The Marsh Madness

by Victoria Abbott

  “Not fair? Not fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. A police spy is not fair, watching everything I do.” I pointed to the officer who had been in the unmarked car, but who was now standing behind Tyler.

  “You aren’t being watched,” Tyler said, running his hands through his blond hair.

  His colleague said, “Yeah, she was. That reminds me, you here to take over?”

  “What? No. I just need to talk to, um, the suspect.”

  “Sure thing. Anyway, she didn’t get up to anything this afternoon. Couldn’t be more boring.” The other officer yawned, scratched in the vicinity of his armpit and sauntered back toward his car.

  “Boring is good,” Tyler said.

  “Is there a point to your visit, Officer Dekker?” I said. “I was in the middle of a much-needed nap when you so rudely interrupted.”

  “Were you?” he said, with narrowed eyes. Narrowed eyes did not look good on him. He had a wide-open cheerful face. His eyes were round and blue. Suspicion wasn’t one of his usual accessories. “Are you sure you didn’t leave the premises?”

  Tyler is, after all, a police officer, and at times he talks like one. I should have realized much earlier that would be evidence of a serious incompatibility between us. It bothered me that he’d caught on to the fact we were an impossible match, while I was thinking I’d fallen in love with him. It just goes to show you.

  “Sure, I left the premises. I was out and about in my pajamas and your fellow officer didn’t notice, even when I did doughnuts with the Saab right in front of his very obvious police car.”

  “It’s unmarked,” Tyler said before he could stop himself.

  The other officer stopped and turned around. “No one gets away on my watch.”

  Pride goeth before a fall and all that. I grinned at that officer, not at Tyler, and shrugged. “Of course I didn’t leave the premises. I came here to calm down, and now I want to rest. It’s been pretty rough.”

  He glanced at his colleague, who now seemed to have decided to pay attention to whatever it was that was going on. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what that was. I hated being mad at Tyler, but he had brought that on himself. I wasn’t about to forgive that crime, but if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he was trying to tell me something. He has the kind of face that can’t keep a secret. He probably thought he’d spotted me at the Country Club and Spa, but he couldn’t be sure of it.

  And what could he do if he was sure of it?

  Arrest me?

  CHAPTER TEN

  I CLOSED THE door in Officer Tyler Dekker’s face. Our relationship was at an end. He was a police officer, the traditional enemy of the Kellys and the Binghams. He had figured out before I had that these things can’t work.

  But I’d been hurt before, and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  Not for the first time, I felt a strange gratitude to my cheating hound of an ex, the one who maxed out my credit cards, hoovered up my college fund and left me alone and heartbroken. If it hadn’t been for Lucas Warden being a scumbag, I would never have limped home to my uncles in Harrison Falls and my pink-and-white girlhood bedroom with all those My Little Ponies. I would never have needed to find a job that got me out from under their watch. I would never have lived surrounded by polished mahogany and priceless antiques at Van Alst House. I wouldn’t be comfortable in that huge historic home, with the signora’s wonderful food and my own attic apartment. I wouldn’t be on the lookout for first editions to augment an amazing collection in a climate-controlled room with rosewood shelves, leather chairs and an Aubusson on the floor. Yes, I know, it all came with Vera, of course, and she took a lot of getting used to, but it was still the best job in the world, and I wouldn’t have any of it if I hadn’t been betrayed by Lucas.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, to the guy who wasn’t there. “Although wherever you are, I hope you’re getting what’s coming to you.” I hadn’t seen Lucas in more than two years and hoped never to set eyes on him again. Still, I knew if I’d gotten through that awful, humiliating experience that cost me so much figuratively and literally, I could weather this thing with Tyler.

  Back upstairs, still in my pajamas, I whisked out the photo from the hiding place in the mattress. I felt a little bit disappointed that there was nothing else hidden in the cavity.

  The photo was, if you can imagine it, the Spring Soirée from the previous May, according to the small plaque at the bottom of the frame. Against the backdrop of the sweeping green lawns of the Country Club and Spa, the young women were stunning in their long, swirly gowns. Shiny hair gleamed, and there were enough white teeth to blind a person. The men were in formal wear too, all looking dapper and Ivy-Leaguish. I have never been to a soirée, but I loved the look of it. Of course, it was only a photo, but still, I could almost smell the money in the air. If I remembered my research, the Spring Soirée was a benefit for a local women’s shelter, a cause that was supposed to be dear to the late Chadwick’s charitable heart.

  In the front row, Lisa Hatton leaned slightly toward Chadwick, her arm actually touching his. Her voluptuous figure strained at her plum satin dress. Her red lips were curved in a satisfied smile. Chadwick’s own smile looked perfunctory and formal. But he didn’t lean away from Lisa. Not at all.

  So that was interesting.

  But more than interesting was the blond beauty in the second-to-last row, third from the left. There was no sign of the light brown hair she’d had when I met her. In this shot, bare shouldered and elegant, Lisa Troy smiled off to the side, seeming to ignore the camera, her face tilted just so, to flatter her. Her asymmetrical updo looked natural, yet I figured it had cost a small fortune. Whoever Lisa was in real life, she had some cash to dispose of. The guy at her side was not the man who had presented himself as Chadwick Kauffman. He was a conventionally handsome fellow, tall, dark and well put together, but not all that interesting. Who was she smiling at off camera? Not the real Kauffman, who was at the end of the first row.

  My heart was beating fast. I had found Lisa. And if I had found her picture, I should be able to find the woman herself. Sure, there had been a scam at work at Summerlea, but among the beautiful people at this glittering event, the chances were very good that someone would recognize her.

  I was so caught up that I hadn’t noticed loud pounding at the door. But I couldn’t miss the thundering of feet on the stairs. I stood up as Tyler Dekker called out my name. There was no time to return the pilfered photo with its distinctive sage-and-gold frame to the mattress hiding place. I whipped it behind my back, as Tyler loomed in my bedroom door. My face was flaming, more from anxiety than embarrassment. Visions of police cells flashed in my brain. Orange is not really my best color. I plunked down on the photo to hide it.

  “What are you doing here?” I said, hoping as I snapped out the words that the glass in the photo wouldn’t crack under my weight. It was not designed for someone who’d enjoyed so many of the signora’s meals.

  “Just checking,” he said, averting his eyes.

  “Checking what? Do you think I have a dead body over there?” I pointed to the far end of the room, where my Smurf collection had a place of pride on top of the white bookcase.

  I suppose it was instinctive, and as Tyler turned to look, I stood up and flipped the blanket over the photo. Luckily, no shards of glass were stuck in the seat of my pajamas.

  I folded my arms and glared at him. The effect might have been more intimidating if it hadn’t been for all those daisies on the faded pink flannel.

  “I wanted to make sure you were still here.”

  “Where else would I be?” I’ve been taught by the best. Believe the lie. Look them in the eye.

  He wavered. He wanted to believe me. For some reason, I was sure of that. “Investigating.”

  I snorted.

  “You know what you’re like, Jordan. You have to go and find
things out. Sometimes you play fast and loose with—”

  I said, “I don’t—” at the same moment he shouted, “You know you—”

  A second thundering on the stairs caused us both to whirl, stuck mid-sentence.

  “Everything all right?” The other officer blocked the door, staring at us.

  “Well, you are both here without a warrant as far as I can tell. Aside from that and the fact I don’t seem to be able to have a nap without the SWAT team, everything’s peachy.”

  “Peachy?” the other cop said. “Really?”

  “Very funny.” Tyler gave me a glare. “Stop messing around. You’re caught up in a dangerous situation.”

  “I’m glad you pointed that out. The murder itself and the fact we are somehow implicated in it wasn’t enough for me to catch on.”

  Something flickered across his face. Anger? Regret? Some mysterious cop emotion that the rest of the world doesn’t get?

  “Stay out of it.”

  He glanced around the room, squinting. I’d never been exactly open with Tyler about my uncles and their . . . enterprises, but I knew he had a pretty good idea. Up until this point, I’d thought he believed in me, believed I was an honest person, going straight, despite the odds. Now I wasn’t sure what to think. Our relationship was toast. Served me right for imagining I could be happy with a cop.

  The other cop scratched his head. “You want to take her in?”

  “No grounds.”

  I said, “And let me repeat, no warrant. Shall I walk you to the door?”

  “What?” Scratchy said.

  I ignored that and watched the two of them leave. The staircase echoed with their boots. I heard the door from the kitchen to the shop close. I made my way to the front window, and I could see them actually get into their vehicles. Tyler Dekker made a U-turn. He slowed his cruiser. He opened his window. He glanced up, and our eyes met as I stared down at him.

  The other police officer was settled in behind the steering wheel of his obvious but unmarked car. I assumed he was scratching. I rescued the photo from under the blanket. I tucked it into a cushion and headed down to Uncle Mick’s scanner, conveniently located out of sight of the officer. I’d been lucky that the photo hadn’t been ruined when I’d sat on it.

  I carefully ejected the photo from the frame and laid it on the scanner. I scanned the photo and saved it to my laptop and a memory stick. Next I forwarded the image to Lance from one of Uncle Mick’s lesser known e-mail addresses. I reinserted the original into the frame and stuck it back in the cushion.

  I used my burner phone to call Lance to give him a heads-up.

  “Hi, Lance.”

  “Beautiful lady,” he purred.

  “I need a big favor.”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “I’ve sent you a photo, and I need to identify a woman in the second-to-last row. Third from left.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “It’s a formal shot taken at the Spring Soirée at the Country Club and Spa, last year.”

  Lance made choking noises.

  “You are the best, Lance.”

  “I am, but I’m not sure how to . . . Never mind. Send it over and leave it with me and I’ll do what I can.”

  I smiled happily. “You should already have it.”

  “Don’t count on anything though.”

  “No pressure,” I said, knowing that Lance wouldn’t be able to relax until he found the elusive woman. “But if you can’t identify her, maybe you can find out who some of the other people are. Don’t bother with the staff members on the side, including the late Chadwick, and the still-alive Lisa Hatton.. They’re in the first row on the right side of the photo.”

  “Why her?” he asked.

  “That’s the woman who called herself Lisa Troy at Summerlea. I knew she had a connection with Chadwick somehow. We are getting closer to figuring out who is behind the death of Chadwick Kauffman.”

  “But Chadwick was murdered. Maybe you shouldn’t be poking around in that. Maybe you should leave it to the police.”

  “But we do know that this Lisa is involved, and the police don’t believe us about the people at Summerlea. Once we identify her, I’ll have something to take to them.”

  “Even though it’s fun to help you sleuth, maybe you should take the photo directly to the police.”

  “I didn’t come by that photo, um, legally. Anyway, I’m going to need something solid about who this Lisa is before I go whispering in Detective Castellano’s ear.”

  “Why do I feel like this is going to turn out to be dangerous?”

  “It already turned out to be really dangerous for Chadwick. We can’t let someone get away with murder and with trying to pin the blame on one of us. It was an obvious setup, in retrospect.”

  “So please be careful.”

  “I will be. And don’t leave any information for me on my cell. In case the cops bug it.”

  “Now you’re being paranoid.”

  “I don’t think so. They wouldn’t put a trace on your phone in the reference department, but you can bet they’ll get warrants for my phone and electronic records. That’s why I called you from a burner.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m about to head back to Van Alst House. I want to check and see how Vera’s doing, although she wasn’t really too broken up over Chadwick and she doesn’t really think we’ll get arrested. But she hates disruption. So the cops hanging around are bound to be getting her down, and I wouldn’t put it past her to get on her high horse with them. Plus, you know, there’s always something wonderful for dinner. Thanks for helping, Lance. I owe you.”

  “I have an idea that might work. Give me a bit of time.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  I GOT BACK into my regular clothes, swirled my terrific crimson cape, dropped my iPhone into my pocket, leashed Walter and picked up his lovely little bed. We ambled to the Saab. Walter was so excited that he snorted and circled. I didn’t snort or circle, but I did give a jaunty little wave to the police officer who was stuck with the boring job of watching me. I walked over to his car.

  I said, “I’m heading for Van Alst House for dinner. I’ll drive slowly if you’d like.”

  He looked at me and scratched his nose. As I settled myself and Walter settled in the Saab, he was fairly obviously on his radio communicating this information. What would he be saying? Suspect on the move?

  Not my problem.

  I was starving, and I imagined that Walter was too.

  As I turned to pull into the Van Alst driveway, Cherie’s cable van careened out the gate and rocketed down the road and away from Harrison Falls. I crossed my fingers she’d come through for me. I hoped that Uncle Kev was with her, out of sight and out of trouble.

  I was still being tailed. I hoped that my dozy watcher hadn’t taken note of the cable truck. I glanced in the rearview mirror once again. The bored officer didn’t appear to be passing this information on to anyone. I downshifted the Saab and drove onto the pea gravel drive, taking my time winding around to the back, so I could make sure he followed me. He did.

  My plan was simple. Take the dog for a walk. It’s not that I didn’t trust Cherie to do everything I asked. I wanted to double-check. Knowing Uncle Kev, he was entirely capable of helping Cherie clean up all evidence of the still and then spray-painting Kevin Kelly was here making moonshine. For more information please call Jordan Bingham 555-1234 in red on the nearest tree.

  First, we made our way to the kitchen. I told the signora that there was a poor, hungry policeman in the car outside. She didn’t react by racing out the door with some food for him, as I’d expected. It seemed that the signora was annoyed by the police. If I understood her rapid speech and even more rapid hand movements, she didn’t like the idea of them interrogating u
s and upsetting Vera’s routine. She’d served coffee and almond cookies and where did that get us?

  “Disgraziati!” she muttered to finish off.

  After nearly two years around the signora, I’d learned that she meant the two detectives were scoundrels or good-for-nothings. I was fine with that, but I needed her help.

  “For sure, Signora, but the detectives have left. The officer in the car is here to help us, I think. To make sure we’re safe.” I widened my eyes.

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, well, I need him to be distracted for a few minutes. He is not very smart. If you give him a snack, I can do what I have to. Will you help me?”

  She mumbled something that I thought was “pan di Spagna” and bustled about the kitchen, slicing sponge cake and arranging it on a plate. There was enough for five dozy officers, but I said nothing. “You take,” she said.

  “Will you do it, please? And maybe the officer needs a glass of milk. I need to walk Walter before he has an accident.”

  The signora is not a fan of dog accidents, so Walter and I slipped out the door along with her. She approached the car with the cake. From over her black-clad shoulder I said to the officer, “The dog needs a walk.” His eyes, after a disbelieving glance at the signora, were on that pile of cake slices. He took the cake plate with one hand and the glass of milk with the other.

  Walter and I sashayed down the driveway, our steps crunching on the pea gravel, but I held my breath after we stepped onto the grass and until we got to the edge of the property. After making a big production of stopping at every second bush, we scurried toward the clearing behind the cluster of trees where Kev had set up shop.

  As soon as we arrived at the spot, I could see Cherie had done what she’d promised. There wasn’t even a twig of evidence from the still. The only way I knew she’d been here were the stiletto-heeled boot marks peppered around the forest floor, and the slightest hint of Mariah Carey perfume in the air. Thank goodness I could still count on someone to do what they said they would.

  Walter sniffed at the familiar scents, making the sweetest agreeable snorts.