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

his life and he killed her in a moment of passion. But Grace saw it all, so he had to dispose of her too.”
    Jem laughed. “It’s not like you to see the world so romantically.”
    â€œLet’s find this fiend Forbes in his natural habitat, skulking around the Ward.”
    â€œForbes?”
    â€œDon’t you remember?” Merinda asked. “Brigid told us about him. He’s on the Morality Squad, and she said he brought one of those mysterious anonymous letters.”
    â€œAh, yes,” Jem said, reaching for another roll. “All right, first thing tomorrow.”
    â€œFirst thing tomorrow? Now, Jem, now! He probably frequents the Lion or one of those places on Elizabeth Street.”
    â€œWe can’t go there at night.”
    â€œThe Corktown Murders aren’t going to solve themselves.”
    â€œNo. They will be solved by the police. By real detectives.”
    â€œDetectives like us!” Merinda clapped her hands. “To the trunk!”
    Half an hour later, leaves danced around their heels in the street and the harvest moon allowed them to see as clearly as they might in daylight. Merinda, dressed in a too-large coat and trousers, rapped her walking stick against the pavement and whistled. Jem, also dressed as a man, shivered and looked about her, on edge.
    The stench of sewage and whiskey mingled in the gutter beside them. Rats scurried for the shadows as Merinda and Jem sidestepped a mound of potato peels and rotting meat scraps from the butcher’s. Through a distant window came the sound of a baby wailing, and they snuck past a patrol cop, tapping his stick on the ground and walking in time with the beat.
    The constable changed direction and headed toward them. Intimidated by the revealing light of the streetlamp, Jem and Merinda ducked behind a low wall and waited.
    From her vantage point, Jem took in St. John’s Ward. Brickstructures and wooden shacks hugged each other, slanting toward the lake to the south. The north side was home to a few haberdasheries, a Jewish butcher’s shop, and a grim tavern serving up watered whiskey and beer that had sat too long in oaken casks. The Lion.
    The constable passed, and Merinda and Jem began walking again.
    Merinda strolled, bold as brass, right to the front of the tavern. For her part, Jem gulped cold air and willed her stomach to desist its sudden flip-flops.
    Merinda adjusted her bowler. “Ready?”
    Jem shook her head. “No.” But she’d never be ready, so she followed Merinda anyway.
    â€œDon’t say anything . If we’re made out, we’ll say we got lost on the way to a society meeting.”
    â€œSociety of what?”
    â€œWould you rather admit we’re searching for the Corktown Murderer and Montague’s thugs?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI thought not.”
    They went inside and had gotten no further than the doorway when a curtain of cheap tobacco rose over them. A few patrons glanced at them briefly as they arrived, but soon Merinda and Jem were invisible in the crowd. The clang of a tuneless piano gave a dissonant contrast to the raucous noise in the place. Sucked in, they meandered to the bar, Jem keeping tight on Merinda’s heels.
    It wasn’t long before the name “Forbes” reached their ears, and they quickly located the man to whom it belonged. Forbes stood a foot taller than the men encircling him. He was giving instructions of a sort, and Jem and Merinda shifted along the sticky bar to better hear the conversation. He was promising the men money and decent work.
    Merinda lowered her mouth to Jem’s ear. “So that’s Montague’s Morality Squad.”
    â€œMayor Montague is this close to winning the election and getting a second term,” Forbes said. “Which would benefit us all, gents. The people want someone who puts ideas into action.” He explained,poorly, Montague’s dedication to returning