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

been in the hospital. Why? Fernanda implied Galloway was “doing” something bad to her. Had he been hurting her? He suddenly knew it was entirely possible. And then she left the hospital, possibly helped by Darling’s wife. Helped how? Had she helped her escape from Galloway?

And now, Darling’s wife was missing. Had Galloway found out and spirited her away somewhere?

Martinez shook his head. It made no sense. How would he do it? Would he take the risk of somehow making someone disappear? Darling had said they’d been eating, and she’d gone shopping and she hadn’t come back. Wait. He also said she thought they’d been followed. Had he hired someone? The photographs and the missing Griffin evidence weighed on him. What was Galloway getting out of the deal? Suddenly the car they’d all admired so much when he first drove it to work came to mind. He’d wondered at the time how much money an assistant chief might make to belong to a country club and drive a car like that. Unless he was taking money for services rendered. Or money and services? Did these include the use of Griffin’s henchmen when he needed them?

The trouble was Martinez was powerless to deal with whatever was happening. Even if Galloway had kidnapped the whole Darling clan and then some, he had no idea where they might have gone.

The phone rang, making him jerk his hand off the receiver momentarily as if it were burning. “Yes? Tucson police, Sergeant Martinez.”

“Martinez, it’s Jim Hazeltine from the sheriff’s office. We’ve had a call from the Mariposa Dude Ranch, and we just can’t get to it. Both of us are out on other calls. A group was out early on horseback in the upper foothills, and they had to bring them back in a hurry. Some idiot is out there shooting the place up with a rifle. Hunting way too close to civilization. Would you mind going out to take care of it?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What’s he shooting at? I don’t think he sees us,” Meg said. She was crunched down in the narrow space they had found, where the ridge was split along a parallel, her knees pulled up.

“I agree. I don’t think he does see us. But he might have seen our movement out of the corner of his eye and knows we’re around here. I’m beginning to think he’s just trying to pin us down. Or flush us out. I wish I could see where he is,” Lane said, frustrated by not knowing, fearful that he would figure it out and come up this hill and find them. They’d be sitting ducks wedged into this rock formation.

Very slowly she rose and edged forward to where she could see a portion of the terrain below. There was no movement in the limited section visible to her. Then she nearly jumped when a lizard scampered across the rocks in front of her.

“What are you doing?” Meg whispered frantically.

Lane only held her hand up and moved forward another foot. She was at the edge of the outcrop. She gasped and pulled back. The cowboy was just below them at the bottom of the gully, looking up the opposite incline. Then something made her look again. In the middle distance, the dust of a passing car. The road! They’d come so close. She frowned at the man, who now seemed to be looking toward the road with his field glasses. He let the glasses hang loose at his neck and fired two shots into the air. He turned back to the task of scanning the terrain, slowly turning toward where Lane was observing him.

She held her breath and pulled back. The dust had settled on the road. Those two shots had been a signal: “I’m over here.” Maybe even, “I’ve got them cornered.” Whoever was driving the car had stopped. She pulled back to consider a course of action. It was only a matter of time. She sat down next to Meg.

“There’s a car out on the road. Those last two shots were a signal; the gunman thinks he’s got us. That means it’s Galloway or Griffin or someone. That man with the rifle, is he one of your husband’s men?”

“Yeah,” Meg sighed. “That’s Idaho.”

“He’s really called Idaho? Okay. So that means Griffin had me snatched off the street. Do you know why?”

“How should I know? He might think you saw who shot that Mr. Renwick or figured it out somehow. Though I don’t know why he’d bring you up here.” She thought for a moment. “You know, Paul is in up to his eyeballs with Artie. Maybe he got Artie to pick you up. What would Paul want you for?”

Lane sat back, her hand on her forehead. So she’d been right. He had found out somehow that she’d helped Priscilla get away. She could feel part of her mind trying to trace how he could have done it. Had the nurse talked? She didn’t think so. Nurse Yelland was one of the most implacable people she’d ever met. But someone else must have, a cleaner at the hospital perhaps. It made little difference at this point. She pulled her attention back to the current situation.

“Look, I don’t think either one of them wants us dead, though I can’t say the same for your chum Idaho out there. You’re Mrs. Griffin, after all, and Galloway thinks I have information he needs.”

Meg shook her head. “You don’t know Artie. If he thinks I know something, something he doesn’t want me to know, he’d get rid of me. And Paul Galloway? Probably worse. He’s a dirty cop. He has more to cover up. Now I’m sitting up here on the side of a mountain with a sore butt and a man trying to shoot me because Paul wants you! If I’d known that, I would have skedaddled long before this!” She turned away staring glumly at the wall of rock directly in front of her and crossed