A Match Made for Murder by Iona Whishaw (heaven official's blessing novel english txt) 📕

to intercede, I talked to my husband, begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. I tried to organize a meeting, but my husband would have nothing to do with it. He was very angry that Ned had presumed to follow us and do an end run through me when we were on our honeymoon. That’s it. That’s all I have to say.” Ivy Renwick folded her hands over her gloves, which lay on her purse, and looked away.

Martinez made his notes. “Can you tell me exactly where you were at twelve thirty on Tuesday?”

“I had gone shopping at Steinfeld’s, that big department store downtown, and I stopped in to see Ned to tell him it was out of the question and Jack wouldn’t see him. At twelve thirty, I was probably telling him he should go home, find something else to do. I did offer to give him a little financial help on the QT. Neither one of us was out shooting my husband, before you ask.”

“Do you have anyone who can corroborate? For example, what time did you arrive at the rooming house?”

“Can’t you ask that irrepressibly nosy landlady you have on tap?” Ivy pushed her hair behind her ear.

“We did. She said you left the rooming house a little before noon, and that you arrived about an hour before that, at eleven. Where did you go?”

“Well, isn’t she just the most precious thing!” Ivy said furiously. “Look, I was upset. Jack was being unreasonable to start with, and Ned flew off the handle and said he thought the whole thing was my fault, that I had driven a wedge between the two of them and his life was ruined because of me. I needed air. I went back to walk around and calm down. I walked around for an hour, and then when I felt calmer, I took a cab back to the hotel. That’s when I saw . . .” Here Ivy put her hand to her mouth and turned away with a little sob.

“This is absolutely wonderful!” Lane turned to look at Darling, who was riding behind her. They had joined a small group that had been organized out of a working ranch at the base of the Catalina foothills. The desert trail took them along the north side of the dry bed of the Rillito River, and then steadily upward into the foothills on a narrow bridle path. A slight breeze swept up the smell of sage and something Lane could not identify, a medicinal, almost acrid smell. Darling, she thought, had been right. It was good to get away and do something besides lounge at the inn.

“We’ll stop here for lunch,” the guide said. There was a semicircle of stones set out facing south with a sweeping view of the city far below and a hitching post for the horses.

“I’m going to have a sore bottom,” Lane remarked. “I haven’t been on a horse since I was about seventeen, and not on one of these western saddles.” She looped the reins around the post and kicked her legs a bit to get out the stiffness. They sat side by side munching ham sandwiches and looking down the sweep of the valley that contained Tucson.

“You were seventeen once?” Darling asked.

“I was. Not very prepossessing, I’m afraid. And shy to boot. You would have preferred my sister. Pretty, lively, full of conversation.”

“Not as intelligent as you, though, I bet.”

“Much more clever. She had friends and could keep them. I was always a bit of a loner.” Lane’s younger sister had been their father’s chosen child because she was outgoing and confident. He had never, Lane thought, been able to cope with Lane’s moodiness, so like his own. The irony of her having worked in intelligence during the war came home to her again. She had been a spy, just like him. She, in truth, had no idea what her sister had done in the war. She’d gone to South Africa just before hostilities broke out. Lane had come to believe she would never see her sister again.

She shook off these thoughts and finished her sandwich. She reached into the paper lunch bag. “A chocolate biscuit! How perfect! The valley and city look so lovely from up here, but poor Ivy is languishing in a jail cell somewhere down there by now, I expect.”

“If Martinez has been convinced that she indeed had the opportunity and means to shoot her husband, then I expect she is. Now, look over there. A lizard. You don’t see those in King’s Cove.”

Chela was not at all easy in her mind. Most days she enjoyed cleaning the rooms, especially the suites. Sometimes the guests left a tip for her, and she liked seeing the clothing and the toiletries of the wealthy guests. Often she unstoppered bottles of perfume to inhale the scent, though she never took the liberty of dabbing any on. Chanel No. 5 had always been her favourite. But today she could not shake the memory of the man she’d seen in the car with Mrs. Holden. She pushed her cleaning supplies to the next room. That poor lady whose husband had died. She really didn’t want to work in that room. So close to death. Still, Pepita had been cleaning it since the man was killed and she was all right. She just wished it hadn’t been on her list for the day. She told herself sternly that she could not catch death and knocked firmly on the door.

“Cleaning service!”

There was no answer. Chela took out her key and was surprised to find the door unlocked. “Hello? Cleaning service,” she called into the room, but there was no answer from the bedroom or the bathroom. The lady must have rushed out and forgotten to lock it, she thought.

It appeared Mrs. Renwick had left in a hurry. A silk robe was lying on the floor, where it had evidently slipped off the bed; clothes were strewn on