The Marsh Madness

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.”