The Marsh Madness

Chadwick glanced at his watch, and Miss Troy jumped to her feet, looking slightly panicked. Getting rid of the visitors once the deal was done fell to the minion. As a fellow minion, I was familiar with the process. Miss Troy nibbled her lip. But she didn’t have to worry about the awkward moment. The party was over.

Vera nodded to Uncle Kev to close up and carry the small trunk. We murmured our thank-yous. Vera’s was so mumbled it could have been anything. Uncle Kev gripped Miss Troy’s delicate hand in both of his in a vigorous good-bye handshake. He followed that with a rule-busting, jaw-breaking hug. Vera had rolled forward toward the front foyer and missed the faux pas. Mind you, I doubt she would have cared.

Chadwick sneered in polite contempt without moving from his lounging position, but Thomas the butler stepped forward with a look of alarm. Uncle Kev gripped Thomas’s hand and shook it too. “Thanks for everything, buddy. Really great lunch.” Kev gave him a playful jab in the bicep to top it off.

It was painful to watch, but I couldn’t look away.

I said, “Beautiful meal, lovely home, thank you so much. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Even as I spoke I realized that in the world of the Kauffmans, I had probably sinned as much as Kev. In Ngaio Marsh’s culture and probably the Kauffmans, “one” didn’t ever comment about the possessions of others. Mentioning business after a meal was probably a gaffe of some magnitude.

I hurried after the others, glad I got to experience Summerlea and almost as glad to get away from Chadwick et al. I suppose I imagined Chadwick’s reptilian gaze on my back. It gave me a chill.

We exited the grand front entrance, Kev making sure Vera didn’t build up too much speed on the wheelchair ramp and me racing to catch up.

I gave one last glance at the silver Aston Martin and the red Mercedes convertible before we left.

From the window of the Caddy, Vera said, “We did well out of that. Can’t wait to get home.” Kev smirked at me through the rearview mirror, making me wonder how much he had liberated from the pile of cash. He gunned the Caddy and rocketed away. I turned back to see Thomas, the butler, staring at us from the front door. I hopped into the Saab and raced to catch up with them. Kev, as usual, cut it a bit fine as he passed a dusty white-and-blue delivery truck moving into the long driveway. I’m sure the driver saw his life pass before his eyes. As Kev made a sharp right turn at the stone pillars at the entrance to the property, a familiar trio of older ladies leapt back to avoid being splattered.

I waved apologetically to them as I drove past. It seemed to be too little too late.

One of them actually shook her fist while the others pointed at us. Surely not a middle finger? But soon we were all out of sight along the winding county road. I leaned back and exhaled.

We were headed home to normal life. I could relax.

I had some delicious memories of a lovely luncheon with some less-than-lovely people in a truly beautiful house. I’d added a great dress to my wardrobe. It was enough.

Even Vera would have to admit it had been a good day.

We had the Marsh collection; nothing had been broken at or stolen from Summerlea; and no one had been killed.





CHAPTER FOUR





I WAS BARELY out of bed the next morning when Lance called. I glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen, early for Lance to be on the phone and for me too.

“So what’s up?” I said, making sure there was plenty of yawn in my voice.

“Did you hear the news?” Lance likes to drag it out a bit.

“In our lifetime, Lance.” Oh God, Vera was rubbing off on me.

“I thought you’d be interested since that’s where you spent yesterday.”

“I am very interested, but also hoping that I won’t spend my morning waiting for you to tell me what it is I’m interested in.”

“Chadwick Kauffman. I set a Google Alert for his name and got a lot of responses today.”

“What about him? Did the Lizard King saunter into the reference department, which is nearly three hours away from opening, by the way.”

“Better for him if he had.”

“Come on, Lance.”

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Dead.”

“Chadwick?”

“None other.”

“But he can’t be.”