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

the unmade bed. Chela looked into the closet and saw, as if drawn by some dark force, the suitcase that must contain the clothes of the dead man. No men’s clothes were hanging up. Reluctantly she realized she would have to hang up all of Mrs. Renwick’s dresses and sweaters in that closet before she could make up the bed.

Almost holding her breath, as if to avoid the stench of death, she hung the dresses. Her anxiety robbed her of her usual pleasure of admiring the beautifully structured clothes of the wealthy. She picked up two pairs of shoes and went to put them side by side on the floor of the closet, on the opposite side from the dreaded suitcase. She pushed a pair of black and white pumps into the dark space and tried to fit the red sandals in next to them. Something was on the floor behind the shoes blocking their spot. Irritated, she reached in and with a cry pulled her hand away as if it had touched red-hot metal. She was as sure as she had been of anything in her life that she had touched a gun.

There was a knock on the interview room door. Martinez, who had been watching Mrs. Renwick write out her statement, stood up and opened the door.

“Phone call. You’re gonna want to take it, trust me. I’ll stay here. You can get it at my desk.” The young officer practically winked at him, a circumstance so unusual that Martinez frowned and made his way to the desk.

He looked up sharply and glanced toward the interview room as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. “Please don’t touch it or allow anyone else to touch it. An officer will be along as soon as possible. Well, I can’t help that, ma’am, please just do as I say,” he said.

Martinez returned to the interview room. The young officer got up and grinned at him. “Pretty good, eh?”

Martinez nodded as slightly as he could and waited until his colleague had left. Mrs. Renwick had finished her statement and now sat with her gloves on, her hands folded in front of her.

“Officer, I’m finished, and I should like to return to my hotel. I presume someone can drive me?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mrs. Renwick. I’m going to have to ask you to remain here. We will be conducting a search of your room.”

Ivy Renwick’s face went crimson. “This is outrageous. It’s bad enough I’ve been dragged here for this nonsense, you have absolutely no right to search my property. Does he?” She looked at the lawyer furiously.

Davis, who could see plainly that she did not remember his name, chewed his bottom lip. He found the entitled rich difficult to deal with. They always seemed shocked that anything could be pinned on them and outraged that anyone should try. He looked at Martinez. “You will need a warrant, even though the hotel room is not her home, strictly speaking, if it is your intention to go through her things.”

Ivy Renwick turned triumphantly back to Martinez.

“I am aware of that. Getting a warrant will, of course, take a bit of time, but I don’t think we should have any trouble getting one.”

The lawyer turned to Mrs. Renwick. “It will speed matters up if you give your permission.” He left unsaid the question, “Is there any reason you don’t want your room searched?”

Reluctantly, Ivy Renwick nodded. “Fine. Make it snappy. I’d like to go back and pack and get the hell out of here. You’ve kept me here long enough. I have a company to run.”

An hour later, Martinez returned to the interview room, where he had sent a lunch and a cup of coffee in the interim. The coffee was gone, but the lunch was untouched.

“Mrs. Ivy Renwick, I am arresting you for the murder of your husband John Philip Renwick. We will be placing you in custody . . .”

Ivy did not hear the rest. She only heard the loud thrumming of panic inside her head.

Chapter Fourteen

“We will have to go back to Miss Van Eyck,” Ames said. “There are unanswered questions there about her interaction with Watts.” He made no move from where he sat, his back to Terrell, looking out at the lowering sky. “And where is Gilly with the post-mortem?” He turned and looked accusingly at the door, which remained steadfastly innocent of Gilly coming with information.

“I could go out and do it,” Terrell offered. “I’ve done up the notes from today. You could get busy with the rcmp on the disappearance of Ada Finch. Miss Van Eyck doesn’t know me; she might find it easier to tell me the whole story.”

Constable Terrell sat next to Tina on the picnic table by the lake. Tina had suggested they sit there because she did not want her father, hard at work in the garage, to overhear. They would have been warmer in the living room, but Tina felt the need to be outside, blown clean, perhaps, by the light gusts that had picked up. The sky promised another evening of rain or even snow if the temperature dropped enough.

“We usually need to find out as much as we can about a person who has been robbed and died like this. Any insight into his life might provide a clue,” Terrell said as soothingly as he could.

“Sergeant Ames too chicken to come?” asked Tina.

“There are several interviews in town that need to be completed,” Terrell answered.

“I bet. Well, what do you want?”

“I’m just wondering if you could tell me a bit about your earlier relationship with Mr. Watts. I am not at liberty to say, of course, but your information may add to what we already have.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with him dying, so I don’t see how it matters.”

“I know,” said Terrell, nodding, not indicating what he knew. He waited.

“Look, it’s true. I wasn’t completely truthful