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

not a pushy Yank, at least I wasn’t. I started out as a pushy Londoner. Does that make it better?”

“Not much. Why are you in an American uniform?”

“If I answer that question you have to answer mine. I moved stateside and became an American. What’s your name?”

“Look, I don’t have to tell you my name. I’d like to go home now and enjoy some peace and quiet. I don’t want to be badgered.” She’d stopped and looked at him for a moment, appealing, she hoped, to his better nature.

He took her arm gently. “I have two days, miss, and you are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Ever. I won’t sleep tonight or any night if I don’t know who you are, if I can’t get you to come out with me just once, so you can see I mean it.”

“How do you know I’m not married or have a bloke?”

“No ring, and you’re not a bloke sort of girl. You need a man who can look after you and give you beautiful things. If you were anyone’s girlfriend, he’d be here right now wanting to give me a hiding.”

Priscilla Barr felt something in her yield to her own longing for security, for protection, for beautiful things. The sheer struggle of her entire life came on her like a wave of exhaustion and she took in a great draught of the muggy night air.

“How do I know you’re not married?”

“I’m not married, my luv, but I sure as hell hope to be.”

Galloway didn’t sleep much that night anyway. Priscilla Barr. Priscilla Barr had agreed to go with him to a club after work the next night, and he was going to go to Selfridges and buy her the most expensive perfume in the house.

Meg Holden got out of the taxi in front of the Fox Theatre. Looking right and left, she got into the line-up for the afternoon showing of The Vigilante’s Return. She sat at the back of the house, put her purse down on the seat beside her, and pulled off her gloves. She was feeling relief. Rex had given her the money she had asked for, and it had been safely delivered. He was probably napping right now back at the villa in the inn. She’d sneaked off to see Art, who had seemed distracted and had shooed her away with a peck on the cheek. “You’re doing a good job, sweetie,” he’d called after her as she was going out the back door. But he’d stood and watched her leave. She tried not to think that meant anything.

“Is this seat taken?” a tall man asked as the lights were going down and the curtain was opening.

“Shh!” Meg said, taking her purse off the seat.

The man reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I don’t want to ‘shh.’ I missed you, honey. I didn’t like arguing like we did,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with his lips.

She turned her face toward him, the light of the film flickering on her cheek, and they kissed. Her hunger for him made her breathless.

“Baby, it makes no sense you staying with that old guy. Why don’t you come with me? I got a lead on a job in Flagstaff. Come on, what’s stopping you?”

Someone two rows ahead turned and glared at them. “Shut up, will ya?”

Meg put her head on the man’s shoulder and stroked his leg. She couldn’t live without him, she knew, but she could not leave. It would just have to be like it always was. She kissed him again.

“I can’t,” she whispered directly into his ear. “I told you. I never could. I just want things like this. You’re happy, aren’t you?”

The man jerked away and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the seat and through the nearby exit.

Meg blinked, shocked at his sudden move, and tried to adjust her eyes to the blinding light of the lobby. Stumbling, she felt her heel catching on the thick carpeting of the short set of stairs that led down to the washrooms.

“What are you doing?” she finally managed. “Let go of me!” She yanked her hand back and rubbed it.

The quiet carpeted hallway was empty. “Now look here, you can’t have it every which way! I want to be with you, honest and upfront. I’m tired of sneaking around. Leave that guy and marry me. That’s how it has to be. Otherwise we’re through.”

Meg, dismay flooding through her, put her hands on his chest, the handbag on her wrist clunking against him. “You know I love you, baby. You know I don’t think of nobody but you.”

“Then you’ll come with me.”

Meg fell back. “I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t tell you why. You just have to trust me.” What would he think if he knew about Art? She suppressed a shudder.

“Trust you? About that. I thought I saw someone following me a week ago. It happened a couple of times. Something to do with you?”

Meg frowned, a new fear gripping her. She could feel it grow from a small nut of panic. It was beginning to spread, and she controlled it by making a fist and taking a deep breath. “It’s got nothing to do with me. Rexy wouldn’t do nothing like that. He doesn’t even know about us! You must have been mistaken.”

“How do you know he doesn’t know about us? You’re all hot for me. I’m surprised he wouldn’t see that.”

Meg recoiled from the coarseness of his words and his expression. Contempt showed in his blazing eyes and the slight curl of his lip, emphasized by the lift of his moustache.

“Why would you say something like that?” She could feel the tears burning.

The man leaned back and slipped his hands into his pockets. His grey double-breasted suit was expensive and hung on his lean frame attractively. He liked it, and he liked the way he looked in it. He liked that she had paid for it.

“You either come with me now