by Iona Whishaw
He was about to put his feet on his desk to try to return himself to a state of nonchalance when his phone rang.
“Someone here to see you, Sarge. A Miss Van Eyck. Shall I send her up?”
Lane had been invited by Angela to come for coffee, so she stopped by the post office on her way. Eleanor Armstrong handed her an airmail letter.
“From the United States,” she said, intrigued.
Lane peered at it. There was no return address. Just a name: Priscilla Barr. It took only a moment. Priscilla. Using her maiden name. “Thank you,” she said, using it to wave. She could hear someone coming up the steps. It was Mabel Hughes. “Lovely buns, Mabel. I’ll be along soon for my baking lesson.”
When she was back on the road, she took a deep breath and opened the letter. It was brief.
My dear Mrs. Darling,
I write only to let you know that I have arrived safely and am where I cannot easily be found by Paul, were he at liberty to look. I had thought I would have to delay going to England to see my son because it would be the first thing Paul would think of. I think I may safely go now. I have not seen my son for three years. I doubt he will even know me. I want to thank you for your kindness to me. I can never repay it. I happened to see a small article in the Tribune on a back page and was gratified to learn that the roll of film I gave you proved useful. I do hope the honeymoon picture I took is as lovely as it looked in the viewfinder.
I remain yours faithfully, Priscilla Barr
She’d had a lovely walk through the snow, her spirits elevated by Priscilla’s letter. She’d been planning to go by the road but had opted instead to take the path that cut diagonally through the meadow, which in the summer was full of wildflowers and was now covered with a pristine layer of white. Lane had nearly given in to the desire to lie on the ground to watch the tiny flakes descend and drink in the absolute quiet of this winter day. But she knew Angela was waiting, and besides, her bullet-grazed ribs were still too sensitive for her to flop around in the snow.
They sat now in front of the fire, cups of coffee and a plate of raisin cookies before them.
“You have no idea what you missed, gallivanting off to Arizona like that! I had a murderer right here in this very living room! Robin Harris held her at the end of his rifle till the police got here. It was too awful!” Angela said with relish.
Lane laughed. “Robin must have been in heaven. I’ve always suspected he wants nothing more than to hold someone at gunpoint. He must have felt the murderer justified his worldview.”
“Robin was absolutely furious because he was bouncing away down the hill trying to get home from the upper orchard when that car came around the corner at speed going the wrong way and smashed into him. The front of his tractor is stove in, and he’s going to have to get a new one.”
“Poor Robin. Does he have enough money for that sort of thing?”
“He’s an absolute miser! I’m sure he has thousands stashed away somewhere. Those two policemen, Sergeant Ames and Constable Terrell, were brilliant. I can’t believe you were lounging around a swimming pool in a swanky hotel and missed it all!”
“I can’t either,” Lane said, smiling. She wondered whether raisin cookies would be hard to make.
“I felt a little sorry for Sergeant Ames. I know he brought that Van Eyck girl to your wedding and he looked quite soft on her, and of course, he was so obviously relieved she was okay after her ordeal, but she seemed to want nothing to do with him!”
“You’ll never guess what happened at the station today,” Darling said, after tossing his hat on a coat hook in the hallway and throwing himself gratefully in front of the fire burning brightly in the Franklin.
“I cannot,” said Lane, handing him a scotch.
“Tina Van Eyck came to visit Ames.”
“With a view to beating him about the head? Angela said she was very cool toward him when they arrested that woman who killed her husband.”
“No. With a view to bringing him some flowers. There. I’ve astounded you.”
“You have, indeed! Well, well, well, Amesy. Cheers!”
Acknowledgements
I’ve always been a slave to the magic of books. Open a book and fan through the pages, and you are airing what is still one of the miracles of our human inventiveness. I still can’t believe I get to write them.
No one creates one of these small miracles alone. Thank you to my faithful first readers, who give me vital feedback about whether anyone is going to like the book: Sasha Bley-Vroman, Nickie Bertolotti, Gerald Miller. And with this book, I am delighted to have had the help of old school chum David Nix. He was critical in helping with important historical and geographical details about the Tucson setting. I am very grateful to a retired (and very modest) Tucson lawman for details about the early Tucson Police and the long-vanished Tucson police station, to my doctor friend Dr. Jeff Fine, who gives invaluable help with making the many means of murder seem medically plausible, to Gregg Parsons for his help with vintage cars, and to Ellen Wheeler for her help in connecting me to critical sources. Any errors about any of these things are mine alone.
A huge thanks to the wonderful team at TouchWood Editions! Publisher Taryn Boyd, who has inspired me to keep writing with her steadfast and delighted belief in Lane Winslow; publicist Tori Elliott, who has an enormous job with scores of authors, but always makes me feel there is no one else in the world but me; and new in-house editor Kate Kennedy, whom I already feel I could never do without.
Special thanks to editors Claire Philipson, Warren Layberry, and Renée Layberry, whose close reading and wonderful editing make me look like a genius. And those covers! Margaret Hanson has created a stunning set of covers that are the talk of every book event I’ve ever been to. Huge thanks to the designers at TouchWood Editions who have worked their fabulous tricks to make the books such an attractive set to have on a shelf.
Thanks to my family: my husband, Terry, who likes nothing more than to stroll in the woods enjoying nature, but must instead listen to me trying out new ideas; my son, Biski, who is unabashedly in favour of my books; my two utterly impressive grandsons, Tyson and Teo; and my loveliest of daughters-in-law, Tammy—all of whom inspire me to carry on writing.
And I cannot forget the readers to whom I am indebted more than I can say. So very many of you reach out with notes, questions, and all manner of kindnesses, and many of you have taken the brave step of telling me about your own lives, inspired by what you have read in the pages of my books. I am deeply honoured by your support and by your willingness to share your own important stories.
IONA WHISHAW was born in British Columbia. After living her early years in the Kootenays, she spent her formative years living and learning in Mexico, Nicaragua, and the US. She travelled extensively for pleasure and education before settling in the Vancouver area. Throughout her roles as youth worker, social worker, teacher, and award-winning high school principal, her love of writing remained consistent, and compelled her to obtain her master’s in creative writing from the University of British Columbia. Iona has published short fiction, poetry, poetry translation, and one children’s book, Henry and the Cow Problem. A Killer in King’s Cove was her first adult novel. Her heroine, Lane Winslow, was inspired by Iona’s mother who, like her father before her, was a wartime spy. Visit ionawhishaw.com to find out more.
PRAISE FOR the Lane Winslow Mysteries
“Iona Whishaw is a writer to watch.” —Margaret Cannon, Globe and Mail
“Relentlessly exciting from start to finish.” —Kirkus Reviews
“There’s no question you should read it—it’s excellent.” —Toronto Star
“The setting is fresh and the cast endearing.” —CrimeReads
“An enthralling mystery.” —Historical Novel Society
“This series . . . continues to get better and better.” —Reviewing the Evidence
blog
“Complex, suspenseful, and deeply felt, this is a smart series for the ages.” —Francine Mathews, author of the Nantucket Mysteries
“Most excellent.” —Kerry Clare, author of Mitzi Bytes
“Exquisitely written, psychologically deft.” —Linda Svendsen, author of Sussex Drive and Marine Life
“A simply riveting read by a master of the genre.” —Wisconsin Bookwatch
“The find of the year . . . this mystery series has it all!” —Murder by the Book
“A series that’s guaranteed to please.” —Mercer Island Books
“Full of history, mystery, and a glorious BC setting . . . a wonderful series.” —Sleuth of Baker Street bookstore
“Seriously good storytelling that continues to earn its place among the finest mystery writing in Canada.” —Don Graves, Canadian Mystery Reviews
Copyright © 2020 by Iona Whishaw
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For more information, contact the publisher at:
TouchWood Editions touchwoodeditions.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Claire Philipson Cover illustration by Margaret Hanson Typeset by Lara Minja
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Title: A match made for murder / Iona Whishaw. Names: Whishaw, Iona, 1948- author. Description: Series statement: A Lane Winslow mystery ; #7 Identifiers: Canadiana (ebook) 2019018647X | ISBN 9781771513272 (PDF) Classification: LCC PS8595.H414 M38 2020 | DDC C813/.54—dc23
TouchWood Editions gratefully acknowledges that the land on which we live and work is within the traditional territories of the Lkwungen (Esquimalt and Songhees), Malahat, Pacheedaht, Scia’new, T’Sou-ke and W̱SÁNEĆ (Pauquachin, Tsartlip, Tsawout, Tseycum) peoples.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and of the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
