The Marsh Madness

Be calm, I answered myself. There is nothing in your room. That was true. My beloved Sweet Sixteen lock picks were hidden behind the baseboard in my old room at Uncle Mick’s place. No worries there.

My possessions in my attic rooms at Van Alst House were limited and vintage. I might have cherished them, but they were not the kind of thing that anyone in their right mind would steal. So even though my conscience was clear, why I was more nervous than Bad Cat?

Senior detectives do not show up at your home without good reason. I was weirded out by Tyler Dekker’s presence and aloof behavior. I had a feeling there were more backups in the driveway.

Obviously, they knew we’d been at Summerlea the same day that Chadwick died. But he’d been alive when we left. The butler was still there. Lisa Troy was still there. He must have been alive when they left or they would have called for help when he fell.

Could this visit be about something other than his death? Had something of great value been stolen from Summerlea? I was praying that Uncle Kev hadn’t actually managed to liberate some tiny incredibly valuable artifact while my back was turned. Instead of letting anxiety take over my brain, I concentrated on the unnervingly attractive and slouchy Stoddard.

Castellano had actually smiled at me when I entered the study. I wasn’t fooled for a minute by her inquiring face, or the soft caramel two-piece suit or the paisley wool scarf she had looped fashionably around her neck. She’d have to be very smart and very tough to get where she was. She looked totally at home in the job. And if Kev had done something to get us in trouble, she was the enemy.

She fingered her scarf. “Cold in here.”

“It always is. You’ll be glad you’re wearing those boots.” She’d left her cognac-colored, knee-high boots on too.

She smiled at me and said, “Everyone seems quite tense.”

As if to reinforce her point, the signora skittered through the door as though pursued by wasps. She deposited some slices of ciabatta bread and cheese and fled. Bad Cat reached out again.

“Nothing to worry about, Miss Bingham,” she said. I noticed her smile didn’t reach her dark eyes.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said, smiling back. “But it is unusual to be interviewed by the police without any explanation. Isn’t it?”

“I get that,” she said.

“I’m sure you do. And as we all have things to do today, can we get to the point? What is it you want to ask us about?”

“Chadwick Kauffman.”

“Okay. What about him?”

“You’ve heard the news?”

“About Mr. Kauffman’s accident?”

“His death, yes.”

Was she implying it wasn’t an accident?

“Yes, his death. That was a shock.”

“I’m sure it was.” She was one of those people who could say one thing and you knew that she meant the opposite. “How did you learn about it?”

My uncles always say, answer the question you want to. “Yes, it was a surprise and very sad. But I still don’t know why you’re here.” It suddenly occurred to me that the “alerts” would definitely look fishy. They’d find my new alerts in a minute if they checked my phone, of course. Mental note: Clear history. Even if we’d had good reasons to check out Chadwick.

“Very sad?” Castellano said, smiling slightly.

I winced. “Well, not devastating. I only met him once. We had a meal with him in his home yesterday and he seemed like a—well, you don’t expect something like that, do you?”

She shrugged as if she wouldn’t be surprised if people dropped dead after meeting with me.

“Hmm, yes, especially immediately after you met with him.”

It was hard to miss the insinuation in her voice.

“Wait. Immediately? How is that possible?”

“In fact, it was right after you were out of sight of Summerlea. Would you like to tell me about your return trip here?”

I blinked.

“But it couldn’t have been right after.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t alone in the house. The others were still there when we left.”

“What others?”

“Miss Troy and the butler, Thomas.”