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

“I’ll be outside with my feet up reading about Lord Peter and the nine tailors. And then I have big, very ill Renwick news.”

Chapter Twelve

Tina Van Eyck stood looking at the top of her father’s head as he leaned into the engine of a ’39 Plymouth coupe. She was completely out of sorts. She felt guilty about her treatment of Daniel Ames, and in the next moment this was replaced by a wave of fury at his questioning her like a common criminal. But of course, he has to, she thought. It’s his job. She fervently wished she didn’t like him so much. He seemed almost too young, though he couldn’t be more than a year or two younger than she was. Maybe it was that he was genuine, open. And so damned optimistic. He was more or less what he appeared to be, and you couldn’t say that about most men. But he also was a policeman.

She was so muddled that it took her a moment to realize that her father, for the second time, was saying, “Plug wrench, when you feel able.”

“Sorry, Dad. A million miles away.”

“You certainly were. Is it this business with Watts being dead?” He pulled himself upright and leaned on the car, looking across the engine at her. “I can’t get over the idea that he comes and ruins our paint job and then ends up dead.” He stood up straight and said tentatively, “I thought I heard you arguing with him that day.”

“Yup. I did. He made a pass at me. The police will want to make something of that, as well.” She turned angrily away and reached for the plug wrench, handing it to her father, who took it without taking his eyes off her.

He frowned. “I wish he’d never come. Why would he come, suddenly like that? It’s not like there aren’t other service stations,” her father said bitterly.

“Dad, I don’t need you to fight my battles. I’ve dealt with worse than him.”

Mr. Van Eyck shook his head and looked into the engine. “What about that sergeant—aren’t you a little sweet on him? You could do worse.”

“Look, Dad. I’m not sweet on him, or anyone, so can we just drop it? I had enough agro from men in the old country. And I’m not in the market.” Tina had gone to England to join the Auxiliary Territorial Service and had worked as a mechanic for the duration of the war. She’d come back fed up with men. Now she found herself attracted to Sergeant Ames and felt the more foolish for letting her feelings off the reins.

Shrugging, her father leaned back into the engine. “Suit yourself.”

Later, Tina took the opportunity provided by a break in the rain to walk down to the lakeshore. In spite of the damp, cold gloominess of November weather, she loved to sit looking out at the lake, winter or summer. It reminded her that her puny human problems were not the only thing in the world. She sat on the top of the tilted, weathered picnic table on the edge of the tiny cove of sand at the bottom of the property and gave herself up to gazing at the expanse of dark water. Today the lake was brooding but utterly quiet except for the gentle singsong lap of the water along the sand. The mountains rose dark and misty on the other side of the lake, suiting her dark mood.

Should she have told Ames? She couldn’t bear to remind herself of it. And it wasn’t relevant. She turned a yellowed leaf that had lodged on the table in her fingers. The problem was, she hadn’t liked lying to Ames. It was in such contrast to the forthright girl she’d always thought herself. But if she’d told him the truth about knowing Watts, she’d have had to explain. And if she explained, it would seem like she had a motive to harm him. No. That wasn’t it, and she knew it. It was shame. Pure and simple. A shame she couldn’t even confront in herself.

Lane sat under the ramada, white wine in hand. “So what did Amesy want?”

“Not till you tell me the Renwick news.”

“Only that Ivy Renwick was as good as arrested by Martinez.”

Darling tilted his head, puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘as good as’? And how do you know, anyway?”

“As you know, I’d popped over to see if she was all right.”

“Of course you had,” Darling said, turning his wine glass.

“And,” Lane continued firmly, “I’d not been there five minutes when Martinez came by. I tried to make myself scarce, but Ivy insisted I stay. He told her he’d discovered she had not been telling the truth and she was required at the police station for questioning. He also said they were in the process of questioning Ned. She asked me to call her lawyers in Wisconsin and get them to find counsel down here to meet her at the police station. She seemed, I don’t know, nervy and hard in a way I hadn’t quite seen before.”

“It takes a lot of nerve and hardness to kill your husband,” Darling suggested.

“You’re jumping to conclusions though, aren’t you? Thank you,” Lane said to the waiter who had deposited a Cobb salad at each of their places. “I’d like to learn to make these fluffy white buns.”

“I wouldn’t say jumping. You’re telling me she’s hard, and I saw her coming back this morning from somewhere in a cab, and I absolutely swear she did look furtive. Besides, I liked him—Jack, I mean. He was a straightforward sort of man. He certainly didn’t deserve to end up like that.”

“And why are they questioning her brother-in-law?” she asked. “Is there a suggestion they are in this together?”

“I think I’ve learned something about you,” Darling said, contemplating her. How lovely she was! “It’s not that you are mad to see justice done. It’s that you’re a nosy Parker,