The Marsh Madness

The signora pirouetted into and out of the parlor, beaming and apparently speaking in tongues. I peered through the crack in the oak pocket doors that separated us from the dining room. Every time she returned that way, she fiddled with the place settings and adjusted the crystal glasses to the point where I wondered if she’d been binge-watching Downton Abbey.

As for the guests, we were all standing somewhat stiffly, sharing cocktails that Cherie had prepared. She’d found some interesting recipes. I was pretty sure that the “grappa” that was billed as an ingredient in my favorite of the cocktails—the one called I Have No Fear of Death—was actually a product of Uncle Kev’s dismantled still. A more timid person might refuse a moonshine cocktail with a name like that, but I’d been through the wars and felt some residual bravery.

Everyone in the room seemed to believe that they were personally responsible for solving the mystery that had led to Chadwick Kauffman’s murder.

Drea Castellano wore a simple scarlet silk shift dress. Under normal conditions, she would already have hypothermia, but tonight, near the fireplace, it was perfect. She looked so good that I feared Uncle Mick would have a coronary. His face was the color of that dress. His gold chains glinted at her from the luxurious bed of ginger chest hair that all the Kelly men are so proud of. He gazed up at her with something like awe. She tilted her head and watched him much as a scientist might watch a lab rat, with silent but worrisome interest.

I wasn’t thrilled that Vera had decided to include Castellano and Stoddard in our grand celebration dinner. They were well aware of my family connections, and who knew what they’d try to ferret out about the Kelly clan while they were with us. Another worry was what might turn up about Cherie. Cherie was a treasure, practically my favorite person in the world lately. I would have hated to see this party bring her trouble. Never mind. I shook my head. We were all adults, it was a great night and we had plenty to be happy about.

Meanwhile, Uncle Mick had clamped his hairy Kelly paw onto Castellano’s toned arm. I tried to telegraph a warning to him. She was probably capable of flipping him across the room where he’d crack his hard Kelly head on the marble fireplace surround and that would be the end of him. But she seemed to be having a good time. I only hoped Uncle Mick wasn’t so besotted that he dropped hints as to the nature of his current enterprise, whatever it was. However, on balance, his fascination with her was a good thing, as it took the pressure off me and my relationship with Smiley.

Speaking of Smiley, he was still working on getting that smile back after his first glug of the moonshine cocktail. Maybe he did have a fear of death. Oh well. I was sure he’d get his grin and his voice back eventually.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” was my only comment.

Vera might have gotten dressed up and even clipped on one of her Art Deco diamond brooches, but I noticed she was still working on a crossword in the corner. Uncle Lucky was standing next to her, and that would have suited both of them just fine. I shook my head at Uncle Lucky just in case he’d thought the clasp on that brooch was a bit loose.

Near the bow window, Lance had struck up a conversation with Cherie. They had a certain theatricality in common, and I shouldn’t have been surprised. Both were talking with their hands and sharing. I did my best not to be jealous. After all, what would I do without either one of them?