Page 14

FOURTEEN

Kieran unlocked the study and moved the crime scene tape so I could get through. We’d just stepped into the office when there was a strange squeaking sound like a door closing, and then footsteps. We glanced at one another and then Kieran rushed in to check the French doors leading to the outside gardens.

“They’re locked.” He tried the handles again, to be sure, but they didn’t move. And then the sound of footsteps tapered off.

“When did you hear the noises in the walls?”

“Late. After we’d found Gordon in the distillery. There was a thumping sound like a door opening, and then footsteps.”

“You may be right about the killer being able to come and go secretly. I’ll have the team check to see if there are any clues to the secret walkways once I hear from the owners.”

“Well, it might also be a way to hide things. With the police searching the rooms…The thieves could be stuffing things in the walls.”

“There is that,” he said.

“But the main reason I wanted to come back here is something that just clicked in my brain.”

“What’s that?”

“Books travel easier than paintings and vases. Specifically, first editions. There are bound to be some here and in the library. They are transportable and can be hidden in luggage. Or, maybe they were looking for some reference to treasure in the house. The thing that is bothering me is how would they know about any of this?”

“Well, we already believe there is a third party who murdered the both of them. Perhaps that person stumbled onto something here. But again, why take advantage now?”

“Revenge,” I said. “That’s always a good motive. Maybe they had something against the O’Sullivans. I mean I like them both, but have they ever had trouble with the law?”

“No, they’re clean,” he said. “We checked into them first.”

“Oh.” I put my hands on my hips. There went that theory.

“Also, I keep saying, why draw attention to the negative side of things if it were the O’Sullivans. What has happened this weekend would only be detrimental to all of their hard work.”

“That is a good point,” he said. “Dead victims do not help sell tourist weekends.”

“Unless people are into true crime,” I added. “But I don’t think that’s what is happening here.”

“I agree.”

My brain felt like a ping-pong ball bouncing all over the place.

“It’s annoying that we only have twenty-four hours of the weekend left and still have so many questions,” I said.

“I couldn’t agree more. But shall we have a look around? While I don’t see criminals like them having much to do with books, that is just an assumption. We might as well check to see if you’re right about the first editions.”

The bookshelves covered most of the walls in the study. I hadn’t exaggerated about the wealth of books in this room. Along with first editions of Irish authors like Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift, and Bram Stoker, there were works by Jane Austen and other famous authors too.

“Everything is alphabetical, and there doesn’t seem to be anything missing,” I said after an hour or so of looking. “That said, there are several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of books on these shelves.”

He blew out a breath. “Blimey. Just for books?”

I nodded.

“So, if they were planning to take the books, they hadn’t done so yet.”

“Right. Though that could be a reach. I mean, most of the books he’d been looking at on the desk had been personal diaries. There is some correlation there, I’m just not sure what. Perhaps Carl was searching for inventory like I mentioned before. Either of the books, or whatever treasure we’ve heard about.”

I pursed my lips.

“What are you thinking?”

“One of the reasons the O’Sullivans have opened up the estate to visitors and have increased their whiskey production is to raise funds to help preserve the castle. I understand them not wanting to part with their treasures and family heirlooms, but just a few of those first editions could help cover their expenses for some time. I mean, there are a lot.

“And before you ask, no, I wouldn’t want to part with them if they were in my library, but I don’t own an estate that needs so much upkeep. Those books would help keep this place going for a long time.”

“But it wouldn’t stop the expenses from piling up,” he said. “They wanted to create a business that would help keep the estate running for many hundreds of years. Mrs. O’Sullivan mentioned that would be their legacy. That they would not rest on their laurels like their forefathers. Her words, not mine.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “They seem like very proud people. And they work hard. Look at how many of the classes and tours they do themselves. Okay. That explains why they wouldn’t want to sell off their prized possessions, but that doesn’t mean someone else wasn’t willing to do exactly that. Are you sure about the household staff? I know I asked before.”

“We vetted them and checked their rooms,” he said, “and we didn’t find anything.”

I shrugged. “Anyone who works here would have access. But again, why wait until there are guests here? That’s the part that isn’t adding up for me. I keep going back to the guests.”

Nothing had happened—until we’d arrived. That fact hadn’t been lost on me. I felt sorry for the O’Sullivans. They’d put so much work into making this a fun and creative weekend for their guests. When news of the murders got out, it would hurt their business.

Something else clicked in my brain. “When you spoke with the staff, were there any who weren’t happy working here? Did any of them seem to have a beef with the owners?”

He flipped through the notebook he always carried. “No. The O’Sullivans received high marks. All the employees seemed to appreciate that they kept them on through tough economic times. Many of them, who lost their homes in the crash, moved into cottages on the estate. They had nothing but respect for the O’Sullivans, which you don’t always see these days.”

“Very true,” I said. “That is admirable. Okay. So, stick with me here. We know there is someone who wanted Carl and Sarah dead. Someone who led them here with the promise of some kind of heist or treasure.”

He nodded.

“And we know that someone may be traveling around in the walls. I suggest we check those out as well. If they haven’t been used often, they’ll probably be dusty and we might find prints.” I started going through books and moving them as if they were a lever. When that didn’t work, I tried knocking on the back of the shelves to see if there was a hollow area.

“Are you looking for an entrance?”

“Yes.”

“We could just ask the O’Sullivans for the plans to the house.”

“We could. But the passages might not be shown on them. And I think it’s best to keep it to ourselves for now. You’re the one who always tells me to keep the circle close.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“Most of the time I don’t think you listen to me.”

I chuckled. “I always listen, Kieran. I’m just not one who follows orders easily. I’m a bit bull-headed that way.”

He said something under his breath, and I ignored him.

He started doing the same thing as me, pulling each book to see if something happened, but on the shelves opposite.

It took several minutes, but then I hit a hollow space. I tried pressing in on the shelves, but nothing happened. In movies and television shows, one would pull a book like a lever, and a door would open. I tried doing that with a few volumes, but nothing happened.

“I think I’ve found something, but how to get into it, I have no idea.”

He crossed the room and joined me. The carving around the wooden shelves was intricate, with a lion in the center of each frame.

“Wait. I wonder.” I tried pulling the lion’s head but couldn’t get my fingers around it. My hand slipped and pressed on the figure, and there was a clicking and screeching sound—the same thing we’d heard when we came in and that my sister and I had listened to the night before.

“You’ve found it,” he said.

The shelf moved a bit but didn’t open completely. I pushed harder on the lion’s head, and there was another click as something shifted as the door slid aside. The entire bookshelf moved outward, and Kieran helped me pull it open.

I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight app. The passageway was dark, and cobwebs clung to the walls.

While I wasn’t afraid of spiders, as long as they stayed in their space outside, I wasn’t exactly excited to traipse through their domain behind the walls. But my curiosity won out. I took a step, and Kieran pulled me back against his muscled chest.

“What? Is it a spider?” I started what my sister called the spider flap, brushing off my hair and clothes as fast as I could.

He chuckled. “No. Look at the floor.”

He let go of me, and I missed the warmth of him behind my back. When had I started thinking of him like that? The notion surprised me, and I hoped he couldn’t see the blush on my cheeks. The heat there burned my face with embarrassment.

I liked Kieran in that way. I blinked with the shock. But there wasn’t time to think about that new revelation.

I stared down at the floor. There were dusty boot prints. The shoe size was fairly large.

“Male?” I asked.

“Or a woman with very large feet. I need to get forensics in here to make copies of the prints.”

Part of me was relieved, but mainly I was disappointed. I’d been excited about going into the walls of the castle.

He pulled out his walkie-talkie and ordered his team to the study.

“Okay, I’ll be taking it from here, Mercy. Please, do not go searching the estate by yourself.”

“I won’t,” I said. At least, I wouldn’t do it alone.

I walked away, needing some air and space. Was there any chance Kieran thought of me the way I did him? We butted heads so often, I doubted it. As far as he was concerned, ours was a professional relationship.

Did I really want it to be more ?

I wasn’t ready to answer that question.

I went in search of my sister, who was in our room.

“I was wondering where you’ve been,” she said.

“Helping Kieran with some things. You know how we kept hearing footsteps but couldn’t figure out where they were coming from?”

Her brow furrowed. “Yes.”

“We were right about there being passageways inside the walls of the castle.”

She shivered. “That doesn’t make me feel great. Do you mean anyone could come in our room without warning?”

“I doubt there are points of entry in every room. That would have made it too easy for enemies to discover the family’s hiding places.”

“Well, at least there is that.”

I told her what I’d been thinking about in the study.

“It figures your brain would go straight for the books. Have you been in the library yet? It’s like something out of Beauty and the Beast , though on a slightly smaller scale. Floor-to-ceiling books on every wall, except for a few windows that are also surrounded by shelves. It’s gorgeous.”

“Did you notice the quality of the books?”

“They look well taken care of. I didn’t take any off the shelves, though I was tempted. My guess is they probably keep their first editions behind the closed doors of the study. I would. Like our grandfather did too.”

In addition to the lovely bookshop our grandfather had left us, there was an amazing hidden library in the cottage. He, too, had many first editions and quite the collection of his favorite authors. It was one of the ways we’d been able to get to know and understand him. And it was obvious our love of books had been genetically passed down. He’d called the room a treasure. It had taken us a while to figure out that was what he meant by the word, and he was right.

“I’m at a point with all of this that I need you to tell me everything,” she said. “My imagination is much worse than anything you could say.”

I blew out a breath. “It’s just a bunch of supposition for now, but here’s what we know so far…”

I explained everything Kieran and I had discussed.

“So do you think it is someone who is trying to hurt the O’Sullivans’ business, or something else entirely?”

I shrugged and explained what I’d talked to Kieran about more than once. “It’s hard to say. But I think it may be some greedy criminals who do not care who they hurt to get what they want.”

“That makes sense.”

I told her about the diaries I’d read in the incident room.

“It’s too bad you don’t do historical fiction. That woman sounds like such an interesting personality. That would make a fantastic movie.”

“She was amazing. She basically ran the place and contributed to the wealth of the estate. And I may not write historical fiction, but I could weave her into a current storyline set at a castle. You know, when I finish the two books I already owe my editor.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t texted you this weekend.”

“One of the bonuses of not having consistent phone signal.”

Lizzie laughed.

We’d had a rough year with the deaths in the family, and I’d only started writing again a few months ago. I hadn’t quite caught up, but I wasn’t as behind as I’d been six months ago. The sheer panic I’d experienced about being able to write had dissipated since we’d arrived in Ireland. The place was good for my soul.

While I’d said I made this move for my sister, it had been equally good for me. I loved our little village, new friends and neighbors, and living by the Irish Sea. Except for mine and Mr. Poe’s habit of finding dead bodies, it had been nearly idyllic.

I opened my mouth to ask her a question but stopped when Mr. Poe growled at the wall.

My sister and I glanced at one another.

“Are you sure there isn’t a door to the passageways in here?” she whispered.

Once again, I shrugged.

There was a painting of the Irish countryside on the paneled wall where Mr. Poe sat.

I walked over and pressed on the wall. Nothing happened, but there was a whistle of air coming from somewhere. Remembering the lion in the panel downstairs, I pushed on the decorative trim of the wall panels.

There was a click, and a door popped open.

No one was on the other side, but like the study, there were dusty footprints on the floor. Someone had paused to listen through the wall.

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

“Agreed.” I pulled out my cell and turned on the flashlight app.

“What are you doing? Do not go in there. Shut it back up and tell Kieran.”

“I will. I promise to tell him everything. I just want to see where it goes. You stay here with Mr. Poe, I won’t go far. I only want to see what it looks like down the hallway.”

“Mercy, no. What if the killer is in there?”

“They won’t be.” I didn’t know that for sure and my sister knew that. Or at least I hoped not. Mr. Poe was good about knowing when danger was about. But my curiosity won out.

There wasn’t much space between the stone walls, and the ceiling was extremely low. Anyone much taller or wider than me would have to bend down and turn sideways to get through the narrow hallways. There was no lighting, only the glow from my phone.

Not sure where it might lead, I moved to the left first. I paused when I heard voices. It was Scott and Rob talking about the rose garden. Scott was going to ask the gardener for some cuttings. He’d already asked for permission from Mrs. O’Sullivan, he said.

Not wanting to intrude on their conversation, I quietly moved down the passage, only to find it closed off by a massive wall.

I went back the other way.

“Did you see anything?”

“No. There is a wall down that way. I’m going the other way now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” The dread in her question was quite clear. She wasn’t fond of small spaces. Nor was I. But they didn’t bother me quite as much.

“No. You two stay here with the door open. I don’t know how they open from this side, so I don’t want my exit blocked.”

“That makes sense. Promise you won’t go far.”

“I won’t.” The last thing I wanted to do was worry her, but I didn’t like the idea of someone eavesdropping behind the walls. I wouldn’t point it out, but the lack of spiderwebs probably meant someone had been up and down this way recently. Though she’d heard the noises the night before.

Had they been listening to our conversations? I shivered.

The passage grew darker as I went away from the lighted entry where my sister stood. Only the light from my phone guided me.

I glanced back and she seemed so far away.

I came to a wall, and the only access was to go to the right. I turned the corner. I could hear voices again, and I paused. It sounded like the Airendales.

“You’ve been at it again, haven’t you?” he said angrily. “Why? Why are you doing this? Do you understand what could happen if you’re caught?”

Her voice was muffled.

Was he confronting her about her klepto habits? Even though I liked a bit of spying, eavesdropping didn’t feel right.

Soon enough, Kieran would know what she’d taken once the search warrant went through.

It sounded like Sally might be crying. I felt bad for her. If she did have a psychological problem, her husband should have been more understanding. It wasn’t like she could help it.

At the end of the long hallway was a set of stairs that went up another story. I didn’t want to worry my sister by staying gone too long, but it was obvious that whoever had been behind the walls had free range to go pretty much wherever they wanted. I didn’t like the idea that a killer could come and go as they pleased.

I wouldn’t be mentioning that to my sister.

As much as I wanted to continue to explore, I had to get back to her and Mr. Poe.

I turned and headed toward the lighted doorway.

“What did you find?”

“It’s pretty extensive,” I said. “My guess is this was how they avoided marauders back in the day. They would be able to hide behind the walls for some time.”

“I like the idea of the family being able to get away,” Lizzie said. “Not so much the idea of someone spying on us.”

“Let’s move that small desk over this way. At the very least, we can keep them from coming in the doorway.”

She helped me move the desk.

Mr. Poe watched us like we were the best thing on dog television. He was a curious little soul. And a dog after my own heart. He was protective of Lizzie and loved us both. He had since the day he came home with us. And while I’d always made a bit of fun about how people treated their pets as humans, we did the same thing with him.

He was a part of our family.

“It’s almost time for the clootie dumpling class. Are you coming with me?” Lizzie asked.

“I’ll walk you to the kitchen. You know me and baking. We are not friends.”

She snorted. “That’s true.”

“Mean. You could fake it and say my cooking isn’t that bad.”

She smiled sweetly. “I would. but you’re my twin and you can tell when I try to lie.”

This time I laughed. “There is that. By the way, what is a clootie dumpling?”

“I think we had one at the pub once. It was like a dessert in a dumpling with raisins and stuff in it. I like the idea of working with recipes that are hundreds of years old. I love that the O’Sullivans are able to do so much in the way of preservation—not just of the grounds and estate but of the routines from the past.”

“I don’t disagree.”

We’d made it downstairs and to the hallway of the kitchen when there was a blood-curdling scream.