best people.”

“You're women.” He focused on Jem appreciatively.

“That we are,” Jem said.

“There's a lot going on in Chicago,” Ross said, scratching his chin. “It's dangerous work even for a man. Nonetheless, my men and I mean to seize this opportunity and make the convention our platform. Roosevelt will never forget that moment as long as he lives.”

Merinda wondered if Jonathan would be there. According to
Benny and the papers, he seemed to follow this ideology. Perhaps Ross intended to blow up a few trolleys in Chicago. If they went, she could stop them before it happened. The wheels in her head sped as the drumbeat of her heart thrummed.

“Will Jonathan Arnasson be among your group in Chicago?” Merinda blurted. Ross didn't immediately answer, but Merinda saw a slight flicker in his eyes.

“We're no strangers to dangerous business,” Jem interjected. “We're lady detectives, and we have had international clients.”
^‡

“We have no fund collected for sending lady detectives to Progressive Party conventions.” He passed Merinda an article announcing the grand convention wherein Roosevelt would attempt to rustle up the support that he had failed to receive at a previous convention in June. “No matter how interested they are in the cause.” Here, he stabbed Merinda with a glare.

“Oh, money will not be a problem. We'll pay our own way,”
^§
Merinda said, appraising the picture of Roosevelt and reading the caption about the days-long convention. “So you'll forward your contact's address in Chicago?”

“Against my better judgment,” Ross growled. He sized up Merinda from brogan to bowler. “Although I have little doubt you would find it even if I refused.”

Jem and Merinda spilled out onto Parliament Street clutching each other's arms.

“Another American case!” Merinda said excitedly. “If he means to use Jonathan to blow up trolleys, we can be there to stop him once and for all!”

“And I can finally find out what Ray has been up to,” Jem said.

“And Benny will be there too,” Merinda said with a sly smile. “We can find Jonathan.”

Common wisdom would say that Benny and Merinda had not spent nearly enough time in each other's company for them to experience a spark. But Merinda felt the world flicker nonetheless. How much time did it actually take?

*
These had been procured from another newsie who kept every unsold paper and had built them up into a kind of lean-to.

†
Much to Jem's embarrassment.

‡
Jem was thinking of the time they solved a quiet case in Concord, Massachusetts. Ross didn't need to know the extent to which
international
stretched in this context.

§
Merinda's father often turned a blind eye toward how she used her allowance money.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

Always ensure that you possess more than one skill set. Naturally your proficiency will be greatest in a single area, but the life of a Royal Northwest Mounted Policeman calls for the ability to rise to unique situations.

Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson,
Guide to the Canadian Wilderness

B
enny took out a small leather notebook, yellowed with age. Grandfather's
Regulation Guide
had initially inspired their boyhood project, snippets of advice and diagrams for the wilderness survival required of the Northwest Mounted Police. At first it had an inflated title:
Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson's Guide to the Canadian Wilderness with Specific Instruction Provided for the Officers of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police
. As they got older, through training in Regina and even as Benny was stationed in the Yukon, the compilation continued, though with a slightly less magnanimous title. At least Benny continued, while Jonathan said it sounded more and more like the most recent printing of the Rules and Regulations Guide. To Benny, it became a collage of life lessons, a hybrid of Grandfather's wisdom with the strict code of the RNWMP. He never stopped amending with addenda or inserts pasted between the stringy, worn binding. He read:

The lynx is the scheming king of the northern winter. The grizzlies are hibernating. The deer and elk recline in the falling temperatures, and the lynx prowls, his gray fur blending with the trees and snow-covered logs. His alert
eyes jeer out at you, burning brightly. He is too elusive for your trap. You rush over in hopes of success and the fur for a cap only to find a dead hare in his place. He's too sneaky. To lure and ensnare him, you must think like him. Bright colors against a white canvas will make you stand out. His peaked ears indicate his exceptional hearing. Your skill as a tracker will be proven by your ability to outsmart a lynx.

Jonathan was a bit of a lynx. Far too smart. Smart enough to make everything look like the simplest accident.

But tracing the untraceable was second nature to a Mountie. As was every part of keeping one's kit and schedule. Rise at dawn as the first bird begins its chatter. Lay out kit in perfunctory order, having dressed for the day. At the top of the
palliasse
*
near the pillow were brushes for boots, hair, and horse. Gloves on either side of the blanket with armbands. All items of clothing neatly folded. In winter, if moccasins worn, ensure spurs are shiny and shown on long boots.

A Mountie's dress was his identity; it was his emblem of pride. Jonathan was always far more efficient at keeping his kit bright and shiny and without the slightest crease. Under Grandfather's watchful eye, they polished and ironed, folded and tucked. Jonathan was better at tucking sheets with military precision into all four corners of the bed. Jonathan was better at tying the lanyard's exhibitive Turk's knot. Jonathan was better… Jonathan was better…

Having hired detectives did not deter his desire to keep tracking. To keep moving. It was like any hunt: One needed patience and stamina. To always be encouraged by a paw print or a scent or the carcass of a dead animal. To understand that if one's prey remained elusive, a trek in the woods must still not be wasted, and one should focus instead on a different target.

Tracking was in his blood.

But Toronto, now, Toronto was a new experience. In Fort Glenbow, the only police presence was the one in the lone cabin at the edge of the village, smoke drawn from the chimney and pulled up into the sky. Here the police guided traffic and rapped their sticks on the street. During dinner at the Empire he leafed through old editions of the
Hog
propped up in one hand while balancing his fork in the other. Toronto had a Morality Squad, of all things.

… often done in private with no formal trial or charge. A woman you know may be with you at work one day and gone the next. Any crime, perceived or realized, from drunkenness to petty theft, are all punished by the city's undying concern about moral cleanliness. Where is the line drawn between penalizing women who intentionally break the law and watching for women in a vulnerable position, be they penniless or immigrant?

Benny had little experience with the members of the fairer sex. In the Yukon, he was most familiar with Indian women who were respected as a great asset to their tribes. They offered healing, medicine, and wisdom. They ensured that the homes were kept clean and smelled of herbs and flowers during ceremonial moments of the year. They raised children to be strong warriors. They were as brave as the men, often having to balance the responsibilities of their home sphere with the harsh nature of the elements.