Death in Castle Dark, page 4
“That’s cool. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Maybe another time,” he said. “Have you found the creek yet?”
This perked me up. “No, but I’d love to see it. I heard about it from Connie, and she made it sound quite alluring.”
“Good. Later on, then,” he said. He bent down and plucked a purple petunia from the flower bed and handed it to me. “Nice to meet you, Nora.”
I had played in romantic scenes with a variety of male leads and never found the task intimidating. That little gesture, though—that tiny purple flower plucked from the earth, dirt still clinging to its stem—somehow found a vulnerable spot inside me.
I nodded, suddenly self-conscious, and made my way down the path and onto the wide clearing that led to the woods, still holding the little purple flower. I didn’t look back until I was in the shelter of the trees, but by then the gardener named John had disappeared.
* * *
* * *
I went back to the kitchen after my hike and drank a full glass of water, contemplating the shining copper pots that hung from chains extending from a wooden ceiling beam. Zana watched me in her quiet way. I finished drinking and said, “Ah!” like someone on a soft drink commercial, and she laughed.
Leaning on the counter beside her, I said, “Do you like working here?”
“I really do. Derek is nice, and he lets me do my own thing. I can get as creative as I want with the menus, as long as I have stuff ready on time and take note of any dietary restrictions of the guests.”
“Your food is great.”
She nodded her thanks, then looked ready to confide. “If you want to know the best part of the job, it’s the library.”
“Really?”
“Derek lets me take whatever I want to read, and I can sit and read it in there if I like.”
“What sorts of books does he have in that big room? I thought it was full of props, even though I’ve visited the small library upstairs and found real books in there.”
“Oh, he didn’t have much at first. But he started building up a collection, with different genres and stuff. For a while he was dating this librarian from Wood Glen. She worked at the big main library, and after the book sale was over last year, they still had like two thousand donated books left over. She let Derek take them all.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. It’s endless reading material now.”
“I will be visiting there after rehearsal today!”
“You’ll probably find me there.” She stood up straight and said, “So I can’t make a torte right now because I don’t have all the ingredients, but I’ll walk you through it. The biggest secret is these pans.”
“They look like big, flat pancake pans.”
“And that’s about how flat the cakes turn out—but there are eight of them, and you pile them up with frosting in between, and . . . well, you saw the result.”
“It was like something from the most elegant bakery.”
“I used to work in one,” she said quietly, stowing the pans under the counter.
“Wow! You are full of surprises.”
She pointed at a giant red tome sitting on a green wire standing shelf. “The recipe is in this book; once Derek replenishes my pantry, I’ll put the torte back in rotation, and I’ll let you know when I’m making it.”
“Great! Thanks, Zana. And now I think I have a few hours of rehearsals in front of me.”
“Have fun,” she said. “I’m headed to the library.” The prospect clearly pleased her, because she offered me a full smile, and it changed her face. She looked youthful and pretty.
* * *
* * *
We did in fact rehearse for much of the afternoon. Elspeth practiced her fortune-teller predictions, but then she played the role of the Inspector, trying to catch us out with her questions. Her interrogations were extremely helpful.
I floundered at one point and Derek flew over to me. “You have to be absolutely ready with your answers and your evidence, Nora. Tonight you are the guilty one, and everyone has to help to make that trail clear while appearing to make it cloudy. But you have to be the only one with both motive and opportunity. We can’t have some guest offering a viable alternative scenario; you all have to be ready to shoot those down. So why aren’t I guilty?”
Tim said, “Because you were seen in town with some mysterious woman at the time of death.”
“Good. And why isn’t Connie guilty?”
“Because she actually loved Harold and wanted to leave you for him, as expressed in her diary that the Inspectors will find lying in the hallway,” I said.
“Great!” Derek said, smiling at me.
We went through them all: Harold’s son, his daughter, his wife, his gardener, even the fortune-teller. None of them could have killed him because of at least one piece of exonerating evidence. Only I had no alibi, and my own motive was going to be made clear through several clues and a crucial dialogue with Derek at the dinner table.
“Okay, everyone,” Derek said, “take a break. Zana made cold sandwiches; they’re in the kitchen with some chips and soft drinks. Then you’re on your own until six, when we’ll do a run-through. See you then.” He waved and strode out of the room.
“Derek always looks busy,” I said to Connie.
“He always is busy,” she said.
I grabbed a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a Diet Coke from the kitchen, then made my way to the back of the castle, where Connie had shown me the very modern elevator. I climbed in and rode it to the third floor and followed the already familiar path to my room. It definitely felt like my room, my space, now. My family, sans Gen, had descended on the castle ten days earlier and helped me move in, after which they received the tour. My brothers, Jay and Luke, had made me promise to invite them for an overnight stay so that they could get “a serious game of Murder Ball going.” Murder Ball was just their name for hide-and-seek, except that when someone found someone else, they fired a Nerf ball at them, and they were “dead.” My little brothers were relentlessly bloodthirsty.
“We could go nuts in this place,” Luke had said, running his hand along a stairway banister that only a glare from my mother had kept him from riding down to the main floor.
“Yeah, seriously,” Jay agreed. “I’ll bet it’s full of ghosts.”
I did not appreciate that sentiment. “It has no ghosts, because it’s not an old building. It has no history, no skeletons in the closet. It’s a made-to-order faux castle.”
“Well, it feels real and super spooky,” Jay insisted.
Right now, with the sun streaming in my window, I felt only a benevolent vibe in my room. But at night, when I walked the halls of the dark castle with just my cell phone to ward off the clouds of darkness around me, I had to agree with my brother: Castle Dark was terrifying.
There was a little table in front of my window with a flower arrangement on top; I set the flowers on the floor and put my lunch on the table so that I could look out at the view while I ate. I arranged my Coke, sandwich, and chips and remembered that Connie said she had binoculars I could borrow. We were starting a bird-watching challenge.
I walked across to her door and tapped on it. “Connie?”
She wasn’t in the room, but her door had opened slightly when I knocked. “Con?” I saw the binoculars on her desk and figured she wouldn’t mind if I borrowed them. I strode in and grabbed the “field glasses,” as Connie called them, and saw that she had several brochures on her desk, as well—several pieces of promotional literature about the castle and the mystery night. And on her wall, just above the desk, she had tacked an article from the features section of the Chicago Tribune. It had a huge picture of Derek laughing, the castle in the background behind him. The headline read:
YOUNG ENTREPRENEUR BANKS ON LOVE OF MYSTERY
“Well, aren’t you loyal?” I murmured.
I went back to my room and settled down at my lunch table, using the binoculars to scan for birds while I chewed my sandwich. Connie had given me a list of birds to try for, with pictures of them. So far I had easily found a robin, a cardinal, a brown sparrow, several wrens, and a blue jay. I scanned the tree nearest my window, then panned down to look for any birds that might be pecking at the feeder that Renata filled each day.
“It’s another contradiction about Derek,” Connie had told me once. “He complains that he can barely feed us, but he spends tons on bird food and salt licks for the deer and even treats for the chipmunks that hang out on the back patio.”
I focused the binoculars and scanned to the left, then found myself looking at Derek in close-up. He was talking to John, the gardener. He was not exactly yelling, but he was doing a lot of gesticulating, and John was nodding. Did Derek think John had done a bad job on the lawn? It looked pristine to me. Derek finally turned away and stalked off with a slightly disgusted look on his face.
The gardener didn’t look particularly distressed. He stood, hands on hips, and stared down at the grass with a contemplative expression.
* * *
* * *
At the makeup table Monday night, Elspeth put my hair in a loose arrangement on top of my head, letting two long dark strands hang down. “Derek says we have to draw attention to the ruby earrings. Tonight the rubies are being stolen by you, along with the collectibles. You’re just a terrible thief.”
“Apparently, since I’m going to get caught,” I said, grinning.
She was still studying my reflection. “But he wants all your other makeup the same. I was really happy with your eyes. They’re so striking—that black hair and those sea green eyes. I barely had to use eye shadow at all to bring out the green.”
My gaze wandered down the long table to admire the costumes and makeup of the others: Renata, glowing like royalty; Connie, her sweet face contrasted with a rather severe dress that suggested her paradoxical nature; Bethany, with a blond wig to cover the red hair and foundation to disguise her freckles; Tim, hiding his dimples to become solemn as the angry son of the dead man; Garrett, innocuous and unobtrusive in his gardening clothes. Elspeth looked perfect once again as the Fortune-teller who would help to reveal secrets.
It was fun, I realized. I was having fun.
Elspeth caught my gaze in the mirror and said, “Not a bad gig, huh?”
“Not at all,” I said, grinning.
* * *
* * *
There we were again, dining at the long table, playing the roles of the wealthy in some indeterminate era, surrounded by the castoffs of genuinely wealthy people. We ate Zana’s food and argued about a fictional dead man. Derek and Tim scowled, Connie sneered, Bethany pouted, Renata preened, and Garrett brooded, playing absently with the knife from his gardening belt so that the Inspectors could see the “emerald” on the hilt. I did my best to project a feeling of superiority with occasional traces of fear. One Inspector at least had picked up on it and was watching me, taking notes. I ran my fingers over my ruby earrings, making it look like a nervous gesture, posturing for his benefit.
After dinner Derek suggested that the Inspectors should wait in the parlor while the dinner table was cleared. They could read the pamphlets about the history of the castle while they waited. This gave us all a little downtime to find a corner somewhere and practice our lines. I darted down the hall and into the library, practicing various gestures and expressions while looking into a small mirror on the wall.
A young man peered in. “Have you seen Bethany?” he asked. He held up a jacket. “She forgot this, and it’s kind of cold tonight.” How sweet. I realized this must be Bethany’s husband.
“I think most people are in the parlor or down some hallway practicing lines.”
He nodded. “Okay, thanks.” He disappeared out the door, and I glanced at my watch. Perhaps just one last run-through . . .
Minutes later I returned to the great hall, where the Inspectors waited to begin their game. It was Renata this time who suggested that an Inspector should follow her to hear more about Harry and his great-aunt and her missing rubies. She led him (and all the rest of them) to the chapel, pointing out the stained glass windows and the simple altar. “But it was outside this chapel that my poor husband was found. Perhaps he had gone to say a prayer,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, her hands trembling with admirable emotion. Then the tour moved on, this time with Tim as the leader, saying, “What my mother failed to mention was that Father was cheating on her! But we’ll save that as conversation for our after-dinner drinks. Let me take you to the portrait gallery and tell you about Great-Great-Aunt Elizabeth and her lost rubies.”
Dutiful, we traipsed into the hall outside the chapel. My eyes rested briefly on the hidden passage; had the door moved? But of course it hadn’t. The opening was flush with the wall. I shook my head and followed the group to the stairs. One of the Inspectors tripped on the carpet on the grand staircase and fell down. There was a communal “Oh!” and I joined the crowd that rushed to his side. He was an elderly gentleman, and he was more embarrassed than hurt. He took his time getting back up, however, and used the moment of attention to tell a story about a different time he had fallen down and how he had met his wife because of it. He pointed at another Inspector, a white-haired woman who stood next to him and laughingly verified his story. We chatted for a while (Derek’s philosophy was “Let the Inspectors set the tone!”), allowing some casual time with a group that seemed jovial and eager to chat. When we started moving, I focused on my character; soon I would need to fend off accusations about rubies. I touched my earrings again, only to find that one was missing. Oh, no! In my mind I was going over the speech I would make when we got back to the drawing room, but the earrings were the centerpiece of my monologue. When we reached the portrait gallery, Tim encouraged the Inspectors to walk around and take notes. I decided I had some time to retrace my steps and find the lost ruby. As I passed Tim, I whispered, “Lost an earring—be right back!”
I moved through the milling crowd, actors and Inspectors alike, who were chatting and dropping clues or catching them.
It was too hard to see anything on the floor with so many people walking around. I figured I’d go all the way back to the dining room and start from there, but when I reached it, I found nothing under the dining table or on the floor. A lonely Inspector was looking for clues on the deserted table. I said, “I’m just looking for my ruby earring. I mean, my earring.” There, that should have helped this wayward Inspector, who was clearly not getting the point of the game.
I made my way to the chapel; I moved swiftly, fearful that I would miss my cue upstairs. Nothing in the hall, nothing outside the chapel. Surely it would glint in the hallway light? I had gone inside the chapel earlier, following the Inspectors, so I went there now, and I spied the earring immediately, at the end of the final pew. With a sigh of relief, I strode the length of the pew and bent to retrieve it.
Then I saw a hand.
For a surreal moment my brain could not process what was there, but should not have been there. A hand, connected to an arm, in the aisle near the wall. Questions swirled in my head in a matter of milliseconds. Had Derek changed the script? Was someone playing the part of Harold? As far as I knew Derek had never provided a victim before.
Slowly, I leaned forward and peered around the edge of the pew.
Garrett lay there, his eyes fixed sightlessly on the ceiling, his hands flung out to his sides in what seemed like submission or despair. Not even Elspeth could have created special effects this good—especially because a rivulet of blood was running down the narrow aisle.
I scooted away and struggled to stand up, tripping over myself in the process; I didn’t realize I was screaming until Derek and Tim appeared in the doorway, their faces white with shock.
4
In the Dark
The rest I remember only in nightmarish flashes: the jumble of faces peering into the chapel, the ambulance attendants with their macabre stretcher, the dark blood that stained the tile next to the final pew, the cold stone of the wall that I slumped against as I answered questions in a voice not recognizable as my own. And then, for some reason, the gardener speaking with Derek in one corner, his face grim and somehow official. Derek raked his hand through his hair again and again, and Connie appeared beside him to pat his arm in an attempt at comfort.
Then the gardener walked toward me where I stood, using the wall for support.
“You’re in shock,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.” He took my hand and led me out of the chapel, past some uniformed police officers and down the long shadowy hallway. All of our Inspectors had vanished.
“We didn’t finish the mystery,” I murmured. “We didn’t reach the resolution.”
“There’s a different mystery that needs solving now,” he said. “Let’s go in here.”
He led me into the room that Derek called drawing room two, which held the obligatory fireplace, bookcases, sumptuous wooden desk, and leather furniture. He pointed at a couch and I sat in it, thinking nothing.
He sat beside me and pulled out a notebook and pen. He jotted something and said, “Can you tell me your full name?”
I frowned. “What? Why do you need that?”
“For my notes.”
“Why are you taking notes?” I asked. I’m sure I looked utterly blank.
“I’m sorry. I thought you heard back there.” He took out a badge. “I’m Detective John Dashiell from the Wood Glen Police Department. This is a murder investigation.”
“You were gardening. I thought you were the gardener.”
He nodded, his face solemn and patient. “Yes. There was a reason for that; I can’t go into it now.”
