By Maureen Jennings
The kidnapping of a tender girl in 1858 leads to Toronto thirty-eight years later — in murder.
In 1858, a tender girl on her honeymoon is forcibly kidnapped and brought around the border from Canada and bought into slavery. Thirty-eight years later, Detective Murdoch is operating on a homicide case that would take all of his resourcefulness to unravel. the landlord of 1 of Toronto's livery stables has been chanced on lifeless. He has been horsewhipped and left placing from his wrists in his tack room, and his spouse claims significant amount of cash has been stolen. Then a moment guy can be murdered, his physique surprisingly tied as though he have been a rebellious slave. Murdoch has to determine no matter if Toronto's small "coloured" group has a vicious assassin in its midst — an research that places his personal existence at risk.
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Extra resources for A Journeyman to Grief (Detective Murdoch Series, Book 7)
The young woman, whom I recognized as Meredith’s niece Quinn, screamed—the sound matching the shriek that I believed had come from Sylvie. I breathed a sigh of relief that Matthew and Sylvie weren’t exchanging blows, though I shivered at the sight of the students. What were they thinking, being out in the cold in such skimpy outfits? Rain-wet red hair clung to Quinn’s pretty face as she dashed toward the tallest of the young men. “I’m going to kill you, Harker,” she yelled, raising her second balloon.
Perhaps a week away with him would spur me to abandon the other more mundane ones. I mouthed the word yes at Jordan, but he wasn’t looking my direction. He was assessing Freddy. ” Jordan asked with an obvious edge to his voice that made me smile. He was a teensy bit jealous. Hooray for me. “Used to be,” Freddy answered. “Used to—” I gaped at his empty ring finger. Meredith hadn’t told me anything was wrong between Freddy and his wife. “She left me for a nine-to-fiver with a big paycheck,” Freddy said.
That’s what’s great about art,” Freddy replied. ” As the students eyed the cheese selections, Quinn skirted around the counter. She drummed my forearm with her fingertips, and whispered, “Sorry you had to see us, you know, goofing around. ” “Not to worry,” I whispered. ” In college, a group of us had decided hitchhiking to the big football game was a safe venture. Along the way, everyone backed out except for me, who stupidly showed her mettle by getting into a car with four men. Luckily, they were all businessmen with young daughters, each of whom lectured me about the dangers of the road.