Chapter 2

“May I help you?” the guard asked. He appeared to be fiftyish, a stocky man of about five-ten with slightly graying hair and a stern expression. But before they could answer, he smiled and said, “Ah, the Americans. The cousin from the States and her husband?”

“Jackson and Angela Crow, yes. And thank you. You were expecting us?” Angela asked.

“Oh, aye. Moira has been so excited and anxious for you to arrive. Samuel Hall here, an officer with Lock-Stone Security. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to be so informal—”

“We like informal,” Jackson assured him. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you. Were you working the night before last?” he asked.

The guard nodded grimly. “That I was, sir. Such a tragedy. For a young woman to suffer such a fate. Well, I’m glad you’re here with Moira now. She is a dear, and we adore her, just as we loved Colleen. Both wanted to survive here and do so by taking care that they preserve the rich history of the place and working with all the right agencies to maintain that which is precious. Anyway, I’ll not hold you here. Moira will be happy to see you.”

“Thank you,” Angela said, watching as he went to open the gate. “But, Samuel, if you don’t mind… May we ask if anyone else came through here that night? Anyone beyond the tour group.”

“No, they did not. And I would have seen them,” he said firmly. “I told the inspector that. I mean, the poor lass died of a heart attack, but the Gardaí here are thorough. They asked me the same question, and I gave them the same assurance. No one else passed through these gates. We keep a log, and we keep a lookout. Our company has an excellent reputation.”

“I’m sure it does,” Angela told him, smiling sweetly.

“You’ve the look of her,” Samuel said. “Of our Moira.”

“We are cousins,” Angela said lightly.

“Nay, lady. More in the kindness and care upon your face,” he said and nodded with a smile.

Angela returned the gesture. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Sam, if you’d like,” he told them and grinned. “We have Dr. Seuss, even here. Sam, I am. And I traveled to Universal Studios, discovering Sam-I-Am and that I like green eggs and ham.”

Laughing softly, Angela and Jackson drove ahead as the great gates opened for them.

“Well?” Angela asked her husband.

“Friendly guard,” he said.

“Do you believe him?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do. At the very least, I think he believes he’s telling the truth that no one else entered.”

“These walls are thick, high, and topped with metal spikes,” Angela said.

“Interesting. Didn’t you say a thief fell from these walls?”

“Dead and buried long ago,” Angela confirmed.

“But this woman now? Hmm. Most probably, if there was foul play, someone who was supposed to be within these walls at the time created it.”

“Which,” Angela pointed out, “would put an end to the supposition that another, more distant heir is trying to take the place from Moira.”

“Unless they had an accomplice—paid or otherwise,” Jackson pointed out.

“You never like anything easy,” she said with a sigh.

“And after all these years at this, do you?” he countered.

He was right. Far too often, it was the bizarre, the what shouldn’t have been .

The great doors to the central tower burst open as Jackson drove the car along the horseshoe drive to the castle.

Moira stepped out.

Angela saw the relief and excitement on her cousin’s face and smiled. Moira was truly lovely with sweeping, long, reddish-gold hair, green eyes, and beautiful features. From all Angela knew, she was a good person. She was also on her way up as an actress, having been hired for several commercials and guest spots on series. But she’d come back to Ireland because her grandmother was failing. She longed to act, but in her everyday life, she seemed to have no ego and was in awe that Jackson and Angela were in the FBI and worked to save lives—and when they couldn’t, they found justice.

“You’re here!” Moira cried excitedly, coming down the steps from the grand entry. She gave Angela a heartfelt hug and then embraced Jackson as she began to gush. “Thank you. I don’t know how you got here so fast, but I’ve heard you’re miracle workers. I’ve been told they’re going to do an expanded autopsy. I am so grateful. I’d like to believe I was only hearing things, and something natural happened. I mean, before…we know elderly Mr. Adair drowned, water in his lungs, and I can’t help but be sorry. And we know the thief crushed his skull when he fell. And I…um, of course, to Granny, a banshee was perfectly natural. But then I haven’t had any leprechauns running around to give me a pot of gold and… Geez, I’m just rambling now.” She exhaled loudly and then continued.

“You must be tired. Come on in. Two of the towers, including the Great Tower here, are kept for tours, historical investigations, and the like, but the great hall connects it to the tower we live in—Darien Tower. It’s a cool place. At one time, they had grand festivities there. Granny said they kept the prisoners in the third tower. And there is a scary basement—the catacombs are down there. And…I’m still rambling.” She chuckled nervously.

Both Angela and Jackson laughed. “We’re just fine, but thanks so much,” Angela assured her. “Our boss, Assistant Director Adam Harrison, is the real magician. He was able to get us here quickly.”

“Oh, yes. The inspector called me. He said he’d be here around nine.”

“Good,” Angela said.

“Honestly, we’re fine,” Jackson assured Moira. “We had an easy flight, and I realize it’s growing late here.”

Moira shrugged. “I’ve been wide awake waiting for you, so grateful you were coming. But my housekeeper, the castle steward, his wife, and their son are sleeping, I think. Of course, I canceled the tours for the night, though the company believes the woman’s tragic death was by natural causes.”

“Is there a reason you don’t think that?” Jackson asked her.

Moira paused, shaking her head and looking genuinely distressed. “Something was just…different.”

“Different?” Angela pursued gently.

Moira nodded. “Please, you must believe me. I heard the banshee before Granny died, but the sound was just mournful. Not…I don’t know how to explain it. This time,” she said, hesitating with a wince, “was like before. Like I told you when I asked you to come. When the man drowned, and the thief fell. It sounded as if she were trying to warn me.”

“We don’t disbelieve you,” Angela assured her.

“Anyone else would,” Moira insisted. “Even here, where we all hear the stories and legends from the time we’re born. Even I can’t help but be—”

“Suspicious?” Jackson said, nodding his understanding.

“Afraid,” Moira whispered.

“Well, we’re here now, and we’ll be here until this situation is resolved. That’s a promise,” Jackson said.

Moira managed to smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Let’s head through.”

They did. Jackson glanced at Angela as they passed the area Moira had called the great hall. Paintings and plaques bearing coats of arms lined the walls—some with real swords, daggers, and other weapons.

From Jackson’s look, Angela knew he was pinpointing the potential dangers in the hallway. It was long and expansive, and Angela could almost envision the elaborate balls and entertainment that might have been held here in the past with dancing, music, and all the things that were the joyous parts of life.

They finally arrived at the household tower, and Moira showed them the lift they would use to reach the second floor.

“I’m a stair person, usually,” Moira said. “But with your bags…”

“The lift is fine. But we’d like to do something tonight once we get this stuff into our room,” Angela told her.

“Oh?” Moira asked.

“We need to see the bathroom where you found Mrs. Robertson.”

Moira lowered her head for a minute but then looked at them, almost as if she’d inwardly squared her shoulders.

“Of course.”

She walked some more. “Okay, I put you right next to me. The McKennas—Stewart, the steward, who watches out for maintenance problems and runs the day-to-day needs of the castle, and his wife—are three rooms down that way.” She pointed. “They have a twelve-year-old son, Daniel, in the room next to them. Nellie, a true doll who manages all the housekeeping chores and does our cooking, is down there—”

“One person cleans this place?” Jackson asked incredulously.

Moira giggled. “No. But she’s in charge of the help we bring in. She’s lovely. In her early fifties with the energy of a twenty-year-old. And full of wit and wisdom. She can tell you all things Irish. However, I have you two here, right next to me.” She stopped outside a door. “There is a small balcony overlooking the inner courtyard. It’s lovely, truly. Shall I give you two time to settle?”

“No, no, we all need some sleep,” Jackson said, placing their luggage outside their door. “If it’s possible to take a look…?”

They went down some ancient stone steps and across to the Great Tower, then up another set of stairs to a door marked Women’s Toilet .

Crime scene tape hung haphazardly from it.

“The inspector said they’re done. It was…well, at first, we hoped it would be a rescue mission, but I knew. I heard the banshee,” Moira said.

Angela nodded to her and looked at Jackson. “Back and the stalls,” she told him.

“Front and the sinks,” he agreed.

The bathroom was spotless. Angela could smell the strong scent of disinfectant cleaner as she worked, searching the floor, around the toilets, and studying every stall door.

“Where did you find the woman?” Jackson asked Moira.

“Right there. By the sink. It was as if she collapsed while washing her hands.”

Jackson nodded and looked at Angela.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” he said quietly. “For now…”

“Yep. We’ll all be worthless without some rest,” Angela said.

“With you two sleeping in the next room, I may actually get some tonight,” Moira said.

They headed back to the other tower, and Angela hugged Moira goodnight, reminding her that they were just next door. “Call us anytime. About anything,” she told her cousin.

“Trust me, I will. Indeed, I will,” Moira assured.

They split apart, and Angela headed into their room. The window drapes were open, and a soft breeze blew in. She walked over and then moved onto the stone balcony. The courtyard below was beautifully planted with trees and flowering bushes. A section was just grass, perhaps for future hotel guests to play croquet or another lawn game. It was all wonderful and peaceful, especially beneath the moon.

“The electric bill here must be a doozy,” Jackson commented, stripping off his jacket and coming to stand behind her.

He put his hands on her shoulders, massaged them, and then pulled her closer.

“Aren’t you exhausted?” she asked him.

He whispered close to her ear, “I’ve never made love in a castle.”

She smiled and turned in his arms to face him. It was an incredible thing in today’s world—thanks to Adam Harrison’s amazing powers of giving and creating—that she could be both married to and partnered with a man she admired and adored.

She lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

“We’ll likely be here a few days, you know,” she whispered.

“Are you that tired?” he asked softly.

“Castle, tent, whatever…if it has a bed—”

“Or doesn’t,” he teased.

“It doesn’t matter to me where we are.”

“But a castle?”

She sidled closer to him and ran her fingers through his dark hair. “Hmm,” she murmured. “A castle. Like a prince and princess?”

He laughed and softly ran his knuckles down the side of her cheek. “How about an incredible chief and a princess?” he queried.

She paused for a moment, studying him. “You are an extraordinary chief. You turned people who were strangely gifted—or cursed—into a body of investigators who serve across our country and beyond. And by doing so, have saved so many lives.”

He shook his head. “Adam has the brilliant mind, the means, and the immense human compassion. He turned us into what we are. And thanks to him, my life is incredible, no matter what we’re facing. Because I have you, Corby, and Victoria.”

She smiled and inched even closer to him, feeling the beauty of the breeze and the warmth of his arms.

“And the Krewe of Hunters gave us Mary, who is amazing. Which means we can leave and fool around in a castle while doing our due diligence at work.”

He laughed. “Okay, let’s quit patting ourselves on the back and—”

“Pat ourselves in a few other places?” she teased.

“That will work. All right, the prince and the princess in the tower.”

“I think it was always Lord and Lady so and so or—”

“Whatever.” He swept her into his arms dramatically. “I’m rescuing the princess from the tower,” he claimed.

“Oh, yeah? You know this princess can rescue herself, right?”

“Crack shot and expert in several martial arts. I don’t intend to fight with this princess,” he assured her. “There are so many better things we can do.”

She laughed as they left the balcony, crashed onto the bed, and struggled to remove the Glocks they’d managed to receive permission to carry before shedding their shoes and clothing. Each removal came with another whisper of breath, a kiss, or a caress. By the time their guns were on the nightstands and their clothing was strewn everywhere, they were half-laughing, half-urgent, and almost desperate to make love.

As they did, Angela marveled at the sensations, the physical beauty that could rise between the two of them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that it was always strangely comfortable yet new, as if they’d both just discovered the absolute wonder of being together for the first time.

She had been incredibly lucky in life. She had married a man who had become her best friend and knew her as few people could, and no matter what they faced each day, they were always there for each other.

It had been a long day, and their internal clocks were off, but still, in his arms, she slept.

And dreamed.

Angela had her own Irish great-grandmother once. A woman who told fantastic tales about the fairy people, the Tuatha dé Danaan, the old gods of Ireland, and St. Patrick, who came later, clearing the snakes from the island. Of course, according to fossil records, there hadn’t been snakes in Ireland at all. As the continents shifted, the serpents would have opted for warmer climates. But the removal of snakes probably referred to some of the snake-like people who were in power at the time.

And still. Legend and myth.

In her dreams, Angela saw a woman. Clad in black, the long robes catching on the breeze as she lifted her hands to the heavens. She was beautiful and looked as if she sought to take the pain of others. As if she cried and keened so others need not do so.

The dream woman wasn’t frightening. Somehow, she was…

Comforting. But that couldn’t be right. Because the banshee came to warn that someone would die. And a comforting banshee might arrive when someone had lived almost a hundred years of life and was ready to move on.

But nothing would happen tonight. Somehow, Angela knew that.

The banshee had merely remained, ready to see them through whatever they faced. And perhaps she even waited, watching and anxious to see what might lie ahead.

* * * *

Angela was usually a person who arose in the morning fresh and ready to go in an instant. Jackson watched her for a minute when he woke.

She was staring straight up at the ceiling, awake but obviously deep in thought.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”

She turned to him, grinning. “Yeah. Weird dreams about this place last night, that’s all. You know, flight, time change, jumping right in.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I kept dreaming about a banshee. She was gorgeous, Jackson. Gorgeous and sweet. I mean, there are all kinds of tales about banshees not being so nice. Sometimes, the townsfolk hired keeners for funerals, women who lamented and cried loudly for others. They were often paid with alcohol. Then again, the banshee myth supposedly goes back to the Tuatha dé Danaan. And to the best of my knowledge, those guys weren’t drinking a lot. It took human beings a while to master the creation of alcohol.”

“Remember who we are,” he said gently. “We don’t accept anything on theory. We follow the clues and evidence.”

“And get help from the dead.”

“Yes, and get help from the dead,” Jackson agreed with a smile. “So, we wait and see what’s up. Let’s get ready. I’m anxious to meet with Inspector McCray.”

“And we’ve yet to meet the household,” Angela reminded him.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Given the time change, they had luckily awakened early.

Now dressed for the day and ready, her Glock in its small holster at the base of her spine and covered by the light blue jacket she wore, Angela turned to Jackson.

“This is it. Meet the players, the household, the family. Because I believe you suspect one of them of murder.”

“Well, we still don’t know if there has been a murder,” he reminded her.

Angela shrugged and nodded. “True. But—”

“If there has been a murder, yeah. Sadly, I suspect anyone close to Moira. We met the guard last night. Now, onto the rest. Breakfast with a killer.” He winked. “Come on. It’ll be great.”