Free The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder by Rachel McMillan Page A

exactly what to do.”
    Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Malone escorted Tippy out and Merinda paced again before throwing herself in her chair in front of the fire, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I think we have finally been hired to solve the Corktown Murders!” she said elatedly. “And it’s about time.”
    â€œIs that what you’ve been hoping for?” Jem asked. “I still don’t think we’re experienced enough for that case.”
    Merinda wasn’t listening. “When you have eliminated the impossible,” she said, chewing her lip, “whatever is left, however improbable… ”
    â€œMust be the truth.”

    * Ray’s poetry was terrible. A strange hybrid of Wordsworth and Tennyson that went on at length about nature.
    â€  The Hogtown Herald was skeletally staffed. Skip was a bit of a genius jack-of-all-trades who picked things up rather quickly. Since Ray had met him he had easily been able to work his way around a press as well as take and process all of their photographs. When Ray asked, impressed, where he had picked up so many skills, Skip always replied, “Oh, here and there” with a shrug.
    ** If non-paying investigations could be called business.

CHAPTER SIX

    One cannot expect that everything will be tied up in a neat knot. Life’s greater mysteries and the turn of fortune’s wheel work outside the realm of human ability. Try to succeed, but allow yourself moments of weakness. Focus on the art of acceptance when it doesn’t all come together in the way you had planned.
    Guide to the Criminal and Commonplace, M.C. Wheaton
    D eLuca!” McCormick was a bass drum as he entered the office. The rotund, owl-faced editor threw his coat on his desk, his face stormy.
    Ray reclined in his chair, chewing the end of his pencil. “Sir?”
    â€œThe state of the Hog !”
    Was it a question or a statement? “The state of the Hog … is good?”
    â€œThat’s the answer I pay you for?”
    â€œThat and my penny-dreadful rehashing of popular events.”
    â€œI’m tired of this Corktown Murder story. We need something like the Don Jail piece. If we don’t get it, the Hog goes under. As soon as you blink you’ll be back where I found you—hunched over, two years away from rheumatoid arthritis, digging railway tunnels near the Roundhouse.”
    Ray was unfazed. “The Corktown Murders are important. And as of yet unsolved. Montague’s theatre. Montague’s maid.”
    â€œPeople have forgotten those stories, man. The Hog is the only paper still splashing them about.” McCormick barreled forward.“We’re becoming a laughingstock. Believe it or not, I still strive toward respectability.”
    â€œI know. And that’s why it’s important we continue to follow the story. It sets us apart.”
    â€œ Too far apart. People think we’re crazy. Still chasing after threads. You never lay off Montague. And people are complaining.”
    Ray leaned forward with interest. “Who is complaining?”
    â€œChief Tipton, for one. He has asked me to desist. As has the Toronto Council. They have threatened to shut us down.”
    Ray blinked. Then blinked again. “For speculating? For reminding people of the little evidence we have on these unsolved murders?”
    â€œIt’s giving Montague a bad name, this ‘speculation,’ as you call it. It’s hitting too close to home, I wager, and he has powerful allies. Do you want to come in here one morning and find our printing presses at the bottom of Lake Ontario?”
    â€œOf course not.” Ray ran a hand through his hair. “But we’ve invested a lot in this story.”
    â€œAnd Montague has invested a lot in his Morality Squad,” said McCormick. “Lay off the women’s thing.”
    â€œThe women’s thing ?” Ray was incredulous. “These families never