The Marsh Madness

“Kev! What’s that?” I pointed through the window to a wisp of mist, or was it smoke?

He whirled. His ginger eyebrows lifted. His chiseled cheekbones pointed. His blue eyes gleamed and his freckles added emphasis to his entire face. “What? Nothing! Nothing at all.”

I turned back to confront him and stared at Kev’s denim backside as he vanished through the door and presumably down the endless corridor toward the back door of Van Alst House.

“Miss Bingham,” Vera said with a sniff. “You really should get a grip. You are entirely too high-strung today.”

Actually, I was entirely too high-strung about the miniature mushroom cloud of smoke that I had spotted through that window. The puff had emanated from the wooded grove at the edge of the property. The evergreens, mostly spruce and cedar, provided a much needed pop of green where our majestic maple trees stood, still bare. I wanted them to remain standing.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “I’ll go and calm down now.”

In my family, we have an expression: “Where there’s smoke, there’s Kev.”

I hurried along the corridor, stuck my feet in my glossy red Hunter rain boots and shot out the back door. I headed straight for that wooded grove. Kev, of course, had beaten me to it. He was emerging, radiating innocence, when I reached the edge of the grove.

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it, Jordie?”

“No, it is not. It’s a miserable end-of-winter day. And if it had been a beautiful evening, the sight of that trail of smoke would have been the end of it.”

Kev took my arm and propelled me back toward Van Alst House. “Jordie, Jordie, Jordie. Don’t let your imagination get away from you.”

“First of all, that doesn’t make sense, Kev, and second, I saw smoke and I want to know what that smoke was all about.”

“It’s a long story. Shall we have a snack in the conservatory and talk about what you thought you saw?”

“I didn’t think I saw anything, Kev. I did see something and—”

“Oh, look. I think Vera wants you.”

“She doesn’t want me, and you are trying to deflect my attention away from—”

But Vera was there at the back door of Van Alst House gesticulating. A gesticulating Vera is never a good thing, just as a puff of smoke in the vicinity of Kev isn’t.

“We’ll sort this out later,” I grumbled, stomping my way to the back door.

Vera, it turned out after all, had decided she was ready to plan our trip. She needed Kev in on the action, as he would be taking her in the Caddy. I wasn’t sure what was worse: Kev in Summerlea or Kev left behind with whatever he had going on in the grove at the edge of the property. I really didn’t want to return to find Van Alst House a charred and reeking ruin.

Never mind, we were heading off on an adventure. But Kev was a Grade A blabbermouth and, knowing him, he’d already been on the phone to his brothers with the news. As his brothers were also my uncles, I’d been expecting to hear from them.

My phone gave the unique ring assigned to Uncle Mick, probably my favorite person in the world. I answered and found a barrage of suggestions.

“When you’re there at that Kauffman place, make sure you scope out the silver. The grandfather had a collection of Georgian sterling. Not what everyone keeps at their so-called summer home, but the rich are not like us, as they say.”

“Sorry, Uncle Mick, I—”

“And watch the walls. I hear there’s some good stuff by Ansel Adams, Georgia O’Keeffe and—”

My uncles all had an appreciation for the finer things. Helping them scope out potential plunder is not part of my plan to get away from the family “business.” It doesn’t matter how many times I mention that I am going straight; it never seems to sink in. I’ve learned to save my breath.

I said, “Sorry, Uncle Mick. You’re breaking up.”