The Marsh Madness

*

I COULDN’T BELIEVE how late it was. I needed to get a good night’s sleep. I cleaned my face and teeth, and I took a peek out the dormer window. This was one of my favorite things to do at bedtime when I was a child and watched the night sky with my uncles. From my little pink-and-white bedroom over Uncle Mick’s shop (Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques), the stars were magical and powerful. Uncle Mick could weave stories about the constellations. Looking back, I now think my uncles wanted to keep me from having nightmares. After all, I was a small girl whose mother had vanished and I lived with my bachelor uncles who were adorable, although undeniably crooked. I didn’t care. I loved it when Mick would point and have me do my five-year-old best to say Cassiopeia. The night might have been overcast with not a star in view, but I still had happy memories of watching the sky.

I did a double take. Was that a furtive movement in the direction of the woods? I wasn’t sure. But at least it couldn’t be Kev. I could see the light in his quarters over the garage and his shadow against the blind. Just a fox, I decided, happily hunting. But I needed to remember to check on those woods in the morning. In case.





CHAPTER THREE





I FOLLOWED VERA’S old Caddy up the long, long approach to Summerlea. With its high stone walls at the entrance and vast formal grounds on either side of the front driveway, it made Van Alst House look like a shack in the woods. It was impressively over-the-top. I love opulence. If it looked this attractive in the gray early light with only evergreens and a wide swath of crocus for color, I could only imagine how beautiful it would be in late spring, and how stunning the summer events had been here.

A silver classic Aston Martin was parked creatively in front of the house, next to it a vintage red Mercedes convertible, both with muddy plates. I figured the Mercedes was from the seventies or eighties. It was a bit battered and dusty, and not a candidate for any classic car parade, but had I not given my heart to the Saab, this might have been what I’d buy if I won the lottery.

As I didn’t buy lottery tickets, that wouldn’t happen. Uncle Kev used up all the Kelly luck long ago.

I was happy to see there was a ramp for Vera’s wheelchair. I’d made it clear when Miss Troy and I discussed arrangements. I was still kind of tickled by the coincidence of Miss Troy’s name.

As Kev pushed Vera up the ramp, I headed up the wide steps to the door and rang. It was opened by a large, stone-faced butler. How’s that for over-the-top? I had never met a real butler before, although I’d always enjoyed the butlers in the novels of the Golden Age of Detection. Bunter was my favorite. I may have already mentioned that I had a serious crush on his employer, Lord Peter Wimsey, but I’d been able to move on, with the help of Archie Goodwin.

This time, I’d been so distracted by the grand entrance, I missed the butler’s name. Maybe butlers weren’t supposed to give their names.