The Marsh Madness

*

FROM THE TIME I was a child, police at the door has been a bad thing and beloved uncles would vanish like fog through cleverly disguised staircases or leap out of windows. I believe this attitude has left me with a furtive look when police show up, and that’s something I am trying to deal with.

As the cars rolled down the long driveway to Van Alst House, Vera and I were sitting in the conservatory, about to eat lunch and having a surprisingly heated discussion over whether the Marsh collection might be displayed outside the library for a while to celebrate its arrival and show it off. It wasn’t my collection of fine first editions. It wasn’t my secure and environmentally appropriate library either.

Vera was winning. But mostly she was arguing with herself. I was doing my best not to get on the wrong side of either argument. I’d managed to move my head in a way that could have been a nod “yes” or a nod “no” after each of Vera’s points.

“And what if there was a fire?” Vera growled. “Or moths?”

Speaking of moths, the signora fluttered in with a large plate of panini stuffed with prosciutto and provolone cheese.

“Who’s this coming?” Vera said.

Kev glanced out the window and stood up, a panini in each hand. I passed him a couple of napkins, and he stepped out in the direction of the back door.

“Police?” As I’ve said many times, we’re not much for the police in our family, if you leave out Officer Tyler “Smiley” Dekker. Of course, I was very much in favor of Smiley, even if the rest of the family was less than enthusiastic. But at Van Alst House, Vera still holds to the belief that the police are the good guys, there to help the solid citizens of Harrison Falls. So the arrival of this long black sedan and a cruiser sent my heart racing. There was no reason for it. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I rarely do anything wrong, and if I do, it’s because there’s no other choice and someone’s life is in danger. I’m just saying there are some gray areas.

“What do the police want?” Vera growled.

It takes a while to get used to Vera’s gravelly voice, but I’d had time. “No idea,” I said, calmly. I was proud of myself. All my recent interactions with the police were paying off. My heart might have been thumping, but my voice was steady and so were my hands, and that was what mattered. “I’ll find out.”

The signora put her plate of panini on the table and made the sign of the cross.

I am tasked with answering doors in Van Alst House. Vera rarely condescends to. The signora gets too worked up, and Kev, well, anything could happen. At any rate, as these were clearly police cars, Kev would probably be about ten miles away by the time I meandered to the end of the corridor.

I always make a point not to rush to the door if the cops are on the other side.

They were.

The cruiser was from Harrison Falls Police Department, and Officer Tyler Dekker had been driving it, but the sedan was unmarked.

I must have blinked in surprise.

Two cars.

Uh-oh. Had Kev pinched something? My mind ran over the contents of the rooms we’d been in at Summerlea. No. He wouldn’t do that to me. Or Vera.

Although sometimes Kev can’t help himself.

Before we got to Summerlea, I’d been worried that he might have been unable to resist the temptation to skim a couple of bills from our transaction. He hadn’t been given much opportunity.

So I doubted that was why the police were there. Anyway, I was pretty sure that Chadwick Kauffman intended our purchase to remain discreet, shall we say. The rich may have tons of money, but they can be pretty darn cheap. Cash transactions equal no tax.

It must have been Chadwick’s death. Why else would they come?