The Marsh Madness

“Rediscovered.” I couldn’t resist telling her about our luncheon at Summerlea.

“That sounds amazing.”

I grinned. “I’m lucky to be along for the ride. It’s all between my employer and Chadwick Kauffman. But I can’t wait to soak up that ambiance. It will be almost like stepping into one of the great estates in these books.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s work too. I’m one of the nameless servants on this character list.”

Larraine said. “Did you say you collect first editions?”

“Yes.” I was glad I’d left Vera out of the story, as she was generally loathed in our part of the world, and anyway, the Van Alst name might be enough to raise the prices.

“Oh well, have a look at some of Doug’s books. You may find something you like.” A wicked smile played around her full, bright lips.

I glanced up the stairs, where there was a certain amount of crashing about and huffing going on.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

A half hour later, I had another pair of boxes with hardbacks, including a few firsts in quite decent shape. A Hammett. A Chandler. Some John D. MacDonalds. Vera had all those, but I’d invest my own money and they’d make me a few pennies on the side.

I could hear Doug carrying on about finally getting rid of those dusty old Christmas decorations. But that wasn’t enough for him. “And who needs four closets for their clothes?”

“Leave my closets alone. I’ll take care of them!”

“At least can I pitch these theater souvenirs. It’s bad enough you have seen every play on and off Broadway—no matter how short the run—but do you have to keep this junk? You never look at it.”

She glanced up the stairs. I foresaw stormy weather coming for Doug. A small nerve flickered under Larraine’s eye. “My playbills stay. End of discussion.”

I decided it was time to make tracks. Larraine and I settled on a price for Doug’s books, for the other mysteries I’d found and for the Marshes.

As I picked up the first box, she glanced sadly at the box and reached out. “I love the theatricality of the Inspector Alleyn novels. I did a lot of theater in college and that really appealed.”

No wonder we’d hit it off. “Me too. I remember that. I read Death in a White Tie first and felt as if I was actually watching it play out on a stage. How people came and went within scenes, the way the dialogue propelled the story forward was three-dimensional. They’re so much fun and now I’ll get to read them all.”

Larraine said, “Apparently, theater was Ngaio Marsh’s first love, and it showed in the way those characters and settings with a theatrical connection rose from the page.”

“I was involved in theater too. Every year in college I worked on at least one production.”

“Onstage?”

“Sometimes onstage, or behind the scenes with wardrobe or makeup or as a production assistant. I enjoyed everything about each production, from the first read-through to the feel of the costumes, the smell of the theater, the buzz of excitement when you step in front of the lights.”

“Why didn’t you pursue it?”

“If I hadn’t been so in love with English literature, maybe I would have switched to a drama degree. What about you?”

“I did go that route. Never really succeeded, although I was in a number of productions and some of my friends went on to success. Now I’m here, teaching. It has its good points too. But you know . . .”

“I hear you. There are such great bonds in theater. Wonderful friendships.” Lance and Tiff had been part of all the productions.

Tiff had been reluctant. In her own words: “So I won’t be forced to listen to Jordan blab on endlessly about something I’m not involved in.”