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

three counts: one, she lied to you when you thought you were friends; two, you’re worried that if she lied to you she has something to hide; and three, she might have had plans to go somewhere with this man.”

Ames took a deep breath, feeling some relief at the clarity Lane was bringing to his dilemma. “That’s right. I’m just finding the whole thing difficult because she is hiding something, I’m sure of it, and it could be relevant to the case.”

“I certainly see that. It sounds like you’re upset because she doesn’t seem to trust you.”

“Exactly. She suddenly seems to have taken completely against the police, on top of that. There’s a crime, and she’s not really cooperating. I think she should tell me why she hated the dead man, but what if it had nothing to do with anything?”

“She would be angry at you for forcing her to tell you something personal that perhaps involved hurt or shame from the past. What do you think the inspector would do?”

Ames answered without hesitation. “He would talk to her gently and impartially. I don’t know how to do that, especially when I’m angry.”

“And you’re angry because you like her, and you wish she trusted you. It is a dilemma. It’s hard to be impartial.” She paused, but Ames didn’t seem to have anything more to add. “I’ll get the inspector to call you as soon as possible. Is there a good time?”

“I’ll be in and out. We’ve just learned of a missing teenager, and it might be related to this case. We’re calling the local rcmp detachments to be on the lookout, and we have to interview her friends. In retrospect it wasn’t that important. Just some office stuff.”

When Ames hung up, he felt slightly better. He looked at his notes, took up his pen, and added another question: “Why is Tina VE really angry at the victim?” All signs were pointing to him being a predatory bastard. Had Tina been one of his victims? He added this to the list of unknowns and then put “Terrell to interview?” in parentheses, and looked at the clock. And, in a surprising and ugly turn, they now saw it was possible that sixteen-year-old Ada Finch had run away because she had been the object of Watts’s attentions. No wonder Finch was furious. Ada Finch had two close friends, and he and Terrell would be off to see them at around four, after they got home from school.

Lane found Darling at the tennis courts making a very good account of himself. She sat on a bench at the edge of the court and admired his serves and returns. It was a revelation to her that he played tennis, as it had been in the summer when she had learned that he was a good dancer. It opened up an avenue of wondering what else she didn’t know about him. On the one hand it delighted her to think that there was much yet to learn, and on the other hand it made her wonder how she had married him on such a meagre acquaintance. He stood now, swaying, nimble in the knees, tennis racket at the ready in two hands, waiting for the pro to serve. He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and linen trousers, and his arms were beginning to tan. She had a giddy moment of feeling herself married to a complete stranger, so unlike the serious-minded police inspector did he seem at this moment.

“Fault!” he called, in a professional-sounding voice.

She realized that it was she who should submit herself to the teachings of the pro, as she had only played a bit of tennis at Oxford and could not rise to nearly the skill level of her new husband. She lowered her head and looked at the red of the clay.

Of course, it wasn’t true, was it? There had been a red clay tennis court at home when she was a child. Her father had insisted both his daughters play and had demanded, as he did on all matters involving their education, they play well. Her sister had taken to it like a duck to water. Lane had merely enjoyed it. She could still hear her father tossing his racket on the table and wiping his face with his handkerchief, saying to no one in particular, “She’s absolutely bloody useless. Not a competitive bone in her body.”

She looked up to see Darling and the pro shaking hands over the net. “Thank you. That was good fun. I haven’t played since I was at university. Not much opportunity now.”

“Well, you haven’t lost your instincts. Is this your missus?”

“Yes, indeed. Lane, this is Benny. Benny, my wife, Lane. She’s very clever, so I expect she’s secretly good at tennis and just hasn’t told me.”

Benny’s tanned face lit up with a dazzling smile. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding. “Later today? I have a lesson with another guest now, but after lunch I have a free slot.”

“Yes, why not?” said Lane. “I haven’t played since I was at Oxford in thirty-eight. Not very well, I’m afraid.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Benny assured her.

“You’re very good,” Lane said as they strolled along the brick paths back to their room. “I’m honestly waiting with bated breath to see what other skill you pull out of a hat. In fact, I don’t think we know each other well enough at all. I’m not sure we didn’t marry in haste.”

Darling put his arm through hers. “We have leisure. Shall we go engage in a spot of repenting?”

“Not until you call Sergeant Ames. I was on the line to him just before I came to watch you. He said it wasn’t urgent, and I know it’s expensive, but I expect he’d like to hear from you.”

Darling opened the door and stood aside to let her in. “Well, perhaps he’ll pay for it, then. I don’t recall inviting Ames on our honeymoon. Why