The Marsh Madness by Victoria Abbott Read Free Book Online Page A

Alleyn.”
    “For heaven’s sake. Fox is an . . . afterthought.”
    “Oh, hardly.”
    “
Cela suffit
, Miss Bingham.”
    Maybe Vera thought that would do, but I couldn’t resist another little verbal engagement. “Poor Fox. I feel his pain. But should we be jealous of Agatha Troy, Alleyn’s wife? I think I might be, even if she’s a bit untidy and—”
    “I do not have emotions about fictional characters.”
    I was wise enough not to mention Nero Wolfe again.
    The signora arrived with
pollo al limone
served with rice and peas. “Not too much, thanks, Signora. I’m saving room for the tiramisu.”
    She inhaled sharply.
    The room went quiet.
    “What?” I said.
    “
Domani!
” she said. “
Tiramisu domani
.”
    “But I saw it in the kitchen earlier. Why not tonight?”
    Vera stared at Good Cat. Kev stared at his feet. The signora said, “You eat lotsa fettucine! Spinach. And chicken. Very good.”
    “Let me guess. Something happened to the tiramisu.”
    “No, no, no, no!” The signora did a mad little dance around.
    Vera muttered, “Let it go, Miss Bingham.”
    Kev said, “It was an accident.”
    Of course.
    “An accident? Did it fall on the floor?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Did you accidentally eat it all?”
    He flashed his Kelly grin.
    “These things happen, Miss Bingham,” Vera said.
    “More tomorrow night,” the signora said, slapping several more pieces of chicken on my plate. “Tonight, cookies.”
    This all should prove my point about Kev.
    *   *   *
    AFTER DINNER, I returned to my Ngaio Marsh reading project on my cozy bed. The gently used paperbacks I’d located were not good enough for Vera, but perfect for me. I hoped that I’d get enough of a sense of the Roderick Alleyn stories to hold up my end of the conversation about the series at our coming luncheon. Someone would have to. Vera usually offered nothing more than a grunt for an entire meal, regardless of who she was dining with. Soon I was lost in
A Man Lay Dead.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
    *   *   *
    I COULDN’T BELIEVE how late it was. I needed to get a good night’s sleep. I cleaned my face and teeth, and I took a peek out the dormer window. This was one of my favorite things to do at bedtime when I was a child and watched thenight sky with my uncles. From my little pink-and-white bedroom over Uncle Mick’s shop (Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques), the stars were magical and powerful. Uncle Mick could weave stories about the constellations. Looking back, I now think my uncles wanted to keep me from having nightmares. After all, I was a small girl whose mother had vanished and I lived with my bachelor uncles who were adorable, although undeniably crooked. I didn’t care. I loved it when Mick would point and have me do my five-year-old best to say Cassiopeia. The night might have been overcast with not a star in view, but I still had happy memories of watching the sky.
    I did a double take. Was that a furtive movement in the direction of the woods? I wasn’t sure. But at least it couldn’t be Kev. I could see the light in his quarters over the garage and his shadow against the blind. Just a fox, I decided, happily hunting. But I needed to remember to check on those woods in the morning. In case.

CHAPTER THREE

    I FOLLOWED VERA’S old Caddy up the long, long approach to Summerlea. With its high stone walls at the entrance and vast formal grounds on either side of the front driveway, it made Van Alst House look like a shack in the woods. It was impressively over-the-top. I love opulence. If it looked this attractive in the gray early light with only evergreens and a wide swath of crocus for color, I could only imagine how beautiful it would be in late spring, and how stunning the summer events had been here.
    A silver classic Aston Martin was parked creatively in front of the house, next to it a vintage red Mercedes convertible, both with muddy plates. I figured the Mercedes was from the seventies or