What a Ghoul Wants (32 page)

“Em!”
I heard Heath shout.

I shook my head and got back up; moving quickly to the rope again, I sliced and pulled
faster than ever. “Cut, you bastard! Cut!”

“We’re getting close!” Lumley shouted.

“Al-most. . . there!” I yelled back as I pressed hard on the knife to cut the last
few strands. With a jolt the rope came free and I went sailing backward, landing on
my back and striking my head again. “Dammit!” I swore. I’d get a concussion out of
this for sure. Rolling to my side, I got to all fours and looked back at Heath and
Lumley. Each of them had an oar and they were heaving as fast as they could while
trying to keep in rhythm with each other. We sped backward through the water and away
from the cavern and the stairs, but we still had to get across the moat.

Taking a risk, I shrugged out of my vest and moved up close to Heath’s and Lumley’s
feet, where I gathered the other two vests and made a magnetic quilt right underneath
us. I huddled low and hoped all that magnetic interference would dissuade the Widow
from using her energy to make us miserable by pounding on the underside.

The trick seemed to work because we made it back across the moat without further incident
and both Heath and Lumley were soaked through with sweat from the exertion. When Lumley
paused because he was having a hard time catching his breath, Heath grabbed the oar
and used both to propel us up onto the rocky ground. I jumped out first and held the
boat steady while the boys wearily got to their feet and stumbled out. Once they were
back on dry land again, both of them sank to the ground and lay there panting.

At last Lumley sat up and eyed me curiously. “How did you know?” he asked.

“About your father, Clarence?” I guessed.

He nodded.

“Some things you just know, Inspector. The question is, who killed him, and what the
hell was he doing snooping around a secret entrance to the south wing thirty-five
years ago?”

Chapter 14

The answer to my question came shortly after we returned from our harrowing experience.
Bypassing our producer—whose first question to us was “Did you get anything good on
film?”—I made a beeline for the war room and hoped that Gilley and Michel would be
back. Luck was with me, as immediately after entering the dining hall (being trailed
by Gopher, Heath, and Lumley), I discovered Gil and Michel there. Just as I got their
attention, Gopher’s cell phone went off. “It’s Chris,” he said, retreating back out
the door to give the update of our progress to Chris in private.

“Thank God,” I muttered as I watched him walk away.

Heath laughed softly next to me. “In my next contract I want a clause that says that
I can punch Gopher in the arm every time he annoys us.”

“He’d never be able to lift his arm again,” I said, focusing on Gil, whose expression
told me that he had a whole lot of good intel to share. However, the minute he saw
that the inspector was with us, he seemed to lose his enthusiasm. “It’s okay,” I told
him, already knowing what he might’ve discovered. “The inspector knows.”

“He does?” Gil asked.

“Knows what?” Michel said.

“That the ghost we ran into out on the moors last night was the spirit of Inspector
Lumley’s father,” I replied. I eyed Lumley, who appeared dazed—likely as much by our
narrow escape from the Widow as by the discovery of his father’s remains within the
hidden section of the castle.

“So it’s okay to tell you what I found out in front of him?” Gil asked.

I looked again at the inspector, and he nodded. “What’ve you got, Gil?” I said.

“Well!” Gil began, motioning for us to take a seat at the table while he went through
his notes. “When you said to look up Clarence Lumley, I thought I wasn’t gonna come
up with much, but as it turns out, there’s a bunch of local news stories related to
his disappearance thirty-four years ago.”

“I never knew he disappeared here in Penbigh,” the inspector said. “Mother has been
light on the details of his departure. She would only say that he came home late one
night drunk, after having spent the evening in a pub, and they had a terrible row,
after which he stormed out and was never seen again.”

Gilley was nodding his head like he knew all that. “There’s an article in the newspaper
archives that quotes her as saying almost exactly that. The odd thing, according to
the reporter, was that no one remembers seeing your dad in a pub that night. In fact,
no one remembers seeing him past five o’clock when he left his office.”

I turned to Lumley, wondering what had led his father to the castle in the first place.
“What was your father’s job, Inspector?”

“He was an accountant,” Lumley said. “He worked for Inland Revenue.”

“Inland Revenue?” Heath repeated. “Is that like the IRS?”

“Yes,” Lumley replied. “It’s now called Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, but back
then, Inland Revenue was responsible for collecting the national income tax for all
British citizens.”

Gil was bouncing on the balls of his feet and I knew he had more to share. “What else
did you find?” I asked him.

He grinned. “Your dad wasn’t just an accountant, Inspector—he was a special investigator
with the IR, and at the time of his disappearance, he was assigned to investigate
the current dowager countess. Apparently, there were some discrepancies in the amount
of income Lady Lydia claimed to be making off Kidwellah.”

I sat back in my chair as all the pieces began sliding into place, my theory taking
real shape now. “Inspector?”

“Yes?”

“I have a personal question to ask you, and I’m sorry to invade your privacy, but
you said that after your mother had your father declared dead, you were able to live
comfortably off the proceeds of a trust fund he set up for you and Ollie, is that
right?”

“It is,” he said.

“How did your father come by his money?”

The inspector seemed taken aback by my question, but he answered me anyway. “My father’s
family was quite wealthy. He inherited it.”

“I see, and if you’ll indulge me a few more personal questions?” I paused to see if
he would and he nodded. “When did your mother’s drinking become an issue?”

The inspector’s spine stiffened and his face flushed and it took him a moment to answer
me, but he said, “I suppose it was shortly after Ollie died. Mother fell into a terrible
depression, and because of my own grief, I didn’t notice her drinking until it had
become a problem. She told me once that she blamed herself for Ollie’s death, and
I don’t know that she’ll ever recover from the pain of his loss.”

“And who had control over your inheritance? Was that her or someone else?”

“It was Mother until Ollie and I reached the age of twenty-five; then we took control.”

“I see, and who inherited Ollie’s portion when he died?”

I could see that my questions were making the inspector more and more uncomfortable,
and I braced myself for an outburst from him, but he surprised me by keeping his cool
and saying, “Mother inherited it, and when she dies, it will go to me. But I’ll have
you know that when the solicitor informed her that she would receive his portion of
the trust, she protested and claimed to want no part of it. I’ve been managing her
accounts since Ollie’s death.”

I had an even more probing question to ask the inspector, and I hoped he wouldn’t
get too angry with me. “Sir, I’m very sorry to have to ask you this, but did you ever
notice that, when you turned twenty-five and took over your own finances, that there
was less there than expected?”

The inspector shifted in his seat, but I could see that I’d touched on the truth.
“There may have been slightly less than expected,” he said grudgingly. “However, Mother
was never really very good at managing money. She spoiled us a bit, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” I knew he wasn’t being totally honest with me.

Lumley’s face darkened. “What exactly are you getting at, Miss Holliday?”

“I believe I know who your serial killer is, Inspector. And I also believe I know
who her accomplices were.”

The inspector stood up and balled his hands into fists. “Are you implying that my
mother is somehow responsible for these murders?” he demanded.

I was careful to keep my tone cool and even. “No, sir,” I said. “At least, not directly
responsible. But I do believe she was involved.”

“What’s your theory, Em?” Heath said, moving protectively to my side to show Lumley
he’d better think twice about yelling at me.

Before I told them, I wanted to be absolutely sure, so I turned first to Michel. “You
said the other day that you had suggested Kidwellah to André for the location shoot.
How did you come across this castle, Michel?”

He cocked his head quizzically at me and said, “Jaqui sent me an email with a link
to the castle. But she also sent me several other choices.”

I thought on that for a minute before I followed up with another question. “And these
other choices that Mrs. Lefebvre sent to you, how did they compare to Kidwellah?”

“Well, they didn’t,” he said with a slight smile. “Kidwellah’s hall was exceptional
by comparison. I knew it was the perfect location for the shoot the moment I laid
eyes on it.”

I nodded knowingly. Then I turned to Gil and said, “The other nine victims that ended
up in the moat, Gil. Did you happen to find out anything about them?”

Michel raised his hand to get my attention back to him. “While Gilley was looking
up Clarence, I was able to come up with some information on them, and just like the
others they fit the profile. Two of the three remaining victims were middle-aged wealthy
men, here on holiday with their wives, and those who had children did not have them
in attendance when they were here.”

“And who was the third victim?” I asked.

“He was a groundskeeper here at the castle. His name was Richard Farnsworth. I doubt
he was a wealthy man.”

“But I’d wager he was a mean one,” I replied, recognizing the last name immediately.

Michel cocked his head as if I’d just said something odd. “You know, you might be
right, M. J. I did come across a small article about Richard which said that he spent
a night in the Penbigh jail on suspicion of battery to his wife.”

“Farnsworth,” Heath said, eyeing me curiously. “Where have I heard that name before?”

And as if on cue, Mary Farnsworth, the hotel waitress and cook, came into the dining
hall and asked us if we’d care for something to eat or drink.

Wanting to send her out of ear range, I told her that we’d all love some tea and pastries,
and off she went to see to preparing it for us.

“Oh, my Lord,” Lumley said, as if a lightbulb had just gone on above his head. He
turned wide eyes to me and I nodded.

“Yes, Inspector. I believe she was, and perhaps still is, an accomplice too.”

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Gil complained.

I kept my eyes on the door that Mary had walked through into the kitchen while I answered
Gilley. “I believe that the person murdering all the men at the keep was none other
than the dowager, Lady Lydia Hathaway.”

Heath’s jaw fell open. “Lady Hathaway?” he said. “But, Em, she’s got to be in her
seventies if she’s a day. How would she have done it?”

I shrugged. “She had help. You saw her butler. He’s not quite as old as she is, but
he’s certainly capable of striking someone on the head from behind, and if it’s not
him, then it could’ve been some other hired hand to do the dowager’s dirty work.”

“But
why
would she want to murder all those men?” Gil pressed.

“For the money, honey,” I said. “I doubt that Kidwellah Castle has generated enough
income to keep the dowager so finely furnished all these years. Her house is like
a museum of priceless antiques, artwork, and expensive furnishings. If, according
to her, she had the castle converted years ago into a hotel, I doubt it’s been able
to pull in enough money to keep her in that kind of lavish lifestyle.”

“But how does she make money off of murdering the men?” Michel asked.

“By having their widows be in on the scheme. You know how tight-lipped these European
aristocrats are, Michel. Entrance into their little club of wealthy elite comes only
with a title or a great deal of money. And I’d wager that there’s likely a rumor out
there amongst the women of this aristocratic circle that if you have a difficult,
abusive, or irritable husband whom you can’t afford to divorce, the dowager Lady Hathaway
may just be someone who can help you.”

I allowed my eyes to settle on the inspector and his jaw clenched.

“Do you know what you’re suggesting?” he asked me so softly it was barely audible.

“I do, sir. I’m suggesting that your mother may have been involved in the murder of
your father, and when her own son was drawn to Kidwellah Castle for inexplicable reasons,
she tried to redirect him. But he wouldn’t let it go, and when he became the inspector
here, she must have been deeply worried that he’d discover something about his father’s
disappearance that would lead him back to her. What’s worse, when Ollie was murdered
by one of the dowager’s helpers because he might have been getting too close for comfort,
your mother must have known that she was indirectly responsible for his death, and
the guilt got the better of her, and she began drinking, trying to numb herself from
the pain.” The inspector looked visibly stricken by my speech. “Inspector Lumley,
I’m so sorry, I know this hits very close to home for you, but the theory is at least
worth checking into.”

“How the devil would you propose I prove something like that?” he snapped. Clearly
I’d touched a nerve.

“I think you should have a talk with your mother. And if that’s too difficult a task,
then find the widows of the men who were drowned in the moat over the past four decades,
and begin questioning them. Better yet, go over their finances. My guess is that right
after their husbands were found floating in the moat, there was a sizable withdrawal
from their accounts. In fact, I’d start with Mrs. Lefebvre and work your way backward.
Question the widows, because I have a feeling that the farther back you go, the more
willing these women will be to cooperate. Especially if I’m right in thinking that
Lady Hathaway had blackmailed them.”

“I think M. J.’s right,” Heath said. “But I still don’t understand why Merrick Brown
was murdered, or Mrs. Hollingsworth.”

“Well, I actually have a theory about both of them too,” I said. “I think that Mrs.
Hollingsworth was a victim of circumstance. I believe she lured her husband here to
have him taken care of, only Mrs. Lefebvre jumped ahead of her in line, probably by
paying more money. That’s when Mr. Hollingsworth lost his temper and probably took
the opportunity to murder Fiona, thinking she’d just end up as another of the castle’s
mysterious victims. He has the perfect case for reasonable doubt, even if he is fingered
for the crime.

“And as for Merrick, I don’t think my first impression of him as a kindly young man
was off. I believe he might have figured out what was happening here at the castle,
but, given the dowager’s sizable influence in Penbigh, was probably too afraid to
go to the police. I think that when he learned our film crew was coming here to investigate
the ghosts of Kidwellah, he did something a bit drastic, and he put us in the south
wing on purpose. He might have felt confident about our abilities to deal with the
Widow, and also to expose the truth.” Turning to Heath, I said, “Do you remember what
he said to us? That he’d looked us up online and thought we were amazing investigators?”
Heath nodded. “At the time I thought he was talking about our ghost-hunting abilities,
but have you seen what’s been written about us? There’re more than a few articles
out there giving us credit for solving a couple of murders. We’ve got a reputation
for being not just ghostbusters, but amateur murder investigators too.