The Marsh Madness

“What about reordering our white cotton gloves for handling my books?”


“Twelve dozen should arrive by Friday. But back to Summerlea. Would you like to come with me in the Saab? It could be fun.” I love my vintage blue Saab. It runs like a dream even though long before it was mine, it belonged to my mother. No wonder I’m so attached to the nineteen sixties.

Fun is to Vera as a big box of snakes is to others. She barely suppressed a shudder as she turned into the study. “Fine, we will go, but not in that silly blue vehicle. We will all go in the Cadillac. Mr. Kelly will drive.”

What was so silly about my car . . . Wait, what? Uncle Kev? Coming to Summerlea?

“Mr. Whoozit’s assistant called and asked that we bring him to assist.”

I’m afraid that I wailed. “But I’m the assistant. I will assist!”

“Miss Bingham. I do not comprehend why you are behaving like a petulant child. Mr. Kelly will do the heavy lifting.”

I couldn’t imagine that there’d be that much lifting. Uncle Kev was our official groundskeeper, maintenance guy, bouncer and court jester. He was also the relative most likely to make Guinness World Records as the planet’s most adorable walking disaster. Maybe Kauffman’s assistant had spotted him while checking out Vera Van Alst on Google and had been drawn to the man in the “WHERE’S THE BEEF?” T-shirt.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

“But, I can lift a box or two. I schlep heavy items every day. I’m very—” Sometimes that heavy item is Kevin.

Vera raised her eyebrow, usually a declaration of war. “Mr. Kelly will come along. He certainly merits a special occasion.”

What? And I didn’t? This bit of Kev news gave me a shock. I couldn’t imagine that there’d be anything for Kev to do. And when had Vera been talking to Lisa Troy?

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Like most women, Vera had a weakness for Uncle Kev. Maybe it’s the chiseled cheekbones, the brilliant blue eyes, the uninhibited smile and the fine head of red hair that my Kelly uncles owe to Olaf the Viking, who was a hot commodity around Dublin in the ninth century.

My mother had been a redheaded Kelly too. I have the dark hair of the Binghams. Good thing, I wouldn’t want to clash with my dream dress. But I digress. My original point was that Vera and our cook, Signora Panetone, think the sun shines out of Kev’s—

Vera reached her desk and whirled. “Why are you still hanging around, Miss Bingham? I have work to do. I believe that you do too, as I pay you enough for it.”

“But don’t you need Kev here to—?” I paused, trying to think of something that would be improved by Kev’s presence on the home front. It was a short list.

But what if something needed lighting on fire?

“Miss Bingham.” Vera snapped open a file. I knew I was taking a chance, but I predicted a world of trouble if Kev came with us. Why couldn’t Vera see that too? Of course, I’d always kept Kev’s biggest disasters secret from her in order that he could stay on as live-in staff at Van Alst House. I couldn’t fault her not understanding the degree of risk involved. At that point, I decided I wouldn’t ride in the Caddy with them. I’d follow them in the Saab. I’d deal with any arguments if and when they arose at the time of departure.

Uncle Kev chose that moment to stop whatever crisis he’d been creating elsewhere and pop into our conversation. That’s when the entire thing first took on its surreal appearance.

There he was: lovable, handsome and enthusiastic. You could cut fabric with those cheekbones. His blue eyes were mesmerizing. And he was kind. It wasn’t his fault that so much went wrong so soon after he walked onto a scene. To my great surprise, he’d fit in quite well at Van Alst House. “Hey, Jordie. Did you hear? I’m going to . . . wherever it is that you’re so excited about.”

“Summerlea.” I smiled tightly before my attention was caught by movement through the tall study window.