The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Vicki Delany

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      Ray would look after Angus, I could count on that, but who would look after Ray? I took a deep breath.

      “Tell me about Irene Davidson?”

      “What?”

      “Irene Davidson. The dancer. She’s your most popular entertainer, I understand.”

      I stopped walking. The dog also stopped. “Why are you asking about Irene?”

      “I’ve been told she was involved with Ireland.” “Well, yes. But that was nothing. One night. Heavens, this is Dawson.”

      “There are marriages in Dawson that don’t last much longer.”

      I chuckled, assuming he had made a joke. He hadn’t. “Miss Davidson left Friday night with Jack Ireland. She came to work on Saturday bruised and sore. I’ve been told that on the Saturday night before his death, Ireland was physically abusive to her in the dance hall of the Savoy, and that you intervened and banned Ireland from your place. Is all of that correct?”

      “Well, yes. He’d roughed Irene up. But I can assure you that women don’t murder a man for hitting them. Although we’d be safer if they did.”

      “I will ignore that comment, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

      “Ignore it if you want. I don’t know why you’re telling me what I already know.”

      “I’m hoping you can remember something you mightn’t have mentioned. Something about the behaviour of Miss Davidson or Mr. Ireland Saturday night.”

      “I noticed that Mr. Ireland behaved like the common boor he was. And I noticed that Irene was frightened and upset and happy to see the back of him.”

      “Did you see Miss Davidson leave the Savoy after closing on Saturday?”

      The traffic of the streets swirled around us. Most passers-by were paying a good deal more attention to us than they should. Black clouds, pregnant with rain, hung over the hills on the far side of the Yukon River. A mosquito buzzed around my ear and I swiped at it. Of all the hardships in the Yukon, the bugs have got to be the worst. They made one almost long for winter.

      I hadn’t seen Irene leave. I thought Ruby had taken care of her; I hadn’t asked. “Well, no. I’m sure Ruby saw her back to her lodgings.”

      “That would be Ruby Weller, a dancer at the Savoy?”

      “Yes.”

      “Miss Weller claims that Miss Davidson insisted she was able to manage by herself, so Miss Weller left her in your office.”

      “Miss Davidson had gone when I locked up. I always check my office last.”

      “Are you sure she wasn’t there? Perhaps you just didn’t see her.”

      “What are you getting at, Inspector? I’ve told you what I saw that night. And it isn’t a night I will easily forget.”

      “No one seems to be able to confirm Miss Davidson’s movements after the doctor and Miss Weller left her.”

      “It was late. It was a Sunday morning. She went home.”

      “Her landlady had a toothache. She couldn’t sleep, so she sat up all night in the kitchen, which I can verify has an excellent view of the front door. Apparently Miss Davidson didn’t return to her lodgings at least before the landlady left in the morning to seek relief.”

      “Unfortunately, Inspector, as we have both pointed out, this is Dawson. Unmarried women sometimes have admirers, and they might behave inappropriately, as much as you or I might be shocked by such goings on.”

      He took a sharp breath. “Don’t play me for a fool, Mrs. MacGillivray.” The dog whined at the change in tone.

      “I am doing nothing of the sort, Inspector. I am telling you that nothing you’ve told me this morning has any influence on my interpretation of the events of last Saturday night.” The dog cocked one half-missing ear at me. “But I will tell you that I have, unfortunately, seen too many women beaten and abused by men they thought were their protectors. And not one of them has taken the law into her own hands.” Well, not after the first occurrence anyway. “And that’s all I’m prepared to say to you on the matter.” I lifted my skirts and swept past him.

      “You’ll talk to me when the law demands it of you, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

      I turned around and faced him, so angry I was almost shaking. “I suggest you feed that dog. For some reason he seems fond of you.”

      I meant what I’d said, and not about the dog, either. Women didn’t kill their abusers after one attack. I would swear that Irene had nothing to do with Ireland’s death. But what if she were accused? Would I turn Graham over to the police to save Irene?

      I would have to. What a mess. At least McKnight hadn’t accused me of having anything to do with it. From his point of view, I might be considered to have a motive. Ireland had been heard by the entire bar to threaten me. But McKnight earlier acknowledged that I wouldn’t endanger my business by killing someone on the premises and leaving the dead body there to be found. Hadn’t he?

      Indeed he had. My head hurt, and here I’d started the day in such good humour. I decided I would simply not think about it again. Everything would settle down. The Mounties would never find out who killed Jack Ireland—they were certainly not under any pressure from the townspeople to solve the case—I could ignore my moral dilemma, and life would soon return to normal.

      Whatever passed as normal in Dawson, Yukon Territory. A filthy old drunk leered in my face, groping for my breast. “Let’s have a squeeze, sweetie.” He smelled of cheap whisky, cheaper cigars, rotten teeth and unwashed clothes.

      I stiff-armed him off the boardwalk without breaking my stride.

      Chapter Forty-One

      I walked into Helen’s scullery to find Ray with his hands firmly planted on either side of Betsy’s ample rear end. Her dress was gathered up around her hips, giving me a much better view of her drawers, now sliding to the floor, and the wide expanse of her white bottom, than I wanted.

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

      Betsy shrieked and fell over trying to free her nether regions from Ray’s grip, pull down her dress, and pull up her drawers. She hit the floor with a loud thud and lay there, looking up at me. I was comforted by the sheer terror in her eyes.

      Ray fumbled to do up the buttons of his trousers. “This isn’t what you think, Fee.”

      “Betsy, wait for me outside my office. I will determine what wages you are owed.”

      “Please, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

      “Tidy your hair and return your clothes to some semblance of decency. I don’t want the clientele wondering what sort of establishment I run here.”

      She struggled to her feet, pushed hair back into its pins, straightened her dress, burst into tears and fled.

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