The Marsh Madness

“Everything all right?” The other officer blocked the door, staring at us.

“Well, you are both here without a warrant as far as I can tell. Aside from that and the fact I don’t seem to be able to have a nap without the SWAT team, everything’s peachy.”

“Peachy?” the other cop said. “Really?”

“Very funny.” Tyler gave me a glare. “Stop messing around. You’re caught up in a dangerous situation.”

“I’m glad you pointed that out. The murder itself and the fact we are somehow implicated in it wasn’t enough for me to catch on.”

Something flickered across his face. Anger? Regret? Some mysterious cop emotion that the rest of the world doesn’t get?

“Stay out of it.”

He glanced around the room, squinting. I’d never been exactly open with Tyler about my uncles and their . . . enterprises, but I knew he had a pretty good idea. Up until this point, I’d thought he believed in me, believed I was an honest person, going straight, despite the odds. Now I wasn’t sure what to think. Our relationship was toast. Served me right for imagining I could be happy with a cop.

The other cop scratched his head. “You want to take her in?”

“No grounds.”

I said, “And let me repeat, no warrant. Shall I walk you to the door?”

“What?” Scratchy said.

I ignored that and watched the two of them leave. The staircase echoed with their boots. I heard the door from the kitchen to the shop close. I made my way to the front window, and I could see them actually get into their vehicles. Tyler Dekker made a U-turn. He slowed his cruiser. He opened his window. He glanced up, and our eyes met as I stared down at him.

The other police officer was settled in behind the steering wheel of his obvious but unmarked car. I assumed he was scratching. I rescued the photo from under the blanket. I tucked it into a cushion and headed down to Uncle Mick’s scanner, conveniently located out of sight of the officer. I’d been lucky that the photo hadn’t been ruined when I’d sat on it.

I carefully ejected the photo from the frame and laid it on the scanner. I scanned the photo and saved it to my laptop and a memory stick. Next I forwarded the image to Lance from one of Uncle Mick’s lesser known e-mail addresses. I reinserted the original into the frame and stuck it back in the cushion.

I used my burner phone to call Lance to give him a heads-up.

“Hi, Lance.”

“Beautiful lady,” he purred.

“I need a big favor.”

“Anything,” he said.

“I’ve sent you a photo, and I need to identify a woman in the second-to-last row. Third from left.”

“Um, okay.”

“It’s a formal shot taken at the Spring Soirée at the Country Club and Spa, last year.”

Lance made choking noises.

“You are the best, Lance.”

“I am, but I’m not sure how to . . . Never mind. Send it over and leave it with me and I’ll do what I can.”

I smiled happily. “You should already have it.”

“Don’t count on anything though.”

“No pressure,” I said, knowing that Lance wouldn’t be able to relax until he found the elusive woman. “But if you can’t identify her, maybe you can find out who some of the other people are. Don’t bother with the staff members on the side, including the late Chadwick, and the still-alive Lisa Hatton.. They’re in the first row on the right side of the photo.”

“Why her?” he asked.

“That’s the woman who called herself Lisa Troy at Summerlea. I knew she had a connection with Chadwick somehow. We are getting closer to figuring out who is behind the death of Chadwick Kauffman.”

“But Chadwick was murdered. Maybe you shouldn’t be poking around in that. Maybe you should leave it to the police.”

“But we do know that this Lisa is involved, and the police don’t believe us about the people at Summerlea. Once we identify her, I’ll have something to take to them.”