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

he had strapped onto his upper body. “I mean business, you see.”

Darling looked at him steadily, stilling the flutter of panic that felt like it could overwhelm him. “Where have you taken her?”

“Oh, marvellous. We could play at this all night. That’s my question, though, isn’t it?”

“The thing is, Galloway, whatever you’ve done, it’s pointless. She actually has no idea where your wife is. It’s possible Priscilla expected a response like this and wanted to make sure no one knew, so you see, neither I nor my wife can be of any help.”

“You’re lying. But that’s all right. Your wife won’t be so reluctant when we go see her. Trust me. She’ll have had time to think about her answer.”

“You’ve used one of your men to kidnap my wife?” Darling, not of a religious persuasion, prayed the hotel concierge had done what he asked.

“One of my men? Don’t be an ass! I didn’t get where I am today without some more biddable, let’s say, connections.” He took up his glass again, draining the contents.

“You might as well have a drink, Darling, and sit down. It’s a waiting game now. I’ve got someone picking us up before dawn.” He looked at his watch in an exaggerated manner, like an actor trying to reach the back of the house with this gesture, and then collapsed onto the bar stool.

Lane’s head was full of questions, but Meg was focused on the business of the moment: getting out before the cowboy came back.

“I stashed a little money and a change of clothes here a couple of times ago. Things were a little rough between me and Artie, and I thought I might have to make tracks.” Meg took the flashlight and went toward the kitchen, leaving Lane in the dark.

How apt, Lane thought. In the dark. Why should things have been “a little rough” between Meg Holden and Artie? Hurriedly she put her shoes on and tied the laces. Also not appropriate for a hike, she realized, but sturdier than what Meg was wearing. She felt her way through the sitting room toward the kitchen and could see the flashlight bobbing around inside a cupboard.

“Here, hold this thing. I need all my hands.”

Lane took the flashlight and pointed it toward where Meg was kneeling, pulling a board out of the back of what appeared to be some sort of larder.

“Take this. I put some boots back here somewhere.” She handed Lane a cloth bag that smelled primarily of mildew, and even in the dark Lane could feel the layer of dust. “Got ’em!”

Emptying the bag onto the sofa, Meg shone the flashlight on its contents. Lane could see blue jeans and some sort of brown slacks and at least two plaid shirts. “These might be a little big, but better than that dress you got.” She held up the pair of the jeans. “Damn!” she exclaimed suddenly. “The flashlight’s going. Okay, I’ve got the cash.”

The flashlight was indeed going. Lane could see the light was wavering, fading in and out. This whole thing would be more difficult to accomplish in the dark. Meg flicked it off and continued changing, chucking her dress onto the floor and pulling her cardigan over the plaid shirt.

Lane followed suit, and like Meg, pulled the trousers over her stockings. They’d need every layer in this cold. She tucked her silk slip into the jeans. “Too bad you didn’t have the foresight to put away two pairs of boots,” she said.

Meg had collapsed onto the sofa and seemed to be doing something in her handbag. Lane sat next to her and waited, praying that Meg knew what she was doing.

“I put a little money away, and with the money I took from Rex, I should be able to get as far away as I need to. Now, I need to think.” Meg had snapped the bag shut and sat looking straight ahead.

The sofa was facing the window, and the open curtains only compounded the sense of darkness, though Lane was beginning to become accustomed to it and could see Meg’s outline, sitting very still in a way she had not imagined possible for Meg, staring as if she could see something outside.

Fearful that her rescuer had lost her nerve, Lane said, “What is your plan?”

“We’re gonna have to hike back to town. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m catching a bus outta here.”

Lane wished she could remember how far they had driven to get up here. It had taken well over an hour. They’d be hiking in the dark and not, she realized, on the road. They would have to cut across the countryside, steeply down and westward in the hopes of meeting the main road. Walking back along the arterial road that got them here would be a dangerous waste of time and take them far in the wrong direction. The whole thing would take hours. Hours when they could be exposed once the sun rose and they reconnected with the main road. She tried to see her watch but saw only the outline of it on her wrist. She guessed that it was about four thirty in the morning. She tried to imagine what sort of cover there’d be if whoever it was came back early in the morning and found them gone and guessed which direction they were going. They’d have a bit of time once the kidnappers showed up, discovered she was gone, tried to assess the situation of the clothes on the floor, and decided how to track them. They needed to put as much distance as possible between them and the cabin before then.

“Look, get rid of this stuff. We don’t want them to know you’ve been here,” she commanded, picking up the clothes Meg had dropped on the floor. “We have to move quickly if we are going to make any headway before dawn.”

Meg took the clothes she was handed and felt her way to the kitchen. Lane hurried to