The Marsh Madness

Meanwhile, my life was hardly relaxing. I kept expecting a knock at the door and the reappearance of the two detectives waving a warrant for my arrest or to search the house.

Before the detectives returned, I needed to check something. I pulled on a heavy sweater and dug my red rain boots from the cupboard by the back door again. I could hear the wind howling, so I jammed a wool hat over my hair, covering my ears, and even picked up mittens. So much for spring. This was a curling-up-in-a-chair-to-read kind of day, and if it hadn’t been for the police ruining the mood, I would have been catching up on those Ngaio Marsh books. But I was worried about Uncle Kev. It was one thing for him to hide under the bed in case the cops came, but he’d left in the middle of a meal and missed his regular snacks as well as the makeup lunch. That was out of character.

I clomped through the back garden, avoiding the stubborn lumps of blackened snow that had survived our long, cold winter. It was easy enough to follow the muddy path that Kev must have created. What could he have been doing there? Whatever it was, I hoped he was still hanging around doing it, because I needed to tell him what was going on with the police and what had happened to Chadwick Kauffman. And he really needed to know that the police were saying that his fingerprints were on the statue that had killed Chadwick.

I trudged around behind a tight row of trees that had been planted as a windbreak near the edge of the property. “Kev!” I yelled. There was nothing but the wailing of the wind.

Behind the trees was not Kev, but a collection of odd-looking objects. First, what looked like a primitive stone fireplace or stove. It seemed to be connected by pipes to a few barrels. Some gallon jugs stood around, empty, but ready for business. One barrel was shattered, the staves scattered widely. That explained the puffs of smoke.

I sighed heavily.

Kev had built a still on Vera’s property, and the construction of this highly illegal system coincided with the arrival of the police, soon to be back with a search warrant, to start inspecting Van Alst House and probably stalking around the property as well. Kev, Kev, Kev. I knew when I got the chance to blast my darling uncle, he’d claim that I’d never cautioned him against building a still there.

That was true.

I just needed to remain calm.

I whirled when I heard a rustling behind me. Kev stood there with a sheepish grin on his face.

“What is this?” I shouted. So much for remaining calm.

“Gonna be a nice little moneymaker, Jordie, once I get a few bugs ironed out on the distribution side.”

“Get rid of it.”

“Jordie, I can’t. How could I do that?”

“The cops will be all over the property within hours. I don’t care how you get rid of it, but do it. Do you want to get the ATF on our case too?”

“The ATF? That would be the worst thing that could happen.”

“Actually, the worst thing will be if you go to prison for life for killing Chadwick Kauffman.”

“What?”

“Uncle Kev, the police said they have your fingerprints on the statue that killed him.”

“What?”

I repeated myself and added, “I don’t know if it’s true, but that’s what they’re saying.”

“But I thought he fell down the stairs.”

“Yeah, well, the police said he was killed by a blow to the head. And then he ‘fell’ down the stairs.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone do that?”

“To make it look like an accident. And the cops believe you did it.”

“But I didn’t do that! I wouldn’t. You know me, Jordie. I couldn’t do that.”

I knew Kev hadn’t killed Chadwick.

Kev was still talking. “Why would anyone do that to a person? ’Course, he was kind of nasty, so somebody probably hated him.”

“The big problem is that little statue on the table outside the powder rooms—”

“Never touched it.”

“You did, Kev.”

His familiar sheepish look was back.

“The cops found your prints. But I need to know, did you go upstairs?”