The Marsh Madness

Castellano rose and stalked out the door. Stoddard slouched after her, looking very Tom Sawyerish. The door closed softly behind them.

Bad Cat took his disappointment out on the drapes.

I felt a rush of relief.

Sammy said, “She won’t let this go. She’s not the type. We have to get our story airtight and do a bit of research while we’re at it.”

Just what I’d been thinking. But I was worried. What if I was wrong about Vera’s influence? “I think they do have enough to get a search warrant. We were at the scene of a murder. Our story isn’t backed up. Even though Vera’s powerful in the community, a lot of people hate the Van Alsts. That probably includes some judges.”

“Sure, they’ll get it. No problem. You are innocent, remember? So we have to take certain stands.”

“Right. General principles.”

“And, speaking of, here’s my card. Memorize my cell number. Call the minute something happens. If you get new information, if the police show up again after this. Doesn’t matter what or when.”

“It will take you more than a couple of minutes to get back from Syracuse,” I said, staring at the card dubiously.

“There’s no going back to Syracuse until we’ve got this under control.”

I exhaled with relief. Sammy was a lawyer you could lean on.

Castellano stuck her head back in the door. “Don’t leave town.”

Sammy showed her his best dental work.





CHAPTER SEVEN





I DIDN’T NEED Sammy to tell me that they couldn’t stop me from leaving town. The police like to say that, to get you rattled. Of course, I had no intention of leaving town. Where would I go? I wanted to relax and live my life without the threat of a murder or accessory to murder charge hanging over my head.

I went over everything that happened one more time with Sammy. I answered questions. I tried to make sense of the events at Summerlea. When Sammy headed out at last, I walked with him to the front door. We found Vera, glowering. Castellano and Stoddard had just left, and she was still angry about their visit. There was no sign of Tyler Dekker. I wanted to thank him for sending Sammy and for being there for me. Face it, I needed a hug.

The signora fluttered in and did her little anxiety dance, crossing herself a few times. She was making a second attempt at lunch because of interruptions.

“For heaven’s sake, Fiammetta,” Vera grumped. “We can’t be eating all the time.”

“Yes. You eat, Vera! La polizia! No, no, no! Must eat.” Apparently the cure for anxiety caused by police was food. I got that.

I said, “I wouldn’t mind a bite. Our lunch was interrupted by the police and being questioned by cops always makes me hungry. Sammy, will you join us?”

He shook his head and tapped his watch. Of course, he didn’t really know what he was missing. And it crossed my mind he might want to trim his waist before any future encounters with Castellano.

Vera grunted and I waved good-bye to Sammy.

I figured lunch would help me regain my emotional balance and give my serotonin a boost, after being considered a murder suspect had pretty much depleted it. I’d be in better shape if I figured out what I could do to help myself.

I tried calling Tyler Dekker, but his phone went right to voice mail. Of course, he was on duty and, in fact, may have been meeting up with Castellano and Stoddard. He wouldn’t be free to talk. I decided against leaving a message, as I wanted to thank him face-to-face. And, you know, lip-to-lip.

The signora must have worked out her own anxiety by preparing her very special huge meatballs with the light tomato sauce made from her own harvest in the garden last fall. These are like a secret weapon in the war against feeling bad about anything. The signora serves them all alone on a plate with an artistic swirl of sauce around them.