The Marsh Madness

“What do you think it all means?”


“It’s a pretty good motive.” I could see how separating Vera from ten thousand for an afternoon’s work would be very appealing. You’d have a few out-of-pocket expenses: mostly food and alcohol. You’d take the money, hand over the collection you had no right to in the first place and then make a clean getaway. Maybe you’d take some other stuff too. Uncle Mick had known a lot about the value of stuff on the walls. When the theft was discovered, there would be fingerprints of the obvious thieves, namely us, all over the place. And with our dingbat story about being invited. We’d driven up to Summerlea without a care in the world, in full view of the local walkers and snoops, even as the police had been receiving a tip.

But I worried that ten thousand dollars didn’t seem like enough to deal with Shelby’s terrible problem, especially if she had to share the take with the other conspirators. I knew from my own sad experience how credit card debt could mushroom, even if in my case someone else had done the spending without my knowledge. And Cherie had mentioned a big line of credit. So what else would they have taken?

My mind flashed to Uncle Mick, outside his shop. Had just enough of the Summerlea valuables found their way to Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques to get him arrested? Had the police received a convenient tip for that too?

That would explain why the cops had been at Uncle Mick’s antique shop. And once again, it told me that my friends and family had been purposely targeted.

On the bright side, whoever brought in those items would have been caught on camera. And Uncle Mick’s cameras weren’t necessarily where anyone would expect they’d be. There were no polite signs warning about their presence and suggesting that your privacy might be violated. Uncle Mick didn’t give a flying fig about your privacy.

So that could be good.

But how could I get my hands on any of those images? Our visit to Summerlea was now four days past. The setup had been earlier. It was possible that any clues planted at Uncle Mick’s would have been there even earlier.

Cherie said, “Are you still on the line?”

“Sorry! My mind wandered. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for another favor.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Wherever I am!” She laughed cheerfully.

I took a chance. No one knew we were here. The police probably didn’t know much about Cherie yet, although Tyler had met her before all this happened. But right now, he most likely still thought I’d been kidnapped, so he’d be focusing on that. I wondered if not letting him know I hadn’t been was so much worse than breaking up by text.

“Okay. We need some security camera footage from my uncle’s place.” I didn’t want to name names over the phone. “That’s the same uncle who gave you the big, sloppy kiss on St. Patrick’s Day. The device will be in the building across from his workplace. It’s upstairs over the vacant shop in a storage space. There’s an entry keypad. The code is our dog’s name. Take the whole laptop and keep it somewhere— What’s that noise? Cherie?”

“Sirens,” she said. “I’m moving on. I’ll be in touch. I’ll get your stuff.”

My eyes were heavy. I needed a bit of sleep, even half an hour. There was a funky old alarm clock on the wobbly side table. I set it for thirty minutes. That would be enough to keep me going.

Then, yawning and swaying, I checked the window and left it open so that I could get out quickly if I needed to. Tired as I was, the old Kelly training kicked in. Survival of the fittest and all that.

I set up a small tower of pots and pans where it would be knocked over if the door opened and before the light could be turned on. Like I said, training.

I cornered Kev. “I have a getaway plan. If someone comes in, you get yourself out by the main bedroom window. I’ll leave by the other one.”

“I know all that stuff, Jordie.”

“Promise?”