A Match Made for Murder by Iona Whishaw (top 10 best books of all time txt) 📗

the investigation, and the embarrassing “Thank God!” that had flown unbidden from his lips when he’d seen Tina evidently in one piece in front of the fire at the Bertollis’ cabin, Ames had made the trek up the lake to the garage.

Mr. Van Eyck had brightened at the sight of him pulling up in front of the now pristine bay doors gleaming in the snowy morning, but Tina had looked decidedly unwelcoming and had thanked him coolly for taking the trouble of coming out. And that was that, he thought. He could not shake his feeling that this failure was harder than the others.

He was about to put his feet on his desk to try to return himself to a state of nonchalance when his phone rang.

“Someone here to see you, Sarge. A Miss Van Eyck. Shall I send her up?”

Lane had been invited by Angela to come for coffee, so she stopped by the post office on her way. Eleanor Armstrong handed her an airmail letter.

“From the United States,” she said, intrigued.

Lane peered at it. There was no return address. Just a name: Priscilla Barr. It took only a moment. Priscilla. Using her maiden name. “Thank you,” she said, using it to wave. She could hear someone coming up the steps. It was Mabel Hughes. “Lovely buns, Mabel. I’ll be along soon for my baking lesson.”

When she was back on the road, she took a deep breath and opened the letter. It was brief.

My dear Mrs. Darling,

I write only to let you know that I have arrived safely and am where I cannot easily be found by Paul, were he at liberty to look. I had thought I would have to delay going to England to see my son because it would be the first thing Paul would think of. I think I may safely go now. I have not seen my son for three years. I doubt he will even know me. I want to thank you for your kindness to me. I can never repay it. I happened to see a small article in the Tribune on a back page and was gratified to learn that the roll of film I gave you proved useful. I do hope the honeymoon picture I took is as lovely as it looked in the viewfinder.

I remain yours faithfully,Priscilla Barr

She’d had a lovely walk through the snow, her spirits elevated by Priscilla’s letter. She’d been planning to go by the road but had opted instead to take the path that cut diagonally through the meadow, which in the summer was full of wildflowers and was now covered with a pristine layer of white. Lane had nearly given in to the desire to lie on the ground to watch the tiny flakes descend and drink in the absolute quiet of this winter day. But she knew Angela was waiting, and besides, her bullet-grazed ribs were still too sensitive for her to flop around in the snow.

They sat now in front of the fire, cups of coffee and a plate of raisin cookies before them.

“You have no idea what you missed, gallivanting off to Arizona like that! I had a murderer right here in this very living room! Robin Harris held her at the end of his rifle till the police got here. It was too awful!” Angela said with relish.

Lane laughed. “Robin must have been in heaven. I’ve always suspected he wants nothing more than to hold someone at gunpoint. He must have felt the murderer justified his worldview.”

“Robin was absolutely furious because he was bouncing away down the hill trying to get home from the upper orchard when that car came around the corner at speed going the wrong way and smashed into him. The front of his tractor is stove in, and he’s going to have to get a new one.”

“Poor Robin. Does he have enough money for that sort of thing?”

“He’s an absolute miser! I’m sure he has thousands stashed away somewhere. Those two policemen, Sergeant Ames and Constable Terrell, were brilliant. I can’t believe you were lounging around a swimming pool in a swanky hotel and missed it all!”

“I can’t either,” Lane said, smiling. She wondered whether raisin cookies would be hard to make.

“I felt a little sorry for Sergeant Ames. I know he brought that Van Eyck girl to your wedding and he looked quite soft on her, and of course, he was so obviously relieved she was okay after her ordeal, but she seemed to want nothing to do with him!”

“You’ll never guess what happened at the station today,” Darling said, after tossing his hat on a coat hook in the hallway and throwing himself gratefully in front of the fire burning brightly in the Franklin.

“I cannot,” said Lane, handing him a scotch.

“Tina Van Eyck came to visit Ames.”

“With a view to beating him about the head? Angela said she was very cool toward him when they arrested that woman who killed her husband.”

“No. With a view to bringing him some flowers. There. I’ve astounded you.”

“You have, indeed! Well, well, well, Amesy. Cheers!”

Acknowledgements

I’ve always been a slave to the magic of books. Open a book and fan through the pages, and you are airing what is still one of the miracles of our human inventiveness. I still can’t believe I get to write them.

No one creates one of these small miracles alone. Thank you to my faithful first readers, who give me vital feedback about whether anyone is going to like the book: Sasha Bley-Vroman, Nickie Bertolotti, Gerald Miller. And with this book, I am delighted to have had the help of old school chum David Nix. He was critical in helping with important historical and geographical details about the Tucson setting. I am very grateful to a retired (and very modest) Tucson lawman for details about the early Tucson Police and the long-vanished Tucson police station, to my doctor friend Dr. Jeff Fine, who gives invaluable help with