The Marsh Madness

“Miss Bingham.”


I kept eating. It didn’t seem to require a response. What would I have said? Yes, I am Miss Bingham? No, I’ve decided it’s too dangerous to be Miss Bingham? I could hardly deny it. I did raise an eyebrow to indicate that I was willing to engage in whatever it was she wanted to engage in.

“You have been out.”

Two more spoonfuls of the brodo. I managed to nod and eat.

She said, “The police have been nosing around.”

I swallowed and said, “I know.”

“What do they want now?”

“Right this minute, there’s an officer watching the house to make sure I don’t disappear. I assume that Detectives Castellano and Stoddard want to find proof that you or I or Uncle Kev killed Chadwick Kauffman. They’ll be off doing their best to figure out if we did it alone or as a conspiracy.”

“The fools.”

“No argument here. But ‘the fools,’ as you call them, have it in for us, and they’ll need to close this case. It’s high profile, because of Chadwick’s prominent status and your own. It’s been making the news, and they’ll be under pressure.”

“And where have you been?”

Uh-oh. The less Vera knew about my activities, the better. “I needed to get away from things. I went to my uncles’ place to try and think straight.”

“Are you thinking straight now?”

“I believe I am.”

“But you seem to be stuffing your face, Miss Bingham.”

“Stuffing my face has always helped me to think straight. And it keeps up my strength.”

The signora beamed approval. “Eat, Jordan!”

“Humph. And where is Mr. Kelly? Keeping up his strength somewhere else?”

“So he’s not here, then?”

“No, he’s not where I pay him to be.”

“He’ll find pressing business elsewhere until the police come to their senses.”

“If they do.”

“Let hope that happens, because if not, one of us will be tried for murder and the others will be tried as accomplices.”

The signora crossed herself.

Vera said, “Not you, Fiammetta, but the rest of us.”

It seemed only right that the next sound after “O dio!” was ringing at the front door. This was followed by loud knocking and raised voices. That would be the police with all the right warrants.

“Gosh. Listen to them. Do you mind answering the door, Signora? I want to fix my makeup first.” Okay, that was very lame, but no one seemed to notice.

“No, police, no, no, no!”

“Signora, please get the door!” I called out as I took the stairs to the attic two at a time. I knew I should have taken the time to hide that memory stick and my burner phone earlier, instead of letting my taste buds rule my brain.

I could hear Vera yelling, “Stop fussing, Fiammetta. The police won’t kill you. Somebody get the door. Miss Bingham!”