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

and he goes to work. Where was he going that day, and why didn’t he pick up Ada? It suggests he was murdered before he could get to her. He was certainly driving in the wrong direction to pick her up.” Terrell looked up at the sky with a frown. “I really hope this holds off.”

Gunderson proved to be a genial man in late middle age. He was outside chopping firewood when they pulled up in front of the cabin after a bumpy ride up the hill. He approached the car with a wave and a surprised smile and invited them into his cabin. They sat at a small wooden table.

“I sure don’t get much traffic up here,” he said again. He seemed very pleased. “Especially the police!” He chuckled.

Ames explained their mission. “We’re following up on leads with regards to a recent death near the Harrop ferry. Were you hitchhiking into town on Tuesday morning some time?”

The man laughed. He looked a bit like a young Santa Claus, Ames thought. Bushy hair, bushy beard, twinkling eyes.

“Walking to town, more like. You know Stewy drives that little bus a couple of times a week, and I missed the darn thing. I finally got a ride a ways out of town, six miles or so. I don’t remember seeing nothing at the Harrop turnoff. Someone in a hurry to catch the ferry. That’s about it. I picked up my pills at the drugstore and then got a lift at the Nelson ferry from someone driving to Argenta. It’s too bad that damned steamboat that goes up and down the lake stops all the way up at King’s Cove. I coulda taken that, but it would have meant a long walk back.”

“What time would you say you passed the ferry turnoff?” Terrell asked.

Gunderson shook his head. “I don’t wear a watch. Just got this thing here,” he pointed at a rosewood clock that sat in solitary splendour on the mantel of the stone fireplace. “Got it from my grandfather back in Norway. It’s how I know when to get down to the bottom of the road to catch the bus. I’d been walking a good while by then. I left here at seven or so.”

“Can you remember anything about the car that was in a hurry to catch the ferry?” Terrell looked up from his notes.

“Dark blue maybe? No! I lie. Dark green. Not one of your fancy new cars. A bit older than that thing you fellows pulled up in.” He nodded toward the window.

“How many people in the car?” asked Terrell.

“One person. The driver.” He paused and frowned. “Well, I thought it was one, but remembering it now, I have this impression of two.”

“So it’s possible there were two?” Ames followed up.

“Gosh. I wish I could be sure. I was tired from walking. I was probably seeing things that weren’t there. Sorry.”

With Ames wincing about the undercarriage, Terrell picked his way slowly back down the rutted and little-used road.

“He seems a fairly buoyant kind of person for a widower,” Ames remarked, exhaling as they finally reached the turnoff to the main road. “Though I wonder at him chopping wood with a bad heart.”

“He did have a sort of shrine to his wife, did you notice it? Near his bed on a little table. Photo and a little flowerpot with some leaves and dried grasses. What I’ve seen is that some people just have a more positive disposition. Take what life sends them. My gran is like that. When you look at her life, she seems to have lost so much: her husband when she was in her forties, a child to an accident when he was eight, and all the people that die as you get older. All kinds of health problems and she’s pretty much housebound, but she’s always got a smile or a cheerful word. She says everything is in the hands of God, and it’s a disappointment to Him to be downhearted.”

“I’m a bit downhearted about where we’re going with this murder,” Ames admitted. He was going to add, “Sorry, God,” but worried that if Terrell was of a religious persuasion, he might take offence.

“It’s true, we haven’t had much on the hitchhiking front, except Gunderson does seem to have seen the car and said it appeared to be in a hurry. I’m interested more than ever in who would like to see Watts dead,” Ames said.

“Didn’t Miss Van Eyck tell you she thought there were plenty who would be pleased by the news? I mean, that list seemed to include anyone associated with a young girl he might have interfered with.”

“Yes, I’m pretty certain Craig Finch would be delighted.”

Terrell glanced at Ames. “And of course . . . ”

Ames nodded. “The wife, though she seemed genuinely distraught. But by her own admission she hasn’t been very happy for a while. The last time I talked to her, she pretended to accept that there wasn’t much love between them, but that he loved his little girl and that was enough. But she got furious about the suggestion he was running off with someone. I don’t think she’s as accepting as she pretends to be. I want to ask her about this possible blackmailing angle. Let’s see how she takes the news that this is a murder investigation.”

Galloway stood at his door and bellowed, “Martinez!”

Martinez looked up and rose slowly. He’d seen Galloway barrel in and could see he was in a blacker mood than usual. “Sir,” he said.

“Any progress on that murder at the Santa Cruz Inn?”

“We have the wife and the brother-in-law in custody, but the one weapon we’ve recovered from the hotel closet was not the weapon we’re looking for. It was registered to the dead man and hadn’t been used. Brand new. Though I think it is relevant, we could be asking ourselves why he brought a gun on his honeymoon.”

“Have you tried asking his wife?”

“That’s for today, sir.