The Marsh Madness

“But these other people aren’t.” He pointed to a couple of smiling faces in the photo.

“The people in this photo will know Shelby. That’s the biggest lead we have.”

“So I’ll find a way to connect with them, and I’ll bring up Shelby’s name in the conversation and—”

“I want to be there.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said before?”

“I’m the one who’s got the problem because of this Shelby and her co-conspirators.”

Lance sighed dramatically. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought he’d missed a great career as an actor when he went into librarianship. “Chadwick got the shorter end of the stick.”

“I’m serious,” I said.

“But if you’re breathing down their necks, it’s harder for me to look natural. First of all, they’ll wonder who you are.”

“I’m your girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Whenever and wherever we meet them, I’m your girlfriend. Why do you have that look on your face?”

“Because I don’t need fake girlfriends, thank you very much.”

“Your date, then. I’ll be your date when we accidentally run into these people. And trust me, they won’t recognize me.”

“Not the red wig,” he said. “We can’t have that. I would never date a woman who wore that.”

“The red wig is not the only game in town.”

“Fine, but I don’t want you to take notes or stare obviously at anyone.”

“No worries.”

“And I don’t want Uncle Kev leaping out of the bushes with a camera or something.”

“Uncle Kev is in the wind. Don’t get me started.”

“The less I know, the better.”

I said, “So tell me about these people.”

Lance pointed to an unsmiling but handsome, preppy-looking guy in the third row. “This is Shelby’s ex, Andrew Wilson. He’s apparently been brokenhearted since she ditched him around the time this was taken.”

“He looks heartbroken.”

“They say he was devastated. They were on track to get married as soon as he moved up a rung in his law firm.”

“He’s staring at her.”

“Yup.” Lance grinned. “Fixated.”

I said, “Good stuff. And do you know him well enough to sit down and talk?”

“I don’t know him at all.”

“But you have him—”

“I know. I connected him. I know his cousin.”

He pointed at a bright, dark-haired woman with million-dollar hair. “Poppy. She’d know most of these people. She’s an acquaintance. An artist.”

I stared at him. That Lance had his little secrets.

He smiled and answered a question I hadn’t asked. “Mixed media. Acrylic and bits of hardware as far as I can tell.”

I wasn’t in the mood for a discussion of contemporary art techniques. “Can you get to the point?”

“Well, Poppy’s having a vernissage tonight. It’s in Grandville at that little gallery by the river. I saw it on Facebook. A vernissage is a—”

“I know. And I’ve been to many openings. So we’re going to help her celebrate her new show? Oh wait, did you get an invitation?”

“I messaged her to congratulate her and she insisted that I come.”

“But did she insist that you have a date?”

“She didn’t, but she’ll be cool with it, as long as my date doesn’t look too much like the person whose face was all over the news or like an escapee from Cirque du Soleil.”

“I’ll choose my cover with care. So you think the ex-boyfriend will be there?”

“There’s a good chance, but if he’s not, there will be—”

“Lots of people who know Shelby?”

“Even better, she just got home from shooting her film. Maybe she’ll show up. I tried to suggest that.”

“You’ve earned your lunch, Lance.”

“We’d better pick up the pace here a bit. Whether I earned it or not, I have to get back to work. Nancy doesn’t mind covering for me, but there are limits.