Page 11

ELEVEN

Around eight the next morning, someone woke me by knocking on the door. I sat up, confused about where I was for a few seconds. I’d gone to sleep listening for more footsteps within the walls.

My sister was already up and dressed, so she answered the knock.

“Morning,” Scott said. “I don’t know if you heard but Mr. O’Sullivan had an accident last night. He’s still resting, but the word is he took a nasty fall. Do you guys think it’s connected to the murders? Like, maybe someone was trying to kill him, and Kieran’s trying to keep it quiet?”

“Oh,” Lizzie said. “Is he okay?” She wasn’t a very adept liar, but she was doing a great job of skirting what she knew.

“Lolly says yes. It was a head injury, though. One of Kieran’s men was watching him overnight for any signs that he might have a brain bleed. At least, that’s what Lolly told me. She’s in the kitchen helping the housekeeper with breakfast. She asked us to take Bernard for a walk, and we wondered if Mr. Poe might like to go too.”

Our dog yipped by Lizzie’s feet. “I think that’s a yes,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. The more we walk, the more scones we can eat. Lolly gave them her recipe for the blueberry ones she makes.”

“Yum,” Lizzie said. “We’ll be down soon. His leash is by the back door. I hung it there last night.”

“No problem. We’ll see you at breakfast.”

Mr. Poe followed them out the door.

She laughed as she watched them go down the hallway.

“I know Mr. Poe and Bernard are great friends, but they look like Mutt and Jeff when they are together.”

I laughed too. Mr. Poe had reached the fine weight of fifteen pounds. Whereas Bernard, an Irish Wolfhound, was closer to one hundred and fifty. But she was right, they’d become friends from the moment they met.

Bernard went everywhere with Lolly because she had narcolepsy. He was her protector, and at times, would gently nudge her awake. He was quite an amazing dog, much like our Mr. Poe.

Lizzie shut the door. “This gives me more time to cover up the bags under my eyes.”

She looked beautiful, as she always did. But there was a bit of blue underneath her eyes.

“Did you not sleep?” I had. Well, after spending an hour staring at the ceiling waiting for more noises, and running through the murders in my head.

“Fitfully,” she said. “After what we heard in the walls, I’m just creeped out.”

“Speaking of that. I’m going to pretend to do some research after breakfast so I can go through the books in the study. I very much want to read about the history of the castle.”

“Isn’t it a crime scene?”

I shrugged. “Forensics should be finished with it by now. And I’ll ask permission from Kieran.”

“Will you tell him why you really want to do the research?” She cocked her head in the same way Mr. Poe did when he was questioning my actions.

“If it makes you feel better. Besides, he needs to know there has to be a secret entrance somewhere, because those footsteps we heard didn’t come from the hallway. There may be secret passages built into the castle. That would make it easier for a killer to come and go. It may not even be someone inside the house. If there are secret entrances, any of the guests or staff could be sneaking around.”

“Yikes. That does not make me feel any better. You’re on your own, though. I don’t want to miss the tour the gardener is giving later this morning. He’ll not only give a history of the flora and fauna but also tell us about how this has become a natural habitat for several native species of plants that can’t be found anywhere else in the world.”

She sounded so excited. Gardening was one of her passions. But going to these classes might also give me a chance to talk to some of the other suspects.

“Hmmm. Maybe I’ll join you for that one. But first, let me hop in the shower so we can get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry.”

I laughed. “True.”

About thirty minutes later, we made it to the formal dining room, where breakfast was being served. In addition to Lolly’s scones, there were plenty of eggs, smoked bacon, sausages, and a selection of other baked goods. The Irish believed in a hearty breakfast. Possibly, a heart-stopping one, but I was starving.

After filling my plate, I sat down next to Sally Airendale.

“Hi again,” she said. “These breakfast buffets are fabulous, don’t you think?” Sally wore a deep purple sweater set with black slacks, and a ring of pearls around her neck. She reminded me of those women in Town & Country magazine.

“They are,” I said.

“The food overall has been so much better than I expected. I mean, I thought they might serve lamb at every meal or something. But have you had the blueberry scones? They are so good. I’ve given up on watching my figure. I’ll just do more steps when I get home.”

Her husband, who was sitting next to her, wore a sweater vest over a blue button-down with jeans. Even if Sally weren’t wearing what had to be a five-carat wedding ring, possibly larger, they would have exuded wealth.

“I have to agree. Visitors won’t go hungry during their stay.”

“By the way,” she said, “we both love your books. I couldn’t believe you were here at the castle. We thought you lived in New York or somewhere else in America. Are you here for research? Is the next book set in a castle?”

“I did live in America for a long time. We just recently made the move to Ireland,” I said.

“I can’t blame you. This place is gorgeous. Do you live nearby?”

Even though there had been a bit of press about me living in Shamrock Cove during a book event a few months ago, I didn’t necessarily like sharing the fact.

“We do. And where are you two from?”

“Tennessee,” she said with a drawl. “Just outside of Memphis, that’s where our company is.”

“And what is it you do?” I played dumb. I’d read about them when I’d peeked into the files Kieran had compiled.

“I distribute fine liquors all over the United States,” Alex said. “We’re looking at expanding internationally, though.”

“What brought you to the castle?”

“We’ve been talking to Gordon about possibly importing his Irish whiskey. It’s a luxury brand, which fits with our business model.”

“Oh?” I knew nothing about that business. Though I was a big fan of whiskey. The tasting tours had been the best part of this trip so far. “Is it tough getting permissions when things come from overseas?”

“Not for my brilliant husband,” Sally said as she reached over and patted her husband’s hand. She appeared genuinely proud of him. “He has distribution channels already set up all over the world to bring spirits to America. Now, he can use those same channels to open up worldwide distribution for the whiskey.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, darling,” he said. “She’s right though. We’re hoping we can use those same distribution avenues to increase our international sales and import the O’Sullivans’ whiskey.”

“So, how long have you known the O’Sullivans?”

She glanced at her husband. “I don’t know. How long have you been talking to him, dear?”

He rubbed his chin. “Well over a year, I think. He wasn’t keen on overseas sales at first, but a place like this takes a bundle to run, and we’re offering him a good share of the profits if he agrees to our deal. He invited us out here so we could understand the history of the place. My Sally loves traveling, art, and antiquities. This place is quite something.”

“Yes, it is,” I said.

They appeared to be exactly what they said. And since they’d come over from America, how would they even know the priest and nun?

Just then, there was a bustling at the door, and Nora came in looking tired and a bit unkempt. Her normally flawless white hair was in a messy bun, and her clothes appeared as though she had slept in them.

“Good morning,” she said. “I wanted to check in and make sure everyone is doing okay.” She sounded a bit nervous.

“We’re fine,” Lolly said. “How is that husband of yours?”

Nora gave her a tight smile. “Hard-headed as ever. He’s supposed be resting after his, uh, fall.” She stuttered over the words. “But he insisted on checking on the new lambs this morning. He refuses to do what he’s told.”

“I’m glad he’s okay,” I said. “I heard through the grapevine that he had a head injury and that can be scary.” Okay, I didn’t hear it from the grapevine, but I was trying to throw attention away from me and my sister. Just in case the killer might be in the room.

Nora gave a tight nod. I had a feeling she’d been instructed by Kieran not to say anything about the night before. I glanced around suspiciously at everyone. Maximillian, Fiona, and the Airendales were all in attendance. But they all appeared to be nothing but concerned.

“As I’ve said since the day we met, he has a hard head. I wanted to let you know that we are back on schedule, and the trip through the gardens will begin at ten thirty. The clootie dumpling class is after lunch. The third whiskey tasting, however, will be after tomorrow’s lunch. We are sorry to reschedule, but I didn’t want to stress my Gordon any more than necessary. Not that he’s listening to me.” She rolled her eyes. “I thank you for your patience.”

“Any word on the nun who was here?” the accountant, Maximillian, asked. It seemed odd, coming from him, but I suppose all the guests had to be curious.

All of the color ran from Nora’s face.

“She is still indisposed,” Kieran said from behind Nora. Then he came into the room and loaded a plate with food. Some of his men followed suit, as did Sheila. They sat together at the other end of the table.

“I hope she’s okay,” Sally said. “Poor woman.”

“Probably can’t handle her whiskey,” her husband said under his breath.

She shoved at his shoulder. “Don’t be rude. She is a nun.”

Is a nun . She used present tense, which maybe meant she really had no idea what had happened to Sister Sarah, or whoever she was. I couldn’t see why this couple from the States might want to kill a nun, and I put them lower on my very short list.

Still on my list alongside the staff and guests were the O’Sullivans, as they could have staged the attack on Gordon. Though, I was at war with that because why would they cause themselves so much notoriety on opening weekend? Still, they knew this place better than anyone else.

“Are you still doing the art history tour?” Sally asked. “You have so many fabulous pieces around the house. I can’t wait to hear all about them.”

“Yes, first thing tomorrow,” Nora said. She blinked as if she’d perhaps forgotten that fact. “I don’t have the schedule with me, but I believe after breakfast. Except for the change with the third tasting tour, everything else will remain the same.

“I’ll be back to check on you soon,” Nora stammered and then took off down the hall as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Art history? I missed that in the pamphlet,” I said.

“This place is like a museum,” Sally said. “I wonder if they even know what they have.”

“My wife likes art and shiny things. Sometimes a bit too much.” Alex gave her a look that spoke volumes, but I didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

She shoved him again. “Don’t pay attention to him. He’s right, though. So far, I’ve seen original Turners and several French impressionists. There’s even a Jack Butler Yeats piece. And those are just the ones I’ve noticed. Who knows what else might be hanging around here? They have a small fortune on the walls.”

She seemed quite knowledgeable about the art here for someone from Tennessee.

I’m a snob .

I’d encountered that sort of snobbery when I first moved to New York. People there automatically deducted IQ points if one was from anywhere but New York. I’d never had much of a Texas accent, but as soon as people found out where I was from, they looked down on me. It wasn’t fair, but it was the way things were.

But when I’d made a remark to Gordon about the artwork, he said it wasn’t what it seemed. I’d assumed they were all fakes. I mean, I still did. They could have sold one of those paintings if they’d been real and covered their expenses for years.

“I had no idea,” I said. I didn’t think it was my business to bring up they might be fakes. “I know about the portraitist John Butler Yeats, and, of course, W.B. Yeats. The latter won a Nobel Prize in Literature.” I too had done a bit of research since we’d arrived in Ireland. It had a rich history, if a bloody one.

Well, I didn’t know a single country that didn’t have its share of bloodshed.

“Right,” she said. “But the poet’s brother, Jack, was an incredible artist. He was also an Olympic medalist. It was when the Olympics still had art and literature involved in the games. He won a silver medal for one of his paintings. It was the first medal for Ireland, I think. I read about it when we were coming over on the jet.”

They had their own jet? They were obviously doing quite well for themselves.

“Interesting. I learn something new every day.” I had no idea about the fine arts being a part of the Olympics. I always thought it was about the sports. I was a fan of gymnastics in the summer games and snowboarding and skiing during the winter ones. My sister liked the ice skating, but for some reason, watching people dance on blades made me nervous.

She smiled. “I might have done a lot of research before we arrived. It has more to do with my OCD than anything. I don’t like surprises. So, when we go somewhere, I want to know everything about it.

“That and our daughter is an art history major in college. I study up so we can talk about things when she is home. She wanted to come with us, but she’s doing an internship at the Met. We’re so proud of her.”

“I love the Met,” I said. “I used to hang out there a lot for inspiration and I saw something new every time I went.”

“Oh, she is in heaven.”

“She should be. Her expenses are costing us an arm and leg,” Alex Airendale said.

“Stop it.” Sally pointed a finger at her husband. “You’re just as proud as I am. You always like to make a fuss about money.”

They seemed so normal. Wealthy, but at least they cared about their kid. That wasn’t always the case.

Kieran had sat down across the table from us. He’d just stuffed food in his face, when Maximillian the accountant cleared his throat next to me.

“Are you going to tell us what really happened to the priest and the nun? I heard from some of the household staff that they were murdered.”

Everyone around the table gasped, their eyes wide. Lizzie and I glanced at one another knowingly.

I looked around quickly, trying to gauge the reactions, but they all seemed surprised.

“As I mentioned to you yesterday, I cannot comment. It is an ongoing investigation.”

“Are they really dead?” Fiona asked. She appeared worried. “We have the right to know if people are dying. Was it foul play? Is there a killer among us?” She dropped her fork as if her fears had just registered in her brain.

“Like I said, we are investigating and we cannot comment.”

“But if they are dead, aren’t the rest of us in danger?” the accountant said. While his questions seemed suspicious to me, I understood his curiosity. I would want to know as well.

That said, why would he create a detrimental situation for his clients? Bringing up a possible murder did not seem like good business. He worked for the O’Sullivans, and his revelation could harm their business.

For an accountant with a stake in what happened to his clients, he didn’t seem to be aware of how damaging his words might be with the other guests.

“No. You’re quite safe,” Kieran said. “Unless there is something you’d like to share with me, Mr. Herbert? Do you know something I don’t? Perhaps you have something to add that will help understand the situation better?” Kieran’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the man.

That shut the accountant up. He stared down at his plate.

But again, why had he brought that up in front of all the guests? As the man handling the accounts for the estate, it seemed like he’d want to protect Nora and Gordon. And he’d definitely just thrown them under the bus.

I felt eyes on me, and found my sister, Rob, and Scott staring at me.

Yep. Mr. Accountant was going to the top of our suspect list.