“Good thinking. You sure have the gift for taping evidence. I’m not sure how many opportunities there will be for business, but my money’s on you,” I said. She was truly a perfect fit for my family. Perhaps we should make her an honorary Kelly.
As the adrenaline in my system faded, I wanted the night to be over and Lucas Warden to be safely behind bars. I needed to know he wouldn’t outwit the police, because he was capable of it. I wanted to be free to go home and to tell Vera and the signora that we were no longer suspects in a murder case. I wanted to tell Mick he didn’t have to worry anymore about being charged with possession of stolen goods and Lance that his job and freedom wouldn’t be threatened.
But of course, there were hours of interviews to get through first. It was just as well that Uncle Lucky, Kev and Cherie were able to melt like ice cubes into the dark night. They wouldn’t have been at their best under those circumstances. Good thing they’d all worn gloves too.
For once I was happy to hear sirens in the driveway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WHEN THE DUST settles, there’s no place like home. Not that Van Alst House had been my home for long or would be home forever, but I was back again, and it sure felt like home to me. I had barely stopped myself from kissing the floor when I finally returned at two thirty in the morning after our great adventure.
Vera met me at the back door, in her tartan dressing gown. If it wasn’t totally out of character, I might have thought she’d been nervously hanging around for my arrival. I couldn’t help noticing that she’d brought a book to read while she waited for me.
Walter scampered merrily to me.
“Your police officer friend dropped him off earlier today. He said you’d be missing him.”
“Hmm. Well, the big news tonight is that they’ve got the person who killed Chadwick, and Shelby Church. In case you don’t know, Shelby was the woman pretending to be Lisa Troy. We have good recorded evidence—audio and video—against him. It adds up to a confession, really. And more to the point, we are all off the hook.”
“About time,” Vera sniffed.
“Agreed. I’ll fill you in with the details in the morning if that’s okay.” I wasn’t looking forward to telling Vera that my former boyfriend was the reason we’d all been dragged through this hellish week. More to the point, that relationship was why Vera had been of interest to the police. My head would be clearer in the morning. Vera was always in a bad mood at breakfast, and maybe I would think of a decent spin to put on it.
Vera said, “Mr. Kelly gave us quite a play-by-play before he left to visit a friend. He’s staying over at the friend’s place tonight.”
“Oh, is he?” And what had he told Vera? Accuracy isn’t Kev’s best thing. He probably came out as a hero.
“Yes. You were lucky to have him with you when you did.”
“Indeed,” I said and left it at that.
All the time we were talking, the signora was beckoning me to the dining room. I was dead beat after the days we’d had and the relief of Lucas’s capture. My black clothes were muddy from the ravine. My hair was a mess from the balaclava. And I was pretty fried from the encounter with Lucas and his gun.
“Stop fussing, Fiammetta. Let her take a breath. We are not going to the dining room. Have a bath, Miss Bingham,” Vera said. “Relax. Fiammetta will bring your meal to your room. This once we can dispense with protocol and, please, don’t feel you must eat anything.”
The signora crossed herself.
Vera added, “But I should warn you: Fiammetta will not rest until you do.”
“Thank you, Vera.” I was proud that I didn’t make a single remark about the fact it was three in the morning. Not a time to eat, you might think, but then you might not have quite the same delivery service.
She added, “I don’t think it will be necessary for you to arrive for breakfast at eight. Whenever you’re ready will be fine.”
I managed not to fall over at that. But it was good. I decided that Uncle Kev hadn’t filled Vera in on the particulars of my connection to the killer. Just as well. I’d have to own up soon enough, once I’d had some sleep. At that moment, all I could do was grin like a fool.
“And Miss Bingham.”
“Yes, Vera?”
“You know, I really do believe that this all calls for a party. Fiammetta has enough to feed the multitudes between one freezer and the other.”
Maybe I was already dreaming.
* * *
THE EVENING MOOD was festive, in the way that the dropping of criminal charges and getting a murderer locked up can lift the spirits. I’d had a happy week to recover, catching up on my sleep with Walter, Good Cat and—although that may have been a dream—even Bad Cat.
Although we usually dine at eight (and not one minute later, Miss Bingham), tonight we were in a formal mood. Our dinner would take place at nine, and we were enjoying what Vera referred to as preprandial libation in the rarely used parlor next to the dining room. The evening light added a glow to the proceedings, as did the blaze in the fireplace. Tonight Vera had pulled out all the stops. As a rule, on a cool April evening, we’d be bundled up in Van Alst House, but you’d never have known it on this occasion.
Vera seemed marginally less grumpy than usual, which is her way of showing euphoria. It seemed that the executor of the estate had agreed to let Vera have the Marsh books once they were no longer required as evidence. The executor felt this would be an appropriate expression of gratitude for our part in catching Chadwick’s killer and his accomplices. Vera had on the blue silk blouse I had purchased for her to celebrate an earlier narrow escape. I think she was wearing it to send a message to me. The message was received with pleasure. The fact our troubles had been caused by a person from my past was not a problem.
“Let us not forget Muriel Delgado, Miss Bingham,” she had said by way of absolution.
I was not likely to forget our nemesis from last fall.
Kev was buzzing about like a demented wasp. He’d just finished showing Cherie every nook and cranny of the house. I was pretty sure she already knew the place, but why rain on his parade? I hoped she’d enjoyed the dumbwaiter and the spiders in the attics.
The signora pirouetted into and out of the parlor, beaming and apparently speaking in tongues. I peered through the crack in the oak pocket doors that separated us from the dining room. Every time she returned that way, she fiddled with the place settings and adjusted the crystal glasses to the point where I wondered if she’d been binge-watching Downton Abbey.
As for the guests, we were all standing somewhat stiffly, sharing cocktails that Cherie had prepared. She’d found some interesting recipes. I was pretty sure that the “grappa” that was billed as an ingredient in my favorite of the cocktails—the one called I Have No Fear of Death—was actually a product of Uncle Kev’s dismantled still. A more timid person might refuse a moonshine cocktail with a name like that, but I’d been through the wars and felt some residual bravery.
Everyone in the room seemed to believe that they were personally responsible for solving the mystery that had led to Chadwick Kauffman’s murder.
Drea Castellano wore a simple scarlet silk shift dress. Under normal conditions, she would already have hypothermia, but tonight, near the fireplace, it was perfect. She looked so good that I feared Uncle Mick would have a coronary. His face was the color of that dress. His gold chains glinted at her from the luxurious bed of ginger chest hair that all the Kelly men are so proud of. He gazed up at her with something like awe. She tilted her head and watched him much as a scientist might watch a lab rat, with silent but worrisome interest.
I wasn’t thrilled that Vera had decided to include Castellano and Stoddard in our grand celebration dinner. They were well aware of my family connections, and who knew what they’d try to ferret out about the Kelly clan while they were with us. Another worry was what might tur
n up about Cherie. Cherie was a treasure, practically my favorite person in the world lately. I would have hated to see this party bring her trouble. Never mind. I shook my head. We were all adults, it was a great night and we had plenty to be happy about.
Meanwhile, Uncle Mick had clamped his hairy Kelly paw onto Castellano’s toned arm. I tried to telegraph a warning to him. She was probably capable of flipping him across the room where he’d crack his hard Kelly head on the marble fireplace surround and that would be the end of him. But she seemed to be having a good time. I only hoped Uncle Mick wasn’t so besotted that he dropped hints as to the nature of his current enterprise, whatever it was. However, on balance, his fascination with her was a good thing, as it took the pressure off me and my relationship with Smiley.
Speaking of Smiley, he was still working on getting that smile back after his first glug of the moonshine cocktail. Maybe he did have a fear of death. Oh well. I was sure he’d get his grin and his voice back eventually.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” was my only comment.
Vera might have gotten dressed up and even clipped on one of her Art Deco diamond brooches, but I noticed she was still working on a crossword in the corner. Uncle Lucky was standing next to her, and that would have suited both of them just fine. I shook my head at Uncle Lucky just in case he’d thought the clasp on that brooch was a bit loose.
Near the bow window, Lance had struck up a conversation with Cherie. They had a certain theatricality in common, and I shouldn’t have been surprised. Both were talking with their hands and sharing. I did my best not to be jealous. After all, what would I do without either one of them?
Kev was busy attempting to refill drinks. Most of us managed to cover our glass with our palms before he descended with the cocktail pitcher. Stoddard was the exception. With one hand he held his cocktail, and with the other Stoddard managed to snag the prosciutto crudo canapés that the signora was currently circulating with. He also eyed our special guest, Larraine Gorman, who was looking glamorous with her wild and wavy auburn hair and a deep-purple dress with a low neck. Without her playbills, we never would have found Lucas and his accomplices. Larraine didn’t seem to notice, but Doug, suddenly possessive, gave the detective a dirty look.
Our last guest to arrive was Sammy Vincovic, who blew into the room like a tropical storm. Even before dinner, his suit was straining at the seams. He seemed to be in great spirits, considering the amount of money he might have made from a trial.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, generously. “Things have a way of workin’ out. You’re looking good, by the way.”
“Thank you,” I said with pleasure. I was wearing my raspberry dress again.
Sammy glanced down to see that Walter and both the Siamese were advancing toward him. Good Cat sidled up and managed a silky caress against one leg. Bad Cat headed for the other.
I gasped. “Look out!” But it appeared that Sammy was invincible, a nice trait in defense counsel.
By the time we all sat down at the long Sheraton table, set with gleaming silver and glittering crystal, more than one truce seemed to have been struck. I was seated between Smiley and Sammy. Everyone watched with interest as Uncle Kev poured the wine. Vera had produced several bottles that had been aging expensively in the Van Alst wine cellar since her father placed them there, back in the day.
Sammy broke the silence that settled over our odd little group. He nodded at Castellano and Stoddard. “So, Detectives, I understand you’ve both received commendations for your work on the Chadwick Kauffman case.”
Castellano nodded gravely, although she did narrow her eyes a bit. Probably wondering what Sammy was up to. Stoddard just showed most of his teeth in a grin. I attributed much of that grin to the moonshine cocktail.
Castellano added, “As did Officer Dekker.”
Vera said, “Good for Officer Dekker. Perhaps he’ll become Detective Dekker after this.”
Stoddard merely slouched a bit more. You could tell he didn’t care for that idea.
Castellano said after an embarrassingly long minute, “Unfortunately, we have no openings for detectives for the foreseeable future.
Naturally, the telltale pink blush transformed Smiley’s face.
Sammy helped deflect our attention by leaning back in his seat and saying, “So everything’s cleared up now?”
Castellano said, “Pretty much. We’ve turned up the delivery driver who saw Miss Van Alst, Kevin Kelly and Jordan Bingham leave Summerlea. He confirms that there were still people in the house after you left.”
I blurted, “I told you he was real. But after Lucas admitted on tape what he’d done, why do you need to keep checking with witnesses?”
Stoddard said, “We have to dot every i and cross every t. We even found the caterer who delivered the food for the luncheon, and we can connect her to Shelby Church, not that we can charge the caterer with anything. She appears to be above board.”
I knew that it was Smiley who’d done that footwork, even though there was no way he’d be breaking in as a detective.
Castellano gave Stoddard a poisonous look. “More important, Miranda Schneider broke down under questioning and admitted her roles in the crimes, including planting stolen goods in Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques.”
“You had evidence of that.”
“Everything matters. Lawyers can make everything look different in court. We needed to nail down her testimony. Lucas Warden had dumped her once he got what he wanted. After Chadwick Kauffman died, he convinced her that she’d been an accessory to murder for providing the key and the security code. She was trapped, but now she’ll testify against him in return for a deal. She is terrified.”
“Rightly so,” said Lance.
I wondered about Miranda. How different were we? We’d both been deceived by a psychopath. I was the lucky one. He only got my money and he gave me a few scary days. He hadn’t involved me in someone else’s murder.
Vera raised her crystal wineglass. “To our detectives, for a job well done.”
Castellano and Stoddard were a bit more respectful when it came to Vera. After all, they had been involved in a concerted attempt to prove that she’d been complicit in Chadwick’s death, based on phony tips from a killer. That sort of thing can mess with a career. I believed that what are known as the “higher-ups” may have whispered in their ears about making nice. Now, apparently, all was forgiven, and this meeting of the mutual admiration society was proof.
We all raised our glasses dutifully. I managed not to shout that if they’d had their way, Vera, Kev and I would be awaiting trial now. But I knew—and they knew I knew—that they’d been set up and manipulated by a pro. Only Smiley got full marks on this one, and I was the one person who really appreciated the full story there. I felt two other unseen guests, Inspector Roderick Alleyn and his lovely wife, Agatha Troy. I raised my glass to Alleyn for his advice: Look to the theater.
After the soup course—while the signora was serving her superb homemade spinach fettuccine with a light tomato sauce and a dusting of fresh Parmesan—Castellano said, “I know we agreed not to talk about the case tonight, but I would like everyone to know that through some excellent work by Officer Dekker we were able to track down Brent Derringer and Tom Kovacs. They’ve been arrested for their part in the scam at Summerlea and, not surprisingly, they’ve also rolled over on Lucas, whom they knew as Ward Lucasky. Looks like they all met in New York, off-off Broadway, unless we need another “off” or two. All of them were less-than-successful actors, willing to take a chance to make a few bucks. Now they’re accessories to murder. I call that a happy ending.”
Everyone either chuckled or applauded at this.
Across the table I made eye contact with Larraine. A small smile played around her lips. I winked at her, and she raised her wineglass and gave me a wonderful, mysterious smile. I planned to do something nice
for her. She seemed to be enjoying her dinner here at Van Alst House. She’d earned it, as she’d been the key to finding the bad guys. I’d always be grateful, and I was glad to have her as a friend. I looked forward to some theater excursions with her in the future. Doug was mercifully silent, a tribute to those cocktails.
The dinner was a triumph for the signora. Everyone ate with enthusiasm. She does love that. After the pasta, the turkey scaloppine was a masterpiece with that perfect lemon and parsley sauce. How she’d managed to make risotto while pulling off the rest of it was beyond me. She refused help, no matter how many offers she got. We’re used to that.
I felt a rush of happiness, and not just because I knew there was tiramisu for dessert.
* * *
I STOOD ON the broad front porch of Van Alst House, enjoying a peek at the new moon. Smiley stood beside me. Walter danced around us happily.
We watched the twinkling taillights as Lance and Sammy Vincovic, Uncle Mick, Uncle Lucky and Karen, the Gormans, Castellano and Stoddard left.
“Nice detective work, Officer Dekker.”
Even in the dim light, I knew he flushed. He squeezed my hand. “Next time, I’ll do better.”
“With luck, there won’t be a next time with a murder involved,” I said, squeezing back.
“I have something to tell you.”
I turned to him.
“We can’t go on like this.”
My happiness evaporated. I yanked my hand back.
He kept talking. “Hear me out. I’m not breaking up with you. But we have to face it, my job and your family connections are always going to be an issue here in Harrison Falls.”
I wasn’t planning on leaving. Did that mean he was?
He said, “I’ve been offered a position as a detective in Cabot. Just got the offer tonight.”
“You’ll be a detective? That’s what you’ve wanted. But when did you apply?”
“About a month ago. Before all this started. I was waiting until I heard to tell you, and then all hell broke loose. I want us to be able to be together without worrying about conflict of interest and pretending to break up with you whenever you or one of your relatives . . .”
The Marsh Madness Page 27