The Marsh Madness

As I reached the third floor, the muffled strains of her rant wafted up the narrow wooden staircase. I resisted the urge to go downstairs and protect Vera and the signora. But I had the memory stick with the scan of the stolen photo, and I didn’t want them to find any evidence that I’d had an exceptional interest in Chadwick. Warrants or no warrants, seasoned house searchers or not, these police would never have encountered a rabbit warren like the upper levels and servants’ quarters of Van Alst House. As spectacular as the hiding places were in my uncles’ home, they were nothing compared to the hollows in walls, loose boards, hidden rooms and miscellaneous rafters in this old place. In short order I had slipped a pair of socks over my shoes, ducked into the rear entrance into the box room, clambered over some old boards and trunks and deposited the stick out of sight. I made sure the burner phone was off—and not on vibrate—and shoved it in too. Not convenient, but effective. I gave them both a push so that I’d have a challenge to retrieve them. I retreated to my room. I slipped off the socks and opened the window. I looked out and saw no one. I gave the socks a shake and dropped them in the hamper.

I changed into a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and a casual gray knit V-neck sweater, my latest bargain find at the end of the winter season. I twisted my hair into a ponytail and took a swipe with my lipstick. It would have to do. I was putting on my little red lace-ups when there was a knock on the door.

“One min—” I said. The door opened, and Castellano and a pair of uniformed officers stalked in. Well, Castellano stalked. I took pleasure out of the fact she was a bit breathless. The male uniformed officer was red in the face, either from the stairs or from barging into someone’s bedroom. The extremely young female officer was cool and collected. She looked at me as though I was something she’d remembered seeing under the microscope in biology class. When she grew up she’d probably be like Castellano. Heaven help us.

I stared at the three of them, my jaw dropping enough to reinforce the surprise, but not so slack as to look ugly and stupid.

“We have a warrant,” Castellano said.

I bit back the retort, Well, aren’t we special? I didn’t want to find myself at the police station if I could avoid it.

Instead, I shrugged. “Knock yourselves out. Not sure what you’ll find, but I lost my library card. Let me know if it turns up.”

“Very funny.” Castellano stared around. I hated the fact that she was there contaminating my oasis of tranquility.

I finished the double knot on the laces and stood up. “What should I do? Stay here?”

“Stay here. We may have questions.” She nodded to the officers, who snapped on gloves. “Get at it.”

She glanced at the stack of Ngaio Marsh books by the side of the iron bedstead, bent and read the spines. “Were these the ones you got from Kauffman?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Are these the books you obtained from Chadwick Kauffman?”

“Oh. No. These are just paperbacks. They’re not valuable.”

“Really?”

Despite myself, I found my enthusiasm for the project rebounding. “The ones Vera bought are first editions. They’re quite rare. That’s why we went to Summerlea. It was such a great offer. Almost too good to be . . .”

Of course, it had been too good to be true.

“Or so you’d like us to believe.”

“That’s what happened. We were thrilled, and maybe we should have realized that something was up.”

“Something other than you robbing and killing your host, you mean?”

“That’s not what happened, and I’m pretty sure you know that. We had nothing to do with it, except for being set up, of course. Vera Van Alst would never be involved in anything criminal or violent. She’s a respectable member of this community.”

“Oh, well then, that settles it. I can’t imagine a respectable member of any community doing anything wrong. Please accept my apologies.”

I laughed out loud despite myself. “Put like that, I suppose that leaves out a lot of embezzlers and—”

“And violent abusers and worse, in case you’ve never run into people like that among the elite.”

“Point taken. I know that people aren’t always what they seem. But I think there are usually indications of . . . criminality. With Vera, you’d find nothing. She doesn’t care about anything but books. She acquires them honestly, and if she needs to, she sells off some antique treasure that her great-grandfather owned or bit of family jewelry to get the funds.”

“Money’s a problem, then?” she said with a touch of a sneer. That sneer was almost as unflattering as duckface. It didn’t do her beautiful features any favors.