The Marsh Madness

“Ah yes. Miss Van Alst tells the same story.”


“It’s not a story. It’s what happened.”

“You left with Miss Van Alst and Mr. Kelly?”

“No. I was behind the Cadillac with Vera and Unc, um, Mr. Kelly. When they drove away, I looked back. Both cars were still there. Thomas, the butler, saw us leave. He’ll be able to confirm that we were on our way and Mr. Kauffman was still inside. Alive, it goes without saying. We would hardly have left if something had happened to him.”

“Ah yes, the butler,” she said with a tight little smile.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Uh-huh. And you say this butler was there?”

“I don’t ‘say’ it. He was. He served luncheon and generally did things you might expect a butler to do. And more, I think. Not that I’m familiar with butlers outside of television.”

“You mentioned the cars.”

“Yes.”

“Miss Van Alst didn’t mention cars.”

“She wouldn’t. She couldn’t care less about cars. She only cares about books, really.”

“So I understand. What cars were there?”

“A silver Aston Martin. Totally glamorous, in an early James Bond kind of way. I assumed it was Mr. Kauffman’s. You don’t see them every day. And there was also an older Mercedes-Benz, red, that I figured belonged to his assistant, Miss Troy.”

“You did, did you?”

She asked her questions with a knowing half smile, as though she’d caught you in a lie and you knew she’d caught you and now she was enjoying watching you squirm.

I didn’t plan to squirm, because I hadn’t been caught in a lie.

“I didn’t think the car was the butler’s, but that was only an assumption.”

Again with the half smile. “So, you and Miss Van Alst and, um, let’s see, Kevin Kelly, met with Chadwick yesterday?”

“That’s right.”

“And do you mind telling me how that came about?”

I blinked. “Chadwick Kauffman asked us, well, he invited Miss Van Alst, to join him for lunch at Summerlea.”

“Did he?”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that tone. “Yes. He did. Okay, to be precise, his assistant asked.”

“Did she?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep irritation out of my voice. The questioning of everything could drive a person to shout. And that would be very bad. “Miss Lisa Troy called and made the arrangements to meet with Miss Van Alst. Miss Van Alst hates driving, so she insisted that Mr. Kelly drive her. And she asked that I come along too. So the luncheon invitation was expanded to include us.”

Close enough.

She raised an eyebrow.

I added, “You’ve met Vera Van Alst. She gets what she wants by sheer force of will.” As the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to claw them back in. Had Vera mentioned the transaction with the Ngaio Marsh books? This is why they question people separately. The old divide-and-conquer strategy.

She said, “And then what happened when you arrived after this ‘invitation’?”

I left out talk of money and books. “We were met at the door by the butler, Thomas, and brought in. Miss Troy came to greet us, and then Chadwick arrived.”

“I see. And where was Chadwick arriving from?”

“He came down that grand staircase. And may I say, he didn’t look like he might fall either. He was very much in control of his movements.”

“Huh.”

Really? Should a detective say “huh” so dismissively?

“After introductions, we had mimosas in the sitting room, I suppose it’s a reception room, near the dining room, and then we had a beautiful luncheon.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. We did,” I said, exasperated. “Surely Vera must have told you the same thing.”

“She didn’t mention lunch.”

“What? Oh, well, that’s no big surprise. She doesn’t care about food. But I love food and it was excellent.” Uncle Kev does too, but the less said the better.

“And Mr. Kelly?”

I managed a chuckle. “Oh, he likes food. You can ask the signora. He’s her favorite.”