Death in Castle Dark, page 6
“What was that?” she cried.
“I don’t know. It was bigger than a rabbit. A fox, maybe? A raccoon? I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“It’s kind of creepy, thinking of night creatures crawling around out here.”
As we climbed the stairs, I couldn’t help but think of other night creatures roaming freely in the castle despite posing a nocturnal threat. We had learned through terrible experience that predators were found not only outdoors.
* * *
* * *
I was glad to have Connie’s companionship as we returned to the darkened hall. “I don’t want to take the elevator in the dark,” I whispered.
She nodded. “But that main staircase is even creepier to me than the side one. Let’s take the servants’ stairs.”
There had never been servants in Castle Dark, just paid employees, but Derek’s great-grandfather had preserved the idea of class separation in his architecture. Connie and I turned right instead of left, our cell phones creating thin beams of light as we headed for the narrow side staircase that would let us out at the end of our hallway instead of in the middle.
Connie opened the stairway door. “Why is it always cold in here?” she said. “It’s summer!”
I shivered, but not only from the cold. The building had been frightening enough when it was just a simulation of some ancient castle in which knights might actually have battled enemies. Now that castle of antiquity felt terribly real, and the very walls around us seemed sinister and strange.
Connie seemed to feel the same way, because she nudged closer to me as we began to ascend the stairs. “Our lights make weird shadows on the wall,” she whispered.
Something cold touched my leg, and I let out a fearful yelp before I realized it was Hamlet joining us for our journey up the stairs and pressing his cold nose against my skin for a quick sniff. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” I said to the hound moving placidly at my side.
Connie giggled and reached over to pat Hamlet’s giant head. “He’s been sleeping in my room the last few nights. I’m not sure why; his bed is in Derek’s room. Frankly I like having the extra protection.”
I liked the idea of Hamlet nearby, too, and I petted his back, suddenly as grateful for his bulk as I had been fearful of it moments earlier. Connie and I reached the top of one staircase and swung around to ascend the second one, which led to our third-floor dorms.
Connie’s voice seemed weird and different in the dark. “It must have been strange to find him like that,” she said. “Garrett, I mean.”
“It was horrible. I don’t want to think about it.”
“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” her voice said. Derek had uttered something to that effect, and Connie spoke in the same soothing tone.
“That’s assuming I get any sleep.”
We reached the top of the stairs, huffing slightly with the effort. Connie aimed her light down our dark hallway. Because we had taken the north stairway, we were far from our rooms. A couple of doorways had thin bands of light beneath them, suggesting that our fellow actors were awake and unwinding in their rooms.
Garrett’s room was the first on the left, the costume room directly across on the right. I grabbed Connie’s arm. “Garrett’s door is open a little,” I said. “See? Didn’t he always keep it shut?”
“Maybe the police were in there,” she said.
“I’m not sure if the police are even aware that Garrett lives here. Are they? Do they know that any of us live here?”
“That guy Dashiell must know. He’s practically been living here himself,” Connie said.
“Yeah, what’s that about? Why was he here?”
“Got me,” Connie said. “Let’s just take a peek, make sure everything is okay.” Before I could protest, she lunged forward and pushed on the open door, then flipped on the light in Garrett’s room. “Oh, no,” she said with a gasp.
I followed her in and saw that Garrett’s room, though simple and streamlined as a monk’s cell, had still held enough possessions that someone had been able to strew them all over the bed and the floor. A scattering of paper money, photographs, clothing, and books lay everywhere, as though a tornado had come in one of the windows from which Garrett had enjoyed his view.
“Someone tossed this room. That’s what they say in my crime shows,” Connie said. She started to walk forward, and I pulled her back.
“That window is open,” I said, pointing to the head of Garrett’s bed, where one of the mullioned panes was pulled to the side, letting in night air. “Maybe all this mess just got blown around by the wind?”
Connie shook her head. “No way. Some of this stuff is heavy.” She bent over as if to grasp one of the books on the bed.
“We can’t touch anything. The police need to see this.”
“Oh, right,” she said, pushing her cloud of blond hair off her shoulders. “I’m creeped out. Let’s get out of here.”
I agreed, and we returned swiftly to Connie’s room at the other end of the hall.
In my phone contacts, I found Dashiell’s number. I texted him.
We found Garrett’s room open on the third floor. It’s been ransacked.
“Who’s that?” Connie asked, pointing at the phone.
“The detective. He told me to text him if I remembered anything.”
“Remembered? What would you remember?”
“Anything from the chapel. Finding Garrett.”
“Oh, I see.” She sighed, then showed me a photograph in her hand. “This was under the corner of Garrett’s blanket. I don’t think the police care about some random photo. Look how sweet! A picture of him and his girlfriend. The poor woman—Derek said she’s lost another boyfriend, or a husband, before this. I figured she’d want the photo.”
I didn’t think Connie should have taken anything, but she was already here with the photo in her hand.
Moments later a bright light illuminated the hallway; we heard a noise and peered out of Connie’s door to see several policemen come barreling down the hall, led by Detective John Dashiell. Hamlet ran alongside them, his jowls swaying and dripping, looking far too much like the hound of the Baskervilles.
5
Brightness in the Shadows
We sat on three chairs in my room: Connie, John Dashiell, and I. Hamlet lay in between us, exhausted by his police work. Dashiell was beginning to look tired; I wondered how early he’d gotten up to “garden” outside the castle. His brown hair was starting to fall down onto his forehead and into one eye, making him look like an outlaw.
His eyes met mine. “And how was it that you discovered Garrett’s door was open? Connie says the hall was dark.”
I nodded. “But we use our cell phone flashlights. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to see our hands in front of our faces.”
“I see. And is it that unusual for someone’s door to be slightly ajar? No one comes up here, right?”
Connie rubbed her arm with an absent expression. “I’ve been here close to a year, and I’ve never seen a door left open. Why does it matter, though? You saw what someone did inside his room.”
“Yes.” Dashiell looked at her. “But Garrett could have done that himself, couldn’t he? Before he came down. He also could have left his door open.”
Connie frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Garrett was super neat. Also it’s clear somebody was looking for something.”
Dashiell said, “Hmm.”
Something seemed to occur to Connie, and she leaned forward. “I just remembered something Garrett said to me once. It was a month or so ago—we were having a birthday party for Elspeth. Everybody was there. I was standing next to Garrett at one point, drinking punch. He put his mouth by my ear and said, ‘Do you trust him?’ I said, ‘Trust who?’ but then something happened—I think someone came in with a cake and we all sang. It just—kind of got lost. And he never said anything like that again.”
Dashiell studied her face. “He said him. Which men were present?”
“Well—everyone.” She shrugged. “Elspeth was turning forty, so it was a big party. People brought their spouses and stuff. So Derek and Paul and Tim, and Zana and Bethany brought their husbands, and Renata had some man there. She said he was just a friend. I don’t remember his name.”
“Thank you,” said Dashiell. “Please share any anecdotes you remember whether they seem important or not. Anything to do with Garrett.”
“Okay,” she said.
“His window was open,” I said. “I’m sure you saw that, but it seems odd.”
“Why?” His dark eyes studied me.
“I don’t know. It had no screen in it; all of my windows have screens. I suppose Garrett took it out for some reason, but then why would he leave it open? The room would fill with flying bugs.”
“Hmm,” Dashiell said, writing something down.
My conscience made me say, “And we should confess, we took one thing out of the room.” I looked pointedly at Connie.
Dashiell bristled. “I’m sorry?”
Connie shrugged. “I took a picture of him with his girlfriend. Sora, I think her name is. I want to give it to her.”
The detective stared at her. “You can certainly do so after we’re finished with it. May I see the photograph, please?” His eyes were cold, as was his tone.
Chastened and clearly disappointed in me, Connie went across to her room.
Dashiell rubbed his eyes.
“You must be exhausted, Detective.”
“Just John is fine,” he said. “Or Dash.” He smiled at me briefly and was transformed into the attractive gardener I had chatted with on the lawn. “I’m sorry I had to mislead you.”
“Yeah, about that—”
Connie burst back into the room and handed the photo to Dashiell. It was an innocuous snapshot, taken from a distance, of Garrett and his girlfriend in front of a waterfall; they wore hiking clothes: jeans, T-shirts, sturdy shoes. Their seemingly smiling faces suggested an easy companionship.
Dashiell studied it, flipped it over to inspect the back—I assumed for distinguishing marks—and then took a picture of it with his phone. He then returned it to Connie. “Fine. I’ll add it to my notes; you can pass it on to his girlfriend.”
Connie brightened. “Thanks! I’m sorry I took it without asking. I just—I would want to have it. If I had lost someone . . .” Her innocent look was back, along with the sadness that I had glimpsed on the day I met her.
Dashiell nodded, then stood up. “Thank you, ladies, for your cooperation. I am fairly confident this is the last time we will bother you tonight.”
“Some might suggest that I’m the one who bothered you,” I said, holding up my phone to remind him of my text.
He tucked his notebook in his pocket, then smiled at me. “No bother at all, Nora.”
Hamlet dragged himself to his feet to escort Dashiell to the door. Dashiell half bowed to us and said, “Ladies.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.
Connie turned to me, her jaw dropping. “He is into you!” she said.
“Oh, stop.”
“You stop! Did you see that look he gave you? I got kind of excited by it, and it wasn’t even aimed at me.”
I was glad I hadn’t imagined the warmth in his expression. “He’s just being polite.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. Hamlet chose that moment to thrust his giant snout into her hand, and she giggled. “Ew, his nose is so wet. If he’s up here, that means Derek already let him out. He wants to go to sleep, so I guess I’ll wait until tomorrow to discuss the gardener who is suddenly investigating a murder.”
“I grant you, that is weird.”
“We agree on that, then,” she said, already in the hall with Hamlet at her heels. “Good night, Nora.”
“Good night. Be sure to lock your door.”
She turned, her eyes wide with surprise. “What? Oh, God, you’re right. Someone in this castle killed Garrett. Someone is a murderer.”
“Don’t think about it. Just lock your door and know that Hamlet is guarding you.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Nora. I’m glad you’re here.” She shut her door, and I heard the lock click into place.
I closed and locked my own door and turned to look at my room, formal and elegant as a movie set. I had straightened it up that morning before I went for my walk, and I had noticed that Dashiell’s eyes had flitted around the space before he started asking questions.
I was relieved now that I had made my bed.
6
Castle Contraband
The sun woke me the next morning, shining warm on my face and filling the room with dappled light. I lay for a while, trying to determine how I felt. The horror of yesterday had receded, replaced by sadness for Garrett, his girlfriend, and his family. I pitied Derek, too—hopefully his business would recover after this terrible event. I recalled how passionate he had been at my interview: how lovingly he had spoken of Castle Dark, how handsome and vibrant he had looked when he enumerated the joys of living there.
My thoughts turned to the previous evening: Garrett’s ransacked room, the police tape everywhere, the long questioning sessions.
I got up and padded to the bathroom; I glanced at the mirror and was surprised to see a furtive smile on my face. What had I been thinking about just then? The clock in the washroom said almost eight; I decided to shower and take a walk, and in the process I’d try to “take the temperature” of the crowd, as my high school drama teacher had once said.
Since we wouldn’t be practicing or performing, I went for a casual look. I braided my shower-damp hair and slipped into a white blouse and a pair of jean shorts. I pulled on some white canvas gym shoes and made my way into the hall. There was no sign of Connie or anyone else.
Alone, I descended the giant staircases and made my way into the dining room, where I found Elspeth and Tim eating pancakes. “That looks good,” I said.
“Nora looks better, too,” Elspeth said to Tim. “We were just saying that a sunny Tuesday morning has helped to dispel some of our gloom.” She wore some muted pink lipstick, and in place of a tiara, she had woven some Ophelia-like faux flowers into her long hair.
I went to the sideboard and helped myself to two pancakes and some bacon. Then I slathered on some syrup, grabbed a pat of butter, and joined them at the table.
“Coffee?” Elspeth asked, lifting the carafe.
“Please.” She poured me a cup, and I watched the fragrant steam rise. “Thanks, Elspeth. It’s still hard to believe, isn’t it? Like we’re inside of one of our own scripts.”
Elspeth traced a pattern on the tablecloth, her expression thoughtful. “I still remember doing his makeup yesterday. He didn’t seem tense at all, just friendly and smiling as always. He said he was impressed by my artistry.”
“Garrett was a class act,” Tim said. “I was actually in a couple of his drama classes at West Vale High School back home.”
“What?” Elspeth said, sitting up straight. “You never told us that.”
Tim’s face reddened. “No. I never told Garrett, either.”
We stared at him, and he said, “It was clear, when I got the job, that he didn’t know me. I should have just said up front, ‘Hey, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Tim Jenson. I took your classes at Vale.’ But it was awkward, him not remembering, so I didn’t say anything. And then the longer I waited, the weirder it would have seemed to bring it up. So I never did.” He looked down at the class ring he wore on his right hand, with a square blue stone. “Apparently he never noticed this, either.”
I swirled my pancakes in some syrup, avoiding eye contact. “I guess it makes sense that you didn’t tell.”
Elspeth said, “Yeah. It’s a shame, though. I think he would have liked knowing you were a former student.”
“I know,” Tim said. He raked a hand through his thick blond hair and looked earnest. “I guess I always thought I’d bring it up sometime soon.”
I made a show of enthusiasm about my food so that I wouldn’t have to comment. Why would Tim mention his connection now, the day after Garrett’s death? If he had kept it secret for two years, what was the point of bringing it up at all? Then again, what did it matter? Tim was the one person who clearly had not killed Garrett.
“Is there any sort of plan for today, or are we on our own?” I asked.
“Derek said we can do our own thing, but that we can’t leave town,” Tim said.
“I assume that last part came from the police,” Elspeth added, playing with one of the flowers in her hair.
“Are they still here?” I asked, surprised.
Tim scowled. “Some of them. Others left with promises to return. I hope they’re finished soon.”
Elspeth nodded. “Of all the places to have cordoned off as a crime scene, our sweet little chapel!”
I finished wolfing my food and took a few more sips of coffee. Then I stood up, gathered my dishes, and carried them to the rinse bowl next to the sideboard. “I think I’ll take a walk,” I said. “Get rid of some of this tension.”
“Already a little hot out,” Elspeth said.
“Better to go in the morning, then.” I lifted a hand in farewell. “See you later.”
They both waved back, looking suddenly rather listless.
I went out of the entrance nearest the kitchen, an unobtrusive door flanked by flower beds.
Something glinted in the grass to the left of the walkway; I moved closer and saw a jagged shard of glass, perhaps four inches long. I picked it up and scanned for any other pieces. I saw no more glass, but did find a piece of what looked like hammered silver, flat and pretty, but also jagged and broken. “Yikes,” I said. I had nothing to put them in, so I turned and set them on the windowsill. I could grab them when I returned.
