The Marsh Madness

*

AS I PULLED into the driveway at Van Alst House, my pocket sprang to life with a text from Tiff. In typical Tiff fashion, she had offered to fill in for a colleague as a nurse on a cruise. This was what I loved about Tiff. You could count on her to save the day if you, say, broke your ankle in an ill-advised attempt at roller derby and needed someone to cover your eleven-day shift. On the phone before she’d left for Miami she was excited. Tiff collects adventures the way Vera collects books, only with more passion and far less caution. She’d never been on a cruise or to the Panama Canal. And the pay was going to be decent, considering all her accommodations and food were covered. Although the sun was starting to get stronger here in New York State, our late-coming spring was a far cry from the balmy tropical breezes Tiff would have tousling her hair. I felt a twinge of envy. My pale Irish skin had reached an almost translucent level of white over the long winter.

Hey J!

Getting on board now. Tiny room, but at least I don’t have to share! ;) I guess once we get out to sea, texting gets pricey, so I will check in when we get to Aruba in two days. Be thinking of you as I work on my tan. LOL

xo T

I replied in faux jealous rage.

T,

You are a horrible person. I hope a dolphin steals your wallet.

;) Have fun!


*

I WAS BACK barely in time to accompany Vera and Uncle Kev to the bank to pick up the money for the exchange of the Marsh collection. We’d arranged to have the cash on hand. Vera must have had a stash of cash somewhere in Van Alst House, because she was able to keep the withdrawal amount under ten thousand, which is the point where transactions attract all sorts of unwelcome attention from the IRS and other government bodies. I did wonder about the need for cash. I was beginning to think that Vera was right and maybe the Kauffman estate was shrinking. However, we were the buyers, not the sellers, and it was up to Chadwick to report any income. Once again, no need to worry. I might have been going straight, but it wasn’t like I worked for the government.

From the moment we got out of the bank, scanned articles and links kept appearing from Lance on my iPhone. Bing! Bing! Bing!

Lance had found lots of new stuff. I loved that boy. Soon I’d be immersed in more than I could ever absorb about the Kauffmans and Summerlea.

A last text from Lance:

Found a lot of info about art, but nothing about books. Chat later.


*

AS SOON AS we got home, Vera zoomed to the study to take care of some hospital board work. Kev muttered something about cleanup around the property. That reminded me about those puffs of smoke. I’d been too distracted to follow up. “Whatever you’re doing, Kev, make sure it’s inside. Stay away from the woods and forget whatever project you have going there.”

“Sure thing, Jordie. You know you can trust me.”

Trust him? Not so much. I had to keep an eye on him.

My attic space is one of the best things about living in Van Alst House. I had an hour to spare before dinner, so I curled up on my bed to do a thorough reading of the material from Lance. The ornate iron bedstead might not have looked comfortable, but the feather bed sure was. I snuggled under the well-worn comforter with its pretty green sprigged pattern that matched my curtains. Good thing the pattern was small and delicate, because the faded cabbage roses on the ancient wallpaper could still flatten any competition. I loved them too.

A cat pounced on the bed. Luckily it was Good Cat. Bad Cat seemed to have declared a truce of sorts, but that could end with no notice. Maybe he was under the bed waiting until I put my ankles within reach.