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ONE

As we pulled into the long, stone driveway of Inishmore Castle, rain pelted the car so hard that it was difficult to make out the outline of the massive stone building. The weather in Ireland in late winter was wet. Even though it was nearing noon, it was dark outside. Thunder boomed, and my sister Lizzie and I jumped.

There was a quaint wooden bridge ahead, but water from the river was already lapping over the sides. While we were only fifteen miles away from Shamrock Cove, it felt like we were in another world. This bridge was the only way into the castle grounds. From the small bit of research I’d done, that was by design so that marauders back in the day could not cross easily.

“Is it safe?” Lizzie asked.

Lightning crackled down to the earth. The vibration shook the car.

I put my foot on the gas and raced over the wooden slats, praying we wouldn’t be swept away.

Once we were across, we let out a collective breath. Lightning hit the ground again, and we both yelped.

“Do you think that’s a sign, Mercy?”

I laughed. “That we need to get in from this weather, yes.”

Mr. Poe, our little ball of black fluff, barked from the back seat as if he agreed. I sometimes wondered if he wasn’t part human. He was so in tune with our moods and seemed to understand everything we said.

My sister and some of our neighbors who sat on the local tourism committee had been invited to a weekend at Inishmore Castle, which had recently opened a whiskey-tasting tour, along with an assorted list of craft and cooking classes on the estate.

It was a dream weekend for my sister. She loved everything to do with crafts.

When it came to me, it was a chance to get away from the blank pages I’d been staring at for the last week and a half. It wasn’t so much writer’s block with the new novel. It was the discovery that my story wasn’t working as well as it could and knowing I had so much rewriting to do.

When Lizzie asked if I wanted to tag along, I couldn’t resist. I loved all things whiskey. The history of the castle was of great interest to me, as well. Places like this sparked my creativity. I wrote contemporary detective stories, but unblocking my creative brain could come from any source. My hope was after a relaxing weekend, I’d be ready to tackle my book head on.

At the very least, getting away from my computer and office for a few days wasn’t a bad idea. I’d been mainlining caffeine and staring out the window into our beautiful, winter flowering garden for the last week.

The castle came into view and we both gasped. It looked like something out of one of those old gothic novels. It was at least a half of a block long and built with a beautiful stone that had weathered well with age. The land around it was lush and green, which wasn’t surprising here in Ireland since it rained all the time.

“It looks like a fairy-tale castle,” Lizzie said.

“Well, maybe a darker one,” I added. “Look at those gargoyles. I don’t think I’ve seen so many in one place.” There were at least ten we could see, and each one appeared as if it might take flight any minute and attack us.

“Sinister for sure,” Lizzie said. Then she shivered in her pink sweater set. Her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun. While my twin’s hair was black, I’d recently lightened mine to a strawberry blonde. Her skin was olive, and mine burned in the sun after only a few minutes. We were the same height, but that was about it.

My sister was fond of color in her clothing, I was the opposite. My uniform was almost always black on black. It was easier to get dressed in the morning.

“It looks so much bigger than it did in the brochures,” she said.

She was right.

After pulling up under the portico leading to the front door, I turned off the car. “I’ll get the bags. You grab Mr. Poe,” I said.

We were grateful the castle was dog-friendly and that we were able to bring him with us. Actually, I would have stayed home with him, as I couldn’t imagine leaving him at a kennel for four days. We’d only had the little black dog with white fur on his chest for a few months, and he was already a third member of the family.

He was used to going everywhere with us and had become Lizzie’s emotional support animal. Mine, too, if I were honest.

The portico kept us from getting even wetter, even though the rain was coming in sideways. Lizzie used the lion-faced knocker on the heavy wooden doors to announce us. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, but no one was there.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” I whispered.

We glanced at one another and stepped inside.

“You made it,” Rob, our next-door neighbor, said from behind the door.

Not realizing he was there, we jumped again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. This door is heavy, and if you don’t hold it open, it shuts on its own. Scott and I found out the hard way,” he said.

“Welcome to Inishmore,” said a woman coming down the stairs. She was dressed in jeans, a fluffy sweater, and high leather boots. Her white hair was in a knot on top of her head. “I’m Nora O’Sullivan, and you must be the last of our guests, Lizzie and Mercy McCarthy.”

“Hi, I’m Lizzie, and this is my sister Mercy.”

“Your neighbor, Lolly, is right. You do look like twins, but you’re different enough to tell you apart.”

I grinned. Lolly, and her trusty dog Bernard, practically ran Shamrock Cove. And evidently she had already been gossiping about us. We didn’t mind. She was a lovely woman and the queen of the court where we lived. There were six cottages on the court, and we’d come to adore our wonderful neighbors who lived there.

“Your castle is beautiful,” Lizzie said.

The entry was massive, with a round table in the middle holding a huge vase full of colorful flowers. There was a humungous crystal chandelier overhead, and I wondered who had to dust it. Off to the right were two sets of armor. And the intricately carved banister was off to the right, too. The walls were painted a deep green and had wood detailing all around.

“Thank you. You’ve made it just in time for lunch. Let’s get you settled,” Nora said.

“Wait until you see the rooms,” Rob whispered. “Straight out of an enchanted fairy tale.”

“I love the gargoyles outside,” Lizzie said.

“Those were added by one of our ancestors, who came from France. When she married into the family, she changed the inside and outside of the estate. We have her to thank for many of the adornments.

“Lolly said you two own the bookstore in Shamrock Cove now,” she went on. “And I know that you, Mercy, are a fabulous writer. We’ve read all your books.”

Even though I’d been a writer for most of my life, it was still difficult to accept praise. “Thank you, and we do.”

“I knew your grandfather, Driscoll, he was a lovely man. He always seemed to know what book was right for me. I thought of him as kind of magical.”

“Mercy has the same talent,” Lizzie said.

“So do you,” I added.

“Well, it seems you inherited it from him. I’m sorry I haven’t been by yet. We’ve been so busy with opening the estate to visitors that I just fall into bed each night. But I will come visit soon to stock up. Besides, it might be nice to provide each room with more current reading. Many of our books are in French or Gaelic, and, while beautiful, they aren’t exactly the thing for bedtime reading.”

“We would love to have you,” Lizzie said.

We followed Nora up the stairs and then down two long hallways, with Rob just behind as he had insisted on carrying our bags. We would need a GPS to navigate around the place. The woodwork on the walls was exquisite. It was difficult to find that sort of detail in more modern homes and estates. At the end of the row, she put an old-fashioned brass key into a door and twisted it open.

The room was huge with two four-poster beds. The canopies over them were made of a heavy blue brocade, which matched the curtains, chairs, and sofa. There was a fireplace flanked by large floor-to-ceiling windows.

“We call this the blue room,” Nora said. “The loo is through there.” She pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “Let us know if you need anything. I’ll leave you to freshen up, as I need to check on lunch.” She glanced at her watch. “Which will be in fifteen minutes in the main dining room. Here’s a map of the castle.” She pulled two pieces of paper from her pocket and handed us one each. “Feel free to explore, though we don’t recommend going up to the third floor. We haven’t renovated that yet. It’s drafty and dusty up there.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was looking forward to the exploring part of the trip.

After she left, Rob sat on the edge of the bed. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s not what I thought it would be,” Lizzie said. “It’s much bigger and more luxe.”

“Wait until you see the rest,” he said. “It will be perfect for the fancier fund-raisers our town throws. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Where is the dining room?” I asked.

“We’ve already checked the place out, but don’t worry if you get lost. Just look for the central stairway. The dining room is to the right of the front door.”

“Is our little gang the only guests here? I’m just curious how many rooms they have,” I said.

Our little gang was Rob and his partner Scott, who lived next door. Brenna, who was a photographer, and lived on the other side of us. And Lolly, who lived in number six on our little court. And the local detective, Kieran, who had just moved into number five, but he had been too busy to come to Inishmore Castle with us.

“From what I counted on the map, there are nineteen suites. And besides our crew, there is a priest, a nun, and someone who calls herself a birder.”

“A priest and a nun?” I asked. “It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”

He laughed. “I guess they like their whiskey as well. We met them when we were coming in earlier. He’s a bit stand-offish, and she was quiet. Rob and I suspect they didn’t like us much.”

“Then they are silly because you two are some of the best humans we’ve ever met,” I said. I couldn’t stand any sort of prejudice. Rob and Scott were the most adorable couple and had become some of our best friends in Ireland. They were give-the-shirt-off-their-backs kind of people. We loved them.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “One of the many reasons we adore you both. I’ll see you down there.”

After we freshened up, it took a couple of minutes and two wrong turns to find the dining room.

Okay, Mr. Poe helped. All I had to say was, “Find the food.” He led us straight to the dining room.

Our neighbors were lined up at a buffet and waved us in. After some quick hugs, we grabbed our food, which consisted of boxty, which was part potato and part bread, and coddle, which was like a sausage stew with even more potatoes. The latter wasn’t the best-looking dish, but it had a wonderful taste.

We all sat down at the huge gothic-styled dining table. There were dragon heads on the chairbacks, and the table was ornately carved as well. Artwork that had to be several hundred years old covered the walls. There was a mix of portraits and sea vessels, along with landscapes.

I didn’t miss that the priest and the nun sat as far away from us as possible and seemed to be having a tense conversation if their faces were any indication.

His black hair appeared as if he dyed it, and he had beady dark-brown eyes. There was something about him that seemed off.

And I’d never seen a nun who wore makeup.

“How’s the writing going?” Brenna asked.

I rolled my eyes.

She laughed. “That good?”

“It is slow, which is why I decided to come along when Lizzie asked. A four-day weekend away from my computer sounded like a good idea. How was your shoot in Portugal?” She normally did business trade photography, but every once in a while, she’d book a job at some exotic locale. She was extremely talented.

“Magical. I know I’m thirty or more years from retirement, but I think it might be on my list. It was beautiful and the people were lovely.”

“That’s one of our places to visit,” Lizzie said. “We’ve decided that once every few months we’ll take a week, or at least a long weekend, to travel to places on our bucket list.”

“By we, Lizzie means she, but I think it’s a great idea,” I said.

My sister bumped my shoulder. “You didn’t fight me very hard on it.”

Everyone smiled.

“Yes, because traveling to destinations we’ve dreamed about is such a drag.”

“Why don’t you introduce yourselves?” Lolly said to the other guests who sat near us.

There was a woman who looked to be in her twenties and was dressed from head to toe in khaki. “I’m Fiona,” she said. “I’m a birder. I’m here for the wildlife and the whiskey.” She winked and then laughed.

We joined her.

“We’re Sally and Alex Airendale,” a woman said. Her hair was in a perfect chignon and she wore diamonds around her neck and in her ears. “As you might notice from the accents, we’re from America.”

“How did you end up here?” Lolly asked. She was never shy with the questions and usually asked what we all wanted to.

“Business, for my husband,” she said.

He nodded beside her.

“But I came along because who doesn’t want to visit a castle?”

“And you?” Lolly said to a gentleman on the other side of the table.

“Maximillian Herbert, the O’Sullivans’ accountant,” he said.

“Oh?” Lolly seemed surprised.

“I thought it best I see how they are spending the allocated funds for the opening, so I can advise them.” He seemed a bit self-important and spoke with a posh English, rather than Irish, accent.

Nora joined us and sat down at the head of the table. “I hope our estate is living up to your expectations,” she said.

“Far surpassing it, to be honest,” I said. “We’ve visited a few castles in Ireland and most of them are derelict or much smaller than one might imagine.”

Our home in Shamrock Cove was in the bailey of a castle that sat up on the hill. That castle had been refurbished, but was a third of the size of Inishmore, and not nearly as grand on the inside.

A fork clattered onto a plate, and we all glanced down at the other end of the table. The priest was wagging a finger in the face of the nun, which didn’t seem very priest-like. Her face was twisted in anger.

I wondered what that was about.

Lolly cleared her throat. “Nora, you should tell these youngsters some of the stories associated with the castle. Like the one about the buried treasure.”

Nora smiled, seemingly grateful to Lolly for pulling the focus away from the pair at the other end of the table.

“As you might imagine, we have many stories about treasure and marauders who have been on the hunt for it. The rumors began in the late seventeen hundreds.” She went on to tell us a couple of fascinating stories about the lords who lived in the castle and some of their not-so-happy arranged marriages.

“According to legend, there is a treasure stashed somewhere in the castle. One of the former lords hid it from his wife and her family, thinking he would be safer from their murdering ways if they couldn’t find it. He was wrong.”

We all smiled.

While she spoke, I chanced a glance down to the priest and nun. They had stopped arguing to listen.

“We have a full weekend for you of whiskey tasting, cooking classes, art history lessons, gardening and so much more,” Nora said. “You are, of course, welcome to attend everything, or whatever seems most interesting to you.”

After lunch, we followed Nora out the back of the castle, through a rose garden, and down the hill to a large stone building shaped like a barn. The rain had paused, but she gave us umbrellas just in case. We’d also donned wellies in various colors to combat the muddy ground.

In Ireland, the constant rain was one of the reasons the place was so lush. We had the most beautiful garden around our home to prove it. Though, it was my sister who took care of most of it. I had a black thumb, and she was afraid for me to touch anything, lest I kill it.

Inside, the place was pristine. There were four huge copper stills wrapped in pipes and machinery. There were steps leading to walkways near the top of the stills.

“The distillery has been in the family since the seventeen hundreds,” Nora said, “and has been in continuous production since then. Initially, the whiskey was only for the family. In the late nineteenth century, my husband’s great-grandfather began distributing it locally, and we now sell it in the UK too.

“We’re hoping to take the brand worldwide over the next five years as a way to help us preserve the estate and castle. As you might imagine, the upkeep here at Inishmore is quite expensive. We hope to open to tourists a few times a year and increase the distribution to help cover those costs. This is our first soft-open weekend. So, please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay better.”

A man with gray hair, a white beard, and a handlebar mustache approached us.

“This is my husband, Gordon, the lead distiller, to take you through the tasting and tell you more about our Inishmore whiskey.”

He smiled and shook our hands. When he went over to the priest and stuck out his hand, the priest didn’t do the same. Gordon stared at him with a surprised look on his face.

Weird .

The nun kept her arms crossed but nodded at him. Her large black glasses covered most of her face.

Maybe they were afraid of germs.

“Follow me, and I’ll show you where the fermenting process begins. We use malted and unmalted barley,” he said. He pointed to machines that looked like giant bowls with lids. “Yeast converts to sugars and then become a liquid we call wash. This is when the alcohol is produced…”

An hour and a half later, I had the beginnings of a new book in mind. One that included a whiskey distillery and an angry priest. Throughout the tasting, Gordon and the priest kept glaring at each other as if they knew one another and it wasn’t a pleasant reunion. Or perhaps because the priest seemed to be tasting more than his fair share of whiskey.

“I had no idea how difficult it was to make whiskey,” Lizzie said on our way back to the castle. The rain had returned, and I could barely hear her over the thunder. “Also, I have a buzz.”

“Me too,” I said. Unlike wine tastings, where you sometimes spit it out after swishing it around in your mouth, part of the process with whiskey was the smoothness as it trickled down one’s throat.

“It’s grand I’ve got two handsome men to hold onto after those delicious wee drams,” Lolly said, red-faced and grinning from ear to ear as Rob and Scott helped her up the path.

“If you lot would stop your incessant talking and move it along, we could make it back without us all getting drenched,” the priest said as he bustled past us, rather unsteadily. The nun said nothing but was right at his heels.

“He might be a priest, but that man is just rude,” Brenna said.

“I wonder why he’s so grumpy,” Lizzie said.

I shrugged. “No idea, but I feel sorry for his parishioners if that’s how he acts with everyone. Can you imagine what it must be like for them to go to confession? What’s that? You said a bad word? That will be five thousand Hail Marys.”

She giggled, and I couldn’t help but smile. Mr. Poe barked. He usually liked my jokes, which was just one more reason to love him.

Inside the mudroom off the kitchen, there were several benches where we could switch back to our shoes from our wellies.

“Did you enjoy the tour?” asked Nora, who was waiting for us.

“We did,” Lizzie said, and the others all agreed.

“I found it fascinating,” I said. “It’s given me an idea for a book.”

Nora clapped her hands. “Feel free to mention us. We could do with the publicity.”

I didn’t think my publisher would allow it, given I murdered people in my books, and they didn’t like being sued. But I might be able to mention the brand if someone just drank it. Quite honestly, it was the best whiskey I’d ever tasted. I’d had my fair share through the years.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Later that evening, we headed downstairs for cocktails—not that I planned to drink anything other than water. I still had a buzz from earlier in the afternoon. My sister and I had napped for an hour, and I still felt a bit bleary-eyed. If she hadn’t insisted on my going downstairs with her, I would have happily slept until the next morning.

In my defense, I had had several sleepless nights stressing over deadlines because I was at a point in my book where I worried if I was doing it right. Every time I wrote a book, and there were many, this happened. The writer insecurity was never far away.

But now, I had a germ of an idea and I had the perfect way to work it into my current story. Lizzie had been right. All I needed was a break and a bit of inspiration from the whiskey distillery.

We met Scott and Rob downstairs in the foyer.

“Do you know which room the cocktails are in?” Lizzie asked them.

“The billiard room,” Scott said. “But it isn’t on the map we were given. We heard you coming and hoped perhaps you knew.”

Mr. Poe yipped at our heels. Then he sniffed the air. He’d spent the afternoon warmly snug on Lizzie’s bed, though she’d taken him for a walk an hour or so ago, while I had been getting ready.

He took off toward a hallway.

“Maybe he hears people,” Lizzie said.

I often swore he was more human than dog, as he seemed to understand everything we said. He was smart and cute, which were two of the many reasons we adored him.

“We might as well follow him,” I said. “He almost always knows where he’s going before we do.”

Halfway down the long hallway, he pawed at a pair of wooden doors. I opened one of them, expecting to find the billiard room and the rest of the guests. But when I did, it was a study. There were no lamps lit, but there was a figure sitting at the desk.

“Sorry to bother you, but can you tell us where the billiard room is?”

No answer.

Maybe he or she had headphones on. It was difficult to see, but there was definitely an outline silhouetted as lightning flashed outside the window.

“I’m sorry. We thought this was the billiard room,” I said by way of apologizing. “So, uh. Right. I guess we’ll leave you to your work. Sorry again for the interruption.”

The figure didn’t say anything.

Obviously, they didn’t want to be bothered.

I shut the door, but Mr. Poe pawed it again and gave a sharp bark.

“What’s wrong?” Lizzie asked. “That’s his something is wrong bark.”

“We both know that could mean a squirrel invading the garden,” I said. It was true. The small furry dude took protecting his kingdom seriously.

“Come on, Mr. Poe. We need to find the others.”

But he wouldn’t budge. He just sat at the door and whined, then barked.

My sister and I stared at one another. She shook her head. “It can’t be,” she whispered. “Did you see anyone?”

I had. And the last time Mr. Poe had acted like this there had been a dead body on the other side of the door.

A chill slithered down my spine. Had the person on the other side of the door been hurt, or worse?

Not again. I had a habit of finding myself in a world of trouble without really trying.

“What’s going on, and why are we whispering?” Scott asked.

“We think something bad might have happened,” Lizzie said.

Their eyes went big. “I can go in first,” Rob said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s probably nothing.” In my head, I prayed it was mice that Mr. Poe had heard. Unfortunately, my Spidey senses said otherwise. Our brilliant dog wouldn’t have bothered if he didn’t think something was wrong.

I took a deep breath and opened the door again. I searched for a light switch but couldn’t find one, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and used the flashlight app.

After a few steps in, I stopped. I blinked, not believing what was before me.

“What is it?” Lizzie whispered. She was hanging back at the door.

Rob and Scott gasped as they saw what I had.

“It’s the priest,” I said. “And he’s very dead.”