The Marsh Madness

by Victoria Abbott

  “Had it?”

  “Yes. Everyone seemed to have replacement martinis and canapés. I insisted her opening was a triumph. It was painful, but I suggested that it was such a great night it would take more than that to ruin it. I made a big deal about needing to apologize to Shelby too.”

  “And she believed you?”

  “Better. She gave me Shelby’s parents’ address.”

  “What are you waiting for? Let’s do this thing.”

  Lance seemed pretty proud of himself as we headed toward this confrontation.

  I said, “At least if we find her—”

  “Of course we’ll find her. We found her at the gallery, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah. But we also blew our cover there.”

  “That does make it trickier.”

  “She’s probably terrified by now. She’s bound to tell you everything.”

  I bit my lip. “I wonder. She was looking pretty ragged. And as you said, nervous. Before she had even seen me she was already jumpy. Guilty conscience. Chadwick was murdered.”

  “Maybe she was also scared of the guy driving the car and the people who set up the murder. She’s got something else to be frightened of. She’s an accessory.”

  “Worse, she’s a witness. An unstable, terrified witness. She bolted when I called her name. How long do you think she’d hold out in an interrogation room?”

  Lance took his eyes off the road to stare at me.

  “Watch where you’re driving, Lover Boy.”

  “You think she’s in danger?”

  “I do, and not only from us.”

  “So what do you want to do about it?”

  “Should we go and confront her? And how do we know she’ll be alone? Maybe the real guilty parties will be there. Why not get rid of us if we go nosing around?”

  Lance swallowed hard.

  * * *

  NO ONE WAS home at 41 Belleview Crescent, Shelby’s parents’ address. No car in the driveway. No sign of life. Lance peered through the window of the garage. No car inside that either.

  The house was a classic design, updated with a sharp charcoal paint and a new-looking porch in the front. I craned my head and caught a glimpse of a sunroom addition in the back past the three-car garage.

  Nice. This was a lovely middle-class home. It was a home to be proud of in a pleasant neighborhood on a tree-lined street where everyone kept their property looking good. But Shelby’s family home wasn’t in the same league with Summerlea, for sure.

  A solitary light glowed from a fixture in the central hallway. That was like a welcome mat for burglars. Come on in. Take everything. We’re not home.

  I rang the doorbell and knocked loudly for the third time. “She’s not here. Maybe she knew we’d find her,” I said to Lance as we paced in front of the house, exasperated.

  He glanced around and noticed a woman across the street, ambling slowly with a large dog.

  I said, “Someone has to come home sometime. I’ll sit here all night if I have to.”

  “I can’t stay. I have to work tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. And don’t give me a hard time because I have a job.”

  “When did I ever do that, Lance? Get some sleep. My job is to find Shelby and exonerate myself, Kev and Vera. But I need a car to sit in.”

  Lance blinked.

  I said, “Shelby and her driver know the Beamer now. And I’m sure the neighbors do too. So we need to get another vehicle here for my surveillance until she comes home.”

  I didn’t want to say “if she comes home.” I shivered at the thought that I couldn’t quite keep out of my mind.

  As we chatted and plotted, a silver-haired woman with a matching silver-haired dog strolled along the sidewalk and met up with the first neighbor, whose dog was now sitting patiently. The two women began shooting us glances, not at all subtle.

  On the house closest to us, a curtain twitched. That’s the trouble with these neighborhoods. They’re filled with nosy people.

  Lance bleated, “We may need another vehicle, but how can I drive two cars, Jordan? Even I have limitations. Only one body and all that.”

  “Let’s move on before these people call the police on us.” I waved to the woman with the matching dog and hopped back in the car.

  Five minutes later, Lance and I were parked around the corner on the next block, waiting for Uncle Mick to arrive. We were close enough to see through the trees if anyone arrived at Shelby’s place, but no longer in full view of the neighbors. Uncle Mick seemed to have run out of anonymous and untraceable vehicles. Who knew that could happen? He was driving Uncle Lucky’s Navigator. That was good news. I love the Navigator. It meant I’d have a comfortable night waiting for Shelby.

  I’d left my deep-orange purse with everything I’d really need at Uncle Mick’s. I’d asked for that and a change of clothes. He delivered a pair of black Keds, dark jeans and a black hoodie from my old closet. Somewhere he’d turned up a ball cap with a mouse brown ponytail and matching shaggy bangs showing. The things that man had at his disposal . . .

  Better yet, it all came with a care package from the Kelly kitchen: Dr Pepper, chock-full of caffeine, a package of Oreos, a giant bag of Cheetos and a fresh burner phone, because you never know.

  He also brought Walter.

  “Really, Uncle Mick? Walter? I’m going to be in the car all night. Does that make sense . . . I mean, is that the right thing to do?”

  “’Course it is, my girl. Dogs are a good cover. You should know that better than anyone. Everyone trusts you when you have a dog. Especially a little dog like this, not good for protection or anything.”

  Walter snorted his resentment of this description. In his mind he could take on armed men, Rottweilers, sky’s the limit.

  “But . . .”

  Of course, Uncle Mick was on his way by then. He’s quite crazy about Walter, so I could only assume that, although he was back from Manhattan, he still had plenty of places to go, people to see and things to do. The less I knew about any of that, the better.

  Lance was supposed to go with Mick in the Beamer, but he wasn’t all that keen on leaving me, even with Walter the Fierce snuffling at my side. “What are you going to do if Shelby does show up? You can’t go in there yourself. Promise me you won’t do that, Jordan.”

  I yawned, not a good start when there might be a long night ahead. “If I call you, will you come?”

  “I’ll sleep in my clothes. If the phone rings, I’ll head right over.”

  Uncle Mick leaned on the horn.

  I said, “Thank you, Lance.”

  “It’s only about twenty minutes away. Don’t get impatient and go inside, Jordan.”

  “It’s a deal. I don’t really want to get killed either.”

  “What if she’s with the other guy or guys?”

  Uncle Mick actually stepped out of the car and loomed. Lance leaned away, bravely, and said, “Why don’t we call the police?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Uncle Mick. “What’s the matter with you, fella? You call the police over every little hangnail, do ya?”

  Lance blinked.

  Uncle Mick said, “What did I tell you, my girl?”

  Lance said, “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing. It’s sort of rhetorical.”

  “Did he tell you something about me?”

  No way was I repeating the “light in the loafers” remark, whatever that stupid phrase even meant. “Focus, Lance. We can’t call the police because they don’t know who Shelby is. They don’t believe us that she and the others staged that lunch at Summerlea. We don’t know who the others are. We need more.”

  “But you said yourself that Shelby wouldn’t last in an interrogation room.”

  “She wouldn’t, but she won’t be in an interrogation room. It’s calle
d due process. Cops need a reason to take someone in for questioning—especially someone from an affluent family—and they aren’t going to listen to me. I’m one of their prime suspects.”

  “So what is going to happen?”

  “We need to learn more. Then we can find a way to involve the police. Too soon and it blows up in our face.”

  “Boom,” said Uncle Mick. That was his opinion of most police involvement.

  “Okay. Keep me posted.”

  I knew he meant “keep me posted but first let me sleep.”

  I sat in the Navigator with a view of Shelby’s parents’ house through the trees. There was no sign of life for the next few hours.

  As hours went, they were pretty long. Even the Oreos didn’t help much. Or the new Taylor Swift album from my iPhone.

  The sky was starting to lighten when I figured I might as well quit. Shelby probably wasn’t coming home.

  But I still needed to find out what was going on. Where was she? Who knew? If she was living at home, surely her family must have noticed that she was not looking normal. From what I’d seen, she was teetering on the edge of the abyss, as someone might have said in all seriousness in a Ngaio Marsh book.

  I wasn’t going to be able to sit there all day in the Navigator. People in this neighborhood would notice an unfamiliar vehicle hanging around. I didn’t want that.

  I made a phone call to Cherie. I already owed her a lot for favors done, including carting Uncle Kev and his moonshine empire away from Van Alst House.

  Now I needed something else.

  * * *

  I WAS GROGGY when I called Van Alst House at six a.m. We all know the signora never seems to sleep, but Vera is in the conservatory for breakfast at eight every morning and therefore up some time earlier. I figured they would be worried if I didn’t come home. Yes, I was an adult, but I made a habit of mentioning if I’d be away as a rule, and there had been a murder.

  “It’s about time,” Vera blustered as soon as she picked up.

  “Sorry—”

  “How do you expect to keep any customers if you don’t show up when you say you’re going to?”

  Really? I said nothing.

  Vera added, “That furnace won’t fix itself, you know. We are good customers, and you are not the only game in town.”

  Oh.

  “Are the cops there?” I said.

  “Yes, I do mean it.”

  “Castellano and Stoddard?”

  “What else would I mean?”

  “Is it serious?”

  “Of course it’s serious,” Vera bellowed. “The whole thing could blow up in our faces.”

  “In that case, maybe I won’t come home for breakfast.”

  “You better believe I will,” Vera said and hung up.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  VERA’S MESSAGE WAS clear: Stay away.

  I had no intention of walking into a wasp’s nest of detectives. But I needed help and the right kind of help. The cable truck pulled up sooner than I could have hoped. Cherie parked across the street from Shelby’s house and exchanged pleasantries with the two dog-walking women who were once again parading. I was relieved that they hadn’t gotten as far as my hideout in the Navigator. I’d been lucky that none of the neighbors, who were busily watching the Church house, had bothered to come around the corner yet. Cherie was her unusual self with the high-heeled Timberlands. Her wild blond curls made a unique statement, although I wasn’t sure what they were saying. The china-blue eyes with that metallic eye shadow to match and the bubble-gum-pink lipstick were all so striking, they took your mind off everything else. I kept my distance. As she got her ladder ready, I called her on my new burner. I didn’t want to be seen talking to her.

  “On it,” she said cheerfully. “You can go home and get some sleep.”

  “Here’s the thing,” I said. “I can’t go home.”

  “Why not?”

  “The cops are at Van Alst House.”

  “I’m glad that Kevin’s not there.”

  I said, “Absolutely. He’d be putty in their hands, but they’d pay a price for it. They might need to stock up on Xanax to get over the experience.”

  “So I’ll call you at this number then if I have anything?”

  “Yes. We really need to figure out what’s going on and to try and find someone who might know where Shelby is. A relative. A neighbor.”

  “Sure thing. I really like this house. I wonder if Kev would like it.”

  Uh-oh. Was Cherie contemplating a life of wedded bliss with Kev? So many women have gone down the crazy path. I wanted to save her from herself, but, you know, one thing at a time. First she needed to save me.

  “It is a nice house, but be careful. Shelby’s been involved in a murder, and she is mixed up with some dangerous people.”

  “Huh. Do you want me to mess with the cable or anything while I’m at it? That could get me inside.”

  “Maybe not worth the risk, Cherie. Thanks.”

  “I think her parents must be doing all right. I’d love to live here.”

  I hoped that Cherie wouldn’t lose her edge and start thinking about picket fences. She started up the ladder, and I drove off to Uncle Mick’s again.

  * * *

  UNCLE MICK’S DIDN’T work out for me either. As I went to turn onto the street where the shop was, I could see roof lights flashing. A pair of police cars was angled in front of the front door. An officer appeared to be standing where he could see anyone fleeing in the alley. Good luck with that, Officer, I thought. We Kellys have rabbit warrens no cop can get into.

  Uncle Mick was outside in his shirtsleeves, arms crossed across his ginger chest. He was deep in conversation with the police and kept shaking his head, the picture of aggrieved innocence.

  Walter yipped.

  The rule in our family is: If you see police, keep moving. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I had been doing my best to rise above my family’s rules, but I kept moving all right. Walter was disappointed, however, as I’d learned to say from the Ngaio Marsh books, “needs must.”

  “Needs must, Walter.”

  Snuffle.

  I found a quiet parking spot at the end of the back row in the Park N Ride. The police had no reason to look for me there, and, in fact, they had no reason to suspect I was in the Navigator. Even though I’d spent the night in Shelby’s neighborhood, the plates would have been obscured by dust, and they may have belonged to a totally different vehicle. I checked the storage area and found two neatly folded plaid travel blankets. I let the backseat recline, flipped open one blanket and used the other as a pillow. Walter, who had slept all night, was still game for a nap with me. I was out like a light in a minute.

  * * *

  I WOKE UP, stiff and groggy, longing for my facecloth and my toothbrush. I checked the time.

  Nine o’clock.

  I ducked into the first Stewart’s I found. I bought a toothbrush and toothpaste, some wipes and deodorant. I was still wearing the dregs of last night’s makeup. I washed my face in the bathroom sink and brushed my teeth and all that.

  On the way out, feeling more—but not completely—human, I bought an Eggwich and an apple fritter, plus two extra-large coffees. One for me and the other for me. I picked up a package of dog treats and some bottled water for Walter.

  I polished off the Eggwich, the fritter and the two coffees in the Navigator, taking care to clean up. Walter enjoyed his breakfast more than I did.

  Where could I go? Not to Van Alst House. Not to Uncle Mick’s. Tiff had let her apartment go when she sailed away to work on the cruise line. She wasn’t one to throw away money on an empty space and we never knew where she’d go next. Most likely not back here to Harrison Falls. My friend Karen Smith—now my aunt—had lost her home in a fire that I still had nightmares about.

  That l
eft Lance.

  I drove slowly to the library, which was just about to open at nine thirty. Lance would be on duty in the reference department. I figured I’d borrow Lance’s key, hide out at his place until I knew what was going on and maybe even sleep on his sleigh bed with the designer linens.

  That plan was about to evaporate.

  Three police cars were parked in front of the library. I pulled in, parked and called the reference department using the new burner.

  Lance sounded breathless and stressed. “Harrison Falls Public Library, Reference Department. May I call you back?”

  “Me here. Fake your answers.”

  “Sorry. We’re very busy here.”

  “Police?”

  “That’s right, madam.”

  “Looking for me?”

  “Correct. So please call again—”

  “Are you in any trouble?”

  “I believe so. It will take a few minutes to find out, but it sure looks like it . . . Excuse me . . . Sorry, Officer? What is it? Oh. Yes. I suppose I can come with you. I have to go, madam. You’ll have to check your own family history.”

  Lance? In trouble? For helping me, of course. How was he going to deal with that? Lance has never been in trouble. Lance is the golden boy, the darling of his posse.

  The front door of the library opened, and an officer frog-marched Lance out. Were those handcuffs? I couldn’t believe my eyes. The officer put his hand on Lance’s head, and the Harrison Falls library legend folded into the backseat of the cruiser.

  Kathy, the library director, stood on the steps with her arms folded. But the posse tried to rush the car, several of the members yelling and shaking their fists at the police.

  Well, that was something, at least.

  Two other officers faced the crowd. I thought I recognized the woman who’d searched my underwear drawer. I also spotted Tyler Dekker. The world had gone crazy.

  The posse melted away in the face of armed police. I was a bit disappointed in them. I was hoping at least they’d bang on the hood.

  The first cruiser pulled away with Lance, and the two other officers got into their vehicles and followed.