A Singular and Whimsical Problem
Read A Singular and Whimsical Problem Online
Authors: Rachel McMillan
H
ERRINGFORD AND
W
ATTS
M
YSTERIES
The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder
Of Dubious and Questionable Memory (2016)
(ebook-only novella)
A Lesson in Love and Murder (2016)
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 meansâelectronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any otherâwithout 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
The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder
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
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 ifâ¦?”
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.
