Free The Marsh Madness by Victoria Abbott Page A

were clearly police cars, Kev would probably be about ten miles away by the time I meandered to the end of the corridor.
    I always make a point not to rush to the door if the cops are on the other side.
    They were.
    The cruiser was from Harrison Falls Police Department,and Officer Tyler Dekker had been driving it, but the sedan was unmarked.
    I must have blinked in surprise.
    Two cars.
    Uh-oh. Had Kev pinched something? My mind ran over the contents of the rooms we’d been in at Summerlea. No. He wouldn’t do that to me. Or Vera.
    Although sometimes Kev can’t help himself.
    Before we got to Summerlea, I’d been worried that he might have been unable to resist the temptation to skim a couple of bills from our transaction. He hadn’t been given much opportunity.
    So I doubted that was why the police were there. Anyway, I was pretty sure that Chadwick Kauffman intended our purchase to remain discreet, shall we say. The rich may have tons of money, but they can be pretty darn cheap. Cash transactions equal no tax.
    It must have been Chadwick’s death. Why else would they come?
    I managed a smile as though they were here collecting for some local police charity. Tyler Dekker shuffled his feet and squinted in an imitation of a smile. Where was his toothy grin, with the little gap that I love so much?
    My own smile may have dipped a bit when the woman with him produced her badge. “Jordan Bingham?” She was tall with near-ebony skin, close-cropped hair and a smart, edgy look.
    “Yes.”
    “Lieutenant Drea Castellano. Harrison Falls Police Department.”
    I blinked again. So many surprises. So little time. Lieutenant? Whoa.
    The man next to her said nothing, although he waved a badge languidly in my general direction.
    She said with a bit of bite to her tone, “And this is Detective Sergeant Stoddard.”
    Stoddard gave the slightest suggestion of a shrug, as ifanything more would have been too much effort. They must have had quite a ride over together. I knew a bit about Stoddard from Smiley. The part I knew was “lazy” and “conceited.” I figured Stoddard had expected he’d been a shoo-in for that lieutenant’s job until she showed up, but that was mere speculation.
    Smiley had failed to mention that the new lieutenant was a knockout.
    I tried not to stare at her. “Yes?”
    “And I understand you know Officer Dekker. May we come in?”
    I hesitated. Old habits die hard. “Of course, but may I ask what it’s about?”
    “We’d like to talk to you and . . .”—she glanced down at a paper in her hand—”. . . a Kevin Kelly and a Vera Van Alst.”
    A
Vera Van Alst? As if there was more than one! It didn’t bode well for our interview.
    Smiley stared at his feet.
    “I’ll see if they’re at home.” I led them into the grand foyer, doing my best to look dignified and calm. There are no chairs in the foyer, so they’d have to stand and stew while I pretended to see if Vera and Kev were “at home.”
    I hotfooted like Walter down the endless corridor and arrived breathless at the conservatory.
    “The police want to speak to you,” I said.
    She waved a dismissive hand. “Send them away.”
    “Um, it doesn’t work that way, Vera.”
    “Well, what do they want? This isn’t the time of day for visits.” She glanced at her
New York Times
puzzle with resentment.
    “I don’t know. But we have to see them. They want to talk to you and me and Kevin.”
    Kev was probably tunneling under the St. Lawrence River to Canada by this point.
    “Mr. Kelly had an errand,” she said. “Not sure when he’ll be back.”
    I sighed. “We’ll have to do, then. Here?”
    “Certainly not. This is private space. Take them to the study if you can’t get rid of them.”
    *   *   *
    MINUTES LATER, I escorted them into Vera’s study. The dyspeptic Van Alst ancestors had glared at them during the longish walk. Vera was seated in her wheelchair behind the beautiful Edwardian desk.
    She nodded gravely as they