Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery

by Juliet Blackwell

  “I know it sounds crazy, Luz, but it may be true. I think this ghost may be guarding something.”

  “Wait a minute. Let’s back up for a second. When you told me about taking this job a few days ago, you said the ghost was a woman in red.”

  “Yes, that’s what I saw originally. But now there’s a guy.”

  “A Highland warrior.”

  “I don’t actually know that much about Scottish history. For instance, I have no way of knowing whether he was Highland or Lowland, because I don’t even know what that refers to. But the warrior, I’m pretty sure we can go with that. He was covered in scars, and he was huge, and . . .”

  “I’m envisioning Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Does he have a mullet, too?”

  “I didn’t notice. But this guy’s a lot scarier.”

  “Okay. Let’s come back to that. So the ghost went after Graham?”

  I nodded. “Donnchadh and I—”

  “Who’s Donnchadh?”

  “The ghost.”

  “You two are on a first-name basis?”

  “We introduced ourselves.”

  “Well, of course. Death is no excuse for forgetting one’s manners.”

  “We were talking, and then Graham came in looking for me. I can’t tell you what it’s like when Donnchadh goes after someone—it’s a complete transformation. He turns so fierce and charges forward with his sword.”

  “And then what happened? I thought you always talk a big game about how ghosts can’t actually hurt people.”

  “That’s what I thought. What I still think, actually. Maybe . . . I think Donnchadh scared Graham and he lost his footing, and fell and hit his head on the cement floor.”

  Luz looked thoughtful. “I guess that’s possible. It’s hard to imagine a man like Graham tripping over his own shoelaces, though. He’s gonna be pissed with himself when he wakes up.”

  I’d had the same thought. Nothing like adding insult to injury.

  “The doctor’s here,” Luz said softly as Dr. Petralis walked in and headed for us. He wore a huge gold Rolex and had a fake tan and slicked-back hair. All in all, he looked like a self-described “swinger,” the kind of man who tried to convince women many years younger than himself to be his lucky charm at the Vegas craps tables and then plied them with free drinks.

  But I was going to have to trust Ellis on this; the doctor didn’t have to be to my taste, just so long as he was the best in the business and could help.

  Petralis gave us the lowdown on Graham’s condition: As I had thought, this was a wait-and-see situation. So far, surgical intervention was not indicated. But it would take twenty-four to forty-eight hours to know if he was in the clear.

  Afterward, we went in to visit Graham, now in a bed in the ICU.

  I noticed his eye sockets were swelling and turning blue. “Is that normal?”

  “Of course not. A fractured skull is not normal,” said Dr. Petralis.

  “No, I understand that. I mean, is that normal for a skull fracture?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “I guess I was assuming it was your job for you to say, one way or the other,” I said, feeling my ire rising.

  Luz stepped in to rescue the situation. “What Mel is asking is: Is swelling around the eye sockets consistent with this sort of head trauma?”

  Dr. Petralis looked at Luz with interest.

  “Yes. It happens. They might turn blue, then black. We call it panda markings.”

  “And that means . . . ?”

  “It’s the result of internal bleeding. Could go either way. It’s a bad sign because internal bleeding is never good, but it might mean the blood isn’t staying on the brain, which is a good sign. In general, I think it’s more positive than negative, in terms of brain injury.”

  “Híjole,” said Luz with a shake of her head. “I can’t believe simply hitting your head on the floor could cause this sort of injury.”

  “On the floor?” asked the doctor.

  “We think he was startled by something, tripped and hit his head on the floor,” I said.

  Petralis shook his head. “This injury isn’t consistent with a fall.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “The angle of the blow indicates your friend was attacked from behind, by something heavy, which struck his skull at a downward angle. A blunt instrument of some kind. Looks to me like someone tried to kill him.”

  * * *

  Dr. Petralis left after that pronouncement, murmuring something about checking in later, and Luz turned to me.

  “Could someone have been hiding in the chapel, without your seeing anything?”

  I thought back to those panicked moments. “I suppose so. I ran into the chapel after Donnchadh, but there was probably enough time for someone to run away, or hide. Under the circumstances, I doubt I would have noticed someone hunkering down behind a pile of stones.”

  “But why would anyone want to hurt Graham?”

  “That’s the ten-thousand-dollar question. Unless . . . Graham had just returned from talking to the widow of McCall, the building inspector who was killed. We were trying to figure out if Larry McCall might have known something, figured out something that would have led someone to murder him.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. I thought the police had his killer under arrest, that it was a crime of passion, a case of anger run amok.”

  “That’s what they seem to think. They have Pete Nolan, the general contractor who was running the job, in custody. But whether Nolan’s the killer . . . I guess I’m not convinced.”

  Luz looked at me with worried, angry eyes. “So, are you thinking maybe Graham learned something from the widow? Something incriminating, or . . . something about a treasure? And that’s why he was hurt?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mel, but that seems rather far-fetched. I mean, if the building inspector knew about a treasure, why wouldn’t he have done something about it? And if the killer is after the same treasure, why doesn’t he just unearth it and run away? Why hang around attacking people, and in the process, risking exposure?”

  “I have no idea. All I can think is that it’s not that easy to get to.”

  “But you think maybe the widow knows something and told Graham?”

  “That’s all I can think of. And there’s one way to find out.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Luz.”

  “Seriously, Mel, what makes you think you can go talk with her safely if Graham couldn’t?”

  “Because everyone knew Graham had gone to speak with her.” I thought back to that crazy scene after the room collapse, with Ellis and his entourage looking over the site, plus Tony and Jacek and most of the men gathered around. Graham and I had spoken openly about where he was going, right there in front of everyone. “I’ll be more discreet from now on. Surely, if the murderer’s really out there, he’ll assume I’m with Graham right now. In fact, come to think of it . . . I suppose that could be why he did it. To get me out of the way.”

  Luz looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Luz, do me a favor? Stay here with Graham? Just keep an eye on him?”

  “The doctors said he’s stable for now, Mel. I’m sure he’s going to pull through, a big strapping man like him.”

  Like size has anything to do with his ability to survive a skull fracture, I thought, fear lancing through me. “He does have a hard head, it’s true. But I can’t leave him here, defenseless. If someone tried to finish the job . . .”

  “Are you going to call the police?”

  “Yes. But then I’m going to look into this myself. I don’t trust the police to follow up. Will you stay here with him, just keep an eye on things?”

  “On one condition: Don’t go around talking to people alone. Bring someone big and strong, who you trust, with you. Maybe Zach?”

  Zach Yablonksy had once kind of kidnapped me, but we’d moved on from that incident and had developed an odd friendship. But Zach
wasn’t close at hand.

  “I promise, I’ll take someone with me.”

  “Who?” Luz was a born skeptic.

  “Kieran.”

  “The Scottish guy?”

  “He’s been trying to repatriate the monastery.”

  “The entire place?”

  “Pretty much, or at least the treasure, if there is one. But he has no ties with Elrich or anybody else at the project. And he’s a big, strong guy. Thanks, Luz.”

  “Keep your cell phone with you. I added Buzz’s number to your contact list. He’s waiting outside somewhere with the limo. But wait. . . . Do we know we can trust Buzz?”

  “You mean, what if it turns out Elrich is a criminal mastermind responsible for all that’s happened, and Buzz is one of his evil henchmen?”

  “I wasn’t going to use those exact words, but yes, that’s what I meant.”

  “Good point. I’ll figure out something else. But you have to promise to call me if there’s any news about Graham. Anything at all.”

  “Roger that. I’m gonna go get the scoop from the nurses, and then I’ll see about getting access to the ICU. I’ll tell them I’m his wife.”

  “His wife?”

  She smiled. “I did a stint as a hospital social worker, remember? I know my way around this sort of thing. Leave it in my capable hands, amiga.”

  Luz had extremely capable hands, I thought, grateful for my friend.

  Kieran agreed to come pick me up. Then I called the police and left a message for Detective Bernardino. Finally, I phoned Mrs. McCall, the widow of the building inspector. I was loath to bother her while she was grieving, but I had to know what she had told Graham. And I wanted to go in person, so I could study her body language. I told her that Graham had been attacked after speaking to her, and she put the pieces together and agreed to see us.

  Twenty minutes later, Kieran pulled up in front of the hospital in a silver Prius.

  “How’s our boy?”

  “He’s . . . We’re watching and waiting now. He hasn’t woken up enough to say anything, but the doctor thinks he was hit from behind.”

  “Hit? Someone attacked him? But . . . I thought it was an accident.”

  “Apparently not. He was”—my voice wavered—“hit over the head.”

  “Oh, wow.” Kieran blanched but kept his eyes on the road. His driving was precise, slow, and careful. In theory, I admired his prudence, but in reality, he was making me crazy. I thought I might offer to drive on the way back. “So you’re saying someone’s already been killed on this site, and now someone else is gravely injured—and you still don’t believe there’s a curse?”

  I didn’t care for the term “gravely injured.”

  “It’s not a curse; it’s some maniac on the loose.” Which, I thought to myself, was probably not much better than a curse. “Take a right at the corner.” I gave him directions and decided to change the subject. “How did you score a Prius? Do you like it?”

  “It’s a rental. It was all they had available—costs more to rent, but I suppose I’m saving on gas. And, you know, less damage to the environment and all that. But do me a favor and give me a heads-up if I drive on the wrong side of the road, will you? It’s been known to happen. I don’t know why all you colonials insisting on driving on the other side, when the Brits have already figured all this out.”

  “I would think that as a proud Scotsman, you wouldn’t be pro-British?”

  He shrugged. “You know what they say: Choose your battles. Went to school in London; rather liked the place. So, where are we headed?”

  “To talk with Mrs. McCall. She’s the widow of the building inspector who was killed.”

  “What about?”

  “Graham spoke with her right before he was attacked; it’s possible she told him something someone didn’t want him to know.”

  “Like what?”

  “What if McCall wasn’t killed by Nolan in a drunken fit of frustration? What if it was something else entirely, like the treasure you’ve been looking for? Maybe McCall knew something, found something, saw something . . . or something?”

  “It’s worth checking out, I suppose,” said Kieran with a sigh. “Though if Graham had learned something vital, wouldn’t he have called you?”

  “Probably,” I said with a sigh. “Unless he didn’t realize he had learned it. Or, it could be something else entirely.”

  “Well, I’m happy to help, if I can. It’s not like I was doing anything, anyway,” he said in a wistful tone. “Elrich doesn’t even come out those gates anymore, and the local press has moved on. The costumes aren’t attracting attention like before. I’m going to have to think of something else.”

  “How’s the lawsuit coming?” I asked, feeling as if I were playing both sides. Although I adored working on the building—Elrich was correct that I had fallen in love with the place—I was sympathetic to Kieran’s cause. In general, I believed a nation’s treasures should remain with the nation of origin.

  He shrugged. “Ah, we’ll see. Your legal system is a bit of a mystery, to be honest. I wish the government would step in, but they believe it’s too petty. They’re not even sure the treasure exists—they say it’s based on nothing but old wives’ tales.”

  “But you are sure?”

  “As sure as I can be,” he said. “Which isn’t all that sure. I’ll certainly feel embarrassed if, after all this, it turns out to be some ridiculous legend.”

  “I talked to Ellis about it,” I said.

  “Ellis, is it?”

  “He’s been nothing but inviting and friendly to me, so yes, I call him Ellis.”

  “He’s a charmer, that one.”

  “I can’t claim to be a great judge of character, but he strikes me as aboveboard. Anyway, he listened when I spoke to him about it.”

  “Did he make any promises?”

  “No, but he said he would consider it if and when we found something. Though I have to say, I can’t think where they would have hidden things among the stones.”

  “There’s that warehouse, though, right?”

  “That’s true. Do you know if Florian stores any items from the original monastery there?”

  “I have no idea. I’d love to get access to them, though, check them out.”

  I nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Though I have to say, it really doesn’t help having you out at the gate all the time. Especially since you’ve allied yourself with the striking workers, and they’ve broken into the compound more than once. As have you.”

  “I know. So, Florian Libole. How much do you know about him?”

  “He’s pretty well-known in renovation circles. Ellis brought him in from England to oversee the historical renovation.”

  He nodded.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I was chatting with Alicia.”

  “Alicia? Alicia Withers?”

  “I assume so. Not sure of her last name.”

  “When did you two chat? And where?”

  “The other day, at the pub.”

  And here I thought I was the only one with secret assignations at the pub.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She thinks Libole is harboring secrets.”

  “She wouldn’t have to be a mind reader to think that. But Alicia thinks everyone from Ellis’s daughter Harper to Buzz-the-limo-driver is harboring secrets. Which, let’s face it, I’m sure they are. Even I feel secretive around Alicia, because she always has her nose in everybody’s business.”

  “Really? She seemed rather sweet to me. Except for calling the police on us at the gate. She’s done that a few times. But then, that’s her job, I suppose. I don’t take it personal.”

  I smiled. Then I remembered Graham, and called Luz to check in. She told me Graham was still sleeping, no news yet, but the panda face was developing. She was planning on taking pictures.

  We arrived at the McCall house, in San Rafael. It was a pleasant ranch-style home with a big yard. Someone was
into gardening—besides neatly pruned flower beds, there were three small topiary trees snipped to look like animals: a lion, a rabbit, a turtle.

  The woman who opened the door was plump with a pleasing, pretty face and a short graying, practical bob.

  “Mrs. McCall? I’m Mel Turner. We spoke earlier? This is my associate, Kieran Lackey. . . .” I trailed off as I butchered his name.

  “Lachaidh,” Kieran put in.

  “Yes, of course. Please call me Jeanine, and please come in,” she said, and opened the door wide.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The house smelled of potatoes and roasting meat. Inside, an unsmiling young woman hovered in the kitchen doorway, a stained apron tied around her waist, eyes swollen and red from crying.

  “This is my daughter Meghan. She’s staying with me for a few days, because of . . . well, until after the funeral.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, feeling like a heel. These women had lost a loved one, while my sole interaction with him had been watching as he’d had a hissy fit with Nolan. There was no denying I had entertained unkind thoughts about Larry McCall. Now I glanced around the foyer and saw old school photos of two girls and a boy—awkward middle school pictures, lovely young people graduating from high school. However petty McCall had seemed to me in our brief interaction, his was a life cut short, a family rent asunder.

  But I reminded myself that Graham lay injured in the hospital and steeled myself to intrude on the family’s privacy.

  “And I’m sorry to intrude.”

  “Thank you,” said Jeanine. “Really, I don’t mind. In fact, I enjoy telling people about Larry’s work. Please, come on in and make yourself at home. I was just having some tea.”

  We followed her and took seats in a comfortable, overcrowded living room. On the broad coffee table sat a plate of baked goods.

  “Crumpets,” she said. “Homemade. Do have some, or I’ll wind up eating the whole plate myself.”

  Kieran didn’t have to be asked twice. He jumped on them as though starving and served himself two, placing them on a napkin. Our hostess then poured three cups of tea and told us to help ourselves to cream and sugar. I took mine black; it was delicious.