The young lady slung one of her dreadlocks over her shoulder with a satisfied smile, like someone who was in the know. “I have an apartment in town because there aren’t enough rooms here. Mairéid and Griff have the tower rooms. Alsander used ta’ have the room at the top of the tower, but he complained about all the stairs, so he took over the nicest guest suite, room seven. Mairéid said somethin’ about turning his room back into a guest room, now he’s dead and he doesn’t need it anymore.”
“Why does Mairéid keep a room at the castle? I thought she lived in Dublin.”
“She’s here all the time.” Amusement lit Fiona’s eyes. “When Alsander moved into suite seven, o’course Griff jumped inta’ Alsander’s old tower room, since it was the nicest. Mairéid went skitzo, but it was too late, Griff had already moved into it.”
“That’s the cousins for you.”
“Right.” Fiona looked at the time on her watch and gave out a heavy sigh.
“Well, I’ll be on my way. See you later.” Instead of heading to her room, Jane continued out the double, iron-clad front doors. Time to think…she climbed into the left side of her rental, got back out and entered the correct side, and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. The Rock of Cashel had been on Cheryl’s itinerary, so she might as well see it. The castle was inland, no cliffs or sea nearby, and not far, only an hour away. She punched in the GPS for directions and cranked on the ignition.
The road was even narrower than the other routes Jane had driven, but thank goodness traffic was light. She would have found the castle without a map, since the ruins were perched high on a hill, surrounded by fields of bright emerald grass, crisscrossed with low gray walls.
After parking, she wended her way to the most extensive part of the ruins open to the sky above, with empty tall windows like empty eye sockets staring out across the fields without seeing. Resting against a carved, rectangular edifice, Jane took a deep breath of the country air. A peaceful feeling of freedom came in with the wind, blowing down from the top of the facade and out the open windows and cracks and chinks in the stone walls. She was as free as the breeze. Free to leave the country. Free to leave Lomán Castle and everyone who coveted it. Free to leave the murder mystery behind, if she wanted to.
Why was she so concerned about the death anyway? How likely was it that Bruce would be extradited…in spite of his opportunity to pass Ryan illegal drugs? Not likely, she hoped. With luck, by this time next week they would all be safe at home in the good, ole’ USA. Homesickness threatened to wash over her. Jane stared out on miles and miles of fields, grass, and short rock walls. Even though the Rocky Mountains were calling to her, there was nothing in Colorado like this view from the Rock of Cashel.
Might as well look around the ruins some more…
She thumbed through her guidebook to find the age of the castle. The history of the site dated back to the fifth century, but most of the surviving structure dated from the twelve-hundreds. Her hand traced the seams in the chilly, rough stone wall. How many people had passed through this room, which once had a ceiling, fireplace, carpets, chairs and tables, candles, music and laughter? How many in the last thousand years had touched this very spot with their own fingers? Coming from America, it was hard to imagine anything so old.
The drone of voices from tourists buzzed from the other side of the tower wall. She nudged away from the stones and left the open-air ruins to stroll around the outside of the dilapidated tower and enter a graveyard next to a cathedral. The gravestones were different here, with high Celtic crosses carved into the top of the monuments.
The noticeboard announced the church still held services, but only on Sunday and Wednesday. She’d been here a week and a day. Today was Monday. She missed the service by one day. She missed her church at home. She missed the routine of her daily devotional. Not only had she taken a vacation from home and family, but she’d taken a vacation from God, too.
The massive, wood-beamed door of the church gave out an eerie, creaky sound at the same time an owl hooted, as if she was in a scary movie. She peeked inside the dark, dank, and decayed building. A woman with a cloak, like a medieval witch, hustled across the nave and out the door at the side of the narthex. Jane snapped some flash photos of the altar and clerestory, then withdrew outside to capture the castle and graveyard on film.
The parking lot was filling up as she threaded her way through the vehicles to her Ford KA. Parked a couple of rows from her car was a black compact with a dent in the hood. Mairéid! Jane stopped in her tracks, shot a photo of the car and license plate, and then veered down her own row to beep the fob to her vehicle, unlock the door, and climb in.
She examined each tourist returning to the parking lot, but Mairéid did not approach the dented compact. Bored, Jane posted the Rock of Cashel photos on Facebook, then texted both her sons and told them to check out her pictures. She didn’t mention she was in Ireland all on her own.
After rifling through her purse for her new spiral, she found the name of Alsander’s doctor in Dublin, Dr. Watcherly. It was a good thing the group had purchased prepaid SIM cards to use with their cellphones in Ireland. She dialed Directory Enquiries and requested his number, hoping they wouldn’t ask the spelling, but they did. She made a stab, which must have been correct, because she was connected. An answering service picked up, so she left a message, while her gaze roved around the parking lot, keeping a lookout.
Two more missed calls from Dale flashed on her screen. His recorded voice was excited because the health inspector allowed Polly’s restaurant to reopen. A slow boil simmered through her blood, followed by guilt for not wishing the best for Polly.
Another text from Cheryl included a photograph of the four friends hoisting mugs of Scottish beer with the message, you need to be here to taste the Tennent’s Lager.
Should she stay in Ireland until Thursday morning as planned or catch the ferry to Scotland today? She mumbled a prayer, asking God what to do, then sat quietly waiting for the answer. Maybe if nothing additional came to light once she asked just a few more questions, it would be a sign she should give up and leave. After another half hour of lingering in her car, neither the answer to her prayer nor Mairéid showed up, but she did feel her enthusiasm for the investigation returning.
Extracting herself once more from her teeny rental car, Jane pulled up her jacket collar and crossed the parking lot to make a methodical search of the grounds. Finishing an examination of the tower, but before entering the cathedral, she strolled to the edge of the graveyard to check the parking lot, and sure enough, she’d missed Mairéid. The dented compact was gone.
****
As Jane’s car shuddered to a halt outside the castle, a text flashed from her son, Caleb. She read the message as she ascended the stairs to her room. Both sons, Caleb and Luke, wanted to Skype. Did she have time now? She responded, yes.
Luckily her tablet computer was charged and connected to the castle’s Wi-Fi, so she rapped on the keys to open her Skype connection and answer the video call. Caleb’s and Erin’s faces appeared on the bigger screen, and Luke’s appeared on the smaller one in the corner.
“Hey, Mom.” Luke’s screen enlarged as he spoke, and Caleb’s shrank.
“Hi from Ireland.” Jane couldn’t help the broad smile. Traveling overseas was exciting, and there was nothing like talking about the experience with someone you loved. “Did you see my pictures on Facebook?”
“Yes.” Caleb’s face came to the forefront. “We also saw that Cheryl checked in at a place called the Palace of Holyroodhouse. It’s in Scotland. But you posted pictures from Ireland today. What’s going on?”
Jane widened her eyes. “Oh, Cheryl and Bruce left early for Scotland. Luke, where’s your wife?”
“Brittany’s at class. So, Mom, why did the Breewoods leave?”
She darted her gaze around the room, searching her mind for the right words. A pink envelope nestled on her pillow. Did Griff leave her a love letter? Her attention
was yanked back to the screen when Caleb demanded, “Mom! Luke asked you a question.” Caleb’s screen enlarged and Erin’s alarmed expression came into focus right next to his.
Jane took a deep breath. “Somebody died in the castle, and Bruce was kinda involved, so the police were coming at him hard. So they left…”
Her children’s shocked faces froze. Then Caleb said, “Say again?”
“An old man died. Bruce was helping to control him because he was acting crazy and thrashing around. Look, it’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s all right—”
“Mom, are you investigating another death?” Caleb rubbed hard on the top of his head, and his hair stood on end.
“The police are investigating. They’re called ‘guards’ here. But don’t worry. It’ll get sorted out.”
“Why didn’t you leave with the Breewoods? Maybe you should come home.” Caleb gave her the stink eye.
“I’ll catch up with them in Edinburgh in a few days. You have a copy of my itinerary, right?”
Luke said, “It’s around here somewhere.”
“Okay. So, you saw my photos on Facebook?” Jane hoped her smile hid her guilty look, one that her boys would be sure to pick up on.
Erin’s face filled the screen. “The pictures of that castle you posted look amazing. Is that where you’re staying?”
Jane jumped on that. “No. The castle where I’m staying is much, much smaller. And fully restored, too.” She went on to tell them about Galway and the Dingle Peninsula, but didn’t mention Dale had also deserted her. She wondered if Dale was Facebook friends with her children.
“How is the food? Are you enjoying the cuisine?” Erin flashed a bright smile.
“A lot of stew. A lot of Shepherd’s pie. Oh, and fish and chips at the pubs. Seems like we eat the same things a lot.”
Erin waved a finger at the computer screen. “I remember when I was in Italy I ate the same thing every day, the spaghetti. It was so good I couldn’t help myself.”
“I didn’t think about it that way. The stew is good and it’s not like I’m getting tired of it.” Jane wound down her stories and asked how everything was at home. After hearing their brief news and thanking them for calling, she asked Luke to tell Brittany hello, then cut the connection.
Whew. It could have been much worse. They would eventually learn the whole story, but once she was home safe and sound, they couldn’t really complain.
She snatched up the envelope from the bed. No name graced the pink rectangle. After tearing the envelope apart with a ripping sound, she extracted a trifolded note that read, “Stay away from Griff or you’ll get hurt.” It was printed from a computer, not signed.
Fear balled her stomach into a hard knot as she sank onto the rocking chair. She took a long breath and let it out slowly through her nose—a yoga breath—in from the front of her belly, up to the heart, and out through the middle of her back. The River Shannon flowed with soft sounding waves beneath her open window. A bird soared in the dull blue sky, making a caw-caw sound, and a tom cat meowed from the graveyard. Outside the window, the gray castle wall was impenetrable, solid, immovable. Oh, Ireland. How beautiful, how ancient, how rich a history of strife and self-reliance and survival. She felt a kinship with this country. She’d received threats in the past and never let that stop her before. She would endure this, too.
She returned the note to the torn envelope and tapped the envelope against her chin. Was someone only warning her off Griff, a so-called womanizer, who could break her heart? Mairéid could’ve left a note such as this. Or Kate. She’d almost forgotten about Kate.
This warning could be interpreted as a bodily threat; should she call the police? How did that work in Ireland? Deciding not to involve the Irish police yet, she tucked the envelope into her suitcase and zipped it closed.
At least she’d fielded the video call from the boys before opening the envelope. For that she was grateful. But, just what had her kids seen on Facebook?
She went back to her tablet computer. Cheryl’s Facebook page displayed a photo of the two couples under a stone archway with the words, “The Queen’s Gallery,” over the apex. The next one was of a castle with an unusual amount of towers capped with white cone roofs. A series of photos taken inside the Palace of Holyroodhouse followed. Jane wished she could’ve seen it. She clicked on her own page and felt a flush of pleasure when she found a few “likes” for her photos at the Rock of Cashel, including comments from Luke and Caleb.
She searched for Mairéid O’Doherty. Her profile picture cropped up, a glamour photo displaying her curly black hair and sculptured eyebrows, but her page was not public. Griff’s was public, with photos of the interior and exterior of the castle and the grounds. His profile picture was a family crest. Counted among his friends were Kate, Fiona, and Sean. Jane navigated to their pages, but did not find anything other than restaurant check-ins, inspirational quotes, and funny memes.
Opening Dale’s page, she checked his friends’ list, but her kids were not there. She read his last posting that the restaurant was open. Photos of the trendy outdoor eating area and fancy new kitchen had many “likes” and comments. The last photo was of Dale’s and Polly’s happy faces. She said out loud, “Crappity!”
She performed an inquiry and found out criminal records were not public in Ireland. So, she couldn’t check anyone’s background. “Double Crappity.”
She typed where to buy amphetamines in Ireland? in the search window, only to be bombarded with nasty pop-ups. “Triple you-know-what.”
Chapter 17
The door behind the empty reception desk was unlocked the next morning, so Jane tiptoed through it.
On the other side was a cozy, round room with lamps, a worn sofa, and overstuffed chairs, surrounded by whitewashed, curved brick walls.
She made for the spiral staircase at the far side of the room. Alert for every sound, Jane circled around and around on short, stone steps hewn for smaller feet and worn down in the middle over time. Tall windows as narrow as slits provided light. Through the thin openings, she took stock of the landscape below to get her bearings, remembering the tower was in the corner of the castle wall beside the graveyard. As she continued to climb, a landing came into view, opening to a hall in the shape of a semicircle with a door cut in the center. She knocked, but there was no answer from within, so she tried the door handle, which turned.
She held the knob in a death grip, as she stood transfixed for a moment or two before entering. The room was decorated in white and beige, modern looking in the ancient bedchamber. White linens made up an elegant four poster bed. An old-fashioned, mirrored dressing table held brushes and jewelry, and an antique wardrobe with its door ajar housed expensive-looking dresses and sweaters, all black. The room was obviously Mairéid’s.
Jane darted several glances back toward the door and strained to listen for any sound coming up the stairwell, but didn’t hear a thing. She examined all the pictures on the walls. Next she inspected the bottom of the wardrobe, but the cupboard floor only held a hint of perfume. Her scalp prickled when lilting, Irish voices floated in through the window, the words indistinct. She risked a glimpse through the glass and saw with relief that Mairéid was busy talking to Sean in the graveyard below.
She crept away from the window. Several glossy, celebrity magazines were spread out on the floor near the bed. She prodded one of the publications with her toe, a pro-wrestling journal, which was opened to a spread of wrestling holds. The caption under the full page picture read, “Front chancery hold, also known as neck wrench.”
She did a double take. What the heck? The celebrity mags were no surprise, but the sports one didn’t fit, and a photo demonstrating a choke-like hold had to be significant. She snapped a photo of the open magazine on her cell.
After taking a last look around, Jane closed the door and ran up the rest of the stairs. Another landing appeared. She leaned her weight against a heavy door, it opened, and she toppled inside.
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br /> Three of the walls were draped with tapestries in faded colors. She wondered if the tapestries were medieval. Surely they would be valuable enough to be in a museum. Several portraits of people in Victorian clothes adorned the fourth wall. The family crest mounted in an ornate shadow box was positioned above the bed. She rubbed her hands over the smooth, polished wood of the dressers and bedstead. Did the furnishings come with the castle? They seemed to belong to the room.
What didn’t match was a new desk with a laptop computer and printer, both of which looked incongruous next to an old wardrobe. The computer was turned off, the screen blank. She switched the laptop on, but a log-in screen requiring a password popped up, so she shut the power back off.
Better check on Mairéid.
She twitched open the curtains to gaze out the third floor window onto the grounds below. Because the castle tower was perched on the steep bluff, it felt like she was floating far, far above the town and all its people…as if overlooking a kingdom. Not obvious from the street level, but apparent from this great height, the houses all faced the castle, since the roads circled around the ancient fortress—the smaller, squat dwellings bowed in worship to the towering citadel on the hill. It was fitting that Griff had this upper room somehow…
But Mairéid and Sean were no longer in the graveyard. A little dizzy from the view, Jane stepped back from the window and ran a shaky hand over her brow, her nerves raw and her heart racing. Was Mairéid on her way back in? Images of being caught in Griff’s room flashed through her mind. She must hurry.
Her trembling hand hovered over his dresser drawer. What would Griff think if he knew she was looking through his personal things? Jane, don’t open it…don’t do it. Despite the angel on her shoulder telling her not to, she slid the dresser drawer open. She rummaged through his shirts, size XL. She went to the closet for his shoes, size 11. But she needed to concentrate on clues. Focus…
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