The Marsh Madness

“I’ll wait here with Miranda,” I added, in case that was what she was worried about.

Miranda’s startlingly blue eyes grew wider. I guess I made her nervous.

Lisa nodded. “You can get our guest a cappuccino or some jasmine tea, Miranda. Or fruit juice. We have mango nectar. Whatever she wants. I’ll be right back.” She left the room, wobbling unsteadily on her three-inch heels.

I smiled at Miranda. She in turn avoided my eyes and pretended to pay attention to her work. I pretended to glance at the photos with all the fake interest of a person who could not care less. “Hot tea would be lovely. Thank you, Miranda.”

She hesitated.

“Plain hot tea,” I added firmly. “Very hot.” That should take a few minutes. I wanted a bit of time alone in the office.

The man I now knew to be Chadwick presided over the events captured by most of the photos. But I wasn’t looking for him or for Lisa, Miranda or Braydon. I was looking for a glimpse of the dark and arrogant person who had presented himself as Chadwick. I was looking for the slender, pretty image of Lisa Troy. Or even the false butler, Thomas.

There appeared to be group photos of every tournament and awards ceremony in living memory. Lisa Hatton smiled out joyously in most of them, always Chadwick-adjacent. Sometimes, her hand seemed to reach out for him and stop short of his sleeve.

The other wall was given over to glamorous guests at the famous garden parties. Two new framed photos lay on the surface of the filing cabinet ready to be added to the available space on the wall. A small hammer and hooks were ready for the job. I spotted something in the second row of photos, when the door opened again and Lisa Hatton said, “Let’s get this over with.”

I turned and joined her by the desk. I would have done anything to slow down time, because I was pretty sure that I’d seen a glimpse of Lisa Troy in one of the group shots of a garden party.

I needed to buy some time.

“Before we start, I’ll need to see your hospitality expenditures for the past seven years.”

Lisa stared at me. “That’s not possible.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Some are stored off-site.”

“Start with the records you have here and make arrangements.” I was feeling lower by the second, making this grieving woman chase her tail. At this rate, soon I’d be lower than a snake.

Miranda appeared in the doorway, carrying a cup of tea that—unless I was wrong—had been steeped in resentment.

In my best auditor imitation, I said, “Perhaps your assistant, Miranda, would help you bring them.” Deep down I was feeling this was about to blow up in my face.

Lisa stared and then nodded. My karma “bill” was going to be through the roof this month. Miranda put the jasmine tea down slowly and followed Lisa from the room, her strawberry-blond curls bobbing with annoyance. I raced to the wall and checked. Sure enough, that was Lisa Troy in the first picture, on the second row of frames. I lifted the photo off the wall and substituted one from the filing cabinet. I opened my briefcase and dropped in the framed photo. I hurried to the door.

“Please tell Miss Hatton that I have been called back to the office unexpectedly,” I said to the first person I saw. “Tell her that the audit has been postponed indefinitely.” No point in letting the poor woman suffer any more.