The Marsh Madness

by Victoria Abbott

  The girl who was busy wrapping Uncle Mick around her little finger wasn’t Shelby. But she did answer one of my big questions. Miranda, the pretty, young receptionist from the Country Club and Spa, could have been a pro at the distraction game. Uncle Mick was otherwise engaged when the man in the ball cap had planted a few selected items from Summerlea here and there in the dustier regions of the shop. When Uncle Mick left the shop to get some extra stock from the mysterious regions of the rooms behind it, the camera caught the visitor running his hand down Miranda’s back, a sensuous, intimate gesture.

  I knew who he was.

  I recognized that gesture.

  At last, I was starting to understand what had happened and why.

  * * *

  LOOK TO THE theater, Alleyn had said in my dream. That was what I needed to do. And I had an idea how to. I borrowed Cherie’s nondescript car and dressed down in a dark hoodie I found in her hall closet. No sparkles, so she had no problem.

  Larraine Gorman seemed genuinely pleased to see me when I showed up at her house while she was in the final phases of packing. I was glad to find her still there, and even happier that I’d never given her my name. I wasn’t too worried that she would realize I was either a suspect or a kidnapping victim. The Gormans were focused on their moving madness, and Doug had already taken the radios and TVs to their new condo on my last visit. Anyway, as I couldn’t get to Lance, she was likely to be a good source of information.

  “Sorry to disturb you when you’re right in the middle of all this.”

  “Bad timing,” Doug hollered from some unseen corner.

  “I enjoyed your company and talking about the books the other day. I don’t have your new address and I wanted to stay in touch.” I added for the unseen Doug, “I won’t stay long.”

  I heard a grunt of approval.

  “I’m so glad to see you again. I forgot to ask your name and phone number in the confusion the other day,” she said, pointing a finger in what I assumed was the direction of Doug. “We don’t have that many friends in this area, and it’s been a tough week.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, with a weak grin.

  She blinked when I told her about Shelby Church, a young actress found dead this week.

  She pushed back her auburn hair. “That’s so sad. Was she a close friend?”

  “More of an acquaintance, but I need to try to find some of her colleagues to let them know about a memorial we’re planning.”

  She shook her head, puzzled. “I’m not sure what I can do.”

  “If I remember correctly, you go to a lot of live theater and you keep your playbills. Or did they get thrown out the other day?”

  “They did not!”

  “If I could go through them, I’m sure I could find the names of some people she’d acted with and track them down. That would help a lot.” I felt bad not telling Larraine the whole truth, but I couldn’t risk complicating things any more. There’d be time later if we got out of this in one piece.

  She didn’t question it. “They’re upstairs and they’re organized by year. I’ll bring the box with the last couple of years’ playbills.”

  Doug thundered past her on the stairs. He was carrying some electronic equipment. He stopped and said, “Some of us are busy getting the job done. I’ll be over at the condo hooking things up.”

  She smiled and waved, and I thought I heard her say, “Good, I need a break from the grumbling.” But he was already out the side door with a slam.

  Three minutes later she came downstairs with a banker’s box.

  I called after her, “I don’t want to keep you from anything. I can certainly do this myself.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” she said, carting the box to the dining room and thumping it on the table. “Call me if you need another box or have a question. Good luck.”

  Under normal circumstances I would have loved going through those playbills. But now the stakes were too high. If I didn’t find what I was looking for, I’d be in a tough spot.

  A half hour later, I got my first break. I read each cast list carefully, in case Shelby was calling herself something different. I also scanned for familiar names, but no luck.

  Last year’s production of something called Dirty Monkey Blues, off-off Broadway, listed Shelby Church among the actors on a cheaply reproduced playbill. I put it aside.

  I continued back in time. Larraine had seen a lot of plays. Some sounded better than others.

  Shelby turned up again in the cast for something called Beware the Treehouse. I chuckled. I hadn’t heard of any of these. I checked dozens more before I found Shelby’s name again. This time the production was called Morgue: The Musical.

  With three playbills, I started to look at the other cast members. Sure enough, two names—Brent Derringer and Tom Kovacs—showed up on Dirty Monkey and Beware the Treehouse.

  Only one name was on all three. Ward Lucasky.

  Larraine came puffing down the stairs. “Any luck?”

  I kept my voice even. “I think so. I’ll try to track them down now.”

  Larraine said, “If they’re Equity, you should be able to find them. I can help.”

  “Thanks. First, I’ll try to see if these are the people I’m looking for. I’ll search for their images online and then circulate them to some other friends of Shelby’s. I’ll get in touch if I need more help.”

  I worried that Larraine might question my very odd story, but she was happy to help. “Too bad Doug took our printer over to the new place. I could have printed them out for you. You’re taking my mind off this move.”

  “No problem. I can get it done. Mind if I borrow these playbills?”

  * * *

  I COULD NOT relax at all until I got back to Cherie’s. Cherie was out, apparently on a call. Maybe she did have a real job. Once I was in the house, I went to work to find what I could about Brent Derringer, Tom Kovacs and Ward Lucasky. Google Images paid off quickly.

  Brent Derringer surfaced in a number of casual and promo stills. He was big and beefy. Kev leaned over my shoulder and whistled. “Yowza, Jordie. You found Thomas, the butler.”

  I tried Tom Kovacs next. “Whoa,” Kev said. “That’s Chadwick, only not the real one. So these guys killed Chadwick and then killed Shelby to keep her quiet, right?”

  I pulled up Ward Lucasky’s photos.

  Kev glowered. “I don’t know that guy, Jordie. Go back to the others. They’re the guilty ones.”

  I pointed at Ward Lucasky. “This is the guy who’s behind it.”

  Kev stared at me. “What are we going to do about him?”

  “We are going to fix him, but good.”

  Kev nodded.

  I said, “He’s the reason you’re on the run. He set you up.”

  “But I don’t even know him.”

  “It’s okay. I know him. Let’s get the printer going.”

  * * *

  THE MEMORY STICK with the images from the security tapes was fingerprint free and wrapped up. In the same print-free package were copies of the playbills with Shelby and Ward Lucasky’s name on them. I’d used highlighter to mark their names and the names of the other two. I’d printed out images of the three actors and added the name to each.

  I addressed the package:

  OFFICER TYLER DEKKER

  Harrison Falls Police Dept.

  1 Center Street

  Harrison Falls, N.Y.

  URGENT

  Now, on to the next step.

  On our way to that, we stopped the cable van and I took the package to a local delivery company. The dispatcher didn’t give me so much as a look as she took the package. Within the hour that evidence would be at the Harrison Falls Police Station.

  * * *

  CHERIE WAS MAGIC. There was no doubt about that. She also had the security
staff of the Country Club and Spa wrapped around her sparkly blue fingernails as she engaged their help to find her adorable mini dachshund, Starlight, who had apparently wandered onto the property. The security staff followed Cherie like puppies themselves after she waved the photo of the alleged dachshund and batted her eyelashes. Braydon looked like he’d been hypnotized. A few of the club members prepared to join in the search.

  I was close enough to watch and marvel.

  “She needs her meds too,” Cherie said, ramping up the dramatic impetus. “And she’s terribly susceptible to hypothermia. It could kill her in less than an hour.” As much as I wanted to see how long she could keep them distracted, I ducked into the club. I was pretty sure that the cops would have given security my picture, as I was still a suspect—even with my “kidnapping.” But with Cherie at her finest, nobody noticed me slip by and hurry down to the admin offices. Kev had done a decent job of confirming that the admin staff was in the office before we started our little act.

  Miranda’s eyes widened as I pushed my way into the office. Even though I was wearing the plain, dark hoodie and sunglasses, she knew who I was, all right. She grabbed for her phone. I said, “I need to speak to Lisa Hatton. The police are closing in on Chadwick’s killer, and she’ll want to know who it is. There’s good news.”

  In her office, Lisa got to her feet. Miranda left her phone and followed.

  I said, “Lisa, I am Jordan Bingham. You may have been led to believe that I am responsible for Chadwick’s murder, but I’m innocent. I need you to believe that. I feel so terrible about his death.”

  Lisa’s face crumpled. “What do you want? Everyone’s looking for you.”

  “That’s just a ploy to lure the real killer. I’m here, you’ll notice, walking around. Free as a bird.”

  “How did you get past security?”

  I smiled reassuringly. “It’s all going to be okay. I’ve just heard from my boyfriend, who is a cop in Harrison Falls, that they will be bringing a new forensics team tomorrow to go over the upstairs rooms at Summerlea again. They’re looking for DNA in one of the bedrooms. There’s something else. He wouldn’t say what, but it was found on the scene and they believe it will link to the real murderer.”

  Lisa’s forehead creased. “But they must have checked everything already.”

  “This is a pretty small place. We don’t have the top teams here, but this new detective Castellano—did you meet her?”

  Lisa nodded.

  Miranda stared.

  I said, “Lieutenant Castellano is very thorough. She called in a crack forensic team. She’ll get this guy. Trust me.”

  Lisa sank back into her chair. “I hope they do.”

  Miranda gripped her desk. Her knuckles were white. “This guy?”

  “Yes. Apparently there’s a suspect they’ve been looking at for fraud and some other financial crimes, and his DNA showed up on stolen items that were planted on innocent people and also at the site where they found Shelby Church’s body. The cops have reason to think they’ll be able to wrap things up after they do this analysis.”

  In a tight voice, Miranda said, “What did they say about the suspect?”

  “He didn’t tell me much. He’s not supposed to be in touch, but he knew I’d be happy. That’s it, Lisa. I just wanted to let you know. I know how awful this has been for you.”

  I left her sitting there staring. Of course, I’d been weird, but, as long as the plan worked.

  As I headed through the door, Miranda was already back at her desk, hand on the phone. Looking good.

  I hurried out of the building and over to the vehicle. At the sign, Kev burst from car and went racing toward Cherie and the search party with the happy news that little Starlight had been found and was ready to be picked up. I could see him gesture in the direction of Starlight’s unseen rescuers.

  All was right with the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SUMMERLEA WAS DARK.

  Not only dark, but quite dangerous. I knew how perilous it was going to be and gave a shiver as I thought of Chadwick Kauffman’s tragic end at the top of the wide mahogany stairs. Never mind, I told myself. We’re here because we set this up. There was definitely more than one way to manage a bit of theater. We entered the stage from the back door, and only after we’d hoofed it through the wooded ravine on the far side of the property. The center stage was intended to be empty for the most important player. In this case, one who thought he was in a one-man show. And the one who was probably keeping an eye on the front entrance, in case it was a trap.

  I knew our cast was larger. One person had gone ahead, and two more would be creeping after me. We had to assume that we might be observed if we arrived from the front or used flashlights in our approach from the back. I imagined muffled curses as they stumbled over some unexpected rocks and picked their way up the steep, wooded bank. I always worry when Kev’s involved. After the rain, last night’s sky had been bright and clear with sparkling constellations and a crisp moon. Even though the moon was full tonight, the sky was murky and overcast. The few breaks in the cloud cover were welcome, though, and possibly kept some of us from plunging into the ravine. We’d wanted that overcast sky as we ran, one at a time, bending low so we wouldn’t be spotted, even though our clothes were dark and we wore balaclavas.

  I wished I’d thought ahead about how to manage the squeak of some of the old doors in Summerlea as I tiptoed into the back of the building. Already, after a few days, you could feel the property decline. The dark and the chill air combined with Chadwick’s death all played a part in the desolate mood. I left the door slightly ajar so that the others could enter. When the alarm didn’t sound, I knew that Cherie had been successful in the first of her tasks. The alarm system would be rearmed as soon as we were in.

  As long as they could keep it quiet. When he arrived it was essential for our star player to believe he was alone and unobserved. He needed to be convinced that he had a job to do and that time was not on his side.

  If the scene at the Country Club and Spa had played out properly, he would indeed believe that. If it hadn’t, I was going to be in more trouble than I’d ever been in before.

  “Ouch.” Someone didn’t catch themselves in time, and the sound escaped. Behind me I heard a sharp gasp. Not Kev, though. I’d suspected it would be a mistake to bring Kev along and therefore he had a task of his own. Outside and alone, but essential.

  I figured I knew who the gasper was, but this wasn’t the time to lay blame on one’s relatives. No one wore scent. We wore soft soles that wouldn’t squish. Any light bits on the soles had been blackened with marker. It had been essential to do this right. No one had a device that would beep, emit light or otherwise give us away. With Kev, there would have always been that risk.

  Our challenge was the number of possible exits. Summerlea was awash in French doors, sliding partitions, cleverly hidden staircases for servants, closets and so much more. I needed my watchers to make sure our key player didn’t vanish into the night if he spotted us. We needed to have every eventuality covered. Apparently, we also should have been able to see in the dark. Or at least count steps accurately.

  Seconds later, we were all feeling our way along walls, counting steps and in some cases praying. There was no way to know if everyone was in the right place. All we had to do was wait.

  When it’s important to keep quiet and not twitch, itch, squirm, moan, yawn or otherwise betray your presence, your body will do its best to blow your cover. The damp sent chills through my spine. I felt a sneeze coming on. I was pretty sure the others were fighting burps, flatulence and sudden spasms. Life’s like that.

  What felt like a week later, our play began. Well, it was probably half an hour.

  The front door rattled. We heard what sounded like a lock turning. The door squeaked a bit too. Good, if anyone had dozed off, that should have jolted the
m awake.

  The soft pad of footsteps was next, getting closer. My heart was racing. If our plan was successful, we’d be face-to-face with a murderer.

  As the footsteps stopped by the security console and someone presumably keyed in the secret code, I switched on the grand chandelier.

  The hallway flooded with light. Frozen in front of us, was our target. “Jackpot,” as the uncles would say.

  “Hello, Lucas,” I said. “Or should I say Ward Lucasky?”

  His jaw dropped. That gave me a lot of satisfaction, but I knew better than to let down my guard. The glow from the chandelier highlighted the face that could break a heart and empty a bank account before you could blink. A handsome and dangerous face.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I added jauntily. I leaned against the mahogany paneled wall. I was hoping to convey an air of insouciance, but really my legs were about to buckle. Lucas could always have that effect on me. Okay, maybe some of it was because he had a gun in his hand. Guns and legs are a bad combo.

  He found his voice. “I hear the police are about to catch up with you.”

  “I have the best lawyer anywhere,” I gloated. “Too bad he’s mine, because you’re going to need someone exceptional when they get through charging you.”

  He snorted. “Charging me with what?”

  “Where to start?”

  “Why not start with what are you doing here?”

  “Nice one. I like the arrogant touch, as if you owned the place. The real question is what are you doing here?”

  “I followed you. You had no business coming to Summerlea. I wanted to warn you off. There was a time when we were very fond of each other. I would hate to see you rot in prison.”

  “Nice attempt at a save,” I shot back. “But I will now be able to inform the police that you are here, as I told them you would be.” I lifted my iPhone and started to key in 911.

  He shook his head. With the slightest of sneers, he said, “I don’t think so. Unless you want me to shoot you.”