“I’m fine. Sorry.” I gathered myself. I’d have to think about the bookish voice later.
“Aye, well, we’ve never been romantically involved, if that’s what you’re asking. We are good friends, though. Much love there.” His eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them away.
“Would you say you’re her closest friend? Confidant?” Brigid turned her focus to taking notes.
“Aye. Some might say I’m her only real friend.”
“Really? Why?”
“I’ve known her the longest, and I don’t want anything from her. She’s offered many times to buy me another place to live. This place would sell, but it’s falling down brick by brick. It would need a lot of work. Plus, I can’t just sell it. It’s my history, my family.” Louis sighed again. “I’ve refused to take her help.”
“Can you think of someone who has recently requested something of her? Something big and something she said no to?” Brigid asked.
“Oh, lass, I’ve been trying to remember something—anything that might help the police. Or someone who was angry with her. Nothing unusual has come to mind. I wish it would.”
“What about her family?”
“She has no family.”
I came to attention even more, but Brigid kept cool. “I thought Jacques was her cousin.”
“Oh, that. No, not a blood relation, but I know she had some close friends in France, and she’s the type of person to make people into her family.”
“Call them cousins?” Brigid said.
Louis squirmed briefly. “Well, she never has before, but she has so much love to give. I can understand why she would say that.”
“Did you know Jacques, ever heard of him?”
Louis frowned a moment and said, “No, but that’s not necessarily a surprise. Shelagh and I don’t share everything with each other.”
“Were you in on helping her choose the people to be a part of her treasure hunt?” Brigid asked.
“No, in fact I wasn’t. Shelagh consults me on many things, though not everything, not that.”
“Findlay made sure the messenger delivered the messages?” I interjected.
“Aye. Not everyone was given a handwritten message, however. Just you and Birk.”
“Not Tricia? Not Jacques?” Brigid said.
“No, I heard Shelagh and Findlay discussing it. She said she would get a hold of the other two herself, but the messenger was to go to you and Birk.”
“Does that seem strange?” I asked, wishing I’d remembered to ask Birk if he’d, in fact, seen a messenger.
“No stranger than anything else.”
He had a point.
“He hasn’t even been trying to find the book,” I added. “If he’s out for the library, he’s not doing it the right way.”
“Maybe he simply doesn’t want the library,” Louis said. “That seems counterintuitive to Shelagh’s inviting him to participate, but maybe he doesn’t care about it. Also, he witnessed Shelagh’s abduction. He might be traumatized.”
“What about Tricia?” Brigid asked. “How did Tricia get invited?”
“Shelagh said she was a great librarian,” I said. I turned to Louis. “How would she know that?”
“I wish I knew,” Louis said. “Well, she’s interested in all libraries, all schools with libraries. I’m sure she just came across Tricia along the way.”
Brigid nodded.
“Ultimately I was disappointed that she invited Birk Blackburn,” Louis said.
“Why?” I asked.
“He wasn’t a positive force in her life. They were friends for a time, and he betrayed her.”
“Betrayed?” I said.
Brigid sent me and my tone a quick side-eye.
“Aye. He was part of a group that she really enjoyed, some sort of auction group for rich people.” He was talking about Fleshmarket. “She broke off the relationship with Birk, and next thing you knew, she was kicked out of the group. It was childish, really.”
I hadn’t heard the story exactly that way from Birk, but there were always two sides.
“Sounds dicey,” Brigid said.
“Aye, but it was a long time ago. I asked her why she invited him to the hunt. She told me that he would do the right thing with the books and that’s who she wanted involved.” Louis shrugged. “The last time I saw Birk, it was a friendly moment, so I didn’t use whatever influence I might have to change her mind.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.
“Just about a month ago or so at his stables. He was hosting an event, and we loaned our horses. It was a fund-raiser for a child in hospital. Lots of money was raised. I saw Birk only briefly, he was in and out—and as I said, it was friendly. Bygones and all.”
I sat forward. “Louis, what else happened at that event? Do you remember seeing the murder victim, Ritchie John? Were there any issues—with anyone—that you can remember?”
Louis shook his head slowly. “No, lass, I don’t think so. I wasn’t there long myself. I just wanted to make sure our people and horses had all gotten there safe and sound. They had.”
“Was Shelagh there?” I asked.
“No, no. In fact…”
“What?” Brigid said.
“She wouldn’t go because she didn’t want to see Birk, no matter how good the cause. It’s interesting that only a short time later she invited him to a treasure hunt.”
“It is interesting,” I added. “Do you know Darcy John?”
“No, lass, I don’t believe I do. Is she related to the victim?”
“His daughter.”
“I don’t know her.”
I couldn’t think of another immediately pertinent question.
“Louis, what do you think might have happened to Shelagh?” Brigid said.
Louis sighed. “I have no idea. I miss her terribly, and though I’m trying not to think about it too much, I’m beginning to fear the worst. I would give anything to save her.”
“Who do you think is under the monster costume?” Brigid asked.
I thought Louis might brush her off immediately, but he didn’t rush his words. His eyes held Brigid’s for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” he finally said.
“No idea?” Brigid said.
“None,” Louis said more quickly.
“Well.” Brigid seemed to move on to the next subject. “We’d be happy to pay the price of admission, but may we see the rest of the house?”
“Aye. It would be my pleasure. Tickets are free of charge today.”
We started with the kitchen. Similar to those in my kitchen, the appliances were old. These were genuinely old, though, not reproductions. An old icebox sat in the corner and was used as a small pantry now. The cooker was the kind that required a handle to pick up the burners so that a fire might be lit underneath.
“I apologize. Usually I have other things set up in here. It was thought that Eugene poisoned Elizabeth, probably with opium, and this is where her body was found. A pot was left boiling on the cooker. Adding one gives the room some atmosphere.”
“Did you grow up here? Do you live here?” I asked.
“I did and I do. Things are hidden. There’s a small but modernly equipped kitchen through that door. It looks like it leads to a patio or a porch, but it doesn’t.”
Brigid and I peered out a window, seeing the modernly outfitted small kitchen. It would be fine for just one person.
“How many people were in your family?”
“My grandparents, my mother, and me. My father died when I was a wee bairn. People came and went, but now it’s just me. I never married, never had a child of my own. I never even noticed I might be missing something. I have enjoyed this life.”
“Always good,” Brigid said.
“Aye, now, how about a look at the upstairs and then the basement? The basement is everyone’s favorite.”
The stairs that took us to the basement were directly underneath the stairs that took us up to the second leve
l. Though we’d become highly intrigued by the mention of the basement, Louis insisted upon showing us the second floor first. I noticed Brigid furtively typing on her phone as we followed Louis. I’d ask her later what she was doing, but I wondered if she was letting someone know where we were. If so, that was a pretty smart move. I thought about doing the same, but I wasn’t as dexterous as she was.
The second floor had four bedrooms and a bathroom. Three of the four bedrooms were furnished as the mid-nineteenth-century Chantrelles would have furnished them, but Louis’s private room was neat and contemporary. The bathroom was charming vintage.
“They didn’t really have a loo back then, so we just kept this one looking old-timey. We didn’t even put a shower in,” Louis said. “Just a bath. Oddly, even though people know this isn’t authentic, they love this little room.”
The sink, tub, toilet were white—the tub a claw-foot, the toilet adorned with a pull chain.
“Is that how you flush?” I asked.
Louis stepped inside the bathroom and pulled the chain, proving that was indeed how you flushed.
“It’s in great shape,” I said.
“It’s been well taken care of.” Louis looked at the floor. “I haven’t been able to match these tiles again, so I dread the day one of them chips or breaks beyond repair.”
The floor was tiled with small, white hexagons. I’d seen tiles like them, but there was something slightly different about these. The edges were different.
“My grandmother was an unusual woman. Very clever and full of energy. She was responsible for the decor. The basement, however, will illuminate for you my grandfather’s true personality. He was a direct descendant of Eugene, and he knew how to play it up.”
“Well, let’s go,” Brigid said.
Louis led us back down the stairs. When we reached the door to the flight that would take us to the basement, he paused, his hand on an old brass knob.
“These stairs are a wee bit more frightening,” he began. “They’re reliable, but they appear rickety. Please, if you will, just hold on to the handrail.”
Brigid and I nodded together.
It had been a dramatic introduction but didn’t even come close to the drama of rest of the basement. If there was anyplace in the world where a Mr. Hyde might show himself, it was there.
TWENTY-SEVEN
It was a laboratory. In my mind I pronounced it “la-bor-a-tory,” and this one felt much more authentic than the one in the museum basement.
Two tables occupied the middle of one long room. Shelves of jars filled with things from horror movies and nightmares lined every other available space. There were no windows. Nothing felt like a fake or a prop.
“Is that a dead bat?” Brigid asked, pointing at a jar.
Louis peered closely at it. “I do believe it is. Grandfather was particularly intrigued by bats. I don’t know if he killed this one or if he found it already dead, but he studied many of them. However, it was my grandmother who dallied with witchcraft for a wee bit. I believe bats were of particular intrigue to her. She wasn’t a blood Chantrelle, but again, people love this stuff.”
I blinked.
“Of course, there’s no such thing as a witch, but she was convinced she had magical powers. My mother once told me that Grandmama wasn’t in fact magical—she was just insanely smart. She believed that everything in nature worked with everything else and if we found the right balance, we would all live better, longer, healthier lives. She thought bats held some of those secrets. She herself died at age one hundred and one.”
“Other than studying bats, did she claim to know anything about how to live a long life?” Brigid asked.
“She was keen on beets,” Louis said. “Bats and beets. I despise them both, and I’m in my late seventies. If I live as long as she and my mother did, we’ll have to discount the bats-and-beets theory.”
“You think she was crazy?” Brigid asked.
I cringed at the non-PC word, but I was glad to have a better grip on Louis’s age.
“A wee bit, but mostly I think she was just smart and bored by the rest of us who simply couldn’t keep up with her.” Louis shrugged and then smiled. “She ran us all quite ragged.”
“How long has she been gone?” I asked.
“Oh, twenty years. My mother just passed last year.”
“Your family does live a long time,” Brigid said.
“So far.”
“Shelagh must love this place,” I said.
“She did, when we were all younger and this was a more active museum. We can’t remember if I introduced her to the book before this room, but it all made an impression on her. Though she still adores Jekyll and Hyde, she hasn’t been here for a long time.”
“How long?” Brigid asked.
“Gracious, I’m not sure, but it’s been years.”
I took a general glance around the room.
“Louis, did you know Oliver McCabe?” I asked.
Brigid looked at me with wide eyes that transformed quickly into approval. Good question.
“I met the man. Aye,” he said.
“Did he get his museum tableau idea from this?” I made a gesture with my hand, but I watched him closely.
“He did,” Louis said quickly. “Well, I don’t know if he got the idea from it, but he certainly wanted to try to duplicate some of it.”
“Did you like him?” I asked.
Louis pursed his lips. “I met him a few times, but I didn’t really know him. I wasn’t fond of his treatment of Shelagh, if that’s what you’re asking. She was devastated when he broke things off with her.”
“You don’t think she killed him, do you?” Brigid asked.
“Of course not!”
“Wasn’t he ten or so years older than her?”
“Aye, he was. They were not a good match, but he led her on, I believe, and then broke her heart. But, like Shelagh’s behavior, that was a long time ago.”
The silence as Brigid and Louis regarded each other stretched a beat too long.
“Yes.” I looked at one of the tables. “The liquids in the beakers. Are they just colored water?”
“Good eye, Delaney. In fact, they are more than that. They are potions concocted by my grandmother. However, none have been ingested by anyone. They are sealed for eternity, but I’ve kept them around.”
“I’m glad they haven’t been tried.”
“I did have one delivered to a local chemist once. He told me that I was ‘messing where I shouldn’t be messing’ and that I should destroy everything in here. I will not do that, willingly at least.”
“Good for you,” Brigid said.
“Feel free to look around.” Louis crossed his arms in front of himself. “It’s pretty amazing.”
Brigid and I toured the basement lab, stopping to peer more closely at some of the creepy jars—there didn’t seem to be any human parts. We also looked at some of the handwritten books. There were three large parchment volumes covered with inked handwriting, most of it illegible to our modern eyes.
“Look at the book on the end there,” Louis instructed.
It was open to two filled pages. At the top of the first page were large calligraphic words, “The Monster in the Man.” Following that was a list of items and then instructions on what to do with them, a recipe.
I looked at Louis. “May I take a picture?”
“Of course. I’ve transcribed that one too. I’ll give you a copy before you leave, but feel free.”
I snapped a picture but looked forward to Louis’s transcription; the calligraphy was difficult to decipher, though I did see the word “cyanide.” I wouldn’t re-create any strange concoctions, but the recipe might be interesting to have.
“This needs to be a museum,” Brigid turned to Louis. “I mean, I know this is a museum, but I bet you could sell all this stuff to a bigger museum.”
“It’s now the stuff of an old, melancholy man. I’ve given it a thought or two, particularly as th
e years have passed, but I think it’s all working fine.”
“I’ll do a story if you’d like, get more business here first.”
Louis’s faced blanched briefly, but he recovered. “May I think about it, lass? I hope I still have a job with Shelagh. For now the pace of my life is ideal. I’ll let you know, and thank you.”
“Of course.”
We spent a little longer looking at the strange things in the laboratory, but there was nothing in the house that made me think Louis was hiding Shelagh anywhere. Unless he was the best actor on the planet, he didn’t know what had happened to her. If he was putting on an act, I hoped the police could sense it better than it seemed Brigid and I were able to do.
“I’m sure you were here to search for Shelagh, but that’s fine. I have nothing to hide, and I’m pleased to show you the house,” Louis said, keying in on our ulterior motives as we climbed the stairs again.
When we reached the kitchen, Brigid smiled at him. “Well, I’m not sure the three of us are going to be able to figure out what happened to Shelagh. Though that is kind of what I was hoping for, some light blinking on, an epiphany of sorts. It’s not meant to be, but thank you for welcoming us in.”
“I would welcome any answers,” Louis said.
He walked us to the door, giving us each a folded piece of paper from the drawer of a small cabinet, telling us it was the copy of the transcribed potion. We stuck our copies in our coat pockets.
“Farewell,” he said. “Please call me if you hear anything about Shelagh.”
“You too,” Brigid answered.
“Certainly.” Louis closed the door. He was probably glad to have us gone so he could get back to the pace of his life.
“Did you learn what you wanted to learn?” I asked Brigid.
“I don’t think so. He’s a nice enough guy, but that’s one weird place, and people’s histories can mess them up sometimes.”
“Do you suspect him of something?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” She paused. “All right, ready to go to The Banshee Labyrinth?”
“Definitely. It’s almost time for the next bus. Let’s hurry.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
The Banshee Labyrinth was one of the craziest places I’d ever seen. Even the sign on the front of the pub advertised the purported ghosts inside.
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