Crimson Twilight (6 page)

Just like Jane’s.

There was something in the angle of the features. It was true. Jane bore a resemblance to the woman who’d lived more than a century before her birth.

“Do you have roots up here? Maybe you’re a long lost cousin,” Emil teased.

Jane shook her head. “My family members were in Texas back when people were exclaiming ‘Remember the Alamo!’ I’ve no relatives in this region. It’s just a fluke.”

“But an interesting one,” Roth said. “So, what would you like to see next?”

“Where is Elizabeth buried?” Sloan asked. “And, for that matter, her fiancé, John McCawley.”

“I understand he never actually became family so he has no painting in the castle,” Jane said. “But surely they buried the poor fellow.”

“Absolutely. Out to the rear, at the rise to the highest cliff. They’re both in the chapel.”

“I think I’d like to pay them tribute,” Jane said.

“If you wish,” Roth said. Smiling, he turned to lead the way out of the castle. “Although, I will warn you.”

“What’s that?” Sloan asked.

“On a day like today, with a fog settling over the graves, people have been known to see ghosts wandering about.”

Sloan looked at Jane. “That’s okay. We’ll take our chances.”

Chapter 4

The old chapel had been brought over to the States from Wales, Roth explained as they left via the rear, out through the kitchen’s delivery doors.

Jane was curious that he had chosen to leave by this route. If she remembered right, there were other exits, more elegantly designed, leading to the wilds of the rear and the cliffs that overlooked the sea.

Chef and his two cooks were no longer sitting at the table imbibing in coffee and Jameson’s, she noted as they went through. They were all busy at some kind of prep work. She assumed that the employees ate dinner at the castle as well since they didn’t need that much prep for four guests and the master of the house, who they hadn’t expected to be there anyway.

Chef Bo looked up from his work at a saucepan and acknowledged Roth and stared broodingly at the others as they went through.

His two assistants just watched.

“There’s another way out as well. The two arches at the end of the Great Hall lead to smaller halls that bypass this area,” Roth explained. “And there’s a servants stairway back there, too. I just thought it would be fun to see what was going on in the kitchen.”

He was almost like a child who knew that he was in charge, and was yet surprised by it and curious as to his effect on others.

“Smells divine!” he called as they passed.

Three “thank yous” followed his words.

There was a large doorway under a sheltered porte-cochère when they stepped outside. Most likely, parking for large delivery trucks. They walked around one of the walls and were in the back. An open-air patio, set on stone, offered amazing views of the Atlantic Ocean. A light fog swirled in a breeze and seemed in magical motion, barely there. A fireplace, stocked with dry logs, remained ready for those who came out to enjoy the view when it was cool, and Jane imagined they might hold barbecues out there too. Bracken grew around the patio with wild flowers in beautiful colors. Other than the patio and the chairs, if one stood on the cliff and looked out or up at the rise of the castle walls, they might have been in a distant land and in a different time.

But Jane looked to her right.

At the base of a little cliff that rose to another wild and jagged height, was the chapel. It was surrounded by a low stone wall. Within the wall were numerous graves and plots. The chapel had been built in the Norman style with great rising A-line arches and a medieval design. Two giant gargoyles sat over the double wooden doors that led inside.

“Sometimes,” Roth said, “I do feel just a bit like a medieval lord. Pity it’s far too small and dangerous here for a joust.”

“It’s really lovely,” Jane said.

“Yes, and I’m a lucky man,” Roth said. “Primogeniture and all. The oldest son gets everything. Of course, in my case, I was the only child. If I do have children, I’ll change things, that’s for sure.”

Somewhat surprised, Jane looked at Sloan.

Was that for real? If so, he seemed like a pretty decent guy.

She smiled.

There was that wonderful part of their relationship that seemed like an added boon. The ability to look at one another and know that they shared a thought.

“Shall we head toward the chapel?” Roth asked.

He stood a bit down on a slant from them. He wasn’t really that small a man, probably about six feet even. But Sloan seemed to tower over him. Jane was five-nine and in flats, but with his Renaissance-poet look, Roth somehow seemed delicate and fragile.

“Thanks. We’d love to see it,” Sloan said.

They followed him to the stone wall. There was a gate in the center and a path that led to the chapel. The gate wasn’t locked. It swung in easily at Roth’s touch and they followed him. He kept on the stone path and headed directly to the chapel where the door was also unlocked.

“You’re not worried about break-ins of any kind?” Sloan asked him.

“Maybe I should be. I guess people do destroy things sometimes just for fun. But Mr. Green is always at his place. He hears anything that goes on. He only looks old. Trust me, he’s deceptively spry. Caught me by the ears a few times when I was a kid. Guests here are welcome to use the chapel and the only way up here is by the road, so I guess it was just never kept locked. Progress, though. Maybe I’ll have to in the future. It’s really kind of a cool place. You’ll see. Simple and nice.”

It was indeed. Tiffany windows displayed the fourteen Stations of the Cross along the side walls, each with its own recessed altar. The high arches were clean and simple and there were five small pews set before the main altar. A large marble cross rose behind the altar.

“Actually, there’s a time capsule in here,” Roth told him. “Emil, who brought the castle over, is under the main altar with his wife. Their children are scattered along the sides. Sometimes, of course, the daughters moved away, but there are a good fifty people buried or entombed just in the chapel. But you want our own Roth family Romeo and Juliet. Over there—first altar. Come on.”

His footsteps made a strange sound as he hurried along the stone floor. Sloan and Jane followed. There were six altar niches along each side of the structure. Someone had obviously been a stickler for symmetry. The first, closest to the main altar, had a window that depicted Judas’s betrayal of Christ. The altar beneath it was adorned with a large silver cross. On exact angles from the prayer bench below the altar were two marble sarcophagi or tombs. One was etched simply with a name. John McCawley. The other bore just a first name. Elizabeth. Beneath her name was a tribute.
Daughter; the rose of our lives, plucked far too swift, and we left in life, adrift. In Spring she lived, in Spring she remains. There ’til our own sweet release, ’til this life on earth for all shall cease. Beloved child, we’ll meet again, where sorrows end and souls remain.

“It sounds as if she was deeply mourned,” Jane said.

“They say that her father was never the same. He lived as if he’d welcome death every day.”

“It’s amazing he didn’t fall apart completely and lose everything. But, then, of course, she had a brother. Your great-great-great—however many greats—grandfather,” Sloan said.

Emil laughed. “It was my great, great, great grandfather. And he apparently had a wonderful friend as an overseer who’d studied at Harvard. He kept the place going. So this is it. What else can I show you? I mean, you’re guests. You’re free to wander as you choose. And, of course, this was horribly tragic, but you were supposed to be married today. We’ll do anything we can. If you want—”

“We’re just fine,” Jane said quickly. “Will you be joining us at dinner?”

Roth seemed pleased, as if she were giving him an invitation rather than asking a question.

“I’d be delighted. Much better than eating alone,” he said.

“Chef seems busy. Don’t others eat here as well?” Jane asked.

“They do. But when I’m here, I just wind up eating in my room,” he told him. “And, actually, I have some e-mails to answer. Anything else, just knock on my door.”

“We’ll wander here for a minute, if it’s all right,” Sloan told him.

“My house is your house,” Roth told them with a grin.

He left them.

When he was gone, Jane looked at Sloan and asked, “Anything?”

“Quiet as—a tomb. No pun intended, of course.”

She grimaced at him and headed to the grave of Elizabeth Roth. She set her hand on the tomb, trying to feel something of the young woman who had lived such a short and tragic life. But all she felt was cold stone.

Sloan watched her.

She shrugged. “Nothing. But I can’t help but feel that somehow, what’s happened now, with Cally Thorpe and Reverend MacDonald, has something to do with the past.”

“You really think it’s possible that a ghost pushed them both down the stairs?” Sloan asked her, frowning.

“It’s not something that we’ve ever seen. So, no, I don’t. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all related.”

“Why?” Sloan asked.

She smiled. “I guess that’s what we have to figure out.”

“Let’s walk to the room,” Sloan said. “Maybe Kelsey and Logan are back and have come up with something.” He reached out and took her hand. “I love you.”

She nodded. “I’m not worried about our lives. I’m just sorry that Marty MacDonald is dead.”

“If we can stop something from happening in the future, at least he won’t have died in vain.”

“Let’s head up,” she said.

* * * *

“There’s no dirt to be found on the Reverend MacDonald,” Kelsey announced. “His church is being draped in mourning, his deacon has sent for an emergency cover priest to take care of Sunday services. There are no allegations of his ever being flirtatious, too close to the children, or involved in any kind of scandal. But we have more reason to think it was just an accident.”

“Oh?” Sloan said.

He was always amazed by the Krewe’s ability to find whatever was needed to make their work go smoothly.

The bridal suite—Elizabeth Roth’s room—actually consisted of a drawing room or outer area, the bedroom itself, two large dressing rooms, and these days, a small kitchenette area. Kelsey had managed to get hold of a work board. With erasable markers, she’d already started lists of what they knew and what they had learned. Staring at lists sometimes showed them what went with some other piece of information in another column. They were gathered in the drawing room, Sloan and Jane curled on the loveseat together, Kelsey at her board, and Logan thoughtful as he straddled a chair and looked at the board.

“Why should we be more prone to think that it was an accident?” Sloan asked.

“I spoke with the reverend’s deacon. He’s been battling a heart condition for a long time. It’s possible he suffered a minor heart attack and fell,” Kelsey said.

“Maybe the M.E. will be able to tell us more from the autopsy. Anything from your end, Logan?” Sloan asked.

“The reverend was well liked. No hint of improprieties or anything along that line,” Logan said. “People were sad. But many of his friends did think he was a walking time bomb. Apparently, a lot of people knew about his condition. And he liked pastries. A woman in the bakery told me that she’d designed a whole line of sugar-free desserts to help him keep his weight down.”

“Okay. No one out to get the reverend.” Kelsey wrote on the board.

“Both Elizabeth and John McCawley are entombed in the chapel,” Jane volunteered. “Along with the rest of the family.”

“The caretaker, Mr. Green, sees the ghosts all the time,” Sloan said.

“But I don’t believe a ghost is doing this,” Jane said flatly. “From what I’ve heard, both Elizabeth and John McCawley were good people—deeply in love. I do, however, have a suspicion that John’s death wasn’t accidental.”

They were all silent.

Kelsey frowned and looked at Sloan.

Sloan spoke to Jane at last. “I don’t know if we’ll ever have an answer to that. Even if we were to meet their ghosts, they might not have known themselves. What we need to figure out is if someone is killing people here now, in the present, and stop them from killing anyone else.”

“Of course,” Jane said. She rose, stretched, and walked over to the board. “Personally, I find our young host to be interesting.”

“You think that Emil Roth pushed the reverend down the stairs?” Kelsey asked.

“No, and I’m not sure why not. Except that he doesn’t seem to be into a lot of family rot. He doesn’t see himself as some kind of a lord of the castle. He’s young and rich and spoiled, and I think he knows it. I’m not even sure that he likes the castle. He definitely doesn’t like Mrs. Avery. He has to keep her here, though. It was part of his father’s will. She’s a distant relative.”

“Ah, the plot thickens,” Logan said dryly. “But why would she kill people?”

“To keep the ghost legend going? Maybe she wants some of the television ghost hunters to come in here. Great publicity for the place,” Jane suggested.

“Logan,” Sloan said, “let’s call the home office and get someone there checking into financials for this place. As far as I can tell, the Roth family has more than Emil could spend in a lifetime, even if he tried wasting every cent of it.”

“There’s no reason for the man to have killed a minister,” Kelsey said.

“Or anyone, really,” Sloan noted. “But, we’ll get a financial check done on the family and make sure. So, anyone get any dirt on the people living here?”

“Not yet. Observation may help,” Sloan said. “We’ll be dining with the master of the house, and I believe dinner is at six.”

“Ah, yes, the wedding feast.” Jane murmured.

“We can still—” Sloan began.

“No, we can’t!” Jane said quickly. “The wedding feast will be fine, without the wedding.”

“Okay, so, just take note here. We have a list of everyone in the house or on the grounds at the time of Reverend MacDonald’s death. We’ve decided that the reverend had no outside enemies. We don’t believe Emil Roth is involved, but we’ll keep looking. According to what we learned about Reverend MacDonald, it really seems likely that it was a tragic accident,” Kelsey said.