The Marsh Madness by Victoria Abbott

platter of rapidly cooling paninis sat on the table.
    “Someone else with you?” the detective said, pointing around.
    “It’s only the three of us,” I said. “Vera, me and the signora.”
    The signora had pursued us along the corridor and into the conservatory. Her black eyes widened as I said this. “Guess we’ll all have to make up for missing lunch later on, Signora. Sorry.”
    “Coffee! Cookies!” she said, skittering through the door to the kitchen. I knew there were probably a dozen
caffettieras
there and a bottomless source of cookies, so we wouldn’t miss out on that.
    “I’ll give her a hand to clear up,” I said. “She gets alarmed if our routine is altered.” I gathered up the dishes. The detective picked up the ones on his side and said, “Let me help with the plates.”
    How sneaky was that? What was he after? Fingerprints? Evidence? Signs of Kev? Panini? I had no idea, and I didn’t care for this turn of events.
    “Signora Panetone hates anyone in her kitchen,” I sputtered.But it was too late. He had already followed me through the door to the signora’s sanctum sanctorum. Luckily Kev wasn’t hiding out here either.
    “Go, go!” the signora said, shooing us back to the conservatory, where we sat facing each other warily until coffee arrived. Honestly, it seemed like hours, if not days.
    He relaxed and filled up his cup with the fragrant brew. He also accepted a plate of almond cookies. The signora piled up a few extra for him. I sat there feeling grimly resentful, but not so much that I couldn’t have a coffee and cookies. We have to keep our strength up when the police are on the scene. My uncles taught me that. They also taught me that you don’t ever inadvertently give them a sample of your DNA or a chance to get your prints. I didn’t see how that could happen here, with the signora ready to wash up at a moment’s notice. A CSI’s worst nightmare.
    As the time ticked by slowly, I took stock of my company and noted that Detective Stoddard wore pale chinos, a burgundy button-down shirt and leather loafers. His brown hair had been cut by a good stylist, and he wore rimless glasses. He was young to be a detective and had probably been born full of himself. In line with that, he was in no hurry to grill me.
    Finally, I cracked. “Exactly what brings you here today, Detective?” I said. I’m not that used to hanging around innocent people, but I did believe that most folks would be curious by this point.
    I half expected him to say, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” but he only smiled and pointed at his mouth, indicating that it was full and he couldn’t be expected to answer. There was a lot of that full-mouth thing happening.
    I had nothing better to do than wait.
    When he had finished three cookies and not answered my question, I said, “What brings you here?”
    “You’d better ask
Lieutenant
Castellano when she interviews you.” I heard the undertone of resentment when he said, “Lieutenant.”
    “Interviews me? But why do I need to be interviewed?”
    Of course, he had another mouthful of cookies by then. He was almost as good as Kev.
    As a technique, it was very useful. Make the suspects nervous, edgy, and they’ll spill their guts. I hated feeling nervous and edgy when we hadn’t done anything wrong, except for paying cash for the Marsh collection. I’d done nothing and therefore wouldn’t be spilling my guts. If there was an issue about the money, that would have been Chadwick’s tax-dodging transgression, not ours. Of course that was silly.
    There was an obvious reason why they were there.
    Chadwick was dead, and we had been among the last people to see him. Naturally, a senior investigator wanted to talk to us one by one.

CHAPTER FIVE

    I DIDN’T GET a chance to compare notes with Vera or Tyler before I found myself being interviewed by the impressive Detective Castellano. Detective Castellano had sent Tyler Dekker to get me in the conservatory, where I