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

from tomcatting around. I’ve heard he’s got a girl in town somewhere.”

“You don’t know who she is?” Terrell asked.

“No, but I hear stuff. Maybe now that this is in the paper, I can chat with some of the regulars, see if they know anything.”

“And do you remember your sister’s friend’s name?”

“Nah, but I can ask Sandra. She’s up in Prince George with her husband. I owe her a call. I can do that for you. Maybe I should go into the police force myself after all this,” she said, smiling.

“Just say the word,” Ames said. He was trying to sound nonchalant, but inside a kind of unfamiliar anxiety had seized him. “We could use a lady police . . . person. I saw a few in Vancouver when I was there. I think they mostly have desk jobs.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be happy with that. I’d want to be where the action is! When is your boss getting home, anyway? He’s the one that inspired my thoughts about becoming a policewoman.”

Trying to still a slight wince of disappointment that it wasn’t he who had inspired her, Ames said, “Another week and half, two. They went to Arizona. April, that Tina you mentioned. Do you remember her last name?”

April shook her head. “Her dad ran a garage up the lake somewhere, I think.” She looked out at the drizzle that had begun to hit the windows. “Bet it’s nice in Arizona. You boys better eat up, or it’ll be cold.”

Chapter Nine

Ames sat in his office, too stunned to do more than stare at his typewriter. He felt as though he kept hearing April say, “Her dad ran a garage.” He remembered seeing Terrell glance up at him briefly, expressionless, when she’d said it. It was exactly what Mrs. Watts had said. A girl whose father ran a garage. He was in a complete state of confusion and, he realized, anger. How could she have lied to him? How could she have pretended she hadn’t known Watts when she most certainly had, and possibly intimately?

“Tina,” Terrell had said, on the way back to the station. “That’s a coincidence if I’ve ever heard one. Can we assume it’s the same Tina? Did Miss Van Eyck say anything to you about her knowing this guy before? Not that it matters. Mrs. Watts says he didn’t go out that night.”

“She did not,” Ames had answered glumly. “But what if it does matter? If Tina thinks he’s the one responsible for the painting then—”

“I can’t see how it has any bearing on the man’s death though, which we still think is natural, in spite of the robbery and the locked car.”

Ames was going to have to go back to take a picture of the paint on the door and explain that they weren’t going to be charging Watts, who apparently had an alibi and was now dead—and by the way, was there anything she’d like to add? Feeling terrible about asking the Van Eycks to leave that vile word on the garage door for a photo that the death of Watts had pushed out of his thoughts, he pulled his hat off the stand and buttoned himself into his coat, calling Terrell.

“Let’s get that trunk open.”

Taking the crowbar that Ames had placed in the police car, he and Terrell stood looking at the trunk. “It’s a shame to make a mess of the car,” Terrell commented. “It’s the only car Mrs. Watts’s got.”

“Needs must,” Ames said, expertly popping the trunk open. There, indeed, was a small military-looking canvas carry bag with a brass clasp and leather handles. Using his handkerchief, Ames pulled it out, leaving Terrell to shut the trunk and stow the crowbar.

“Hello,” said Terrell. He’d been about to shut the trunk but stopped. “Look at this.” He was pointing at the space where the bag had sat.

Ames leaned in and looked, and then put his finger on the thick rubbery smudge on the floor of the trunk. “Paint,” he said. “Black. I’m guessing we don’t have to look any further for the garage-door vandal, after all. His wife said he didn’t go out that night. It looks like Watts was leading a double life.”

Back in his office, Ames used the handkerchief to snap open the clasp. Both of them leaned in, surprised. The topmost layer in the bag consisted of some quite colourful lady’s clothes.

He wasn’t going to take Terrell with him. When he got down the stairs, he saw the constable at his desk in the back corner typing his notes. He had piled the clothes in front of him on the desk and was listing them. “Underwear, sir, and two complete changes of clothing for her. Same for him. All new, but no tags. Size 16 R, whatever that is. They look like the woman wearing them would be quite slim. Though his wife is slender, I’m guessing they don’t belong to her. This bright-red dress doesn’t seem like her sort of style at all. It means, though, that there could have been someone in the car with him. It’s not enough clothing to run off for any length of time, but it’s enough for a lost weekend.”

“And that someone either took advantage of his heart attack to steal his money or fled and someone else did. Listen, I’m going out to ask Miss Van Eyck a couple of questions and let them know they can paint the garage because I still think it’s likely Watts was the culprit. I’ll stop by Mrs. Watts’s and ask about the clothes, just in case. Could you get down to the train station and learn anything you can about his work, his mates, whether he shared his plans with anyone? You know, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been doing these notes. Even before the lady’s clothing, something has struck me as—”

“Odd?” Ames supplied.

Terrell smiled, “Yes, sir. Mrs. Watts said he’d go to the coast for some sort of training, but