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

pull out and then stop as well. I told myself it was errant nonsense, of course.”

“Not errant enough not to keep an eye on the rear window, I couldn’t help noticing.”

“Yes, but who and why would anyone be following us?”

“I don’t know. You were witness to a murder, you kidnapped the assistant chief of police’s wife, you’ve been spying on a guest who might be associated with a mobster . . .”

Lane laughed. “I have not been spying on the guests. I just stumbled on that woman and her lover, and the rest was just Raúl’s sister worrying. And I can see you are scanning the horizon in search of enemies. Come. Let’s finish our tour of these lovely old buildings and find that restaurant before it starts raining. I propose to leave you over coffee and a newspaper after lunch and pop into a few local shops. You will be spared every horror associated with shopping.”

As per her promise, Lane left Darling at their small window table with coffee and the local newspaper. Darling turned to the crime-watch section and learned that Ivy and Edward Renwick had been arraigned subsequent to the death of Jack Renwick, Ivy’s husband and Edward’s brother, at an expensive local hotel. It interested him that Ivy Renwick had been released on a sizeable but unnamed bail on the condition that she remain in Tucson, but Ned Renwick had been remanded in custody. What did this mean? Had Martinez found stronger evidence linking him to the killing? According to the article, Edward had lied about being in Wisconsin when the murder took place, and there was some evidence of an association between the wife of the dead man and her brother-in-law. The reporter had also managed to get hold of the fact there’d been a poorly hidden dispute between the two brothers over the ownership of their father’s electric company.

This certainly put any possible involvement of Meg Holden and any of her improbable lovers into further doubt. He noted also that James Griffin would be on trial in two days on corruption charges related to his restaurant. He wondered about going to the public gallery for that. It might be interesting to see how the American system worked. His mind wandered further to what the relationship might be between Meg Holden and Griffin. He ordered more coffee and looked at his watch. Lane had been gone for over forty minutes, and he quailed at having to prolong his stay nursing cups of coffee for much longer.

Twenty minutes later, Darling paid the bill, got up, and went out onto the street. The promised rain had not yet materialized, but the afternoon felt ominously dark. Ought he to go looking for her? She would come back and be annoyed to find him not there. He moved slowly along the street looking into shop windows, trying to still his growing misgivings.

After a further half hour, Darling had moved from growing annoyance to actual anxiety. He looked up and then down the street, locked in indecision. He had no idea where she might have gone, but he was increasingly certain she would not have stayed away as long as this. She was much too courteous to make him wait. People passed him, bound who knew where, with parcels and friends, chatting and smiling, some on their own with worried faces. Two young women were laughing uncontrollably and, in his mind, were untroubled. He felt the envy of the burdened. None of them was Lane.

Would she have gone back to the inn? He could scarcely imagine she would have gone back without coming to fetch him. Well, it was the one solid move he could make. He crossed the street, breaking into a trot because the streetcar was coming faster than he bargained for, and went into a phone booth on the corner. He fumbled with the phone book, found the number for the hotel, and fished in his pocket for change. Worried he might have missed Lane at the restaurant, he looked through the phone box windows at the street. He found a nickel and put it into the machine, waited, and then dialled. His head swivelled when he saw a young woman pass. She wasn’t Lane. The wait seemed interminable.

“Santa Cruz Inn. Good afternoon.” An efficient, businesslike voice.

“Hello. This is Inspector Frederick Darling. I’m staying in number 26 with my wife.”

The voice warmed up. “Of course, Inspector Darling. How can I help?”

“Could you just check to see if my wife is back at the hotel? We seem to have crossed wires about where to meet.”

“I haven’t seen her come in, sir. I can send one of the girls to check. Would you like to hold?”

“Yes, I’ll hold, thank you.” He already had a sinking feeling he was wasting his time. She would not be there. He scanned the street anxiously while he waited. He could hear the hotel receptionist speaking to someone and then doing something with paper. A banging sound, like a chair hitting the edge of the counter. A long silence.

He glanced at his watch. The bloodless data of his watch face engendered a spike of anxiety. It was ticking well past an hour and a half. “Hello? Inspector Darling? I’m sorry, but your wife doesn’t appear to be here. Is there somewhere I can reach you if she does come in?”

“No.” Darling paused. What to say? “If she does come in, just let her know I’m on my way back.”

He pushed open the door, the sound of traffic seeming to burst on him after the silence of the booth. He felt disoriented by it and tried to place himself on a north–south axis but couldn’t remember which way the streets ran. A certainty lodged itself in his mind: they had been followed. Lane’s instinct had been right.

He would ask the way to the police station, but he knew it would be futile. In Nelson he would have told anyone calling to say their wife had