Death in Castle Dark, page 18
I leaned closer to the knife. It really did look like Garrett’s dagger; it had a distinctive design that I recognized from John Dashiell’s slideshow, and the emerald was cut in a diamond shape. What if someone had brought it here? It would have been easy enough to put it on this prop table and not have anyone find it for weeks. Better yet, some patron might simply buy it and take it away; even if the store had no record of it in their computer, mightn’t they just shrug and make up a price on the spot?
I took out my phone and photographed the dagger from several angles; I sent the shots to John Dashiell with the message:
Is this the missing dagger?
Less than a minute later, I got his message:
Where are you?
I told him; he wrote back:
Be right there. Don’t let anyone touch it.
I hovered at the table, deputized to protect possible evidence. Paul walked up to me, holding a grand gold tiara. “How do you like this one?”
“Beautiful,” I said. “Listen, Paul—the police are coming.”
“What?”
“I think I found Garrett’s missing dagger.”
His brows rose. “Here? But why would—?”
The gleaming knife now looked almost obscene to me on the black velvet cloth. “Do you know how many castle staffers left the grounds in the past two days?” I asked.
Paul shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s not going to help us. Everyone left at one point or another. But why bring it here? Why not just chuck it into the woods?”
I shook my head; I had wondered the same thing.
By the time Connie sought us out, her hands full of jewelry, John Dashiell and another official-looking man were walking toward us, their expressions grim.
Our Relics playtime was over.
14
The Dark Hallway
I didn’t get a chance to speak to John Dashiell; I heard him murmuring to Paul that he would see us at the castle later. I got one intense look from him before he and his companion became absorbed in their task of photographing the knife where it had been left. Soon they would dust it for fingerprints and then take it away.
We went to the front register, where a white-mustached man, whose name tag read: Griff, was clearly fascinated by the fact that the police were in his store; he kept craning his neck, trying to get a view of the men at the back table.
Paul had selected a couple of crowns and texted photos to Derek, who had approved them. Paul paid for these, along with some bracelets that Connie had selected (he insisted that she let him pay) and a large inlaid box I had chosen because I thought the kittens might like to sit inside it.
“That wasn’t necessary, Paul,” I said. I had received only one Castle Dark paycheck so far, but I had a bit of money that I had been saving for my Chicago rent, so I had a small nest egg.
“You both deserve a treat,” he said. “Derek and I feel terrible about all that you’ve been through. From this point on, things will be looking up.”
Connie and I approved this sentiment with hearty nods, but as an actor, I felt superstitious about the fact that Paul had said those words out loud. Connie’s face told me that she felt the same way. One must never tempt fate by claiming that everything was fine—in the world of theater or any other world.
On the sidewalk Paul suddenly raised a hand and waved to a woman across the street. “Hello, Sora!” he called.
The name alerted me, and I turned to see Garrett’s girlfriend, a slight woman with blondish gray hair and a kind face. She crossed the road to accept Paul’s hug; he murmured the usual platitudes about being sorry for her loss and her letting him know if there was anything he could do.
“It’s hard, I must admit,” she said, her gray eyes filling with tears. “We were planning a trip at Christmas. I’m sad we won’t get to go. But you and Derek have been lovely, and I appreciate your support. When all is said and done, I’m grateful for the time Gar and I had together. “
“I know the funeral will be private, but do let us know when the public commemoration will be,” Paul said.
She nodded. “Of course.” She turned to Connie and me. “You two worked with Garrett?”
Connie held out her hand. “I’m Connie. I worked with him for almost two years. I remember him saying complimentary things about you after he met you—it was at your café, right?”
She smiled. “Yes, he came in for lunch one day and we got to talking.” The memory obviously brought both pleasure and pain.
“And the rest was history,” Paul said in a gentle voice.
She shook her head. “We started dating, but we weren’t exclusive at first. At one point I found out that he was seeing someone else—a woman here in town. I asked Garrett point-blank if he wanted me or her. He chose me, and we were dedicated after that.” She pointed at Paul. “He talked a lot about your castle and how much fun he was having and how he never would have found it if a friend of his hadn’t tipped him off about the job.”
“We loved working with him,” Paul said, a consoling hand on Sora’s arm.
She turned to me, and I said, “I’m Nora. I’m brand-new, but I got to know Garrett a little bit. I’m sorry about what happened.”
Her face paled. “Nora . . . They said— You’re the one who found him, right?”
I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, uncomfortable with this distinction.
She wore a brave expression. “Did he look peaceful?”
A sudden vision of Garrett’s sightless eyes staring at the chapel ceiling. “Yes,” I said, and I was telling the truth. “And he was in the chapel, which is a peaceful place.”
She reached out and took my hand in hers. “Thank you for that.”
Paul gave her another half hug and said, “We have to go, but reach out anytime you need something, Sora.”
She nodded and gave my hand another squeeze. We said our goodbyes and she walked back across the street, returning to whatever mission she had been on when Paul called her name.
Our drive home was a more solemn affair; we sat quietly, thinking our own thoughts, and no one had the impulse to burst into song. By the time we reached the turning for Castle Dark, the sun had gone behind a cloud, and the twisting drive was cast into shadow.
* * *
* * *
Dinner was a rather tense affair. We sat at the long dining table like the characters we played in the game, eating Zana’s stew in relative silence and staring into the flickering candles that she had placed in the center of the table. Derek stared mournfully at Connie, who looked mostly at her plate. Paul got a phone call and disappeared into the hallway, and Tim and I avoided each other’s gaze. I had put Renata’s crown pin on my lapel and I saw her eyeing it approvingly when I reached for a piece of corn bread. Bethany was present because Derek had told us it was a dinner meeting; she and Elspeth murmured to each other while they ate, Elspeth’s latest headdress—a pink-sequined slouch hat—glinting in the light of the chandelier.
Eventually Zana came in to clear our plates; I got up to help her, carrying the dishes near me into the kitchen. “Boy, it’s really somber in there,” she whispered as we set the plates in the stainless steel sink.
“I know. I think we might all be having a delayed reaction to the events of the last couple days.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Here, since you were nice enough to help me clear, maybe you’ll also carry in some dessert for me.”
“Of course,” I said.
She got out some cake plates and began slicing a chocolate pie. “Here you go—take these three, and I’ll get the rest. Thanks, Nora.”
I walked into the moody dining room and set pie in front of Derek, Elspeth, and the newly returned Paul. They murmured their thanks, and Zana came in to serve everyone else. “I’ll bring in the coffee,” she said quietly, and disappeared again.
Derek cleared his throat. “I may as well get started with my announcements. First of all, Detective Dashiell has said we should be able to open up in about ten days. I’ll be doing a couple of interviews with the media between now and then, clarifying our sadness over the loss of Garrett and our desire to put our energies back into our work. Paul will be helping me with the PR.” He sent a grateful glance to his brother. “If we do this with dignity and sensitivity, our reopening shouldn’t be a problem.”
Bethany raised a hand. “Who will be playing Garrett’s part?”
Derek shook his head. “The old script is done. I’ve written a new one, and I’ll give you your role descriptions tomorrow. Elspeth will have an individual makeup meeting with each of you to plan your look for the new story. She and I have already brainstormed and come up with some exciting ideas.”
Elspeth nodded her sparkly head.
“Next,” Derek said, “the locks have now been changed on both the back entrance and your individual rooms. If Paul has not already given you your new key, he will do so after dinner. The locksmith has assured me that the new locks are excellent and tamperproof. I hope this will allow everyone to sleep a bit easier.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Derek nodded at me. “Another agenda item,” he said. “Dash has asked that each of you who left castle grounds in the last two days to please provide a list of the places you went and the exact time you spent in each place”—he held up a hand as people began to protest—“to the best of your recollection.”
Tim looked indignant. “Why do we have to do that?”
“Because the police want us to,” Derek said. “And once again I’ll remind you that the police are trying to find out who murdered our friend Garrett. I’m sure we’ll all be happy to cooperate in any way we can.” His gaze took in everyone. “And if you can all do that tonight, I would appreciate it.”
Connie met his gaze for the first time and nodded solemnly.
“Finally,” he said, “you all know that we had a recent incident involving someone walking around at night in a costume. I can’t begin to guess what that was about or whether there was an evil intention behind it. So I’m going to ask—I don’t want to use the word ‘curfew’—but I’ll ask that you all remain in your rooms after midnight. If this is somehow a hardship for anyone, let me know.”
He looked around the table with his searching dark eyes, his hair drooping dramatically over his forehead, as though he were auditioning for the part of “man under extreme stress.”
Paul folded his hands in front of him on the table, his expression calm. “That’s not a lot to ask. If anyone needs to leave their room, they can call Derek or me to explain. Then there won’t be any misunderstanding.”
Tim frowned. “Do you really want us calling you at two in the morning?”
Paul was unfazed. “If it means avoiding a terrifying incident, then yes.”
People were looking furtively at me. I wondered if now, with some distance, my encounter with the skeletal vision seemed like melodrama to them, something that I had manufactured for attention. Even I had trouble understanding, in retrospect, why I had been so frightened that I stopped thinking rationally. It was impossible to quantify terror.
“Well, that’s it,” Derek said. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room.”
Bethany said, “I assume that I can leave now.” Her face was slightly petulant.
Derek stared her down. “Right after you account for your whereabouts for the last two days. Leave the document with me.”
She bristled. “This is getting pretty ridiculous.”
Connie sat up in her chair, her face flushed. “I think everyone needs to remember that Garrett was stabbed to death in this building. One of us might have done it. And I think Derek has done a great job of remaining friendly and polite while he tries to figure out if he has a murderer on his payroll. So maybe we should all show him a little gratitude, instead of making his life harder than it already is.”
Bethany paled, and everyone else avoided Connie’s gaze.
“Sorry, Derek,” Tim said.
Connie stood up and said, “I’m going to my room. Nora, will you go with me?”
“Of course,” I said. I looked at Derek to see if he was finished, and he nodded. I stood up and took my cake plate to the tray on the sideboard. The pie had been delicious; I’d been planning to peek into the kitchen to see if there was any more, but Connie was saving me from my sweet tooth.
We left the kitchen and went into the hall, where Paul caught up with us. “Don’t forget your new keys,” he said. “Connie, this is for Blue Crown. And, Nora, you’re Green Crown, right?”
I nodded and accepted my new key with relief.
“Thanks, Paul,” Connie said.
“Thank you,” he said, “for defending Derek. I know you’re not thrilled with him right now, but he really was trying to do the right thing. He always does.” Paul’s face held a mixture of pride in his brother and apology for what Connie had endured. She nodded. Then we said our good nights to Paul and walked to the main staircase, at which point I said, “It was nice of you to stand up for Derek that way.”
She shrugged. “I’m sick of all the complaining. I’m still mad at him about the other thing, but he’s way too accommodating of all the whining. He could have told the police to just question us down at the station instead of letting us all wander around here.”
We turned on our flashlights and began ascending the stairs. “Do you think we should leave?” I asked.
She didn’t answer at first, and I couldn’t see her face clearly as she climbed the stairs at my side. “I don’t know. I guess I still would like to stay, assuming this stuff can be cleared up soon. This is my home, and—you know—I care about Derek. It would feel weird being away from the castle. And him.”
“Well, that’s honest.”
“What about you? I know it’s selfish, but I would hate it if you left, Nora. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really feel safe here, Connie. Garrett’s dead, and that thing in the hall was chasing me. And then—well, you know what happened with that guy on the lawn.”
She pondered those words for a while. In the meantime we had reached our third floor hallway. “Even now,” I whispered, “I’m halfway afraid I’ll see a ghost.” We beamed our lights into the darkness, first one way, then the other. “And I’m getting tired of not being able to turn on a light.”
Connie summoned up some humor as we walked to our rooms, clutching each other’s free hand. “You probably didn’t realize you had to take Castle Dark literally.”
“No kidding,” I said.
We reached Connie’s door, and something cold touched my arm. I screamed, and Connie jumped, but then she said, “It’s just Hamlet. He must have followed us up here.”
I looked down to see Hamlet’s dark eyes glowing in the beam of my flashlight. “You have to stop scaring me, dog,” I said, my heart hammering in my chest.
Another figure loomed up in the dark. I grabbed Connie’s hand; she tensed, and the figure materialized into Tim. “Hi,” he said. “Nora, can I talk to you for a minute?”
No, absolutely not. “It’s pretty late,” I said.
“I know. I just— I feel like I need to clear some things up.” It didn’t endear him to me that he used so many personal pronouns. Connie didn’t look impressed, either.
“Maybe in the morning, Tim,” she said crisply.
“Just for a second. We can talk wherever you want.”
“I won’t talk to you alone,” I said. “Talk in front of Connie or not at all.”
He looked wounded. “Okay, that’s fine.”
I turned to open my own door. “I have to check on my cats. We can talk in here.” I turned on the lights and we all walked into my living space with Hamlet at our feet. I grinned when I saw Emily Brontë rise up on the bed, looking fluffy and blinking at me as though to assure me she hadn’t been sleeping. Charlotte sat like a tiny boat in front of the fireplace, but Annie was not in sight.
I did a quick search of the rooms, not finding any ghosts or monsters, but not finding Annie, either. “Help me,” I said to my guests. “Annie’s missing. Oh, I hope she didn’t somehow get in the hall.”
Tim and Connie got to work. Tim lay on the floor and looked under my bed, Hamlet snuffling at his ears, and Connie began a search of the pantry compartments. “Sometimes cats can get into drawers from the back,” she assured me.
After ten minutes I was starting to panic, picturing the tiny kitten lost and afraid in a giant castle with a million hiding places. I would never, ever find her. My eyes filled with tears. Tim saw this and said, “Now, don’t give up. She could be any number of places. Where were they the last time they were missing?”
“Climbing the curtains,” I said, wiping my eyes.
Tim went to the curtains and peered behind them. “Okay, no one climbing here.” I wilted slightly, and he said, “No, wait—I spoke too soon.” He pulled the left curtain back with a flourish to reveal a tiny gray ball on the windowsill—a gray kitten still fast asleep.
“Oh, Annie,” I said, rushing forward and scooping her up. She gazed at me with bleary eyes, her whiskers twitching above her white chops. “You silly girl! Why would you sleep there when you have all these other comfy places?”
Tim and Connie laughed, each of them picking up a kitten of their own.
“I almost forgot,” I said. “I got a gift for my little Brontës.” I went to my bag from Relics Antiques and pulled out the velvet-lined box, the dark wood inlaid with turquoise and jet. “Look, girls.” I set Annie on the bed, then opened the hinges so that there were two distinct compartments: the lid and the box. Annie climbed into the box immediately, testing the felt with her claws.
