The Marsh Madness (10 page)

“But I thought he fell down the stairs.”

“Yeah, well, the police said he was killed by a blow to the head. And then he ‘fell’ down the stairs.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone do that?”

“To make it look like an accident. And the cops believe you did it.”

“But I didn’t do that! I wouldn’t. You know me, Jordie. I couldn’t do that.”

I knew Kev hadn’t killed Chadwick.

Kev was still talking. “Why would anyone do that to a person? ’Course, he was kind of nasty, so somebody probably hated him.”

“The big problem is that little statue on the table outside the powder rooms—”

“Never touched it.”

“You did, Kev.”

His familiar sheepish look was back.

“The cops found your prints. But I need to know, did you go upstairs?”

“Upstairs? Why would I go upstairs? All right, I did touch the statue. I couldn’t resist it.”

Knowing Kev, he’d given a bit of thought to liberating it from Summerlea.

He decided this would be a good time to get on his high horse. “I didn’t see a ‘DO NOT TOUCH
’
sign, Jordie. That little thing was just sitting there on this little table. I’m surprised you didn’t touch it yourself.”

“Then the cops would have found both our fingerprints on the murder weapon, wouldn’t they?”

“That was the murder weapon?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe it would have been better if I had taken it, Jordie.”

I tried not to sigh. It was getting to be a habit. And Kev is, in case you haven’t worked this out, like the world’s largest and most dangerous child. We all love him, but there’s always a lot of sighing when he’s in the vicinity.

Still, there was a big difference between Kev being typical Kev and Kev committing murder. And this thing with Kev’s prints on a murder weapon was really bizarre. If the police were telling the truth about the weapon. A big “if.”

“Wait a minute. Did anyone see you?”

“Nobody. Well, that butler, What’s-his-name.”

Ah. That probably explained why the statue wasn’t residing in Kev’s quarters above the garage as we spoke.

“Thomas. They said his name was Thomas. And then what happened?”

“He just touched his nose like this.” Kev tapped the side of his nose.

“Uh-huh. Well, there’s a few other things you need to know.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there was no butler.”

“Yes, there was.”

“Apparently, there was not. No butler, but Chadwick had a housekeeper.”

“But we saw that Thomas guy.”

“We saw someone who wanted us to think he was the butler. And someone else who said she was Lisa Troy.”

Kev nodded. “Pretty lady. Real nice too.”

“Except that she wasn’t Chadwick’s assistant. We don’t know who she really is, but she wasn’t who she said she was.”

A pained expression of confusion clouded Kevin’s face. “I don’t get it, Jordie.”

“Join the club.”

“Why would they fake it?”

“A really good question. I wish I knew the answer.”

“They were nice to us. They invited us. They served us that awesome lunch.”

“Yes.”

“But they weren’t who they said they were.”

It always takes a while for things to sink in with Kev.

He scratched his nose. “And we don’t know why.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, Chadwick must have known who they were.”

“If they were conning us, then they must have found a way to con him too.”

“Why? Right, you don’t know. But, Jordie . . .”

“Yes, Kev.” I needed him to get the still out of there, but with Kev, you have to wait until he gets his head around things.

“Well . . .”

“Out with it, Kev.”

“Anyways, was Chadwick really Chadwick?”

“Of course, he was—”

I felt a wave of dizziness as the significance of Kev’s question hit me. I grabbed a tree trunk to steady myself. It’s bad when Kev introduces the one piece of information you need to make sense of what’s going on.

“Jordie? Are you all right?”

Of course I wasn’t. Why hadn’t
I
thought to ask that most important question?

Was Chadwick really Chadwick?

I
LEFT KEV reeling from my threats of dire consequences if the still wasn’t gone within an hour. It’s not easy to scold an older relative, but there was no choice. And I wasn’t exaggerating. If the police found this mess, someone would be arrested for running an illegal still, and I hoped it wouldn’t be me or Vera or the signora.

As I clomped back to the house, I could hear Kev bellowing into his cell phone to his friend, Cherie. That was good. Cherie could make things happen. For all I knew, this wouldn’t be the first still she’d relocated. Not much would surprise me about her. She was a whiz with wiring, technology and computers, but she wasn’t a lawyer. I hurried back to do two key things: Make sure Uncle Kev had legal counsel ready to roll and find out if Chadwick had really been Chadwick.

Uncle Mick returned my call as soon as I left the message. We’d recently agreed on the code phrase “Olaf in Dublin.” It meant trouble, as I am sure it had for Dublin way back when.

“I hate to bother you when you’re in Manhattan, Uncle Mick.”

“No problem, we’re in the middle of—”

“Sorry to cut you off, but Kev is in trouble, though it’s mostly not his fault.”

“What do you mean, mostly? Of course it’s his fault.”

“This time it really isn’t, believe it or not. He did pick up a statue and he did get his prints on it, but he didn’t steal the statue, because if he had, it wouldn’t have ended up as a murder weapon. So I guess he’s getting better.”

“Murder weapon? Kev wouldn’t kill anyone . . . on purpose. Sure, he could blow up a house, but he’s never been violent. Kellys are peace-loving people. You have to explain Kev to them.”

Good luck to me explaining Kev to the cops. I said, “It isn’t because the police don’t believe me. They think we conspired to kill—”

“Kill who?”

“Not entirely sure about that, Uncle Mick. His name was supposedly Chadwick Kauffman, the heir to the Kauffman fortune. But at this point, honestly, I have no clue. It’s like an episode of
Scooby-Doo
. Now I’m wondering who’s real and who’s really dead.”

“You have to talk sense, my girl.”

“I’ll fill you in when I know more, but the reason I called is that Uncle Kev will need a good lawyer. Vera offered to pay. But she doesn’t know any defense lawyers. Yet.”

“I’ll call Sammy.”

“Too late. Sammy’s representing me.”

“But—”

“Someone called him and retained him on my behalf, and he says he can’t represent the two of us. And I don’t think even if I fired him that he could represent Kev after that.”

“Who’s paying him?”

“Oops. I’ve got to go. Can you get on it? I think the police
are working on a warrant. They’ll probably be back soon to comb through Vera’s looking for who-knows-what.”

“What’s Kevin said to them?”

You never knew when someone managed to get a wiretap authorized. No way was I messing up on Uncle Kev by saying I knew where he was. It would have brought us a lot of grief.

“They haven’t found him yet. He’s out on errands and we haven’t seen him. He could be anywhere, and he doesn’t know the police want to talk to him.”

He did, of course, but we had to play the game in case the wrong ears were listening.

Mick grunted. “Leave it with me.”

*   *   *

WHEN THE GOING gets tough, the tough get going. They also get dressed up, or at least I did. I pulled on my vintage merino wool boatneck sweater in thick cream and black horizontal stripes. It went well with my black cigarette pants and sensible black ballet flats. Kind of Hepburnish. I was good to go. You’d never know I’d been grilled by the police.

I raced to the Saab and drove to the library.

Lance’s eyes widened when he saw me. He came straight around the reference desk, bypassing a line of his posse, each with their
question du jour
.

You could tell he was rattled. He didn’t bother with “beautiful lady” or any other endearments. “Jordan, about Chadwick Kauffman. Now, they’re saying he was murdered.”

“He was, and the cops think we did it.”

“What?”

I sighed. “All anybody seems to be able to say lately is, ‘What?’”

Lance crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. “It seemed right for the moment.”

“I get that. So here’s the thing: We were seen leaving in a hurry. The Caddy and my Saab. There were witnesses. The people we met in the house have vanished and, in fact,
they don’t seem to exist, except for Chadwick, who is dead, unless he wasn’t really Chadwick. And it gets worse.”

“How can it get worse?”

I explained about Kev’s fingerprints and everything that had gone on between Castellano and me. I said I had a lawyer. I may not have mentioned that Tyler had made that arrangement.

“Well, this time, I’m there for you, beautiful lady. Do you need . . . What do you need?”

“Information. And photos. I need to see what Chadwick Kauffman really looked like. I’ve done image searches and I can’t find a picture of the man we met.”

It’s hard to surprise Lance, but I’d managed. “You mean that someone might have been masquerading as Chadwick?” His eyes danced when he said “masquerading.” Lance kind of enjoyed being drawn into an old-fashioned caper.

“Looks that way.”

Lance lowered his voice and leaned closer. “And you think that’s the guy who was murdered?”

“So far, there’s no way to know if it was the real Chadwick or the imposter.”

A tall seventy-something woman with great silver hair stepped forward, frowning. “Excuse me, but I was at the head of this line, young woman. You can’t push yourself in like that.”

Lance turned and touched her forearm lightly. He said soothingly, “Family emergency.” He then returned his attention and the full wattage of his gaze to me. Lance and I will never be an item, but up close he can still make my knees go weak.

A round little lady in a hand-knit pink sweater said, “I’m in a hurry too! People have to take their turns.” Everyone needed their Lance fix.

Lance ignored them and steered me over to the bay of shelves with the encyclopedias, where we’d probably be unpestered.

I said, “And we can’t forget the other two.”

“The other two?”

“His alleged assistant, a Miss Troy, and the butler, Thomas, have vanished, and according to the police, he never had a butler and his assistant was not called Miss Troy.”

“Nothing’s like it seems, like that old film,
Gaslight
.”

“Exactly, and then Chadwick or someone else was murdered. He was alive when we left him with two witnesses, but now our witnesses do not appear to exist. So I need to know if the person who we met as Chadwick really was Chadwick. I cannot find this guy’s image anywhere, but I understand that Chadwick doesn’t seek the camera.”

“I’m on it. What a weird setup.”

“Yes, and I think that’s exactly what it was. A setup for murder. But who set it up? And why would they have picked Vera as a target?”

“Did they seek her out? Or did Vera find out about the collection?” He stopped and stared. “Did you?”

“Chadwick Kauffman contacted us. Or at least his people did. Anyway, you can see how much I need your help.”

“I sure can. Give me a bit of time and I’ll find what you need. I may have to deal with the clamoring hordes first.”

“I appreciate it, Lance.”

“I’ll send you links to whatever I find.”

I headed out of the library, ignoring the dirty looks from the posse and hoping that the police wouldn’t be through the door before I got away.

Thinking about the police reminded me that I hadn’t yet thanked Tyler for his help. I tried to call him again. I wanted to hear his voice too. Again, straight to message.

I checked my own voice mails, but nothing from him.

My phone pinged again. Speak of the devil, Officer Dekker, texting.

Jordan, I think we need to step back from this relationship. Between your work and mine, we’re just not compatible. I know if you really think about it you’ll
feel the same way. You are beautiful inside and out. It’s not you. It’s the situation. Let’s try to still be friends. xo Tyler

I had been so wrong about Smiley’s reasons for getting me a lawyer. He wasn’t looking after my wellbeing. He didn’t want a guilty conscience about the woman he’d just dumped by
text
. Still be friends? My Aunt Fanny.

I stiffened my back and kept my lower lip from wobbling. I was, after all, half Kelly, and we hold ourselves together when the emotional weather gets stormy. From what little I knew about the Binghams, they were no pushovers either. I reminded myself that I’d been an idiot to let myself fall for Tyler Dekker. He was, first of all, a police officer, and that had been tempting fate. Still, I’d thought he was willing to work at things regardless of our differences. What a fool I’d been.

Now that I was being questioned by his colleagues, he had to put distance between the two of us. He was ambitious, and how would it look to be in a relationship with an accused killer?

And in the unlikely event that he ever attempted to get back together again after this, he’d be really sorry he tried. I was really going to miss his dog, Cobain. Good thing I had Walter on a semi-permanent basis.

I still had Tyler’s house key in the pocket of my deep-orange purse. I liked the idea of flinging the key in his face. But that could wait.

“Who needs a cop hanging around ruining things, anyway,” I muttered, and made a new plan. Time to get into and out of Van Alst House quickly.

*   *   *

PING!
LANCE HAD done it again. Somehow he’d found photos of the late Chadwick Kauffman. I clicked on the attachments.

I got that old sinking feeling. Not one of the photos was of a lean, dark man with a gecko-like gaze. Instead, a stocky man with a shy smile and reddish-blond hair was the subject. I recognized him from my online search for Chadwick Kauffman. His face had shown up in many of the images. He was alone in each of the photos that Lance had sent, so no chance to see if one of the others was with him.

Lance confirmed the images. “I talked to people who’ve met him at cultural events and fund-raisers. My patrons came to the rescue.”

I wasn’t a fan of Lance’s posse, but I had to admit they’d come in handy this time. A lot of thoughts whirled in my brain. The man who’d met us at Summerlea was not who he said he was.

The big question was: Which of them was dead?

How to find out?

Normally, I would have asked Smiley, but that wasn’t going to happen.

I shot the images of the shy-looking man with the reddish-blond hair to Sammy.

“This isn’t the man we met at Summerlea. But it seems he’s the real Chadwick. Can you confirm and find out if this is the man who died?”

I called Lance instead of texting. I guess I wanted to hear his voice.

“Thanks, Lance.”

“All part of the service.”

“So, that’s not the guy I met at Summerlea.”

“I trust my sources.”

“Oh, I’d never doubt you. Sammy will try to find out if the man in the pix was the victim.”

“Who else would it be?”

“No idea. But no one at Summerlea was who they said they were, so who knows if the real Chadwick was involved with any of it.”

“This just gets weirder and weirder.”

“Yes.”

“What can I do, beautiful lady?”

That saved me asking him for more help, and to be honest, I needed the flowery compliment too. “I appreciate it, Lance. Can you keep looking for any other photos of Chadwick?”

“He was pretty elusive. It took a while to unearth these. Most people are all over the Internet with no good reason, but not this guy, even though he’s the heir to a fortune and a descendent of an influential family.”

“Now we need you to look for a woman, light brown hair, tall, slender, nicely put together, with a slight overbite. She’s the woman who met us at Summerlea, and I believe she’s an accomplice. See if you can find anything that links her to Chadwick.”

“Right. I’ll hunt for photos of Chadwick with female associates. How old?”

“Somewhere in her late twenties, I think. She was supposed to be the assistant, Lisa Troy. And we really need to identify a tall man, around forty, give or take. Dark hair. Thin face. Cold eyes. Looks a bit like an iguana. That’s the man who introduced himself as Chadwick.”

“Got it.”

“The third person was the so-called butler, Thomas. He was large, but pear-shaped, dark hair too. His hair was dyed black. He had heavy, hairy hands and a couple of chins. Five-o’clock shadow, even at noon.”

“I’m on it.”

I left Lance to his hunt, knowing he’d do whatever was possible.

*   *   *

I WAS FULLY installed back in my garret and having a really hard time distracting myself. I was so down I barely remembered eating although usually every bite makes such a happy impression. But tonight, there was no escaping reminders of the crummy things piling up around me. “Somebody That I
Used to Know” and “Rolling in the Deep” crept onto my random playlist, as if to taunt my heart. Usually a bit of music could lift my mood, but it only led to further wallowing. Dumped, again, by a cop, and by text, no less. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,” Mick would say. And I sure didn’t need to hear that right now. I’d finally let my walls down for Tyler, and I guess he didn’t like what he saw back there. I was hurt. And angry at both of us.