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

one of the officers to get some water for Mrs. Holden? She’s very upset,” Lane said, looking toward where the Holdens were sitting with their backs to her. Holden had his arm around his wife, who was crying, judging by the convulsive bobbing of her body.

Sandler, who’d been about to sit down, went to the door and spoke quietly to one of the policemen keeping back the curious crowd.

He returned and opened his book. “Can you just tell me everything you can remember, Mrs. Darling?”

“I go by Lane Winslow,” Lane said, pointing at where the officer had written her name as Mrs. Darling.

“I will have to use your legal name, ma’am.”

Stifling a desire to suggest sweetly that perhaps her husband could give her version of the events for her, Lane said instead, “Of course. Lanette Evelyn Winslow Darling.” This was no time to stand on principle.

She wanted to recapture the exact moment she had woken to the sound of the two gunshots, in particular, how close they had sounded. “I was dozing by the pool when I heard two shots, very close together, and then a scream. I ran in the direction of the scream and found Mrs. Holden looking terrified and Mr. Renwick as you found him. I sent Mrs. Holden to get the hotel to phone you, and I felt for a pulse, but obviously it was pointless.” Lane stopped and waited for Sandler to catch up.

“You said you knew the victim?”

“Yes, my husband and I had dinner with Mr. Renwick and his wife yesterday evening. They are from Wisconsin.”

“You said two shots.”

“Yes. While I was waiting for the police to arrive, I tried to piece together where they originated. There’s a thick hedge between the pool and the street over there. It struck me how nearby the sound was, as if someone was firing from the pool area where I was lying. But there was no one by the pool, except an older woman who jumped up when I did. I think it’s possible they came from the street, through, or over, that hedge. I can show you what I mean.”

Sandler looked in the direction she was pointing, and then toward where Martinez was talking to Galloway.

“If it was from the street, might there be any sign of the shooter?” Lane suggested.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, ma’am. Can you wait here?”

Mrs. Holden, still sitting on the edge of the garden with her husband, had turned and was watching Lane, and when the officer had hurried over to Galloway, she got up, extracted her hand from that of her husband, and approached Lane.

“How long is this going to take? I can’t take this! I need to lie down. How long can they keep us here?”

Lane was sympathetic. It must have been horrific for Mrs. Holden to see a man killed right in front of her. “I don’t know, Mrs. Holden. I’ll ask the officer when he comes back if he can interview you and finish me up later. You must be in terrible shock.”

“You got no idea! I near died of the shock. I don’t know how you can stay so calm. Call me Meg, by the way. I’m still not used to Mrs. Holden.”

“I don’t feel calm inside, Meg, I assure you!” This was true enough. She could still feel her own anxious heartbeats. “This is my husband, Inspector Darling. He’s a police inspector in Canada, where we come from.” Lane could see that as they talked, Meg Holden seemed less distraught. She wondered if after the initial shock, some of her distress was a show of sorts for her husband.

“Oh,” she said. “Canada. I thought your accent was funny. Wait. Something’s happening.”

Meg and Lane looked over to the officers. Sandler was pointing toward the pool and Galloway, impatiently glancing toward Lane, nodded as if making a concession and dispatched two police officers to the pool area. Sandler started back toward them and then, seeing that Lane and Meg had been talking, moved quickly.

“You’re going to have to go and wait there, miss,” he said to Meg.

“Mrs. Holden was just asking me how long it would be. She’s very shaken up because she was right by him when he was shot. Could you possibly interview her now? I’m happy to wait,” Lane offered.

What Sandler might have offered in reply was forever lost because Ivy Renwick burst through the door and pushed past the police blockade, screaming.

“Jack! Jack! Oh my God . . . I knew he was crazy!”

Chapter Five

“How do you know your way around so well?” Ames asked, as they bumped off the ferry and sped north toward the Harrop turnoff. He’d have preferred snow to this icy, driving rain.

“When I first got here, I got out a map and drove the roads. One of the fellows showed me the extent of our outreach, so I thought I better get to know it. It’s a habit from doing reconnaissance in the army, I guess.”

Ames was silent for a moment. He had always been conscious of what he thought of as one significant difference between himself and his boss: Darling had been in combat, and he had not. He had tried to sign up in September of 1939 but was told he’d be required for policing at home. At nineteen he’d just landed a job at the Nelson Police, and though he had understood the need, he had felt keenly the envy of watching others, including his friends, going off on the big adventure. And he had seen how war had changed his friends when they returned. Some came home more serious, a little weary perhaps, but unwilling to fritter away their lives as they had seemed intent on doing as younger men. Some had returned as his father had from the Great War: damaged, angry, fearful in ways that seemed hard for them to get past.

“I wasn’t able to sign up. They said I would be exempted for police duty here. I