The Marsh Madness Read Online Free PDF Page A

genius reference librarian. He’s easy on the eyes too, as is evident by the crowd of patrons in the reference department on any given day. As usual there was an octogenarian contingent. They’re protective of their moments with Lance, and I knew I’d have to take my place in the lineup. I could have texted or called, but I wanted not only to see him, but to look him straight in the eye.
    “Beautiful lady—” Lance always talks like someone out of an old-fashioned romantic melodrama, but today I was having none of that.
    “Before you say another word, did you by any chance think it would be
très amusant
to send me a bouquet of dead roses?”
    He actually flinched. “What? Ew. Dead roses! That’s horrible.
Why?
”
    Well, that was an honest reaction.
    “I’m ruling out suspects.”
    “Suspects? I can’t believe you would even say that.” Lance feigned injury and put his hand to his heart. He’d missed his calling.
    “I didn’t really think you were a suspect. I thought there might be something going on that I wasn’t aware of. Something really hip or . . .”
    “Nobody says ‘hip’ anymore, Jordan. And I have never heard of this trend.”
    Somehow the smell of his Burberry cologne made the fact I was no longer hip—or even allowed to say “hip”—a bit less painful.
    “So, did someone actually send you dead roses?”
    I nodded.
    “Anonymously, I take it.”
    “Well,
Guess who?
”
    “What do you think that means?”
    I shrugged. I really had no idea.
    “Maybe someone didn’t realize they’d be dead when you got them. A secret admirer?”
    “We promised not to keep secrets anymore.” I winked.
    Lance looked embarrassed. We’re still getting over a certain secret from Thanksgiving, but this wasn’t the occasion to revisit that.
    “Can’t imagine who,” I said. “Or why. But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s an incompetent secret admirer.”
    “I get that.”
    It’s always good to ask a librarian, and Lance was pleased to check out the Kauffman family background and a history of Summerlea too, before our trip. Vera had asked questions, and I wanted to know that everything about Chadwick was on the level. Although I’d been madly researching, Lance always uncovers so much more detail than I can online, and usually it’s all vastly more interesting too. As an extra I got a couple of flirty cheek kisses and a serious hug from him.
    As I sashayed out the door, feeling the dirty looks from his reference room posse, I had a big, silly grin on my face.
    On my way back to Van Alst House, I couldn’t resist driving to the farthest reaches of Harrison Falls and sailing along the tree-lined road and the ravine to pass the entrance to Summerlea. I was smiling all the way, cruising slowly. I gave a cheerful smile and wave to three gray-haired ladies who were ambling along the side of the road, before heading home.
    They looked to be in their late seventies. The little one reminded me of my Grandmother Kelly. That meant you’d probably never want to get on her bad side.
    *   *   *
    AS I PULLED into the driveway at Van Alst House, my pocket sprang to life with a text from Tiff. In typical Tiff fashion, she had offered to fill in for a colleague as a nurseon a cruise. This was what I loved about Tiff. You could count on her to save the day if you, say, broke your ankle in an ill-advised attempt at roller derby and needed someone to cover your eleven-day shift. On the phone before she’d left for Miami she was excited. Tiff collects adventures the way Vera collects books, only with more passion and far less caution. She’d never been on a cruise or to the Panama Canal. And the pay was going to be decent, considering all her accommodations and food were covered. Although the sun was starting to get stronger here in New York State, our late-coming spring was a far cry from the balmy tropical breezes Tiff would have tousling her hair. I felt a twinge of envy. My pale Irish skin had reached