Death in Castle Dark, page 1
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2021 by Julia Buckley
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN: 9780593335888
Cover design by Sarah Oberrender
Cover illustration by Jamey Christoph
Book design by Alison Cnockaert, adapted for ebook by Shayan Saalabi
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_5.7.1_c0_r0
For the Brontë sisters: Charlotte, Emily, and Anne
And to my son, Graham, with gratitude for his generosity.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Castle Dark Floor Plans
Prologue to Murder
1: The Road to Castle Dark
2: Cast of Characters
3: A Murder at the Murder
4: In the Dark
5: Brightness in the Shadows
6: Castle Contraband
7: Hamlet’s Castle
8: Subplots
9: Branches in the Wind
10: The Legacy of Otranto
11: Assailants
12: Revelations
13: Relics
14: The Dark Hallway
15: Lover’s Torment
16: Chronicle
17: Unrequited Love
18: Fire in the Dark
19: Castle Walls
20: Recapturing the Castle
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Even if all the castles of all the world were destroyed, in the minds of men they would be built anew; the wizard called imagination would raise high walls and towers out of ruins.
—From Castles, David Day
I had fastened my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced the eerie impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my little room. I remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven.
—from Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
CASTLE DARK FIRST FLOOR
CASTLE DARK SECOND FLOOR
CASTLE DARK THIRD FLOOR (THE DORMS)
Prologue to Murder
The dining table shimmered with candlelight reflected in antique glassware; silver clinked gently while people ate their prime rib and chatted quietly in the enormous room. Then the man at the head of the table stood to make a toast, and the twenty diners went silent. “Thank you all for coming to this dinner honoring my late uncle Harold, or Harry, as we lovingly called him. He would have so enjoyed this evening and this visit from all of you.”
“Not all of you,” said the beautiful blond woman to his left, glaring at the faces around the table. “He hated some of you, and you know who you are.” As if to punctuate her statement, a giant black dog sidled into the room with a menacing expression, a stone on his collar glinting in the candlelight.
“Quiet, Constance,” said the man. “Tonight we’re honoring Harry, not digging up old grudges. Just because you didn’t get along with him doesn’t mean you can assume it of everyone else.”
“She got along with him a bit too well!” I shouted, planting my hands on either side of my plate so that everyone could see my long red (press-on) nails.
Our host looked at me, then glared at Constance, his dark eyes intense in his handsome face. “Apparently news of your affair has gone beyond our private conversations,” he said with a grim smile. Then he looked at me. “And what a surprise that you would be pointing fingers, Nora. We all know that if Connie were out of the picture, you would get a much heftier inheritance.”
“That’s not true,” I shouted. “And I can prove it. I had Hastings make copies of Harold’s will. You’ll all find one underneath your seats.”
The guests dutifully found the sheets of rolled parchment beneath their polished heirloom chairs and began to read the contents. Connie laughed, an unpleasant sound. “I think it’s time to come clean, Derek. We have witnesses now. The one with the best motive for killing Harold is you—the man who just wants to honor the dead man.”
“You’re deflecting, Connie. No one needs to look farther than you for a significant motive. Shall we tell everyone what it is?”
Another man stood up, his hands trembling with anger, his blond hair gleaming like a halo under the chandelier. “I know you hated my father, Derek, and I’ll prove that you killed him.”
They stood facing each other; Derek smirked as though he knew a secret. “Don’t be a fool, Timothy.”
“You’re the fool and the murderer. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it. I invited a police detective to sit in on our dinner tonight. Did you spot our visitor? Detective, go ahead and stand up.”
With a whooshing sound, ten chairs went back, and ten people stood up.
“Well, hello, Inspector,” I said drily.
1
The Road to Castle Dark
We call them all Inspector,” Derek Corby had told me during my interview. “Most mystery parties assign the guests as suspects who have to learn their backstories and then stumble their way through conveying that information to everyone. That’s how we’re different: our visitors are detectives—all the same detective, actually—and they get badges and notebooks when they enter. Then they can jot down notes as they dine, as they mingle in the drawing room, as they walk the grounds with the suspects. And this is why we can charge so much for the Castle Dark experience, and why people are more than willing to pay it, by the way: we hire real actors, we cater elegant dinners, and we give people the experience of total immersion. They are living in this castle, moving from room to room, touching the objects, sitting on the furniture. And when they leave, they feel clever, because they took notes and made observations and came up with theories. Our customers routinely rate us at five stars, and almost ninety percent of them return for new story lines.”
Derek had been the first surprise about Castle Dark. I had expected, for some reason, a bearded old man who looked vaguely like a sea captain. Derek was young, perhaps thirty-five, dark-haired, clean-shaven, and well-dressed. He had a thick swoop of coffee-colored hair that gave him a slightly Byronic appearance and a charming smile that he employed on a regular basis. I might even have developed a crush on him except that I sensed he already had a great deal of esteem for himself.
“It sounds very interesting,” I’d said. I wasn’t convinced, and the interview itself had happened in a nondescript office in a Chicago strip mall. Derek assured me that I had already earned a chance at a second interview. “Then you’ll see the castle itself, and you’ll get a sense of how fun it is to be in the cast. And while I know the pay I’m offering isn’t exactly princely, our actors have told me that it’s a real bargain to get a room in the castle and to eat catered meals. Room and board—that would certainly help a struggling actor, wouldn’t it?”
It would. And so far, it had been his best selling point. The idea of joining the cast of a murder-mystery party at some “castle” that his great-grandfather had built in a wooded area in Wood Glen, Illinois, sounded a little bit creepy and rather trite, as well. And the name—Castle Dark—sounded like some dreadful video game that my little brothers would play.
Derek studied my expression and seemed to read my mind. “I know you’re a good actor, Nora. Sheena Preston sent me a tape of your audition for Evita. You were terrific. Your acting, your singing. The fact that you accompanied yourself on the piano—it’s obvious that you’re a natural talent. Frankly, after seeing that recording, I was shocked that she cast the person she did.”
It still rankled; I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I was surprised, as well. I thought I had the part.”
“Still, Sheena was impressed with you, and she knew I had an opening.” Someone named Carly who had previously played the role of the secretary had left abruptly to get married, he had told me with a dour expression. “It’s a great role. Yes, everyone has to be a bit melodramatic, but there is a lot of fun to be had with melodrama, and our set is fantastic.” He punctuated this idea by thumping his hand on his desk. “Our props are amazing.” Thump. “The whole experience will be worth your while.”
“It’s a neat offer, Derek,” I said, prepared to turn him down.
He held up a hand. “Take a day. Look at our website. Read the reviews. Check out the virtual tour. And then come see me at the castle; if your answe
The free apartment was a temptation. Some months I could pay my rent with no problem, and other months I fell short. I hated the uncertainty of it, and to live free—who was I to look that gift horse in the mouth?
On the other hand, I needed to be close to Chicago so that I could keep going to auditions, and Wood Glen was out in the boonies. I didn’t want to live that far away from my friends and my family. But Derek Corby’s handsome face wore a very persuasive expression.
“So you’ll come and see me at the castle?” he asked.
“Yes, all right,” I said.
“Wonderful. This is Monday, so let’s say Wednesday for tea? I’ll give you a map.”
* * *
* * *
On Wednesday I drove out of Chicago in my elderly Saab, hopped onto the toll road south, then took an exit that led quickly into farmland and some wooded subdivisions. After that came more scenic vistas of just grass and sky, and the air became intoxicating with the scent of sweet summer grasses (and a hint of manure). Finally I saw a sign that read: Now Entering Wood Glen. Not much later I saw a giant billboard dominated by a picture of a castle. The top of the billboard read: The Most Mysterious Fun You’ll Ever Have! And along the bottom was just the web address CastleDark.com.
Derek had told me that the billboard was surprisingly effective; many people drove past and then looked for the site on their phones.
I followed Derek’s map, worrying that I wouldn’t find the “subtle opening” that would take me down a wooded dirt road and then up the long driveway to the castle itself. But Derek surprised me: I saw a red balloon staked into the ground in front of a stand of pines, and a sign that read: Welcome, Nora.
“That’s a cute touch,” I murmured, slowing down, then turning onto a road carpeted by fragrant pine needles. I assumed that “castle” was a euphemistic way of referring to some big banquet-hall type of place. The website sported some impressive interior pictures, but not that many outdoor shots of Castle Dark, which had made me suspicious.
Still, when I reached another gap in the trees marked by a sign that read: Entrance to Castle Dark, I felt a little flutter of anticipation. The driveway was long and curving, flanked by magnificent summer bushes with flowering blooms—I thought the rich pearly pink blossoms might be gardenias—and the sweet scent lifted my spirits.
“It’s like going to Manderley,” I said to myself, and when I steered around a slight bend, there was an opening in the wall of foliage, and before me was a real, bona fide castle with turrets and gray stone and mullioned windows. It was enchanting and surprisingly large. How in the world did Derek pay for the upkeep of this place?
I followed a sign that pointed to a parking area, then got out and stretched. The air was fresh here, and a cool breeze wafted over me as I contemplated a gray-stone-and-brick wall. For just an instant I had a feeling that I had traveled back in time and across the sea, where castles were more plentiful and dotted country landscapes just like this one. . . . But of course that was the effect the builders had been going for. I walked up the pebbled parking area, then turned left and stepped onto a brick walkway that led to the main entrance and its massive wooden door. I lifted the gold knocker and let it fall; a moment later the door opened and a blond woman peered out at me. She was pretty and young, probably in her mid to late twenties, and she wore an eager expression. “Oh, are you Nora? God, you’re perfect for Carly’s role. All that dark hair. Very dramatic. Elspeth will have a field day doing your makeup.”
“Um—”
She laughed and reached out with both of her hands to pump one of mine in welcome. “I’m Connie. I’m in the cast. I play Derek’s cheating wife. Derek says if you take the part I need to walk you through your lines and the basics of our mystery and of course the castle itself.”
“Okay, great.”
She grinned. “I suppose I should invite you in.”
“I am pretty curious, now that I’ve seen the outside. It’s a real castle.”
Connie opened her blue eyes wide. “Right? I thought the same thing—that it would be some tacky old casino-looking junk heap in the woods. You’re going to be impressed, Nora, really.”
I followed her into a large room with dark paneling. Stairways on either side of us curved up to a second-floor gallery, which had obligatory portraits hung at regular intervals against the distant cream-colored walls. “Are those actual ancestors or just props?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We only reference one of them in our act—the lady in the red dress. She’s supposed to be Great-Great-Aunt Elizabeth, the dead man’s ancestor and there’s a plotline involving her and some lost rubies. Oh, and speaking of rubies, here’s Hamlet. Come here, boy!”
I jumped as a massive dog materialized in the dim hallway and came galloping toward us—he looked to be part black Lab and part King Kong, and I shrank back from him. Connie, on the other hand, started some hilarious giggling as Hamlet reached us and tried to lick her face. “Cut it out, you beast,” she cried, ineffectively pushing him away. She began to scratch his ears, which he seemed to think was a good compromise; he regarded me with a placid expression and eventually closed his eyes to enjoy the massage.
“He’s huge.”
“But gentle as a lamb.” She kissed Hamlet’s giant snout.
“What do you mean, speaking of rubies?”
“Hmm?” Connie said. “Oh, because Hamlet is a member of the cast.” She pulled out his jowls in a comical way and said, “Meet your colleague.”
I laughed.
“Seriously, though, Ham is trained to come in when the conversation turns to suspects and who hated whom. Eventually the visiting detectives are supposed to find the ruby on his collar and connect it to Liz up there.” She pointed at the portrait of the woman in red.
I bent to look at Hamlet’s collar, and he thrust his giant nose into my face to give it a sniff. I laughed. “You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?” He licked my ear, and I studied the stone on his collar—it glowed red. I looked up at Connie. “This can’t be real, can it?”
She made a scoffing sound. “God, no. Derek got it at a Wood Glen antiques mall; it’s just some old bauble. He gets tons of our props there. You have to go with me someday!” she said excitedly. “Relics is amazing, and you can sort through all kinds of glorious junk.”
I looked up at her; she seemed to be entirely guileless and unusually friendly. I didn’t know yet what I thought of Castle Dark, but I thought I might love Connie. I stood up, giving Hamlet one last pat on his very hard head. “That sounds fun. I don’t know if I’m taking the job yet, though.”
She touched my arm in a confidential, affectionate gesture. “You’ve got to take it. You might not realize it now, but it’s a dream job. We get fairly good pay, free room, free food, tons of free time, and access to a castle. And look at the view!” She made a sweeping gesture toward a window near the door I had entered, and I followed her gaze: a large clearing of well-tended, outrageously green grass that seemed to sweep around the entire building, and then lovely and mysterious woods as far as the eye could see.
Connie sighed. “There’s a brook, too. I walk down there sometimes and just toss in little pebbles and listen to the sound of the water. It’s better than meditation.”
I turned to her, suspicious. “Does he pay you extra for the hard sell?”
She laughed. “Oh, God, I know I’m coming on strong. It’s just that I’m the only person my age who lives here. The only young woman, I guess. The guys are no fun, and Bethany doesn’t live at the castle. She lives in town with her husband. Carly—the girl you’d be replacing—was okay, but she spent all her time texting her boyfriend. So I guess I’m a little lonely.” Her eyes once again were sincere and irresistible. “I’m here on my own behalf. Derek didn’t ask me to show you around; I asked if I could.”
