The Marsh Madness

“Are the police still there?”


“One bored and cold but well-fed officer is still sitting in his vehicle. They’re obviously not taking chances that we’ll run off.”

She snorted. “As if that would stop any of us. At least the other two haven’t come to arrest us yet.”

“In case anything happens, Vera, and I’m not within earshot . . .”

She fixed me with a glare. “You’d better be, Miss Bingham. I pay you to be within earshot.”

I decided to keep on her good side and not mention the books that had been carted off. “But, say, in a worst-case scenario—”

She huffed loudly. “You know I hate that expression.”

“Fair enough, I’ll try to avoid it in future. But what I want to say is that I have Sammy Vincovic if I get arrested. Who can we call for you if you’re taken in?”

“I? Why should I be taken in? I’ve already answered all their incredibly annoying questions.”

“Well, because you and I and Uncle Kev are implicated in Kauffman’s murder.”

“Absurd.”

“But we are. I’ve been thinking about it. The entire thing was a setup. I’m sure of it now. The stage was set to deceive us.”

“Well, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That could have happened to anyone.”

I sighed. “Hardly, Vera. We were part of a plan. They lured you with the books. They knew about you. They had to realize that you would want those books and that you would be willing to travel to . . .”

“They could have come here.”

“Right. But they didn’t. They got us to go to Summerlea. They staged an elaborate lunch. Why was that?”

“I don’t know, Miss Bingham. What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting. But there must have been some reason for using Summerlea and for enticing us over there.”

“To get their mitts on my money.”

“That might have been part of it. If they’d stolen the books and brought them to you here and taken the cash from you, that would have been easier.”

“Part of it! Isn’t that enough?”

“They didn’t come here, which would have avoided that elaborate charade. No, we were lured to Summerlea. And now the police think we planned the entire thing and then lied about it.”

“But why would we?”

“Excellent question,” I said. “And I intend to find out. I think it has as much to do with us as it does Chadwick Kauffman.”

“I don’t see how it could.”

“Is there anything I should know about your relationship with the Kauffmans, either one of them? Or any of their relatives?”

It’s hard to take Vera by surprise, but apparently, I’d done it.

“Nothing I can think of.”

“No old grudge or . . . ?”

“I met the uncle a million years ago at some tedious gala, but I don’t think he’d have remembered. Aside from that, I was never at Summerlea or anywhere else where I came face-to-face with a Kauffman. I don’t know any of their relatives or even if they have any. I can’t imagine what the connection could be.”

I said, “So back to my point: You should have legal representation. And you’ll need someone very good. Sammy can’t represent both of us or even Uncle Kev if he’s taking my case. I can ask him to recommend someone or ask, um, my uncles if they may know someone else, but we should do something.”

“Do what you must, Miss Bingham. Not that fool Dwight Jenkins.”

“No chance of that. And that brings me to another issue,” I said, stiffening my spine.

“Out with it, then, and in my lifetime, please.”

“Yes, well. We are in a very tough spot, and I am going to do my best to keep us out of the police station and jail, not to mention avoiding trials.”

“Would it ever come to that?” Vera actually took her eyes off the puzzle.

I said. “It could. And finding out what’s going on may involve incurring some expenses.” I was starting to talk like a blend of Vera and one of Ngaio Marsh’s characters.