The Marsh Madness

Our server hovered nervously out of reach. Lance gave her what I can only describe as a “come-hither smile,” and she darted over and dropped the list of our dessert choices in front of us before fleeing around the corner.

“I predict a career change for that girl,” I said, ignoring the menu. “She seems to be very anxious.”

“Let’s be nice, then.” He beckoned to our server and pointed to his choice. “I’d like the trio of crème br?lées.”

I laughed. “I think that’s for sharing.”

“Get your own, m’lady. I found Shelby and Poppy.”

“That is worth celebrating. I’ll have the Molten White and Dark Chocolate Surprise. We’d better fill up. There’s never enough to eat at a vernissage.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN





AFTER OUR LUNCH, I avoided Van Alst House in case the police showed with an arrest warrant. I really needed to get to that art reception and, with luck, the mysterious Shelby.

I called Vera to see if everything was all right and got the usual brusque brush-off. That was good news.

I said, “I’m pursuing information relevant to our current inconveniences.”

“Whatever that’s supposed to mean, Miss Bingham, I am busy.”

If Vera was busy, it was with the crossword or her book collection, so I didn’t feel guilty about interrupting. I would have added, “I expect to be back tonight,” but I was speaking to the dial tone.

This was not a job for someone who was easily offended.

Instead I popped into Uncle Mick’s place, where I keep my surplus wardrobe. I knew I had a little black dress in my closet, and that would probably do for the art opening. I figured I could scavenge something to update it between my own accessories and the treasures in Uncle Mick’s.

It didn’t take long to find my little black dress, hanging in the closet of my pink-and-white room. By some miracle it still fit, despite the signora’s cooking. It may not have skimmed my figure quite the way it used to, but it would be fine. I located a pair of dark, sheer hose in my drawer and found my black stilettos in their shoe box. For some reason, I’d never found a place to wear them since moving back to Harrison Falls. They’d been waiting patiently. I would show them a good time tonight.

Best of all, I located a set of eyelash extensions that I had bought on ridiculous impulse but never worn. If not now, when?

I assumed the gathering would include some wealthy and stylish people and I’d need to blend in. In Uncle Mick’s antique store, in the “Estate Jewelry” section, I found a small pair of diamond cluster earrings and a tiny vintage clutch with exquisite black beading, barely big enough for a comb, a lipstick, my iPhone and, of course, the necessary burner. My big find was a cut-velvet shawl in a rich garnet. Not the color of spring, but the night was promising to be nippy, and the resulting outfit was chic and dramatic. My uncles never minded if I borrowed things. The items always came back, and with a bit of adventure attached to them. I cleaned the earrings with alcohol and steamed the shawl.

As the red wig was off-limits and I wasn’t supposed to look like myself, that left blond. Not the tightly curled blond wig I used in my short-lived role as Kathryn Risley Rolland, but an angled bob with long bangs. It was a bit dated, but I tucked one side behind my ear and twisted a long strand on the other side and fastened it with a jeweled clip.

I was checking out my look in one of the antique mirrors in the shop when the proprietor blew through the door from the kitchen. As everyone knows, we Kellys don’t come in through the front door unless we’re up to something, such as throwing the police off our plans.

“Don’t you look artsy-fartsy, my girl,” he said. With his wiry and faded red hair, bright blue eyes under out-of-control brows, ginger chest hair poking out from the shirt with the three open buttons and a gold chain nestling in it, Uncle Mick looked anything but artsy-fartsy, but I thought he was perfect the way he was.

“That’s the plan, Uncle Mick. I figured you wouldn’t mind me borrowing a few items.”