The Marsh Madness

Kev said, “But we love working for Vera.”


Cherie said, “It takes all kinds, I guess. Well, you two can stay at my place until this blows over.”

Kev brightened. I hated to tell him that there wouldn’t be much romance.

I said, “I’ll need you to help me some more, Cherie.”

“I’ll help you too, Jordie.”

As with so many of Uncle Kev’s comments, I let it slide.

Cherie said, “Whatever it takes. This has been fun so far.”

Fun? Maybe I was getting old. Aside from lunch at Summerlea, nothing about it had been fun.

Kev and Cherie flirted happily in the front of the car. In the backseat, I left a message for Uncle Lucky from my burner phone.

Then I sat back to focus on our situation and all the unknowns we faced. How had our players gotten into Summerlea? I had nothing to lose by speculating. The housekeeper was a possibility, but she’d lost a good job when Chadwick died and she had nothing to gain from his death.

My intuition told me that the answer lay at the Country Club and Spa, now known as a source of at least one false tip for the police. The Country Club was the connection. But who was the weak link? Was it Lisa Hatton? Infatuated with Chadwick? Would she have betrayed him out of revenge? Was it anger over unrequited love?

Or had Shelby been the person who managed to get that key? She went to events there. I assumed her family were members. She could have called in a tip. She’d been involved in the trickery at Summerlea. Would she have been able to get the key and the codes from Chadwick? How?

Was the Country Club where I should be spending my energy? Or should I look back to the stage? Whatever that meant.

I felt a shiver down my spine.

But I had an idea.


*

CHERIE LIVED OUTSIDE Maple Ridge, two towns past Grandville, just over the county line and yet far away enough from Harrison Falls to mean we wouldn’t be dodging police. She was down a long driveway off a road with few houses. I was happy. Uncle Kev was in heaven. Cherie had every channel in the universe and more movies than you could ever imagine. I was glad to know Kev was sitting safely on her leather reclining sofa, with a couple of bags of Cheetos and a cluster of remotes.

I sat with the laptop and began the tedious job of checking out everything that had happened in Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques for the week prior to our adventure at Summerlea. Luckily, at most times nothing was happening at the shop. I was able to skim, but even skimming took time. I may have eaten a few Cheetos too.

Uncle Mick came and went. Walter enjoyed a lot of walks. I popped in to say “hi” more than once. There I was, showing off my raspberry dress to Uncle Mick and Walter. Uncle Danny and Uncle Billy paid a social call. I paused when the occasional customers came in. I captured their images and moved the individual images to a memory stick. Most people were buying things. I was pretty sure the culprits weren’t going to be middle-aged ladies on the hunt for estate jewelry, but you have to keep an open mind.

I found myself yawning, but there was no stopping now.

An elderly man tried to interest Uncle Mick in a stack of National Geographic. Uncle Mick turned him down gently, but did offer a glass of Jameson whiskey as a consolation prize.

Click. Click. Click.

There. A pretty young woman with a cloud of curly hair was taking a great interest in the estate jewelry. I couldn’t see the color in the grainy gray footage, but I knew that hair was strawberry-blond. Mick took a great interest in her too. She had him taking out earrings, rings and necklaces. Helping her to put them on, leaning forward so clasps could be fastened on her neck. Holding out her hand for Mick to assist as she tried on ring after ring, diamonds from the forties, a garnet dinner ring I’d noticed, a square sapphire.