Singular and Whimsical Problem

Rachel McMillan

Description

Christmas, 1910. Merinda Herringford and Jem Watts would be enjoying the season a lot more if they weren't forced to do their own laundry and cooking. Just as they are adapting to their trusty housekeeper's ill-timed vacation, they are confronted by the strangest mystery they've encountered since they started their private investigation firm. In this bonus e-only novella, what begins as the search for a missing cat leads to a rabble-rousing suffragette and the disappearance of several young women from St. Jerome's Reformatory for Incorrigible Females. From the women's courts of City Hall to Toronto's seedy docks and into the cold heart of the underground shipping industry, this will be the most exciting Christmas the girls have had yet...if they can stay alive long enough to enjoy it.

Informations

• Publié par: Harvest House Publishers, Inc.
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780736966467
• Langue: English

Extrait

Books by Rachel McMillan
H ERRINGFORD AND W ATTS M YSTERIES
A Singular and Whimsical Problem
(e-only novella)
The Bachelor Girl s Guide to Murder
Of Dubious and Questionable Memory
(ebook-only novella)
A Lesson in Love and Murder
Conductor of Light (Free Short Story)
The White Feather Murders
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Harvest House Publishers Inc.
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 SINGULAR AND WHIMSICAL PROBLEM
Copyright 2015 Rachel McMillan
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6646-7 (eBook)
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.
Contents
Books by Rachel McMillan
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Author s Note
The Herringford and Watts Mysteries
About the Author
About the Publisher
Dedication
To Kat Chin and Karin Chun Taite for all the singular and whimsical Torontonian adventures

Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always at a woman s sleeve. In a man, it is perhaps better to take the knee of the trouser. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward.
S IR A RTHUR C ONAN D OYLE ,
T HE A DVENTURE OF THE B LUE C ARBUNCLE ,
N OVEMBER 1892
Every bachelor girl must know the weapons in her repertoire: knitting needles, thread, the turn of a fan by her dainty wrist, a delicate, long finger as she points to a sumptuous treat displayed on a tray as she entertains. A bachelor girl has more weapons at her disposal than she realizes. While the men might play at cards and guns, so she can play at demure smiles and coy glances. Go to battle, yes, but with a well-steeped kettle of tea and a batch of irresistible muffins. You will slay him where he stands and he will be rendered powerless.
F ROM D OROTHEA F AIRFAX S C OMPENDIUM TO B ACHELOR G IRLHOOD
One
November, 1910
The blade was at Merinda s neck.
I had a revolver in the pocket of my trousers. We were clad in men s clothes, three steps ahead of the Morality Squad and legions away from feminine propriety. My shaky fingers felt for and slowly extracted the pistol.
You re sure taking your time, Jem! Merinda cried.
Quiet, or I ll finish the job. A dark voice echoed between the surrounding walls.
All right, all right! I held the gun out. There! Consider yourself threatened! I cocked the pistol as Merinda had taught me, and though perspiration trailed into my eyes and my hand was far from steady, I aimed it just above her shoulder blade and at the breast of her captor. He was larger than she and far taller too.
Don t shoot me ! Merinda pleaded. Cracker jacks, Jem! Do you want him to slice me in two?
Could he really slice you in two? I wondered in a wobbly voice. He could just slice your neck in two I peered at the man in the shadow.
Put the gun down! he challenged.
Not until you let her go! I screeched.
The prop knife clicked closed and Constable Jasper Forth of the Toronto Police, our long-time friend, folded it into his pocket, gently disentangling Merinda from his hold. Self-defense class is over. You fail, both of you.
Fail! Merinda stretched a crick in her shoulder. We did not fail.
You fail because any real criminal would have killed you both by now. It was a mistake to think I could teach you. These lessons are over.
Please don t say that. You re a wonderful teacher, I pleaded. Upon Merinda s whining, Jasper had agreed to teach us some tricks of his trade, and I didn t want the lessons to be over before they got going.
He shook his head, sighing. I never in a million years expected to provide pro bono training for Merinda Herringford and Jem Watts, lady detectives.
I passed Merinda the ivory-handled pistol. Jasper, I wish we could use a fake gun. This one worries me.
There are no bullets in it, Jem.
But what if ?
He took the pistol, unlatched the cylinder, and shook it demonstratively. See
Merinda and I gasped as a bullet fell from the overturned weapon to the floor.
Oh Merinda, I could have shot you. Or you, Jasper. I teetered a little, the weight of what might have been hitting me full force. Jasper caught me tightly around the waist. When I looked up at him, my world was still turning.
Easy, Jem, he coaxed, his face all concern. Nothing happened.
I shrugged off the dizziness and slowly straightened. Guns made me woozy.
You have to stop fainting, Jem, said Merinda. I won t be able to carry your slumped figure while darting after a perpetrator.
It s not Jem s fault she keeps fainting. Jasper looked at me kindly. Normal people have natural responses to dangerous situations. They don t dart after them. He winked at Merinda. It s not decent.
I don t give a hang for decency and I never did! She pulled a pocket watch from her vest. Come, Jem! Back to King Street! You know we have an appointment.

The days were dawning early and cutting off shorter as November sank into December. Night and a swift sparkle of snow fell outside the broad window of our flat. For it was indeed ours : Merinda s and mine. No husbands, no parents. Just two bachelor girls on the wrong side of twenty, our comings and goings noted only by Mrs. Malone.
That kindly old housekeeper had chosen the most inopportune time to visit her sister. We possessed little talent for housekeeping, having been so long dependent on our dear Mrs. Malone, and our flat was in disarray. Stockings, garters, and a lace chemise or two dangled from a string Merinda had tied from over the top of the hearth to the French doors bordering our parlor. Our delicates and dainties were on display for everyone to see. A line of negligees. My best corset!
Merinda, can t we send the washing out until Mrs. Malone gets back? With our client s arrival imminent, I whisked the underthings from the line and into a basket crooked in my arm.
I wasn t fast enough. The bell rang, and I opened the door to greet a well-dressed lady adorned in a dark blue day suit and a feathered hat. She raised an eyebrow at the basket of lingerie. I blushed, hurrying to the kitchen to make tea while Merinda greeted our client and showed her into the sitting room.
I was still assembling the plate of biscuits when I heard an emphatic No! Quickly gathering up the tea service, I returned to the sitting room and began pouring out three cups.
No? The woman recoiled at Merinda s vehement denial. But I can pay! I m told that most of the work you do for immigrant women is done out of the goodness of your hearts: I am a paying client. The well-dressed lady settled on our doily-ornamented settee, gingerly sipping the hot black tea I supplied her.
Yes, you can pay. Merinda sounded bored. But my mind cannot handle your case.
I smirked: Too complex, Merinda?
It s a cat, Jem, she hissed at me.
Not just any cat, the woman said. Pepper!
Merinda made a sound I cannot emulate in prose. She stretched her legs and narrowed her eyes. No. No cats! I don t even like cats!
Ms. Herringford, please. Please. My husband is Clinton Walters. I will pay you whatever you wish.
I took in a hiss of air. Clinton Walters was a shipping magnate-one of Toronto s most prosperous citizens. But Merinda seemed unimpressed by the name. You ll pay for a mangy cat?
Merinda. I leaned forward in the armchair opposite the hearth and spoke carefully. We could use the money. I opened my blue eyes wide and bored them into her, willing her to understand what I hesitated to say aloud: Our accounts were close to empty.
Oh, cracker jacks. Very well! We ll find your wretched cat!
Brava! Mrs. Walters clapped her gloved hands and reached into her pocketbook. Consider this an advance for your services, Ms. Herringford. She unscrewed the cap from a heavy pen and wrote out a check for a generous sum, finishing with a bold flourish on her signature.
Merinda, mumbling something about needles in haystacks, wasn t paying attention to the check held out to her. I rose instead and accepted it politely.
Thank you, Mrs. Walters, said Merinda. I ll let you know when we find Peepers.
Pepper, I said quickly.
I am much obliged to you. Here. Mrs. Walters lifted a locket on a long chain from underneath her high collar and opened its delicate clasp. Inside was a portrait of an ebony cat with one ear. This will help you recognize Pepper.
Merinda didn t even turn as Mrs. Walters rose and I walked her to the door, ducking under our laundry line. Jem, take her particulars! Merinda bellowed.
Is she always like this? asked Mrs. Walters in a low tone.
You re lucky to find her in such a pleasant mood, I said.
I returned to the sitting room, waving the check. This is quite a tidy sum, Merinda. And how hard can it be to find a cat?
Merinda had rather brilliant cat eyes herself, and they were eyeing me skeptically. Jem, this is a big city. Lots of black cats. We oug