Page 5

FIVE

When I woke up later that morning, it was nearly ten. After a quick shower and dressing for the chill in the castle, I went in search of my sister and Mr. Poe. I didn’t like the idea of them walking around alone while there was a murderer on the loose.

That was if the killer was still here. It was possible they had escaped before the storm hit the night before. If it were me, I would have run away as fast as possible.

Not that I’d commit murder. But I write mysteries and I’m always thinking about ways to get away with murder.

I shivered. It was very different when it was real. Anyone in the castle could have been the murderer.

But it could have been a stranger or one of the staff members.

I wonder if Kieran is still here ? I had so many unanswered questions. Maybe they’d been able to pull some fingerprints to help solve the crime. Sister Sarah was still at the top of my list—except she was so petite.

Maybe she works out and has good upper-body strength . Though it was difficult to know under that habit and tunic.

When I turned the corner on the bottom floor my question about Kieran was answered. He was standing outside the study, speaking with someone I didn’t recognize. The man was dressed in coveralls and wore a gardening belt around his waist.

“No, sir,” the man said. I stood a few feet away, not wanting to interrupt but curious as to what he had to say. Kieran’s back was to me, so he hadn’t noticed me there.

“And did you see anyone earlier in the day who wasn’t a guest?”

The man shook his head. “We get an agenda with pictures of the guests so that we know who should be on the property during the weekends we’re open to the public.”

I wondered how that worked, and then I remembered having to scan in our IDs when we made the reservations. At the time, I’d thought it was a lot of security for a place in the middle of nowhere. But if the priest’s ID had been scanned, that had to have given Kieran some clue as to who he really was. Though it was probably fake. Otherwise the O’Sullivans would have known his real name wasn’t Brennen.

“And no one left after the storm started?” Kieran asked.

“The river fills up fast. I live in the cottage just off the main entrance. I don’t see everyone who comes and goes, but I can hear them. No one left the estate last night. Or if they did, they were swimming against those currents. You saw how fast it was going. That would have been dangerous.”

Still, it was possible with the loud thunder, he hadn’t heard them, but I shivered all the same. If no one had left, that meant the killer was still here.

“Did you have a question for him, Mercy?” Kieran asked without turning around.

How did he know I was there? And then I remembered he had once told me my perfume was distinctive. I wore Angel. It was old-school but smelled like sugar cookies to me, and I loved it. My mom had worn it as well, and it always reminded me of her. It was a way of always keeping her close. Plus, who didn’t want to smell like cookies?

“I’m curious if you’d noticed any strangers in the days before our visit?” I asked. “This place is huge and there are more than a hundred acres of land. It would have been easy for someone to hide out. Maybe they were hiding in an outbuilding.”

I’d gone through several scenarios while I’d been in the shower. I think my mind was hoping the killer was long gone and not still with us on the estate.

“Aye, there are a few outbuildings spread out over the acreage,” the gardener said. “But the only way onto the estate is through the main gate. Everything is either walled off with nine feet of iron-spiked stone or faces the sea. And the cliffs are too treacherous to climb.”

I hadn’t realized we were still so close to the sea. Our new home, Shamrock Cove, was a coastal town, but since we’d gone fifteen minutes inland, I’d thought we’d left the sea behind.

I was wrong.

“Right. And you didn’t notice anyone coming or going before the rest of us arrived?”

The man shrugged. “I’m usually working around the property during the day, so it’s possible someone could have snuck in without being seen. And, yes, we do have outbuildings, but they’re checked daily. We store grain and feed for the animals in them, so we have to keep an eye out for wildlife or damp. They’re also secured.”

“Who has keys?”

He shrugged. “I do, Mr. Gordon and Mrs. Nora. Maybe, a couple of other people. But no one who works for the O’Sullivans would do anything to hurt them. They are the best and take good care of us.”

I liked that he was so loyal.

“I’m certain they do. And I’m sure Kieran asked you this, but did you happen to speak to the priest? Or did you see him speaking with anyone else?”

“No. But I keep my head down and do my work. It’s my job to stay out of the guests’ way and to be invisible. That said, I need to be gettin’ on with it, if you’re done with me,” he said to Kieran.

The detective glanced at me, and I nodded.

After he left, Kieran stared at me expectantly.

It was all I could do not to laugh.

“Well,” he said. “Ask your questions.”

“It’s like you know me.”

He laughed. “That I do. Let’s see if I can guess what you were going to ask. Do I have any suspects?”

I nodded.

“There is a house full of them,” he said. “No one seems to have heard or seen anything. The last time anyone remembers seeing the priest was on the way back from the whiskey tour.”

“Do we still think he’s a priest?”

“Sheila took his prints, and I’m waiting for a report. Even though the water has receded some, the internet is still down here, which isn’t unusual in rural Ireland. So, she had to take everything back to the station. I’m waiting for her call.”

“Did the guests freak out when you interviewed them?”

He chuckled. “A few of them thought it was a murder mystery play. Though, we didn’t tell them he was dead. As far as the guests know, the priest is missing. I’m still not certain they’re taking things seriously. I’m still checking their alibis for late afternoon. So far, everyone I’ve spoken to says they were getting ready for the evening activities.”

“It should help that half the guests are from the court. Lots of ears and eyes on the others for you.”

“True. Gran and the others didn’t have many answers, though. The only bit of information that has been consistent is that the priest wasn’t the friendliest person.”

“That’s true. There was just something about him. I’m not even sure I believe he was a priest.” I didn’t mention that I’d taken a look in his pockets and found an ID. “Was there any identification on him?”

He nodded. “There was. We’re checking it out. And we thoroughly searched his room.”

“And you still think he is a priest?”

Kieran shrugged.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Let’s just say his identification and the items in his room made me suspicious.”

“Like what?”

“We found a handgun and some papers pertaining to the ownership of the estate here.”

“Oh?”

“I should say copies of them. They were old records from a few hundred years ago.”

That was interesting. “Did he have a claim to the estate?”

“We’re going through the papers. The owners say he was asking a great many questions, but as far as the O’Sullivans are concerned, this place has belonged to their family since the French nobleman built it. From the quick glance that I took last night, that is correct.”

“I don’t suppose I could look at the papers?”

“They’ve already gone back to the station with Sheila. But she’s making us copies. We’re setting up an incident room here in the castle. She’ll be back with the originals later.”

I pursed my lips. “Well, if he were going to lay a claim to the place, then the owners would be the most likely suspects, right? I mean, Occam’s razor: the explanation with the fewest criteria.”

He shook his head. “I know what Occam’s razor means. We asked for confirmation of ownership, and from what I could see, there is no discrepancy. The place belongs to the O’Sullivans. There seems to be no question about the validity of their deeds.”

“Lots of things can be faked though. Especially with the quality of printers and how easy it is to age paper these days. Anyone with the internet can research how to do that. The priest, for whatever reason, could have forged the papers. I mean, I don’t know why. But it could happen.”

“Let me guess, it’s in one of your books.”

“It was. Though in the book, it was the proof of provenance for a piece of art.”

“We’ll be researching what we were given thoroughly.”

I loved doing that kind of research, and it made me wish that the internet was better here. Not that those records would be online, though some would. Especially documents on Ancestry.com where tracking one’s heritage could be followed with a step-by-step process. Lizzie and I had been working to track ours since we’d found out about our grandfather and dad.

Other than they were Irish, and some information about the court where our grandfather had lived all of his life, there hadn’t been much to find out. According to Lolly, our neighbor, that was because of a great fire in the hall of records in Shamrock Cove hundreds of years ago. But we still searched.

“So, what happens now? Should we head home?”

He shook his head. “I’ve asked that everyone stay put for the next forty-eight hours. That gives us a chance to go through the evidence, and means we aren’t losing any suspects.”

“Did anyone argue about that?”

He laughed. “No. That would make them suspicious, though. I’m not certain whoever did this would be dumb enough to call attention to themselves in that regard. That, and another storm is coming in. The only way across the water is by boat. And right now, it’s on the other side of the river.”

“What makes you think the killer is smart?”

“The position of the letter opener was up and to the right, straight into the major artery.”

“So, a professional hit?”

He shrugged. “Or someone who looked it up on the internet. You know how it is these days.”

If I ever came up with what I thought was an original murder, I could usually find a how-to on the internet. Nothing was new under the sun. “You make a valid point. Maybe it’s smarter to look at the why. The papers seem fishy. I mean, why bring something like that unless he was going to confront the owners?”

“It’s a valid question and one that hasn’t been answered. Like I said, they have solid proof the place is theirs.”

“I wonder if it’s tied to the curse somehow.” I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms.

“Don’t tell me you believe in curses.”

I snorted. “Of course not. But Mrs. O’Sullivan brought it up when all of this happened. Evidently, things have never been easy for the family. They are plagued with tragedies.

“Most people would call that life,” I went on. “As we know, it’s full of ups and downs. But I think maybe it adds to the drama of owning a castle if you say the inhabitants are cursed in some way.”

“Except, the murder didn’t happen to one of them,” Kieran reminded me.

“True. But something tells me we’ve only scratched the surface with the O’Sullivans.” I yawned. “I don’t know about you, but I could really use a cup of coffee.”

“On that, we can agree. You’ve missed breakfast but we’ve set up in one of the rooms in the front of the house. Mrs. O’Sullivan has provided a never-ending pot of coffee, tea service, and many different types of muffins.”

“Show me the way.”

After two cups of coffee, I felt a bit braver. I glanced over at Kieran, who was going through something on his phone.

“Did Sheila send any information yet? And have you talked to Sister Sarah?”

“No to the question about Sheila. And the nun hadn’t come down during our first round of questioning. She’s the last one we need to talk to. Right now, I’m going through the crime scene photos, so I can write my initial report.”

“Can I look at them when you’re done? We were in the dark most of the time last night. I might have missed something.”

He sighed.

I held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say, but you can’t keep me out of it.”

“Oh, trust me, I can.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but wouldn’t it be better if we worked together? You know I can sometimes help with insight from an outsider’s point of view. Do we have to play this game every time a case comes up? You have no problem asking for my help when we’re talking about your work at the pub.”

“That’s different,” he said without looking up from his phone.

“How so?”

“You aren’t involved in those cases and there is no chance a killer might go after you for being nosy. I can’t say that here. There’s a good chance the killer is still on the premises.”

This time I was the one who sighed. “Kieran, you’ve met me, and I want to help the O’Sullivans. They seem like great people and I hate that this has happened to them.”

“You’re going to be nosy no matter what I say.”

“I prefer the word interested .”

“Fine. Just don’t ask too many questions. Okay? If you feel like you need to be nosy, come tell me. I’ll ask the questions.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t so sure about that. People weren’t always comfortable speaking to the police. Where I was just a harmless mystery writer with way too much curiosity.

While Kieran wrote his report, I went in search of my sister and Mr. Poe. I found them in the large industrial-sized kitchen at the back of the castle.

Mr. Poe was lying at Lizzie’s feet, while she listened to Nora O’Sullivan.

Nora clapped her hands together. “Oh, good, Mercy. You’ve made it just in time for the lesson in making Irish brown bread. Would you like a set-up?” She pointed to the bowls and ingredients in front of the others.

“That’s okay. I’ll help Lizzie.” By help, I meant I would stand there and hand her things if she asked. No one wanted me anywhere near baking. I burned most everything I touched. If it couldn’t be stuck in a microwave and heated up, it was beyond my talents.

My sister covered her grin with her hand.

“Irish brown bread doesn’t require yeast,” Nora said. “You may add whatever you like to the main recipe. But we’ve kept it to the way our ancestors made it.”

She had a patient and kind way about her, and it was difficult to imagine her having anything to do with murdering a priest. I mean, if he was a priest. Everything Kieran had told me left me with even more questions.

“Hand me the buttermilk,” my sister whispered. “You’re staring at people and you know that makes them uncomfortable.”

I had been staring off into space, but when I blinked, I noticed that Nora was looking at me strangely.

“I’ve never baked bread before,” Fiona, the birder, said beside me. “I’m feeling positively domestic.” She wore thick, black glasses, and her red hair was piled on her head. She wore a khaki vest with lots of pockets over a flannel shirt and jeans.

“You are doing far better than I ever could,” I said.

“When she told us she doesn’t spend much time in the kitchen. I told her you could relate,” Lizzie added.

I smiled. “It’s true, Fiona. I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“Nora promised this was the easiest bread recipe in the world, and it only has five ingredients. And I must admit I ate a quarter of a loaf this morning. I thought it might be fun to learn how to make it.”

“Did you come here for birding?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, yes. They have over forty different species here, and those are just the ones that have been identified so far. Yesterday morning I saw a long-eared owl. That was a first for me. They are common in Ireland, but not always easy to find. It was a good day.”

She shivered. “Well, except for what happened to that poor priest who is missing. I hope he’s not lost somewhere in this weather. Or, worse, drowned.”

Oh, he wasn’t lost. He’d very much been found. I thought it odd that Kieran didn’t want the rest of them to know what had happened. Then again, keeping them guessing probably wasn’t so bad and helped the O’Sullivans save face.

“Did you have a chance to speak to him? Or did you see him late yesterday afternoon?”

“I tried to talk to him once. I followed him down to one of the ponds yesterday morning. Well, I’d been heading that way anyway since Gordon had told me they had some early sightings of yellow wagtails and whinchats. And he was right, I saw them both. The trip was worth it just for that.” She went off on an explanation of the birds, and I waited patiently for her to finish.

One thing was for certain about Fiona the birder—she was quite passionate about her subject of interest.

“Did he talk to you?”

She shook her head. “I tried. I asked if he was interested in birds since he had binos around his neck.”

I assumed binos were short for binoculars.

“But he didn’t want to chat. He said he was there for the peace and quiet. Put me in my place. He was beyond rude, even for an Englishman. I’m not a religious person, but I thought clergy were supposed to be kind to their fellow humans.”

“Me too,” I said. “Not that I know that much about religion.” What I did know was from researching the subject for my books.

“How long were you at the pond?”

“Oh, probably two or three hours. They have a grouping of conifers on the north side, where I saw the owl. I took some pictures if you’d like to see them.” She bent down and pulled a fancy camera from her knapsack.

I didn’t care much about the bird pictures. But then I wondered if it was possible she might have caught something that she hadn’t realized.

“I’d love to see them.”

She’d gone back to stirring her ingredients together. “Let me get those pictures for you. Just click this arrow on the right when you want to move to the next one. I’m no professional, but I’m quite proud of the quality of some of these. Coming to the castle was an excellent idea. I can’t wait to show my friends.

“I told Nora that birders will come in flocks once they see these pictures.”

Flocks . I smiled.

If she had killed the priest, she wasn’t trying to hide much. I didn’t think I’d see much more than birds, but I went through her digital camera roll all the same. As I suspected, most of it was pictures of owls and many different types of birds.

“These are actually quite beautiful,” I said.

She smiled shyly. “Thanks. I’ve sold a few, though only to fund my habit so I can travel the world looking for all kinds of species.”

“Now, we’re going to shape the loaf,” Nora said from the front of the room.

I continued to flip through the pictures, and then stopped at one. Fiona had been taking a picture of what looked like a duck at the far end of the pond. But behind it was the priest and the nun pointing fingers at one another. While their faces were a bit of a blur, their body language spoke volumes. That made Sister Sarah a suspect for sure.

But even more so was the figure who stood at the top of the hill, watching them. The zoom had been on the duck, so everything was blurred in the background, but there was definitely a figure there. Maybe it was just someone passing, but given the circumstances, I would call them suspicious. They seemed to be looking at the pair who were arguing.

I needed to show this to Kieran.

If the nun hadn’t killed the priest, it might have been the person in the background of the photo.

Then it hit me. I glanced around the room. All the guests, including our gang from the court, were in attendance. That is, except for one person. It was almost eleven in the morning, and she still hadn’t come down.

Sister Sarah was missing.