Notes: This is from Ruby Ogden's point of view. This installment inspired by the episode, The Kissing Bandit (season 4, episode 12), and takes place one year prior, in June 1897 at the Woodbine race course/Ontario Jockey Club, along the shores of Lake Ontario in eastern Toronto.

I plunged into Sam's lap and let him pull me close for a long kiss. "A kiss for luck?" I purred.

"I don't need luck. I've got strategy." He boasted.

I kept my tone playful, teasing, "Oh I don't know, seven is a lucky number and this would make it the seventh year in a row Seagram would win the Queen's Plate."

"Don't say it Ruby," he answered sharply, "I may not need good luck, but I don't want any jinxes either."

I tolerated Sam Todd well enough; he was like most of the men I'd known. He was a decent kisser, but was too quick in bed. He claimed to believe in hard work, but cut corners. He projected a wholesome, family man image, but was happy to indulge with a pretty young thing on the side. I'd been his pretty young thing for a few weeks and spending time in his bed, in the hopes of getting proof of how he cut corners at his job. I'd been to Chicago, New Jersey, and New York on the trail of race horse doping. The trail had lead me here, to Mr. Samuel Todd, manager of Seagram Stables, and soon to be the winner of the most exclusive thoroughbred race in Canada. Today, I would get the information I needed to finally go public.

I leaned back, against edge of the desk in the tournament office. I couldn't forget the racetrack and stables were right down the hall - the smell of horse, and all that involved, hung in the air.

I pouted prettily and stroked his ego, "You're right Sam. This is your business and you're best there is."

I leaned in to stroke something else, when a knock sounded on the door. "Mr. Todd, might I have a word with you?"

Sam barked, "No, I'm busy." He kept his eyes glued to my hand moving up his trousers

The door burst open, "I'm Paddy Glynn, from the Toronto Gazette. I'd like to ask you some questions about the race." My hand dropped as fast as my confidence. What on earth was HE doing here? Paddy Glynn was notorious for his pushy reporting. His writing was scandalous tripe and he would stop at nothing for a juicy story. Was he investigating the Ontario Jockey Club too? I nearly drowned in panic, but my pride rescued me. I needed to do some quick thinking.

I slid out of Sam's lap demurely and backed away. Sam walked forward to confront the nosy reporter. "Reporters aren't allowed in here. If you don't leave immediately, I'll press charges for trespassing. Go back to the stands." Sam ordered.

Paddy was about to retort when his gaze fell on me. His mouth dropped open, twisted in puzzlement, then his eyes opened wide, as recognition hit him. It was as if I'd made a crude joke and he'd just caught the punch line. He touched his hat and left, quick as a hungry child scampering away with a stolen pie, fresh off a window sill.

Why had he retreated so easily? The report must have something in mind, but what? Then, I pulled my focus back to Sam and the task at hand. I refused to let Paddy Glynn distract me.

"I need to freshen up. Shall I meet you in your box?" I asked. I removed my hat and started to adjust my hair.. I knew very well Sam would not want me on display in public. It was one thing to have a mistress, and quite another to flaunt her in front of hundreds of race fans.

"Sorry, my sweet. I'll have to meet you at the club dining room for dinner." He replied and pinched my bottom on the way out.

I continued to pat my coiffure until he closed the door. Then, I started riffling through his desk. It didn't take long for me to find his correspondence with Doc Ring, including instructions for injecting the horses. But it wasn't enough. I wanted a sample of the dope, for proof.

Presently, a familiar Newfoundland accent asked from just outside, "Excuse me, I'll looking for a Mr. Samuel Todd, the manager." I cursed silently. This racetrack was attracting investigators like flies to a horse's rump.

I heard the accented voice again, "Toronto Constabulary. I need to speak with Mr. Todd."

I could either stay here and try to hide, or confront this new interference head on. My sister, Julia, often chided me for my impulsivity, but I needed to act. I made my choice and regretted it the instant I stepped out the door.

Sam had just come down the steps and was glowering at the constable whose back was to me. Damn, I should have stayed in the office.

"I'm Samuel Todd. Who's asking?"

From behind, I heard the courteous introduction. "Constable Crabtree, of the Toronto Constabulary. I need to ask you some questions, Mr. Todd. Could you please tell me your whereabouts on the night before last?"

Sam frowned, but I smiled. I could imagine the calculations running through his mind. I knew he'd try to avoid explaining what he had been doing, and with whom, for that period of time.

He settled on evasion. "You'll have to excuse me, Constable. I don't have time right now." Sam said proudly.

Crabtree became more stern, zeroing in, like a bird of prey, "I can either take your statement here and now or down at the station later." I stayed still and quiet, hoping that the hawk would stay focused on the prey before him and not the little mouse peeking out of her hole.

Sam didn't back down. "I don't think you understand lad. I'm Samuel Todd, manager of Seagram Stables. Surely Inspector Davis has explained things to you."

Crabtree dropped his hawkishness and moved into cheeky politeness, "Ah well, I'm afraid I don't report to Inspector Davis. You see, I'm at Station House No 4, under Inspector Brackenreid. The crime in question took place in our precinct." Crabtree eagerly produced his pencil and notepad.

This conversation had taken a turn towards a topic I did NOT want in the open. Not yet. Not until I got all the evidence I needed. I sighed inwardly, so much for playing the mouse.

I stepped forward so both men could see me. Crabtree looked up from his notepad. He asked, "Ruby Ogden?" Recognition hit him like man who'd asked for a glass of water, but had been given a shot of gin instead.

I sighed dramatically, "Hello, Constable Crabtree."

Sam turned to me, suspicious, "What's going on here?"

Again, I had to think fast. I would not have Crabtree ruining my investigation. I pushed aside my initial fear that the constabulary would ask questions about horse doping. It wasn't illegal. A crime must have occurred two days ago and Sam was a suspect. Whatever the concern, it would have to wait. I resolved not to let Crabtree's blundering spoil my work, or blow my cover.

I offered, "George and I used to know each other socially. It was just a bit of fun, when we were younger." I winked at Crabtree and prayed that he wasn't at naive as he looked.

Crabtree just looked at me, blinking.

Sam puffed himself up and took advantage of Crabtree's silence, "As I said, I can't talk right now. The race is about the start. Perhaps later." Sam had swallowed my story, but would Crabtree play along? Sam left the room, pushing past the constable.

Crabtree opened his mouth to protest and I pressed my hands together in prayer. I shot him a warning grimace, as if he was about to drop a sleeping baby.

The constable cocked his head to one side. He'd understood my plea, but wasn't sure how to act on it. No surprise there; constables were about as subtle as a hammer. I'd have to make my meaning obvious.

I sauntered forward, taking extra care to swish my hips, following Sam. I turned back to Crabtree, "Mr. Todd is a very important man and this is a very important event, Constable. Why don't you just come back later, after the race?" I blew him a kiss and winked. If anyone was watching me, I intended them to think me a flirtatious hussy, not a dogged journalist.

Crabtree muttered, "I'll … ah, later then…" Thankfully, the hawk had swallowed the bait from the mouse.

I moved down the hall, to the lobby that led to the racetrack. The crowd had mostly filtered out of the area and had moved into the stands to watch the race. The sound of excited conversation mixed with the creaking of wooden rafters. Sam was nowhere in sight. Now would be the best time to make my search for the dope.

As soon as I slipped into the stables, Paddy Glynn intercepted me. His obnoxious presence hit me as hard as the stench of manure.

He crooned, "Ruby Ogden, it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I must compliment you on the fine piece you wrote on Harry Houdini. Really, it was fascinating reading." He dripped charm, like a wolf drooling over a hen house.

I abandoned the facade of a empty-headed strumpet. "What do you want, Mr. Glynn?" I whispered sternly.

He answered, his voice equally low, "Miss Ogden, I imagine we're after the same thing. A scoop."

I scowled at him, "You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." I pushed past him and began searching stables.

As I moved down the stalls, I caught sight of two grooms, but they were far away, leaning out the front gate and focused on the track. I stepped across the hay scattered on the floor and began looking about. I passed by the tack room and the grooming area into the the workroom reserved for the horse surgeons. I was focused, like a smoker searching for his first cigarette of the day.

I heard the bugle calling the horses to the starting line and knew I didn't have much time.

Paddy Glynn sidled up to me. "Miss Ogden, the underbelly of the Ontario Jockey Club is my beat. I'd made it clear to the reporters in town that this is my story to publish." He leaned against a wooden post, coolly watching me open and closing cupboards.

Without pausing my search, I answered proudly, "Mr. Glynn, I started my investigation months ago at the Winter Tracks in New Jersey. I've worked too long to let some dandy such as yourself steal my story and take all the credit. I welcome your interest in the Jockey Club as much as a goat would desire the attention of a python." I shifted to look through some crates lining the walls.

The bell for the start sounded and the noise of the crowd roiled and overflowed. Last year the race had been won in two minutes and nineteen seconds. My pulse beat faster; I had to be quick.

He stepped closer, "Call me Paddy. Perhaps we can help each other? Share the credit?"

I glanced up into the bright hazel eyes behind his round spectacles. Something in his face had changed. He was no longer the hungry wolf and now looked more like a faithful golden retriever. Something inside me, a combination of desperation and intuition, told me to trust him. And to Hell with it, I was due for a bit of luck.

"Fine." I agreed returning my attention to my search. "I'm looking for a green glass vial, no larger than your hand. It should contain the dope that Seagram has been injecting into his thoroughbreds."

I heard him move off to another stall, rummaging around.

The cheering came to a crescendo as the horses crossed the finish line. The stable hands and jockeys would be back any second. There wasn't anymore time.

I hissed, "Paddy, we need to leave, now!" I dashed towards the side exit and pulled the door open.

Then, I heard him call out, "You mean these green glass vials? The ones with labels that say 'Doc Ring's patented prescription for equine stimulation?' There are about a dozen in here."

With no time to answer, I dashed out the side door to the yard and froze on the threshold. Several men were approaching, including one of Sam's trainers. I turned to look back inside and Paddy sprang up next to me.

An idea seized me and I acted on it. I shoved Paddy away and shouted, "Leave me alone you lecherous rat!" To my ears, I sounded more like a petulant child than an accosted woman, but it would have to do.

Then, I whispered sharply, "Kiss me, like you mean it."

Paddy looked into my eyes, understanding dawning, then he kissed me. He knew exactly what to do. One arm went around my waist and the other cupped the back of my head. He pulled me close and bent me back slightly. His lips were firm and demanding. I was caught in a delicious vice, like piece of flotsam being sucked into a maelstrom of desire. What a kiss!

My hand flew up and slapped him hard. He released me with a lascivious grin. If he was surprised at my reaction, he hid it very well. Yes, Paddy was playing his part a little too well.

I cried out in distress, "You horrible beast! How dare you!" Then, just loud enough for him to hear, I said, "Meet me at the city morgue."

I kicked him in the shin for good measure before running around the back of the stables, straight into Sam Todd. I turned back to see Paddy sprinting away. No doubt Sam saw him too.

Sam narrowed his eyes and studied me, "I think you and I should have a little talk- in private." He grabbed me by the arms. He was trying to frighten me; I told myself it wasn't working.

I dangled a weak distraction, "Did I hear correctly? Your Ferdinand won? Congratulations!"

He didn't bite, "What were you doing with that reporter? In the stables?" Sam glowered at me, and yanked me close. My thin muslin sleeves were no protection against his rough grip. "You wouldn't do anything stupid Ruby, would you?" He demanded.

I told myself again that he wasn't going to frighten me. I chanted this thought in my head, but his voice broke through, "because if you dare …"

"Mr Todd! I must ask you to unhand Miss Ogden." Crabtree's distinct lilt sang out loud and clear. Relief flooded me like a woman who had regretted sleeping with her beau and just gotten her monthlies.

"Thank you, Constable Crabtree," I sighed as Sam let me go. I straightened up, determined to show Sam that he hadn't bothered me. I beamed up at Crabtree.

Crabtree dropped his voice and said to me softly, "Is everything alright, Miss Ogden?"

My heart nearly melted at his kind tone. "Yes, I'm fine." I replied.

Sam huffed and turned to go, but Crabtree raised his voice again and commanded, "I believe you still need to answer my questions, Mr. Todd."

Sam froze but didn't turn around or face us.

Crabtree asked firmly, "Where were you the night before last, Mr. Todd? The race is over. Like I said before, we can talk here or down at the station."

Sam slowly turned back around and stared hard at Crabtree. "I was at the Jockey Club, with Ruby." His words reverberated with anger, but to me, it sounded like thunder threatening to knock down a house.

The constable turned to me, he raised his dark eyebrows, "Is that so?"

"I met Mr. Todd at the club, at 10 o'clock that night, yes. Before that he was in a meeting with eight other stable managers, colluding as to who would win which races this year. I can give you the names of all who were present if you like."

Sam's temper flared, "How could you? You are nothing but an emptied-headed floozy!"

I ignored Sam and turned back to my knight, if not in shining armor, then in a trim black uniform. I asked politely, "Constable, will you escort me to the station? I'd be happy to give you my full statement there."

In the carriage, I thanked Crabtree again. I offered to give him all the information I had on Mr. Todd's movements right then and there if he would drop me off at the city morgue. Apparently Sam was a suspect in a murder. I doubted that Sam would thank me for providing him with an alibi, considering it would also implicate him in a major racing scandal.

On the ride to the rendezvous, I told myself not to get my hopes up about Paddy. I was a realist. I knew that there was a good chance the reporter would slink off with the evidence I'd worked so long for and had taken so many risks to get my hands on.

When I saw Paddy leaning casually against the wall of the Toronto City Morgue, I stopped being realistic and behaved like a puppy who sees her master bring out a rubber ball.

I rushed out of the carriage and pounced on Paddy. "You have it? The vial from the stables?"

"Miss Ogden, how nice to see you again." He answered coyly and produced the precious green glass bottle from his pocket.

I whooped with joy and dragged him inside the building. "Please, we're partners now. You must call me Ruby."

Paddy asked, "So tell me, partner, how does this green bottle figure in with the race fixing? I know the major players in the Jockey Club have agreed to let Seagram win the Queen's Plate in exchange for letting them have other races, but what's that got to do with the races in New Jersey?"

His questions pulled my attention like a frog asking for kiss. It went against my nature to share my hard won information with him. However, he had kept good faith and met me with the smuggled evidence.

I took a deep breath and answered, "Yes, Seagram will do whatever it takes to keep the title of Queen's Plate to himself. They use injections to stimulate their horses at prearranged races. The other stables get their turns, but only at agreed races. The dope comes from Doc Ring in New Jersey. It won't be long now before horse races all over the world are tainted with dope." I had more information concerning Seagram's ties to Inspector Davis, but it was Paddy's turn to share what he knew. "What else have you learned?" I asked.

He understood, "Tit for tat, ehh?" He showed me that intense smile. I remembered how his mouth had fit so nicely on mine, how his arms had held me securely, and how his eyes sparked with interested every time he looked at me. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him without any pretenses.

He said, "I have information that Inspector Davis is being bribed by the Jockey Club to look the other way. None of the constables from Station House No. 5 will go anywhere near the Woodbine racetrack, not even to investigate unrelated, legitimate crimes."

I agreed, "Yes, there was that case last year at Woodbine when two men were killed by a crazed horse. The constabulary called it an accident, but I suspect it was an overstimulated animal with too much dope in his system. There was a similar case in Newmarket where a doped thoroughbred, after winning a race, dashed madly into a stone wall and killed itself."

Paddy let that sink in, then marvelled, "The animal was so high that it ran into a stone wall with enough power to kill itself..."

We walked inside. The morgue was well lit and quiet. The unique smells of rubbing alcohol and formaldehyde drifted in the air. My sister was looking at something under a microscope and looked up as we came inside.

"Hello, Ruby." She stood to greet me.

I exclaimed, "Jules, I have it! The doping sample that Seagram's been using on his thoroughbreds."

Her questioning look at the man on whose arm I was tugging, tempered my enthusiasm. I paused and made introductions, "Mr. Glynn, may I present my sister, Dr. Julia Ogden, the Toronto City Coroner." Then to Julia I explained, "Mr. Glynn is from the Gazette. We're working together."

Julia looked at me skeptically, "An independent journalist, like you? Working with someone else?" But she was smiling, so I dismissed her teasing.

I took the vial from Paddy and handed it to Julia. "Please, can you compare this to the other sample I gave you?" I asked her.

She answered, "You're lucky I don't have any pressing cases right now." Julia took the small bottle from my hand and crossed the room to a counter with some test tubes.

I followed closely, wanting to observe her analysis. I expected Paddy to join us, but he stayed at the door.

Julia unscrewed the lid and sniffed. "Light floral scent." Next, she put a drop on her finger and dabbed it on her lips. "Numbs the lips immediately," Then she tasted it, "A distinct carbonic bite …. hmmm." She close the cap and said, "I'll need to do some more tests to confirm this, but it appears highly likely that the contents are identical to the other sample you gave me - nitroglycerin, cocaine, carbolic acid, and rose water."

I grinned and embraced my sister, "Thank you so much, Jules! I could never have gotten this level of scientific information without you." I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

She smiled back and then shot a questioning glance at Paddy, "So Ruby, why are you really working with him?"

I shrugged, "Everyone could use a little help now and then..." I could see my answer didn't satisfy her so I added with a wink, "... or maybe he's the best kisser I've ever come across, and that's saying something."

I walked back to Paddy and took his arm, "Come. Let's go write an exposé."

As we exited the building, Paddy observed, "You're just full of kisses, aren't you Ruby?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Kissing is useful tool. Like gun powder, a little bit, targeted accurately, can be quite effective. A lot can be explosive. However you must be careful. Even a moderate amount, used imprudently, might get you into big trouble."

Paddy nodded, considering my words, or maybe he was just thinking about kissing.