A Match Made for Murder Iona Whishaw (pride and prejudice read .TXT) 📖

of the men heard Finch say, “You stay away from her, or else.”

“Is it possible Finch could have been talking about his wife, or maybe even his daughter?”

The foreman shook his head, an expression of dismay on his face. “I sure wouldn’t like to think so. That girl of Finch’s is only about sixteen.”

“Can we have a look in Watts’s locker?”

“No point. His missus came and emptied it out. Took a couple of bundles of stuff. No reason not to give it to her.”

Terrell knocked on the door of the small, shabby bungalow on the steep rise that looked down on the Nelson side of the ferry landing. He and Ames could hear someone talking somewhere inside, but no one came. He knocked again, and finally, after a further wait, a woman opened the inner door and looked at them through the screen door. A strong odour of cigarette smoke preceded her. She looked exhausted and unkempt, as if she had not left the house for several days.

“Mrs. Finch? I’m Sergeant Ames, and this is Constable Terrell from the Nelson police. May we have a word?”

The woman’s hand jerked to her chest, and her eyes filled with tears. Her voice was desperate. “Oh my God! I was just going to call you! Craig’s out looking for her. Something’s happened to her, hasn’t it?”

Lane was standing outside number 27 deep in thought, having watched Martinez walk across the garden with Ivy Renwick toward the main entrance. He managed somehow to convey the feeling she was going willingly by merely indicating with his hand where she should go. But Lane knew it was as close to an arrest as she had ever seen. What had he found out? It must have been compelling. Was the Holden line of questioning being discarded? She opened the notepaper Ivy had given her and went inside number 26 to place the call to the law firm in Wisconsin. Finally, after what seemed an interminable wait, the desk phone rang. “We have Delany and Pratt on the line, madam.” The operator sounded distant and tinny, like she might be on another continent.

It took some time to explain the situation because she didn’t know how much they knew about the Renwicks’ trip to Tucson, but she made clear that Jack Renwick had been shot and Mrs. Renwick needed the services of a lawyer in Tucson as quickly as possible. She heard the thump of the receiver being put down, muffled voices calling out and, eventually, another voice.

“One of our partners was able to contact a banking lawyer in Phoenix who gave us the name of a firm in Tucson: Davis and Tackman. We will call ahead now. Wait fifteen minutes and then ask for Mr. Rodney Davis.”

She waited impatiently for the fifteen minutes to go by and then rang through again to the main desk and asked to be put through to the number she’d been given. While she waited, she imagined the stiff-collared lawyers at Delany and Pratt scurrying madly about, trying to think about what the wrongful death of the president of Renwick’s company was going to mean. When she did finally reach Davis, he had not yet received the call, so she was obliged to explain the predicament Ivy Renwick was in and to say that she urgently required a lawyer at the police station.

“Has she been arrested?”

“I don’t really know. What I heard was that they were taking her to the station for questioning. She said she would not speak to them without a lawyer.”

That call over, Lane sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. She would go and see how Darling was getting along with the tennis pro. She was making for the door when the telephone rang again.

“I have Canada on the line for you.” Lane waited, her brows knitting, trying to move her mind away from the Renwick situation to whatever this was about.

“Hello, Lane Winslow speaking,” she said.

“Miss Winslow, it’s Sergeant Ames.”

“Of course, it is! I’d know that voice anywhere. How nice to hear from you. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, at least . . . is the inspector there?”

“He’s off playing tennis at the moment. I can get him to call you. Is there anything I can help with? Anything to do with your strange case?” she asked, smiling.

“I bet you would have figured it out long before now. No. It’s an awkward personnel problem. In fact, I seem to be swimming in awkward problems right now. I’ve got a situation with Tina Van Eyck.” He stopped. Should he tell her about that? She may have some woman’s intuition.

“Oh?”

“My case up here has gotten complicated, and I found out Miss Van Eyck was lying to me. I mean, it isn’t a murder or anything, just a robbery, and she probably wasn’t even involved, but, you know.”

“It must have been awkward for you to have to interview her. How did she lie to you?”

“It started with someone painting an ugly word on their garage door in the night. I won’t say it, but it was likely directed at her. When I asked her about it, she claimed it was someone she’d had a fight with because he’d made a pass at her when he’d brought his car in. What I found out later was that she actually knew the guy back in the thirties and she hates him because, well, I don’t know why. But the point is, she could have told me in the first place. Instead, I had to find out somewhere else. And here’s the problem: it turns out the guy probably was going somewhere with a woman when he died. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Miss Van Eyck, but still.”

“Why are you sure it wasn’t her?”

Ames was silent. “She seems to have—God, I can’t believe I’m saying this about her—an alibi. I just want to believe she wasn’t planning to run off with him.”

“So it sounds like you’re worried on