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

She could see a heavy embossed gold ring on his right hand and a simple wedding band on his left.

“A bit spring–winter, that couple, wouldn’t you say?” she whispered to Darling, pointing surreptitiously with her buttered scone a few moments later.

“I would. But would it be any of my business?”

“Perhaps not, but we were interested in finding out who our fellow denizens are. I think it’s rather sweet, really.”

“I believe it was you who was interested in our neighbours,” he said. “I bet he’s being taken for everything he’s worth.”

“Or he’s taking her for everything she’s worth,” Lane said.

“She doesn’t look like she’s the one with the money,” Darling countered.

“Are you telling me the only thing women value is money?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Darling said, selecting a petit four. They chewed contentedly for a few moments, and then a young couple came up to them, smiling. The woman was lovely, Lane thought. Tall and slender with golden hair twisted into an elaborate knot. She was wearing a simple, graceful, cap-sleeved linen dress with pale-blue stripes.

“I think you folks are our neighbours. I saw you come in earlier. We were just leaving to go have a dip. Isn’t this grand?”

Darling and Lane stood up. “I’m Lane, and this is my husband, Frederick Darling. How do you do?”

“I’m Ivy Renwick, and this is Jack. We’re from Wisconsin. We don’t get anything like this place back home! We just came yesterday.”

Darling nodded and shook hands with them. “We don’t much either. We’re from a little town in British Columbia.”

“Oh, my! Canadians. You’re a long way from home. What brings you out this way?”

Jack Renwick had pale, straw-coloured hair and very genuine blue eyes. Darling liked him at once. “Honeymoon,” he said with a slight touch of apology.

“Hey! Us too. We got hitched just before I shipped out in ’44, and we never got a chance to have a honeymoon, so we’re having it now,” Jack Renwick said.

“We should meet for cocktails and then have dinner one night. I saw Clark Gable checking out just as we were arriving. He was staying in one of the villas!” Ivy Renwick said. “What about tomorrow?”

Ambling through the garden later, Darling said, “I can’t think when I’ve met a more perfect couple. I suppose we will have to follow through and have dinner with them tomorrow?”

They stopped by a little planting of cactus. “You say ‘perfect’ as if they were boring.”

“I’m not saying that, but they do seem almost too good to be true and are probably regretting the impulse to socialize already. I know I am,” Darling said. “Apparently the Native people in this part of the world could peel and eat these things.” He was pointing at a cactus helpfully labelled nopal. “Which reminds me: Should we go for a swim before we get ready to go to the Galloways’ for dinner? I suspect the temperature starts to go down smartly when it gets dark.”

“Sweetie, I’m going to the lobby. They have some jewellery in a glass case for sale, and I saw this gorgeous silver bracelet.” Meg Holden stood in the doorway of the villa with one hand on the doorframe, as if she were trying to still her own restlessness.

Rex Holden was stretched on the bed, his loafers and blazer off and his blue and white ascot loose around his neck. The Greek Coffin Mystery, an Ellery Queen that Holden had found in the library, was resting on his chest. He was gazing at his wife, his eyes narrowed in an attempt to bring her into focus. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, he thought, as he always did, but this thought, comforting though it was, did not completely dispel his slight sense of disquiet. He had tried to trace this disturbance and had been wholly unsuccessful. His friends at the golf club in Phoenix were clear: she was too young, too dim, a gold digger who would run through his money, but Holden had not minded any of these things. In fact, it was what he had expected, and he had plenty of money for her to run through. Looking at her now, he felt himself almost grasp what unsettled him. It was something in the alertness in her body, as if . . . but then it was gone.

“Don’t go crazy. I’m not made of money.” He said this with patient affection.

“Yes, you are, silly!” She left the door and went to sit on the bed beside him and stroked his cheek, an activity that necessitated putting Ellery Queen to one side so he could look at her. “Just kidding. Anyway, it was so sweet of you to let me take some money to my aunt. She could never get her operation without it. I’ll be sure to be real careful about spending.” She got up and returned to the door and gave him a large smile. “I saw a real cute bolo tie with a horse head made of turquoise. Maybe I’ll get you that as a surprise!”

“I don’t think I’m going to be very surprised,” he said, but she was gone.

The cab pulled up at a long low adobe house west of the university. It was built close to the property line, allowing only for a row of ocotillo along the fenceline. Four small, deeply inset windows punctuated the street-side wall, and a wrought-iron gate showed the way up some broad stairs of brick-red tiles. The wrought-iron lamp illuminating the entranceway cast a warm light. Before Darling could knock, the door swung open, and a tall man emanating lean power was upon them.

“Fred! As I live, it’s good to see you! Good trip?” He shook Darling’s hand vigorously and gave him a resounding pound on the shoulder.

Lane, standing just behind Darling, could not suppress a smile. She had never heard anyone call her husband Fred nor seen him in a social situation requiring shoulder pounding. She was surprised that Darling’s friend was English—had