What a Ghoul Wants (24 page)

I snuck a look at Heath to see if maybe he felt the man, but Heath looked at me and
shook his head. “He’s not around,” he mouthed.

I thought that Lumley must be right; his dad really was a jerk not to want to make
contact through one of us to talk to his son.

“We still don’t understand why you asked us here,” Heath said next.

Lumley loosened his tie. “Yes, quite right. You see, my brother’s death was just one
of several that have taken place at the castle in the past forty years.”

“One of several?” I repeated. “How many are we talking about, Inspector?”

“Not including the three most recent victims, a total of nine, Miss Holliday. All
of them ruled accidental, and all of them found drowned in the moat.”

Nine deaths over forty years? That was quite a lot for one remote castle in the north
of Wales. And now there were three more to add.

“You’re suspicious of the number and manner of deaths,” I guessed.

“Most suspicious,” he said. “Especially of my brother’s drowning. And my brother was
suspicious too. As I said, he always found Kidwellah fascinating. He was drawn to
it in a way I couldn’t always understand, and I believe he discovered the great coincidence
between these victims, namely, that they were all on holiday at the castle, all male,
and all drowned at night. I believe it was the discovery of this similarity among
the victims that caused him to open an investigation, and that is what led to his
death.”

“In other words, you may have a sixty-year-old serial killer on your hands,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he replied with a shrug. “Or it may be a father-and-son team. I can’t rule
any theory out, no matter how implausible.”

“So you don’t believe the Grim Widow is solely responsible,” Heath said. “Even though
she attacked and nearly drowned me.”

The inspector stared at Heath for a long time without answering, and when he finally
did, he was careful to be as tactful as possible. “I do believe you when you say the
Widow attacked you, Mr. Whitefeather. Miss Holliday and my own constable verify your
account, but I cannot believe that all nine of these victims died as a result of some
ghost. And certainly Merrick Brown and André Lefebvre were helped along in their demise.
No, something else is at the root of these deaths, and I mean to discover what that
is.”

“How do we play into this?” I asked, and when the inspector’s eyes swiveled to me,
I added, “I’m assuming this is why you asked us here, Inspector, to discuss how we
may be able to help you in your investigations?”

The inspector’s mouth quirked at the edges. “You’re a most insightful woman, Miss
Holliday. And you are correct. I do need your help. As you’ve personally had several
spiritual encounters with the most recent victims, I’m hoping that you might encourage
one of them to tell you who is the person responsible for their deaths. The Widow
aside of course.”

“That’s a bit of a tall order, sir,” Heath said, and explained several of the issues
involved, including the fact that ghosts didn’t always remember their own deaths,
and the fact that the Widow seemed to be controlling their appearances to us.

“Still,” the inspector pressed, “I would appreciate any assistance I might prevail
upon you and your special abilities to offer.”

“I have a question,” I said, thinking suddenly of something that should have been
obvious.

“Yes?” Lumley asked.

“How is it that the castle is still open? I mean, you’d think that at least one of
the victims’ families would have sued the owner of the castle into ruin by now.”

The inspector actually laughed.

“You Americans,” he said. “So ready to take up the legal battle! We Brits are far
less litigious. Our courts aren’t nearly so inviting of such things. But I do in part
agree with you; it is curious that not one of the families has sought a claim against
the dowager.”

“The dowager?” I asked. “Who’s that?”

“Lady Lydia Hathaway,” the inspector said. “Kidwellah has belonged to her family for
the past several centuries. Her father, Sir Robert Mortimer, fell into some financial
difficulty after the war and nearly lost the place to creditors. He was the one who
turned it into a hotel and left it for his daughter as part of her dowry.”

“They still have that?” Heath asked.

“Indeed,” the inspector told him. “Lady Lydia has ruled over Kidwellah and most of
Penbigh ever since her husband’s fatal hunting accident some fifty years ago.”

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Well into her seventies by now,” the inspector said.

“It seems like Kidwellah is a hazard,” I said next. “Why not shut it down?”

The inspector sighed. “I’ve spoken to the dowager several times about draining the
moat or closing Kidwellah’s doors in light of these ‘accidents,’” he said, using air
quotes, “but she steadfastly refuses, claiming that would be far too costly for her,
as she depends on the income from Kidwellah to pay her taxes. And, as long as she
wields the power in Penbigh, I’m afraid Kidwellah will continue to host the unsuspecting
tourist.”

“But in light of these most recent deaths, how can she ignore the obvious?” I pressed.

“You would be quite surprised what the landed gentry can ignore, Miss Holliday,” he
replied with a frown. “Especially when it comes to money.”

From upstairs there was a thump, like a chair toppling over and hitting the floor,
and we all jumped. Lumley was on his feet in an instant.

“Jasper!” came a croaky female voice.
“Jasper!”

“Excuse me,” Lumley said, darting off toward the stairs.

He made it up about five steps when we saw something small come hurtling down the
stairs and Lumley had to duck to the side. “Where is my cocktail!” that croaky voice
demanded.

“Mother,” Lumley said firmly. “You’ve had quite enough and it’s time for bed.”

“I want my cocktail!” she yelled at him. Heath and I were both leaning way out in
our seats looking toward the stairs, but all we could see was Lumley from the waist
down. “You had no right to take it from me!”

“Mother,” Lumley said, climbing to the top of the staircase, where it sounded like
a slight struggle took place.

“Get your hands off me, young man!” she cried. “And give me back my gin! It was mine!
Bought with my own money and you’ve no right to it!”

Her words were slurred and her voice ragged, as if she’d been yelling quite a bit
recently. “Come along, Mother,” Lumley coaxed, his own voice strained.

“You’re just like your father!” she spat. “He took my things too! And look where it
got him!”

She said that last part with an evil laugh and I turned my head to Heath and mouthed,
“Wow!”

He nodded. For the record, we both have screwed-up family histories, but not
that
screwed-up.

The struggle at the top of the stairs continued and finally moved off to another part
of the second story, where more things sounded like they were being thrown about.
I wanted to be anywhere but there, and judging by the look on Heath’s face, he did
too.

“Should we go?” I asked him.

“Lumley drove,” he reminded me.

“Yeah, but the castle’s not far from here. If we stick to the road it’d only take
us an hour at most to get back to the castle.”

He didn’t have time to reply because in the next moment a door slammed and Lumley
came hurrying back down the stairs. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, his face red with
embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” I assured him, hoping I sounded sincere.

“Mother has been doing so well lately, but tonight somehow she laid her hands on a
bottle of gin.”

“It’s really okay,” I repeated, and now I felt bad for wanting to run out on him.
“Lots of families struggle with addiction.”

“I’ve called you a taxi,” Lumley said next, avoiding looking directly at us. “I must
apologize for not being able to take you back to the castle myself, but I think I
should stay here with Mother.”

“Of course,” I said, and next to me Heath nodded. And then we all fell into an uncomfortable
silence until the cab came.

“We’ll let you know if we get anything from any of the ghosts we encounter,” Heath
promised on our way out. He was probably also feeling bad about being there to witness
the poor inspector deal with his alcoholic mother.

Chapter 10

The next morning Heath and I were up early. We had breakfast in the dining hall, which
was practically empty except for Franco, the model I’d seen kissing Mr. Lefebvre.
I wondered if Gilley had taken my advice and showed Inspector Lumley the calls to
Lefebvre that Franco made on Gil’s cell phone. That would explain why he was still
here, as all the other models had long since departed once they learned of the fashion
designer’s demise. As I was wondering about all of this, Inspector Lumley walked in
with Constable Bancroft, and they motioned for Franco to follow them.

“Wonder what that was about?” Heath said.

We learned just a short time later when both Gilley and Michel came hurrying into
the dining room to tell us that Franco had been arrested for Mr. Lefebvre’s murder.

Heath and I both sat forward with interest.

“I showed Lumley the calls Franco made from my phone,” Gil said, clearly a little
guilt-ridden about that. “It didn’t help that he had absolutely no alibi beyond midnight,”
Gil added. “And he admitted to Lumley that he called André, asking to meet, but he
claims that André never showed. and Franco fell asleep waiting for him.”

“How do you know all that?” I asked.

Gil lightly tapped the floor with his toe. “We overheard him talking to Lumley in
the parlor.”

“Where did Franco say he was supposed to meet Lefebvre?” Heath asked.

“Their secret place,” Gil said. “Whatever that means. Franco insists it was on the
castle’s grounds.”

“I know where it is,” I said, and everyone eyed me with surprise. “I saw Franco and
Lefebvre making out in a corner of the courtyard partially hidden by foliage, but
I don’t know if I believe that he was asleep and missed the drawbridge being pulled
up.”

Gil shrugged. “Franco claims he didn’t wake up until the police began to swarm into
the courtyard from the watchtower.”

I pursed my lips skeptically. “Convenient,” I said.

“Too convenient,” Heath added.

Still, I wasn’t sure that I was willing to accept Franco as the killer. For one thing,
the model didn’t look smart enough to dismantle a drawbridge and plot a fairly sophisticated
murder.

But Gil had more to share. “Lumley also showed Franco a statement from Mrs. Lefebvre
swearing that Franco was trying to extort money from her husband. She gave him an
e-mail from Franco to André where Franco supposedly tried to blackmail André, and
Mrs. Lefebvre thinks that Franco killed André because André wouldn’t pay up.”

“It can’t be true,” Michel said, obviously distressed. “Franco would never kill André.
He doesn’t have the backbone or the stomach for something like that. And really the
lad is quite daft. I can’t see him killing André, and then coming up with such a bloody
awful alibi.”

“He had the stomach and brains to try and blackmail Lefebvre,” Heath pointed out.

Michel’s frown deepened. “Perhaps. But I know he didn’t do it,” he insisted.

“Everything points to him, though,” Gilley said gently. He was sweet with Michel,
a sure sign that my best friend was developing a serious crush on him. “The last person
who saw Franco was Gopher and the girls at between twelve and twelve fifteen, and
according to the inspector, André was murdered close to that time.”

“It could have been Mrs. Lefebvre,” I said. I agreed with Michel. Something didn’t
fit.

But Gil was already shaking his head. “That’s what Franco said when Lumley and the
constable were questioning him, but Lumley wasn’t buying it for two reasons: One,
the coroner said that whoever cracked André on the back of the head had to be pretty
strong—the skull fracture extended almost the entire length of his head—so they’re
thinking the wound had to be inflicted by a male. And the second reason is that Mrs.
Lefebvre has rheumatoid arthritis, and she can’t lift anything heavier than a pencil
above her head.”

“But what about the other two murders here?” I asked. “Does Lumley also suspect Franco
of committing them?”

“As it happens, he does,” Gil replied. “He’s got no proof linking Franco to those
murders yet, but Franco doesn’t have an alibi for the time they were committed either.
Lumley thinks that it can’t be a coincidence that three people were murdered here
at Kidwellah in quick succession and in a similar fashion.”

I turned to Heath. “You buying this?”

“After what Lumley told us last night of similar murders over the past forty years?
No.”

“Similar murders?” Michel asked.

“There have been several other suspicious drownings here at Kidwellah over the past
four decades,” I explained. “Last night Lumley told us he suspected he may have a
serial killer or killers on the loose here at Kidwellah. He even theorized that there
could be a father-son team involved because of the span of time.”

“Oh,
that’s
what he meant when he asked Franco if his father had been released from prison yet,”
Gilley said.

Michel blanched and I knew he had details to share. “What?” I asked him.

“Franco and I were together briefly, until we arrived here and I realized he really
had a thing for André and he was just using me to make him jealous. But during the
time we were together, Franco confessed that his father was doing time for murder.
He’s been in prison ever since Franco was fourteen.”

“The plot thickens,” Heath muttered.

“He didn’t do it,” Michel insisted.

I felt bad for Michel. I knew that even though Franco had used Michel, it was obvious
the photographer still carried a soft spot for the model. “You know, Michel,” I said
to him, “Heath and I have talked at length with Inspector Lumley, and I like him.
I think he’s smart and capable of uncovering the whole truth. If Franco is innocent,
I think his best chance is to have Lumley try and find enough evidence to prove it,
and in doing that, I think the inspector will uncover what actually happened to Mr.
Lefebvre.”

“You two could ask his spirit, couldn’t you?” Michel asked, pointing to Heath and
me.

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “We tried asking Mrs. Hollingsworth’s ghost what
happened to her right before she died, and she wasn’t very cooperative. It’s tricky,
Michel, because the Grim Widow is also involved. Right now Lefebvre is being held
prisoner by the Widow, and Heath and I don’t know how that’s even possible, let alone
how to go about freeing him from her clutches long enough to ask him about who might’ve
struck him on the head.”

“I know how it’s possible,” Gil said smugly.

I cut him a look. “And you were gong to share this, when?”

“Right now,” he said, and smiled at Michel.

“We’re waiting,” I told him when he didn’t get right to it.

Gil turned back to me. “I called Ray Fairfield in Newark.”

“Really?” I said, surprised to hear the name. Ray was a legend in the field of paranormal
investigation. The guy had seen things and encountered stuff that made all the hairs
on my neck stand on end. I think he’s the only guy, in fact, who’s had more scary
encounters than me. “What’d he say?”

“He says that it’s super rare, but he has heard of one ghost capturing the spirit
of another. Basically, he thinks that your Grim Widow has signed a deal with the devil,
so to speak.”

“Not literally, though, right?” I asked. Even I’m afraid of stuff like that.

“Well, maybe not
the
head honcho of Hades, but Ray thinks that your spook has agreed to keep her portal
open as a gate for a powerful demon.”

“The shadow,” I whispered, remembering that horrible black shadow that chased John
through the halls.

“Yeah,” Gil said with a shudder. “John told me about that thing. I’m glad I wasn’t
with you when it came out of hiding.”

“Okay, so what does making a deal with a demon get the Widow?” Heath asked.

“Power,” Gil replied. “Ray thinks that the demon is providing all the extra wattage
for the Widow to throttle anyone willing to get close to her. . . like you two fools. . .
and capture the souls of anyone she kills.”

“But we don’t think she killed Merrick or André Lefebvre, so how did she capture their
souls?” I asked.

“Oh, she still could’ve killed them,” Gil said. “If both of them were incapacitated
before they were thrown into the moat, then all she’d have to do is grab an arm or
a leg and pull them under until they drowned.”

“But I thought Lefebvre died of the blow to the back of the head?” Heath pressed.

“Nope,” Gilley said, and I could tell he was enjoying knowing so much more than us
at the moment. “According to the conversation Lumley had with Franco, Lefebvre was
hit hard enough for the blow to be mortal, but not instantly fatal. The actual cause
of death was drowning, and Lumley wants to make sure that when the case goes to trial,
the jury knows that even though Lefebvre was cracked on the skull, he still could
have been conscious enough to suffer while he drowned.”

Heath made a small noise and I glanced his way. His hand was rubbing his chest and
I knew he was remembering his own painful near-death experience.

Still, there was something about how the Widow’s prisoners were chained to her that
bothered me. “Did Ray have any theories on why the Widow’s captives were all wearing
a collar and chain?”

“Ray says he’s seen something similar. He once saw a spook being dragged by the neck
by another, more powerful spook with a length of rope. He thinks the collar and the
chain are simply manifestations of the Widow’s power. It’s like, you know how on the
lower planes everything is driven by thought, right?”

“Yeah,” said Heath.

“Well, if the Widow convinces a newly made ghost that she’s taking them prisoner,
then all she has to do is
think
up a chain and a collar to put around their necks and they actually become a physical
part of that newly grounded ghost’s world.”

“It’s like she’s an evil genie,” I said. “She just snaps her fingers and she’s got
you in chains.”

“Exactly,” Gilley agreed. “To Lefebvre and Brown that collar and chain are very real.
They could no more break free of them than if I put a real one on you. It’s all about
dominance. If she’s really sucking energy from a demon, then she’s got the power to
keep them in chains for eternity.”

We were all silent for several moments while we digested the horrors of
that
. Finally I asked, “Did Ray have any ideas about how to free the Widow’s prisoners?”

He shook his head. “You know Ray. He told me to tell you to block up her portal if
you can, and say a prayer for the poor bastards locked in with her. They’ll be stuck
in hell with the Widow forever, but it beats having her run loose among other possibly
innocent victims.” I stared hard at Gil and he simply shrugged. “His words, M. J.,
not mine.”

“We’re not shutting them in her portal without at least trying to set them free.”

“It might help to know who she’s got trapped in there,” Heath said. “Maybe if we can
surround her portal and call out personally to as many of her victims as we can, we’ll
be able to get them to make a run for it. If we can get enough of them to bolt, she’ll
have a hard time holding on to all those chains, and maybe we can get them to just
this side of the portal right before we jam a few dozen spikes into it.”

“Suicide,” Gil said to him with a shake of his head. “Seriously, honey, that plan
will get you killed.”

I sighed. “We have to find the Widow’s portal first, which may be just as difficult
as shutting it down. Still, I think Heath’s right and that we should do a little digging
into who the victims were. Gil, there has to be a list of the poor souls found floating
in the moat somewhere, and if there is or was a serial killer offering up sacrifices
to the Grim Widow, then knowing who the victims are may be of some use to us. Lumley
told us that besides Lefebvre, Merrick, and Mrs. Hollingsworth, there were nine other
suspicious drownings here at the castle over the past forty years.”

“More research,” Gil grumbled.

“I only ask because you’re so good at it.”

Gil made a face, but I could see he was secretly pleased that I’d complimented him
in front of Michel.

At that moment Meg, Kim, and John all came into the dining hall and took up seats
at our table. Once Mary had taken their breakfast orders, we got down to the business
of discussing that evening’s shoot.

“Where’s our illustrious producer?” I asked.

“On the phone with Chris,” John said. “By the sound of their conversation, it’s probably
gonna be a long one. Chris wasn’t happy that our shoot last night got postponed.”

My jaw dropped. “A woman was murdered and the police were here most of the night investigating!”

John shrugged. “Chris doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason.”

I scowled. I was really starting to hate that guy. “Well, I’d rather not wait for
Gopher. Besides, we all know he’s not great with prep work assignments. The seven
of us can handle it.” I pulled out my iPhone and lit up the notes screen where I’d
typed out all the details we’d have to cover. “First,” I said, “we’re going to need
to get the entire crew outfitted with Gilley sweatshirts. I don’t want anyone walking
around the castle or the moors without being fully protected.”

“Even you two?” Kim asked, pointing to me and Heath.

“Yes. Even the two of us. This Grim Widow is crazy powerful. She appears in full form
to us every time she’s around. That takes amazing energy. She’s also physically powerful
enough to have nearly drowned Heath.”

“She’s at least twice as strong as me,” Heath confirmed, and I watched everyone at
the table stare at Heath for a good few seconds, taking that in. He’s no wimp, that’s
for sure, and it had to be astonishing to believe he’d been overpowered by a ghost.

“This spook is beyond dangerous, guys,” I said. “I know we all really need the money,
but I have to warn you, whatever is going on in this castle, the Widow’s ghost has
been stirred up and she’s definitely on the prowl for more victims. If she pulls any
of you into the water, there won’t be much we can do. And those magnets won’t be a
lot of help to you if you end up in the moat. She can just let the cold water and
the weight of your clothing make your limbs too weak to function.”