The Kiwi Target

across the bay to Russell. As they walked down the short pier together, the mildness of the day and the smooth water stretching out to embrace so many separate islands intensified his mood of pleasure. He looked at Jenny and wished that she were his. He knew that he was getting ahead of himself and remarked simply, “It’s beautiful.”
    “Yes,” she agreed. “I’ve never been outside New Zealand, but it must be one of the loveliest places anywhere.”
    Peter turned to her. “I’m very grateful to be here,” he said. “I can’t believe my own good fortune.” If she wanted to read anything into that, she was welcome to do so.
    “You’re really romantic, aren’t you?” she asked.
    “I’d feel sorry for anyone who wasn’t,” he answered.
    He was still absorbed by the magnificent panorama when the ferry bumped gently against its dock on the Russell side and it was time for him to come back to earth. He picked up their luggage and carried it easily; fresh new energy seemed to have infused his body, and Jenny walking beside him added to his newfound sense of well-being. In less than five minutes they reached the Duke of Marlborough Hotel.
    At the reception desk he put down the suitcase and looked at the attractive woman who was behind it. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Peter Ferguson.”
    “Yes, Mr. Ferguson, you’re expected.” She looked at the two of them a scant moment and then consulted her file. “Was that two rooms?” she asked, looking as though perhaps an error had been made.
    Before Peter could answer, Jenny spoke. “Do you have one of those nice front ones that overlooks the water?”
    “Yes. I have a very nice double, if that will do.”
    Peter signed the register with his own name and then put the Pen down. Jenny picked it up and put her name below his.
    The lady handed over a key. “It’s just to the left at the top of the stairs. We don’t have a porter, I’m afraid.”
    As Jenny took the key, Peter picked up their bags. “Thank you,” he said, and followed her up the stairs.
    They had a fine large room, nicely furnished in the style of at least a generation back and the better for it. It was the kind of room that Pricane architects would never have allowed to exist. As Peter looked at it and at Jenny, whose back was turned, he spoke silently to himself: “God preserve New Zealand.”
    He waited while Jenny adjusted her hair in front of a mirror. When she had finished, she turned and rewarded him with a smile. It was a gentle one, but it quickened his pulse. “Would you like to see the town?”
    “Fine,” he agreed.
    As they came down to the lobby, the receptionist met them at the foot of the stairs. “Have a nice stay,” she said. “If there’s anything you need, please let me know. I’m the manager; my name is Loraine.”
    “Everything is just fine,” Jenny replied. She walked with Peter toward the doorway, where a tall figure appeared before them. Constable Pettibone looked all of his sixty-plus years, but there was nothing to suggest his age in his bearing as he strode in.
    “Good morning,” he said. “Miss Holbrook and Mr. Ferguson, I believe.”
    “That’s right,” Peter responded, wondering if their sleeping arrangement was about to come under official disapproval. “How did you recognize us?”
    Pettibone was fully equal to that. “I have been advised that Miss Holbrook is exceptionally attractive. I wish to speak with both of you for a moment or two.”
    “Of course,” Jenny agreed.
    Pettibone led the way to one side, where they were clear of the doorway. “There was a murder here last night,” he said. “I am now conducting an investigation.”
    “How can we help you?” Peter asked.
    “Miss Holbrook, I believe you are a reserve police officer.”
    “Yes.”
    “And Mr. Ferguson, I have it that you are assisting her.”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’m not wholly clear on why you’re here.”
    Peter looked at Jenny, who nodded. “There’s a large American company that’s after a desirable hotel site here in Russell,” he said. “Because I know this company and how it operates, we were sent here to keep our eyes and ears open. I’m supposed to be a well-off tourist; Miss Holbrook is posing as my girlfriend.”
    “Is Mr. Kincaid involved in this?”
    “Definitely.”
    “I thought so. Now, I will confide in you. For very good reasons I have forestalled a homicide team coming here. I know the locale and the people, which is a