Of Dubious and Questionable Memory by Rachel McMillan Page A

into which we had unintentionally fallen. Toronto’s Morality Squad had wanted to lock up the notorious trouser-wearing, bowler-hat-sporting lady detectives for an age. Catching us just as we were arriving at Chief Tipton’s home was a coup for them. Would they ever let us out again?
    Now, cloistered in our frigid cell with a cracked window that did little to keep out the autumn air, I had dwindling tolerance for Merinda and her insufferably good mood.
    â€œWhy is it that whenever we are hired by a man, it’s for some problem including fowl?” Merinda flopped back on the hard slat of a bed and folded her arms behind her head. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a trial trying to establish Toronto’s premiere consulting detective business when we’re dashing after roosters.”
    â€œBut we weren’t hired. We just got a note,” I said sourly.
    â€œI should have smelled a rat the moment I saw that message.” Merinda did her best to fluff the hard pillow on her wooden slat of a bed. “Tipton clearly wanted the Morality Squad to lure us into this exact situation!”
    Time ticked onward. A loud knock at the door came not from Jasper as I had hoped, but rather the matron. She announced where supper would be served.
    Merinda and I opted against the meal. Neither of us hungry, we stayed in our room. I tried to sleep, but every tick and creak in the vacuous hall outside kept me on edge.
    â€œCracker jacks! It’s Jasper’s birthday party tomorrow.” Merinda sat up in her bed at the memory. “Well, he’d better spring us out of here by then if he wants his party. I already sent out all the invitations.”
    â€œMy poor jam.” I sighed. “I was so hoping to impress Mrs. Malone and prove I had finally ascended to the ranks of capable domesticity.” Merinda’s housekeeper despaired of my ability to keep myself fed.
    â€œOh hush, Jemima. Just buy jam at the market like the rest of civilization.”
    In the shaft of light through the bars, I watched her blow a truant blond curl from her forehead. Her mind was clearly no longer on the party. “Our pursuit of the rooster was sound. I mean, suppose I was acting a little, erm, rashly… but there is a logical explanation for… ”
    â€œShush, Merinda!” Dirty water dripped through the cracked ceiling to drum on my forehead. “I’m too tired and too upset for us to fall down this rabbit hole of your silly hypotheses again.”
    Finally, after hours of darkness and little hope of sleep, the gray light of morning stretched over my cramped shoulders. I swallowed the sour, chalky taste in my mouth as, blessedly, the door clamored open.
    The dowdy matron jangled her keys impatiently, and we hopped to our feet. A man stood beside her, dark circles rimming his eyes but his face washed with relief.
    â€œShe give you any trouble?” he asked the matron while glowering at Merinda.
    â€œNo more than to be expected from a girl like her.”
    Merinda opened her mouth to defend herself, but I grabbed her wrist to stop her. If she blabbered on we might never get home.
    The matron handed over the bag containing our soiled belongings, and I was relieved to find my ring tucked into the pocket of my trousers. We changed back into our men’s clothing, the mud from the day before caked and dusty.
    Walking across the broad lawn, Jasper inspected both of us. His eyes took in every part of Merinda, from her dirty tweed right down to her scuffed ankle boots. His eyes glimmered. “That was too close, girls.”
    â€œI look this way because I was holed up in St. Jerome’s all night. What’s your excuse?” Merinda quipped, clearly uncomfortable under his careful eye.
    I shot her a look. “You must have been worried sick, Jasper.”
    â€œI just got promoted, Merinda. Chief Tipton! Chief Tipton’s house ! I spent most of the night cutting through bureaucratic