Jane punched Logan in the arm.
The two had known each other for years. Logan had been a Texas Ranger. Sloan had spent time working in Texas, too, but Jane had been a civilian forensic artist who’d worked with Logan’s group many times before any of them had ever heard of the Krewe of Hunters. They sometimes seemed like a brother and sister act.
“No matter what Detective Forester said, we all know damned well we’re not leaving. Not until we know what happened to our minister,” Jane said.
“It was an accident, don’t you know?” Kelsey said. “That, or the ghost did it.”
“We’ve yet to come across a malevolent ghost,” Logan reminded Kelsey.
“And I don’t believe for one minute that a ghost did anything,” Kelsey said. She looked at Jane. “Have you seen any of the ghosts that haunt the place?”
Jane shook her head. “I didn’t see any signs of anyone haunting the castle when I was here before, nor have I seen any yet. How about you?”
Kelsey shook her head. “But you and Sloan arrived much earlier. I thought that maybe while you were out in the garden, or over by the old graveyard, you might have seen someone.”
“We’re forgetting one thing,” Logan said.
“What’s that?” Jane asked.
“We’re suspicious people by nature. We’re called in to solve unexplained deaths, attacks, and other events. And this might have been accidental,” Logan said. “Maybe Reverend MacDonald just wasn’t paying attention. Don’t forget, we never suspect anything but what is real and solid until we’ve given up on real and solid.”
“Then again,” Sloan pointed out, “if we’re not suspicious, I don’t think anyone else will be. Because it appears to be real and solid that our minister tripped and broke his neck tumbling down the stairs.” He stroked Jane’s dark hair and looked into her luminous eyes. “You met the Reverend MacDonald in the village, right?”
She nodded. “When I came here and saw the castle on the hill, I thought it was just perfect. I had gone into a coffee shop and the clerk there told me that it was open for tours. After I spoke to Mrs. Avery and discovered we could get this date, I went back down to the village and inquired about someone at the library. I met with Reverend MacDonald in the same coffee shop and he was delighted. He couldn’t marry us on a Sunday because of his church services, but a Saturday would be marvelous. And I told him I’d have a room for him here, so that he’d be ready for the services.”
“What else do you know about him?” Sloan asked her.
“Nothing, except that he’s from the area. A bachelor. He loves when his youth groups have cookie sales. And the parents he works with are wonderful and love to work at creating carnivals to support the church.”
“Doesn’t sound like a man anyone would want to hurt,” Logan said.
“No,” Kelsey agreed.
“He looks great on the surface,” Sloan murmured. He caught Logan’s eye and he knew. What had happened might have been a tragic accident. But, they wouldn’t just accept that as fact. They’d dig and see what might lie hidden beneath appearances.
“Okay, then,” Kelsey said. “I’m up and off.”
“Off where?” Jane asked her.
“To the local library. I’ll see what I can dig up about this place,” Kelsey said. “And then I’ll head to the church and speak with people and find out what I can about our good Reverend MacDonald.”
“Then I’m… not really off,” Jane said. “I’m going to talk to Scully Adair. Bad things have happened here before. We need to find out more about the bride who died.”
“I’ll head into the village, too,” Logan said. “And see what I can dig up by way of gossip there regarding both the reverend and the castle folk. I think I saw Mr. Emil Roth head out. It would be good to have a chat with him. The castle’s hereditary owner should definitely know what there is to know about the castle.”
“We’ll meet back upstairs in a couple of hours?” Jane asked. “In the bridal suite? It’s the biggest and gives us the most room to work.”
“We might as well make use of the size,” Sloan agreed dryly.
They wouldn’t be laughing tonight, sipping champagne, eating strawberries and enjoying a totally carefree time as their first night of being husband and wife.
“You know, maybe you two are not going to become legally wed here,” Kelsey pointed out, a smile in her eyes, “but there’s no reason to make a perfectly good room go to waste.”
“Don’t worry,” Sloan told her, smiling and meeting Jane’s eyes. “We don’t intend for you two to stay long.”
“A man just died,” Jane murmured.
“In our line of work, someone has frequently just died,” Logan said softly. “And that really shows us just how important it is to live.”
Jane smiled and nodded. “We have champagne and fruit and chocolate. And we’re willing to share. We’ll meet in the suite in about two hours. And we will know the truth.”
Sloan looked at Jane as they all nodded. She was so beautiful. Calmer where Kelsey could be animated, serene often in a way that seemed to make the world stand still and be all right for him. She could be passionate and filled with vehemence when she chose and courageous at all times—even when she was afraid.
God, he loved her.
* * * *
Scully Adair’s place was the reception desk in front of the doors that led to Mrs. Avery’s medieval and elegant office on the ground floor of the castle. Mrs. Avery, Jane thought, was going to be a tough nut to crack. She was all business and no nonsense. But, of course, if she heard Jane talking with Scully, she’d probably butt right in. So Jane waited, standing by the office door. Soon enough, Scully came out, her pretty features furrowed in a frown, her movements indicating that she was disturbed and restless. Her fingers fluttered as she closed the office door. There was a twitch in her cheek.
“Hey,” Jane said softly.
She was glad that Scully didn’t scream in surprise. Instead, her slender fingers flitted to her face. Her hand rested at her throat.
“Um, hey,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry. I mean, what a wedding day, huh?”
“I’m not worried about my wedding,” Jane said. “Sloan and I will marry somewhere soon enough. But were you going for lunch or a cup of coffee?”
Scully nodded with wide eyes. “Coffee, with a stiff shot.”
“May I go with you?” Jane asked.
“Sure. I guess.”
Jane fell into step with her as they walked along a corridor to the far end of the ground floor. There, an archway led into a cavernous kitchen. Pots and pans hung from rafters. A giant fireplace and hearth filled one end. Other than that, the place was state of the art with giant refrigerators and freezers, a range top surrounded by granite, a work table, and other modern appliances. There was also a large table in a breakfast nook. Old paned windows looked out over the cliff top where flowers and shrubs grew in beautiful profusion.
Chef Bo Gerard, a man who greatly resembled Chef Boyardee, and his two young assistants, Harry Taubolt—dark-haired and lean, a handsome young man in his mid-twenties—and Devon Richard, blond, a little heavier, a little older, and bearing the marks of teenage acne—were already there. They all looked morose. Each had a mug in front of him as if they were all imbibing in coffee, but a large bottle of Jameson’s sat in the middle of the table between them. The three looked up from their cups and smiled grimly at seeing Scully, then leapt to their feet when they saw Jane.
“Miss, guests aren’t really allowed back here,” Chef Gerard said.
“Oh, leave her be. What, does she look stupid? They’re going to look up everything about this place,” Scully said. She walked past the table, heading toward the granite counter and a coffee pot. “Miss Everett, coffee? You can lace it or not as you choose. The guys already have the booze on the table. Me? My minister dead on my wedding day? I’d be drinking.”
Jane smiled. “Coffee, yes, lovely, thank you.”
She a
ccepted a cup from Scully, who sat and poured herself a liberal amount of Jameson’s from the bottle on the table.
Not about to let an uncomfortable silence begin, Jane dove right in. “Scully, you said that we shouldn’t have been allowed to plan a wedding here. Why? What happened before.”
“Scully!” Chef said.
Scully stared at him and then looked at Jane. “You know the legend, of course. I was so startled and so scared when I saw the poor Reverend MacDonald. I looked at her picture. I mean, seriously, who knows? Maybe she can push people down the stairs.”
“Scully, you’re an idiot,” Harry Taubolt said, shaking his dark head. “You see ghosts everywhere.”
“There are ghosts,” Devon Richard said, staring into his cup. He looked at Jane then as if she had somehow willed him to do so. “There are ghosts. They can move things.”
Chef let out an impatient sound. Harry snorted.
“You forget where you put things or what you’ve done, that’s what happens,” Chef said.
“No,” Devon said, shaking his head firmly. “When I come out to the Great Hall and find a napkin on the floor, I know I didn’t put it there. When I’ve preset a plate with garnish, then the garnish is on the counter top, I know I didn’t put it there.” He turned to stare at Harry. “And you know it happens. You just have to deny it, or you’d be scared.”
“You think that Elizabeth Roth is the ghost?” Jane asked.
“No,” Scully said.
“Yes!” Chef snapped firmly.
“An old ghost,” Harry said softly. “Elizabeth was due to marry John McCawley just before the start of the Civil War. McCawley was from the South. He wasn’t in the military, he hadn’t made any declarations about secession, but the family wasn’t happy about the marriage. I say one of them did McCawley in when he was out in the woods. Hunting accident? Hell, no one believes that. Nathaniel Roth, Elizabeth’s brother, was out in the woods at the same time. He must have shot McCawley. And Elizabeth couldn’t bear it or the fact that her family would be party to such a thing. She killed herself—that we know. And she hates the family. She couldn’t be married here, so she won’t let anyone else be married here. She pushed your minister down the stairs.”
“She looked beautiful and gentle, not like a vengeful murderess,” Jane said. She turned quickly to Scully. “Who do you think is haunting the place?”
“Scully,” Chef said.
But Scully laughed. “Jane is an FBI agent. You think she can’t find out?” Scully told Jane, “Mrs. Avery decided three years ago that she’d allow a man and woman from Georgia to be married here. Cally Thorpe was going to marry Fred Grigsby. Cally fell down the stairs, too. Detective Forester didn’t mention that fact because he was working somewhere else when it happened. He’ll know now, but, anyway, what the hell? That was ruled an accident, too.”
“So,” Jane said carefully, “you think that Cally was pushed?”
“How many people really just fall down the stairs?” Scully demanded and shivered. “I think I have to quit. I mean, I love this place, but we were alright before Mrs. Avery booked another wedding. What is the matter with that woman?”
“How many of the people working here today were working here when Cally Thorpe died?” Jane asked.
They looked around the table at one another.
“Let’s see,” Chef began. “Harry, you had just started. Devon, you’d been here a month or so. Mrs. Avery, of course, and Mr. Green has been here since he was a kid working with his dad on the property. Me, of course. I’ve been here eight years.”
“What about the maids?” Jane asked.
“Just Phoebe. The other two girls started in the last few years,” Scully said. “I’ve been here for five… oh, God! I was the one who found Cally. Her eyes were open, too. She was just staring toward the ceiling. No. It wasn’t the ceiling. It was the painting.” She leaned forward, focusing on Jane. “She was staring at the painting of Elizabeth Roth, right there, right where it hung on the wall.”
“Maybe it’s true,” Devon said quietly. “Maybe we’re all okay as long as no one gets married here. Maybe Elizabeth has remained all these years—and she’ll kill someone before she allows a wedding to take place in this house!”
Chapter 3
Sloan had feared he might have some trouble with Emil Roth. After all, he was liable for what had happened, being the castle’s owner. Even if lawyers could argue that the man wasn’t responsible for another’s accident on a safe stairway, he was liable in his own mind.
That had to hurt.
Sloan had seen him head out the front with the police when they’d left, and he hadn’t seen him since, so he decided to take a walk outside first and see if he was down by the gates or perhaps just sitting on one of the benches in the gardens. While the castle was on a cliff and surrounded on three sides by bracken and flowers, beautifully wild, the front offered sculptures and rock gardens and trails through flowers and bushes and even a manicured hedge menagerie. Mr. Green apparently worked hard and certainly earned his keep. But Sloan couldn’t find Emil Roth outside. He tapped on the caretaker’s door and Mr. Green opened it to him, looking at him suspiciously.
“Yeah? You got a problem here? You gotta bring it up with management,” Green said.
“No, sir. No problem. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a perfectly manicured lawn. Yet you keep the wild and windswept and exotic look around the place, too,” Sloan said. “I was just looking for Mr. Roth.”
“He ain’t out here,” Green said. He was an older, grizzled man, lean yet strong, his skin weathered and permanently tanned from years in the sun.
“Then, thank you. And, sincerely, my compliments. You keep this up all alone?”
“Two kids come to mow and hedge sometimes, but… yeah, I do most of it,” Green said.
Sloan thought he might have seen a blush rise to the man’s cheeks.
“I’ve been doing this since I was a kid, over fifty years now. The old Emil—this Emil’s father—hell, everyone was named Emil in the darned family—just opened the place to the public about forty years ago. My dad was still in charge and he taught me. People like greenery. It’s a concrete world, you know? Some people come just to see the grounds.”
“I can imagine. Hey, so how has it been for you? What do you think? I mean, the castle goes way back, but even in the United States, it has a spooky history. The obligatory ghost,” Sloan said.
Green narrowed his eyes. “Sure. All old places have ghosts.”
“You’ve seen something,” Sloan said.
“Naw.”
“I can tell!”
“Sane people scoff at ghosts, you know.”
“Only sane people who haven’t seen them yet,” Sloan said.
“Have you seen a ghost?”
“One or two, I’m pretty damned sure,” Sloan said. “You gotta be careful—because people don’t think you’re sane once you mention the unusual.”
Green nodded in complete, conspiratorial agreement. He lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone with no one remotely near them.
“There are ghosts around here. A couple of them. There’s—” He hesitated, as if still not sure, but Sloan stayed silent, watching him, waiting. “—a man in boots and breeches and a black shirt who watches me sometimes. He tends to stay behind the trees, down toward what’s left of the forest to the rear of the property. And as far as Elizabeth Roth goes, I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her often, from the upstairs window. Her room—Elizabeth’s room—it’s the bridal suite now. I guess you’re staying in it.”
Sloan nodded. “That’s us. I’ll watch out for Elizabeth,” he said. “Tell me, has anything ever indicated to you that the ghosts could be—mean? Vindictive?”
Green shook his head. “Naw, in fact… hell, one day I slipped on some wet grass and went tumbling down. It was summer and I blacked out. When I woke up, all dizzy and parched, a water bottle came rolling down to me. Now sure, bottles can roll. But I
think John McCawley was there. He rolled that bottle to me. I took a drink, got myself up, and all was well. There’s nothing mean about the ghosts in this place.”
“You were here when another accident took place, right?”
Again, Green nodded. “Poor thing. That girl broke her neck on the stairs, same as the minister today. We checked the banister. The carpeting on the stairs is checked constantly to see that it’s not ripped. The stairs aren’t particularly steep or winding. Go figure. Bad things happen.”
Sloan thanked Green and headed back toward the house. The foyer and Great Hall were empty. He heard voices coming from the kitchen but headed toward the stairs. At the top, he could see one of the maids.
Phoebe Martin.
She seemed to still be in shock and was stroking a polish rag over the same piece of banister over and over.
Sloan walked up the stairs. “You doing okay?” he asked.
“It’s just so sad. How about you?”
“We’re all right. Did you know Reverend MacDonald?”
“No, I’m bad, I guess. I haven’t gone to church in years. And I was raised Catholic. I wouldn’t have known Reverend MacDonald anyway. He was at the really small parish just outside town, and he was an Episcopalian, I believe.”
“You never saw him around town?”
Phoebe shook her head. “No, I guess we didn’t shop at the same places. And, I admit, I’m pretty into clubbing. Not many ministers go clubbing, I guess.”
“Ah, well. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Roth.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Can you believe it? He was here when this happened, and he wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Since he is here, I was hoping to talk with him.”