“You sure?” Olivia sat cross-legged on the soft bed.
“Pretty sure.” Jane scooched forward in her chair. “I’m thinking Griff or Mairéid learned all they could about excited delirium and somehow provoked Alsander into an excited state and then, you know, choked him.”
Cheryl snorted. “It’s too farfetched. How could they plan that? How could they possibly know the old man would attack Bruce and collapse like that?”
The women were silent for a few moments, then Olivia said, “Okay, just suppose it is possible. And that’s a big ‘suppose.’ What do we know so far? Jane, what have you found out?”
Jane held up her index finger. “First, Griff and Mairéid are in a dispute over who inherits the castle. Griff thinks he’s getting it, and Mairéid thinks she’s getting it. You saw that for yourselves at the funeral.”
“Riiight.” Cheryl drew the word out. “And, second, Mairéid is saying bad stuff about Ryan. She’s acting suspicious.”
“It would be odd if Alsander’s own daughter didn’t inherit. That’s big.” Olivia arched an eyebrow.
“Not really. Griff was pretty close to his uncle, and Alsander had Griff running things.” Jane drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair.
“Why kill him, though? He was elderly. He would have died sooner than later, anyhow.” Cheryl held her wine glass up to the light.
Olivia rubbed the palms of her hands together. “One of them, Griff or Mairéid, was impatient to inherit…so one of them hastened his death.”
“But what about the other guy that was there, Sean?” Jane scratched her head. Maybe there were even others to consider beside the trio, Griffin, Mairéid and Sean. Could someone else have orchestrated Alsander’s death without being present when he died? Could someone have known Alsander would attack a guest, a guest who would try to restrain an old man, an old man who would have an episode of excited delirium? “Maybe there are even more suspects…what about Fiona or Kate? Maybe they were in on it.”
“Oh, brother. Now you’re really stretching it. Sean, Fiona, Kate. Those three don’t inherit.” Cheryl slid her hand between the curtains to crack the window open.
“They might have had another motive.” Jane lowered her eyes to slits. “Who put that book in the library, that’s what I want to know. That would tell us a lot.”
Olivia swirled her glass of wine and stuck her nose over the rim to smell the bouquet, but she made a face. “I smell cigar smoke.”
“It’s from outside.” Cheryl drew the curtains all the way back, and men’s voices drifted over.
“So, Griff, what’s up with Kate? She’s a real looker.” It was Doug’s voice.
Jane stiffened in her chair, but Olivia darted over to the window next to Cheryl.
“Ah, she’s a fine bit of stuff, but goes around with all the fellas, if you know what I mean.”
“She’s not your girlfriend?” Bruce blew out an audible breath, and a smoke ring wafted past.
“Kate’s a scrubber. You should see the crazy letters she sends me.”
Bruce’s voice floated over to the window once more. “She wasn’t too happy you told her not to come to the funeral.”
“Kate didn’t even like Uncle much. She’s mental.”
Doug asked, “Why didn’t she like your uncle?”
“He was in the way of her happiness. Now, take Jane. There’s a grand lass. A woman you could get serious about.” Griff’s voice lowered so much Jane could hardly hear him. She catapulted from the chair to join the other two, and the three women pressed their ears to the gap between the sash and the frame, where the cool, fresh air mingled and combined with the strong cigar smoke. But Olivia stepped on Cheryl’s toes, then Cheryl yelped, and her wine glass smacked into the window with a loud crr-rack!
Olivia snickered and Cheryl burst out laughing, so Jane slammed the window shut. The three friends lost it for a minute or two, then Jane’s laughter stilled. “I need some advice, guys.”
“What about?” Cheryl’s lips were still quivering.
Jane’s tone had turned serious. “I think it’s over between me and Dale.” That was why she hadn’t tried harder to call him back. She was afraid of hearing from Dale’s lips that he was back together with Polly.
“Why do you say that?” Olivia pinched together one side of her mouth.
“I laid into him pretty bad when I dropped him off at the airport.” Her heart fell at the memory of Dale walking into the terminal without a backward glance.
“I don’t blame you, Jane. He never should have left.” Olivia gave her a curt nod that was somewhere between anger and contempt. Jane was glad she wasn’t the recipient of Olivia’s disapproval. “But I have a hard time believing he’d let you get away.”
“I’m the one letting him get away.” Jane squeezed her eyes shut. “We’ve left each other voice messages, but we haven’t actually talked since he flew home. I’ve been dragging my feet about calling him back.”
“You should call him and clear the air. Phone him now. What’s the time difference?” Cheryl squinted at her cellphone. “Let’s see. Eight o’clock here. It’s afternoon in Denver. Or is it the other way around?”
Jane bunched up her lower lip and chewed on the edge. “It’s probably a good thing I only got voice mail because this calls for a face-to-face conversation.” That was the excuse she kept giving herself.
“You’re interested in Griff now.” Cheryl gave her a stern look, one full of perception and suspicion at the same time.
Was she interested in Griff? Hmmm. No, not really. Even if he was good at lifting her mood. Jane shook her head as she leaned forward, elbows on knees. “He’s already got a girlfriend, the lovely Kate.”
“Griff said Kate’s not his girlfriend,” Olivia reminded her.
“That’s hard to believe. I’m not sure why he spends any time with me, but I’m going to take advantage of it. Get to know him better. Find out more about his uncle. Figure out his enemies.” Yes, that would take her mind off of Dale.
“What if it’s him?” Cheryl wasn’t laughing anymore either. “Griff? What if he killed his uncle?”
“I’m considering everyone.” Jane chewed a fingernail. The good-looking Irishman seemed to care so much about his uncle. She hoped it wasn’t him. “Don’t forget the others. The killer could just as easily be Mairéid. Or Sean, although I don’t know why he would’ve killed Alsander…yet, I don’t know yet, that is.”
Cheryl put her hand on Jane’s arm. “That book on excited delirium could be Griff’s. Be on your guard.”
“I will. But, I am going to find out as much as I can about Alsander. Griff would be the one who knew him best, other than Mairéid, of course. I have to dig deeper.” She stopped speaking and gave a little sigh.
Maybe a romantic candlelight dinner with Griff? Or, should she just get blunt with Mairéid and ask her a few choice questions? Who was more likely to give up some clues?
Chapter 11
The next morning Jane skipped down the front steps in the early sunshine slanting between the lines of rowan trees.
Across the street next to a bakery, emitting the homey, mouth-watering smell of baking bread, was a narrow office with the word, “SOLICITOR,” engraved over the door. A copper plaque, tarnished and difficult to read, McGrew & McGrew, Esquire, and a “Closed” sign were in the window.
She stepped from the curb into pedestrian and bicycle traffic, likely locals on their way to work. Her feet carried her over several more blocks. Treading past a shop, Wicket Good Coffee, she was assaulted by a strong scent of espresso. She spun around and went into the only business open at this early hour.
A brick fireplace dominated the center of the far wall. Filled to overflowing bookcases stood upright on both sides of the mantle. Even though it was spring, the nights and the mornings were still cool, so a small bundle of wood crackled in the grate, its sound accompanying the muted new-age music. Soft lighting from the low ceiling illuminated wooden shelves holding ragged boxes of board g
ames and puzzles. An enormous jigsaw half-worked on a table invited customers to stop and fit a piece into place. Two couches in mid-century modern style occupied the space in front of the fire, and mismatched wood tables sat in a crowded hodge-podge, completing the quaintness.
In the very back, a chalk board above a cash register read: serving locally roasted, organic espresso. She ordered a non-fat, two-pump, no-whip latte, then found an empty table and slouched onto the hard, straight-backed chair. Time to regroup her thoughts and come up with a plan. She was in her element.
She withdrew the loose pages of notes and a pen from her bag, then moved her coffee mug to the side of the table. After drawing a long line down the center of a blank page, she wrote “suspects” over the left column and “motive” over the right.
First, those present at Alsander’s death.
Mairéid O’Doherty
Griffin O’Doherty
Sean Smithwicket
Dale and Jane didn’t count, but she added Bruce Breewood’s name because the police seemed to be considering him.
After chewing on the end of her pen, she took a gulp of her hot drink, scalding her tongue, then set the mug in the center of the table.
Jane’s pen hovered over Mairéid’s name. She did have an evil, witchy look about her, and she liked to cast doubt on others, making her a suspicious person herself. She appeared to be strong enough to choke her dad, especially if others were unwittingly holding him down, or she could have poisoned him with a narcotic, or she could have done both of those things. The daughter had motive if she inherited the castle. How could she find out about that for certain? Perhaps the solicitors, McGrew & McGrew, would be able to tell her if wills were public record. She made a note to check with them and wrote, “Inherit,” in the motive column.
Griffin, next. In spite of being opposites in so many ways, Mairéid with her black witchy looks and Griffin with his strawberry blond handsomeness, the cousins had many similarities, too, such as the same motive. He had motive if Alsander left the castle to him and not to Mairéid. Was Griff the one who had his uncle in the choke hold? He was capable of overpowering someone, having strong hands, but was he capable…of murder?
Sean. Jane had no idea about Sean, but he was present when Alsander died and must be considered. He was a wide brick of a man, but had an innocent baby face, although everyone knew looks were deceiving. Did he sell narcotics to Mairéid or provide them directly to Alsander himself, somehow?
Jane took another drink of her latte, cooled now, and added, “Inherit,” to the motive column by Griffin’s name and a question mark in the motive column by Sean’s name.
Might as well consider the other possibilities, no matter how farfetched Cheryl thought them to be…
Kate’s and Fiona’s names went to the bottom of the list with question marks in the motive column.
Ryan Breewood? He had medical knowledge, being a pharmacist. She recalled his temper. He may have known about the condition of excited delirium, since he was in the medical profession, and he certainly knew about narcotics. Could he have been angry enough with the old man to do something to his pills that somehow led to his death? If so, he had means and opportunity. The motive seemed iffy, though, and Ryan wouldn’t want to jeopardize his pharmacist’s license by monkeying with a customer’s prescription. He was Bruce’s cousin, for heaven’s sake, but she added his name to her list anyway.
Because they were cousins, the police hinted Bruce and Ryan were in cahoots. And Mairéid hinted at it, too. She studied Bruce’s name. Of course, he didn’t kill Alsander, but the insinuations must be dispelled. Even though the group would be returning to the States at the end of their trip, Ireland probably had an extradition agreement. What were trials and prisons like in a foreign country? A cell without a window and a crusty piece of bread on the floor came to mind, causing her to shiver.
At the very least, Jane must, absolutely must, exonerate Bruce. Then the group could resume their vacation. She and Cheryl would pick up their friendship. Olivia would go on in her sassy way that made Jane laugh. Bruce would continue with his jokes; Doug would continue with his toasts; their trip would turn out to be fantastic. If that sounded cold and uncaring, Jane reminded herself they had just met the old man and had nothing to do with him, other than to be present at his final, sad moment.
She wanted everything back to normal. Was it possible even she and Dale could get back together? She envisioned Dale’s face, but his was replaced by Griffin’s, with his icy blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
“Would you like a refill?” A man’s voice. He stood over her with a pot of steaming coffee, the full-flavored aroma scenting the air. Startled, she stuffed the pages of notes down into the very bottom of her bag.
“No, I had a latte, not a coffee. But thanks anyway.” She glanced up to see him concentrating on her purse as she zipped it shut. “Oh, hello. It’s Sean, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Are you investigating Mr. O’Doherty’s death?”
“What do you mean?” Her speech came out high, in rapid fire.
“I saw you writing something.” He was still shooting glances at her handbag.
She sat immobile, on edge. “Just a letter. Writing home.” She tried to slow her shrill words down, hoping her lie wasn’t obvious.
He set the heavy pot on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “You’re staying at the castle, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Do you work here?”
“I own the place.” He nodded his head up and down for a moment, then offered her a thoughtful expression, a sympathetic look.
Sliding her half empty mug from the center of the table to the place directly in front of her, she said, “Sean, I’d like to know more about Lomán Castle, uh, for my letters home. Can you tell me about the O’Dohertys?”
He puckered his lips. “I’ve told them they should put out a pamphlet. They’d get more publicity if they did.”
“A shame they didn’t take your advice.” She waited a few moments, but he didn’t volunteer anything more. “Do you have Wi-Fi here?”
“We do. Would you like the passcode?”
Jane said she would, and he gave her the code, then withdrew to the other side of the café. She extracted her tablet computer from her bag, found the Wi-Fi network called intheshadowofthecastle and typed in the password. After waiting for the internet to connect, she logged into her work email. There was a reply from the Colorado coroner. First, she scanned his email through to the end, then she went back to read it more slowly. Looking around for Sean and not seeing him, she extracted her notes back out of her purse. With one hand hiding her writing, she jotted down bullet points.
When done, she typed a text on her phone.
—Cheryl. Are you awake? —
—Yes. Where r u? —
—Meet me at the coffee shop-Wicket Good Coffee-I have some information.—
—K—
While waiting for her girlfriend, she took a peek at the most recent posts on Facebook. Dale had uploaded pictures of the repairs at Polly’s restaurant. One showed Polly standing proudly next to an industrial-sized oven. Numerous “likes” and “comments” from people she didn’t know illustrated how out of touch she was with Dale’s concerns. He hadn’t commented on her posts either, though.
She’d just put her phone away when Cheryl and Olivia dashed through the door, Cheryl clutching a stitch in her side. “What’s the news?”
Jane half rose from her chair, scooting it back with a loud scrape, and indicated the other two should sit down. The tables in the immediate area were empty, and Sean was nowhere in sight. “I received an email from a coroner I know in Colorado. I asked him about excited delirium.”
Her friends were all ears. “What’d he say?”
“Do you want a coffee first?”
Cheryl started to say no, but Olivia said, “Yes. I’ll get us one.”
“Okay. We’ll wait until you get back.” Jane propped her ta
blet computer open against her heavy mug.
Cheryl gave Olivia a quick order and beat out a tune on the table with her fingertips until Olivia returned with steaming mugs and muffins. Then Cheryl said, “Okay, what’s new?”
“The coroner says he knows about excited delirium.” Jane brought up the email on her computer. She skimmed through his words. “Let’s see…he says…here it is…people with this illness engage in agitated, violent behavior. It can be irrational. They have extra strength and elevated body temperature. They exhibit excessive anger. The cause is unknown, but it can be related to mental illness. Oh, and listen to this, he says sometimes they strike or throw things at shiny objects.”
“Okay, that’s weird.” Cheryl made a disgusted face, screwing up her nose. “But remember, Bruce was wearing his gold watch…the glass broke and that was shiny.”
“I forgot about that.” Jane scribbled on the bottom of her notes, then took up reading where she left off. “Sometimes the behavior is like tearing your clothes off and being in the middle of the street and shouting incomprehensible things. Aggressiveness, agitation, bizarre behavior, combative behavior, unexpected strength, unexpected ability to resist…” Jane glanced up and back down. “And the coroner said the only time he’s seen this condition himself is when a prisoner died while being restrained by the police. He says here, he says, ‘the important question is whether excessive force was used to control him, but it’s difficult to tell, since a choke hold on a person with excited delirium, someone who has extra fighting strength, can give the appearance of excessive force.’ ”
“That describes Alsander. He was violent, lashing out at Bruce for no reason.” Cheryl’s tone was defensive. “That’s what Bruce told me happened.”
“Yes, he did do that,” Jane agreed. She laid her notes down.
Cheryl stared at the pages, then gave Jane a piercing look. “What’s this? Why is Bruce on your suspect list?” Her voice changed from defensive to accusatory.
Uh-oh. Jane had a feeling her buddy wouldn’t understand, but she tried to explain. “I have his name written down because I want to prove him innocent. That’s all.”
A Stewed Observation Page 11