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

eighties. It was a bit battered and dusty, and not a candidate for any classic car parade, but had I not given my heart to the Saab, this might have been what I’d buy if I won the lottery.
    As I didn’t buy lottery tickets, that wouldn’t happen. Uncle Kev used up all the Kelly luck long ago.
    I was happy to see there was a ramp for Vera’s wheelchair. I’d made it clear when Miss Troy and I discussed arrangements. I was still kind of tickled by the coincidence of Miss Troy’s name.
    As Kev pushed Vera up the ramp, I headed up the wide steps to the door and rang. It was opened by a large, stone-faced butler. How’s that for over-the-top? I had never met a real butler before, although I’d always enjoyed the butlers in the novels of the Golden Age of Detection. Bunter was my favorite. I may have already mentioned that I had a serious crush on his employer, Lord Peter Wimsey, but I’d been able to move on, with the help of Archie Goodwin.
    This time, I’d been so distracted by the grand entrance, I missed the butler’s name. Maybe butlers weren’t supposed to give their names.
    How would I know? I came from simple, criminal stock, good-natured and totally devoid of servants. Maybe it was instinctive for me to note the impressive security setup at the front door. I’d be sure to mention that to Uncle Mick. More impressive though was this butler. Even Vera didn’t have a butler. Attempts to dress up Uncle Kev and have him answer the door had not gone well, shall we say.
    But back to the moment. I was expecting more of a stereotypical British butler, the type you might meet on
Masterpiece Theatre
. But this was upstate New York, not England. This butler’s pear-shaped body stretched the fabric of his somber suit, and he could have used a good color-consultant before choosing that flat, black hair dye. One of the things I liked about Ngaio Marsh when she described characters was that she commented on their hands. Somehow it helped to bring those characters to life. I found myself checking hands too. In fact, the butler’s ham-like appendages seemed more suited to tossing a javelin than serving tea, or whatever it is that butlers do. I figured he might have had a career as a wrestler before he discovered that the butler’s life was his heart’s desire. I was surprised that those hairyfingers hadn’t kept him out of the game, not to mention the five-o’clock shadow at noon.
    The nameless underling ushered us in, much to Kev’s astonishment. He is used to being the underling. He nodded to the butler in his best version of a gentleman of leisure.
    Miss Troy was waiting and she seemed delighted to see us. “Please, call me Lisa.”
    I don’t know why I was surprised by her warm greeting. Why had I been expecting otherwise? As Vera’s assistant, I would have been equally happy to meet guests who were going to help her out in some way.
    The grave look of the butler had worried me. Or it could have been the significance of the Kauffman family and their mighty history. I reminded myself that we lived in a democracy where everyone had a value and it was supposed to be how you lived your life that mattered, not how much money you had. I tried not to gawk at the huge crystal chandelier illuminating the foyer.
    After all, I was not the upstairs maid. I’d be at the table.
    I was impressed by Miss Troy. She was tall and willowy, and that severely tailored black suit and crisp white shirt couldn’t disguise that. Her soft brown hair was caught back in a perfect chignon, a style that flattered her. With her luminous skin, she could have been the face of any major beauty company. Really, she would have been quite unbearable except for her dark horn-rimmed glasses and the barest suggestion of an overbite. That overbite was kind of endearing. And of course, she was so welcoming. She seemed to be working at being cool and professional, but her smile kept surfacing. Even so, in this environment, I kept thinking of her as Miss