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

her hair had been wrapped in a protective net. Her mother was holding the white satin wedding dress, ready to slide it over Meg’s head.

“Arms up,” she commanded. “It will be good to get out of this lousy place. You’re lucky, you know that? I hope you appreciate it.”

“Sure, Ma. I do. Ow! There’s still a pin in it. I appreciate you set me up to marry Art so you could get out of this dump.”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that. You’re sixteen. You do what you’re told. He’s handsome, he’s going to be rich. He’s better than that trash you’ve been seeing.”

Meg conceded silently. Art was better than Ricky, the boy from school who had actually cried when she’d told him she was breaking up with him and quitting school to get married. Art was confident, well dressed, smart. He loved her. Her mother had told her she would learn in time to forget Ricky and love Art. Maybe. She had worked her whole life to create a hard shell around her heart. She had actually imagined the shell, like a beautiful oyster shell with iridescent colours. She imagined opening it quickly and putting Ricky inside, hidden forever, because the one thing she knew about Ricky was he really loved her. She drew herself as tall as she could and looked in the mirror.

“Get this thing off,” her mother said, pointing at the hair net. “Let’s see what you look like with everything.”

Meg reached up and pulled off the hair net. Her hair was marcelled perfectly, the golden waves framing her pretty round face. Art is the lucky one, she thought. Her mother pulled the veil off the bed and placed it over her daughter’s head.

“You look like Mary Pickford. A real star.” She suddenly took her daughter’s wrist and pulled her close. “Don’t you mess this up! This is our one big chance!”

Meg pulled away, feeling the edge of her shell cutting into the inside of her chest. “Don’t you worry, Ma, I won’t. You think you arranged this? I got him. He loves me. He’s marrying me, and he’s taking me far away from here. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Chapter Sixteen

It was still dark and very cold at five in the morning when Lane and Raúl pulled up in front of Saint Mary’s. Lane had left a hastily scribbled note for Darling on the desk. She hoped it would be enough to let him know she was safe without actually telling him she was spiriting someone away from the city in a clandestine early morning operation.

They found Nurse Yelland just inside the front doors with a wheelchair-bound Priscilla. She was encased in blankets, her face hidden by her dark glasses and a headscarf. With infinite care, she was settled onto the back seat and laid on her side.

“She’s still on pain medication,” Yelland explained. “But she practised getting up and walking yesterday, and she should be able to manage at the airport. Amazingly she had a visit from her maid yesterday. She felt bad that the missus was in hospital without her toiletries, or even her handbag, and so she brought them along. She wasn’t particularly friendly, but she sat for a few minutes with Mrs. Galloway and told me on the way out that at least she’d be able to buy herself a candy bar now. I had a feeling this was not the first time the maid had to deal with this sort of thing. Mrs. Galloway’s husband came last evening, but we told him she was sleeping and couldn’t see anyone. He looked relieved and said he’d be back today.”

Lane had bought a handbag at the hotel gift shop and put a wallet with some money in it, but Priscilla having her own things was much better. She transferred her money to Priscilla’s wallet.

“Thank you, Nurse Yelland,” Lane said earnestly. “With any luck she will be long gone by the time he comes.”

“Think nothing of it. He’s only visited her once. Busy man. I’d like to think it was remorse, but I doubt it. There aren’t many people who’d do what you’re doing. I wish all the women I deal with had a guardian angel like you. You’ve raised my very jaundiced view of humanity no end.”

At that time of morning, the road to Phoenix was quiet. They passed a few large trucks but not much in the way of other cars. At six the stars began to fade, and the sky changed from inky black to streaks of intense orange and yellow. Lane watched with her heart full as this transformation took place. They had passed the bulk of the Catalina Mountains, and now the desert stretched east, with golden light beginning to wash over it.

She turned and looked into the back.

“I think she’s asleep,” she whispered to Raúl, who had maintained a complete silence, perhaps in honour of the serious business of the morning.

“I’m not asleep,” Priscilla contradicted in a muffled voice. “I’m just trying to stay warm. I see I have a little suitcase. What did anyone find to put in it?”

“My sister found some clothes she thought you could use, and this lady did too,” Raúl said, looking up at the rear-view mirror.

“Well, that’s jolly nice.” Priscilla sounded weary. “I’ll have to find a way to thank her.”

“No, ma’am. There is no need. She is happy to help. You just relax. We’ll be at Sky Harbor in about an hour and a half.”

Lane walked across the tarmac with Priscilla, providing an arm for support. “Are you sure you are going to be all right?” she asked.

“Yes, quite all right. Don’t fuss. My friend in New York has agreed to meet me. Paul knows nothing about her.” They had arrived at the stairs into the plane, and she took the railing in her free hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Darling,” she said with formality. She was about to go up the stairs when she turned and