The Marsh Madness

“That was enough to kill him.”


“Well, we didn’t do that.”

“I believe I will find out otherwise.”

“If there was no one at Summerlea—and Thomas and Lisa Troy were definitely there . . . Wait a minute, how did you even find out that we were at the house?” I said.

“The neighbors, a group of elderly women, were almost plowed down by your Mr. Kelly. They gave a description of your distinctive vehicle, although the plates weren’t readable, and they had the presence of mind to jot down the license plate of the Cadillac.”

Damn Uncle Kev and his love of Grand Theft Auto. Also, why wasn’t that license plate covered in dust like every other one that the Kellys drove? It was early spring in upstate New York. Plenty of mud everywhere. Even the Aston Martin and the Mercedes parked in front of Summerlea had muddy plates.

I sighed. “Kevin Kelly’s not much of a driver, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer. He’s very gentle.”

“There’s more, of course.”

“More? Chadwick was murdered. You say that there is no Miss Lisa Troy in his life. You say he didn’t have a butler. What else? Is the earth suddenly flat?” My heart was racing. Everything was so hard to grasp. So inexplicable. And so likely to get us charged with murder.

She pounced verbally. “Fingerprints.”

Was that all?

I relaxed. “Oh well, we all have fingerprints and we were in the house. So that’s not surprising.” Nothing much to worry about there, as we hadn’t done anything. Fingers crossed for Kev, of course.

Her dark eyes glittered. “Unusual as it may seem for visitors to such a grand home, your prints, of course, were in the system as a result of earlier interactions with the police.”

“But not because I was accused of a crime! I’ve been a witness. My prints have been taken for purposes of elimination and, um, other reasons. I’ve never committed a crime. Never,” I squeaked. So much for cool and calm. Get it together, Jordan.

She didn’t even appear to notice. And my statement wasn’t entirely true, but any mild transgressions had always been in the interests of justice and keeping people alive. About that, the less said, the better.

“And Mr. Kelly’s too, of course.”

“Um, Kevin was with me all the time. He’d never hurt anyone. He’s gentle and . . .” Best not to mention unintentionally dangerous.

“Even Miss Van Alst’s were there.”

“Well, you can hardly believe that Vera would kill anyone. She’s only interested in her collections, and there was no threat to any of them.” I added hurriedly, “And if there had been, she would take action with a lawyer, not a weapon. A dead opponent would be no use to Vera.”

Again with the throaty chuckle. “She told me that about herself. She only cares about books.”

“I don’t understand how Chadwick’s death has anything to do with us or the books.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Vera’s the one with the passion for the books, and even if there had been some issue, which there wasn’t, she couldn’t hit a man with a blunt object hard enough to kill him let alone haul him up the staircase afterward.”

“What about the elevator?”

“What elevator?”

“The one in Summerlea.”

I stared. Elevator? “So what if there was? Vera didn’t take the elevator. She was never out of my sight.”

She tilted her head to one side and met my eyes. “So you say. And yet you and Mr. Kelly both left to ‘freshen up,’ as you put it.”

I goggled. “Yes. We did. Before lunch. But Chadwick was alive and well. We were all there.”

“Did you go to the same powder room as Mr. Kelly?”

“Of course not.”

“Right.”

“And you were out of sight of Miss Van Alst and Chadwick.”

“The other two as well. Lisa and Thomas.”

“I guess you’re sticking to that story. It makes me wonder if you’re all in it together.”

All in it together? Had she been reading Vera’s vintage mysteries? “You mean you think we conspired to kill Chadwick?”