The Marsh Madness

“Miss Bingham, will you wait in the conservatory, please?”


The detective nodded. “I’ll speak to you later, Miss Bingham, if you don’t mind waiting.” I didn’t think she meant the “if you don’t mind” bit.

I got shakily to my feet. It was all very polite and civilized, no doubt a result of Vera Van Alst’s place in Harrison Falls society. But I didn’t like the direction it was taking. Detective Castellano wanted to talk to Vera alone. Later she would talk to me alone. There was a reason for that. She wanted to make sure our stories matched. I headed for the door. Smiley got to his feet to follow me, but a minuscule shake of Detective Castellano’s head caused him to sit down again. He was alone now on the fainting coach. Still sweating. I wondered if he was coming down with a fever.

The signora chose that moment to stick her head through the door and arrive with coffee, almond cookies and a plate of cheese. The aroma of Italian roast filled the room.

“Not now, Fiammetta,” Vera snapped. “I don’t believe this is a social call.”

“Yes, yes, cookies. Eat, Vera. Eat, Jordan.”

Cookies sounded good to me, and so did coffee, but I was being expelled.

The detective inclined her head toward her partner and he rose and said, “I’ll wait with you. Wouldn’t mind seeing this conservatory.” I noticed he cast a backward glance at the coffee and cookies.

Great. Just what I needed. A cop sitting with me so I couldn’t get any advice from my nearest and dearest about what to do in this situation. I smiled weakly and led the way past the disapproving ancestors to the conservatory. The leather soles of his shoes squeaked to fill the awkward silence. It was a long walk and Stoddard sauntered the whole way. I was relieved that at least Kev hadn’t chosen to sneak back in thinking the coast was clear.

The detective was not inclined to talk. I think they take training in how to keep you off balance, even in your own home. I knew Tyler Dekker’s ambitions. He had plans to become a detective. I hated the idea of his naturally pleasant and helpful personality being twisted by police training in tricking suspects.

We were certainly being treated like suspects. No question about it. I felt like consulting a lawyer, but I had absolutely no idea about what. Nothing looks guiltier than the rush to get a legal opinion, and yet, I also knew that even innocent people say and do unwise things without good advice. My last encounter with a lawyer had been Sammy Vincovic, a pricey, but effective, barracuda from Syracuse. It had resulted in some very useful information: Don’t say anything you don’t have to. If you have to say something, make it, “No comment.”

I took my usual seat in the conservatory. Three sets of lunch plates and a platter of rapidly cooling paninis sat on the table.

“Someone else with you?” the detective said, pointing around.

“It’s only the three of us,” I said. “Vera, me and the signora.”

The signora had pursued us along the corridor and into the conservatory. Her black eyes widened as I said this. “Guess we’ll all have to make up for missing lunch later on, Signora. Sorry.”

“Coffee! Cookies!” she said, skittering through the door to the kitchen. I knew there were probably a dozen caffettieras there and a bottomless source of cookies, so we wouldn’t miss out on that.

“I’ll give her a hand to clear up,” I said. “She gets alarmed if our routine is altered.” I gathered up the dishes. The detective picked up the ones on his side and said, “Let me help with the plates.”

How sneaky was that? What was he after? Fingerprints? Evidence? Signs of Kev? Panini? I had no idea, and I didn’t care for this turn of events.