Chapter 3

Even though it was only about 7:30 a.m., Moira and her household were already down in the kitchen when they headed downstairs to the living quarters—the general area of the tower—with its modernized amenities and other areas sectioned out as a dining room, a parlor, an office, and an entertainment space.

Moira was delighted to see them and introduce them to everyone. They met the housekeeper, Nellie Antrim, first. As Moira had said, she seemed to be a lovely woman in her early fifties, stout and cheerful. Then they were introduced to Stewart McKenna, the steward; his wife, Elizabeth; and their son, Daniel. Stewart was a fit man with a professional look, dressed in a dark suit, his hair immaculately smoothed back, and his eyes sharp. His wife appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, a blonde as slim and well put-together as her husband. And Daniel was like any young boy, seemingly fascinated by them and just a little bit shy, as handsome a lad as befitting the offspring of such professional and attractive parents.

“Steward,” Stewart told them and grimaced. “My very name, Stewart, is a derivative of the title, and the great Stewarts of history also gained their name in such a manner. Anyway, we’re delighted to have you, especially amid such tragedy touching the castle. Of course, this stronghold has been here forever. And, as you may suspect, it has been home to many historical tragedies. Once upon a time, there were even gallows in the courtyard. And, sorry to say, a few also lost their heads in the manor back there. But there have been great events here, too. Visits by many, and even dignitaries from foreign countries. I understand you’ve been here before, Special Agent Hawkins.”

Angela had continued to use her family name at work; however, in all other things, she chose to use Crow or Hawkins-Crow.

“Just Angela, please,” she said lightly. “Yes, once when I was very young. I came here with my mom and dad. But seeing it as an adult, well, I’m delighted and proud that Moira has continued with her grandmother’s efforts to see that it remains a family homestead and on the register as a historical holding and national treasure.”

“Of course. So, how is it for an American to come to a castle?” he asked.

Jackson decided to step in. “Truthfully, I am fascinated. I must admit, I’ve never stayed in a castle before, so it is wonderful to be here. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

Stewart McKenna frowned. “But if I understand correctly, you are both with the FBI. You have no authority on foreign soil.”

“We’re moral support,” Angela told him cheerfully. “And, of course, we’re anxious to give the local inspector any help we can.”

“I thought the woman died of a heart attack,” Elizabeth McKenna said, looking at her husband worriedly. Like Stewart, she spoke with a charming accent.

“Any sudden death like that must be investigated,” Jackson said. “Anywhere in the free world, to the best of my knowledge. We do have a crew, too. They assist Interpol and others around the world. But since Angela has a connection here, who would argue with a trip to Ireland to get to know their family better and to assist if possible?”

“Of course, of course,” Stewart said.

“Aye. And it’s so weird,” young Daniel chimed in, grinning at them. “I love the castle. I am cool at school because I live in a haunted castle.”

“And is the castle haunted?” Angela asked him.

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, aye. Every castle in Ireland is haunted. That is how we get half of our business.”

Jackson noticed her use of the word we . Perhaps it was natural.

Maybe she felt the castle was truly theirs, as well.

He smiled. “Any particular ghosts we should know about?” he asked.

“Let’s see,” Daniel told them. “There’s the ghost of Edgar Woods. His name is something different in old Irish, and I only have a few words of Irish Gaelic, but…anyway, he is remembered and written up in histories and articles as Edgar Woods. He was an Irishman who rose against the Normans. He fought to regain the country, made amazing headway, and then was beheaded here right before Irish forces came in to reclaim the place. Poor dude has been hanging around for centuries.”

The kid might have an accent, but he sure knew his Americanisms— cool ? Dude ?

“This place is over eight-hundred years old,” Elizabeth provided. “Aye. And filled with ye ghosties, ‘tis! But we’re thankful they’ve not bothered with us much.”

“Then again,” her husband added, “I’ve yet to find a wee leprechaun willing to hand over a pot of gold, and we are the Irish. Still, we’ve a lovely home thanks to Granny and now Moira,” he said, nodding her way with a smile. “It’s a sorry thing that tragedy has struck here, but I greet our friends when they bring in the tourists. And I’m afraid to say I wouldn’t have recognized the poor woman had I saw her again.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said. “We were all in our chambers by then. That’s what happens when one must get a child to school each day. I never saw her at all.” She shrugged. “I tend to stay in the live-in tower.”

“Early to bed, early to rise,” Jackson said, smiling. “We have kids, too.”

“Exactly,” Elizabeth agreed.

“Ah, my lovies,” Nellie Antrim greeted. She smiled at Jackson and Angela. “Nay, I do’na clean the entire castle, as ye may surmise. But I create a splendid breakfast if ye’d like to take a seat in the dining room.”

“Breakfast would be lovely,” Angela said.

“And none of that silly continental fare,” Nellie said. “Irish bacon, eggs aplenty, bubble and squeak, tomatoes, soda bread, and more. Come along.”

Jackson looked at Angela. She grinned and walked next to him, whispering, “Bubble and squeak are leftover fried potatoes with a touch of something else.”

As they sat, she said, “Jackson has Scottish blood in him. And I believe most of us know these great breakfasts trace back to agriculture when workers were out for long hours in the fields and needed the sustenance.”

“Oatmeal,” Jackson said, grimacing. “It was a big staple in my family.”

“The Indigenous eat a lot of oatmeal?” Elizabeth asked, seeming perplexed.

“As Angela mentioned, Mom is of Scottish descent,” Jackson told her.

“Ah,” Elizabeth said.

“Hearty meals, that’s what’s needed,” Nellie said. “So, sit and enjoy, if ye please.”

They sat and ate. Daniel whispered that he preferred pancakes or waffles, especially the ones with Mickey Mouse’s face that he’d had when his folks took him to Disney a few years back.

The talk was general and friendly, and then Elizabeth said she had to get Daniel to school. Nellie mentioned she had arranged to meet with the cleaning crews who had been held out for the day. And Angela and Jackson were left with Moira and Stewart.

Jackson checked his watch, intrigued by the people he’d met so far but wishing he had some sense of the real people behind the ones they became before strangers.

Human beings, even innocent ones, often wore masks when they met newcomers. It was an instinctive self-defense mechanism. He was usually good at seeing through them, but this morning…

Nothing.

He glanced at Angela. She likely saw the question in his eyes. She shrugged in response.

“So, you’re waiting on Inspector McCray?” Stewart said when the others had gone. He shook his head, glancing at Moira and then the two of them. “I’m still so confused.”

Jackson studied the man. “No real confusion needed. When such a comparatively young woman dies of a heart attack in a bathroom alone, when she had no previous record of any difficulties with her heart…well, it’s just one of those things that must be investigated.”

“They are usually quite quick with post-mortems around here. We’re out of the way a bit. I assume such things may take longer in Dublin or the big cities back in America,” Stewart commented. “How’s our tour entrepreneur, Mr. Mark Meadows? This must have been a first for him, giving a ghost tour and creating a ghost. Sorry, that didn’t sound—”

“It’s all right, Stewart,” Moira assured him as she placed her hand over his. “We’re all in shock over this, and I’m sure Mark is extremely upset. He instantly canceled all the tours for the rest of the week and said I should call when we felt it was time to resume.”

“Are all of his tours ghost tours?” Jackson asked her.

Moira shook her head strenuously. “No. Straight history by day, and ghost tours at night a few times a week. Mark is a good man, well-educated, charming…born in the States, Irish parents, came back here for university and stayed. You’ll like him.”

Jackson wondered. He already had the cyber crew back home checking up on the man. What Moira had said was true. Meadows was only thirty but had managed to create his own company right out of Trinity and seemed to be doing very well for himself. And still, from the explanation of events, he had left a guest on the second floor while waiting on the first. Maybe such things were normal. But Mark Meadows was someone they would need to talk with.

Both Moira and Stewart suddenly checked their watches. Moira looked at them. “We have company.”

“Your watches alert you when someone arrives, I take it?” Jackson said lightly.

“Yes. Inspector McCray is here,” Moira said. “Everyone enters using the Great Tower—”

“On our way,” Angela assured her, rising. “This truly was a lovely breakfast. I must thank Nellie as soon as we see her again.”

Jackson and Moira got up, as well.

“It’s okay,” Angela assured her. “We meet a lot of law enforcement. You stay here and relax. You’ve been through this enough already.”

Her cousin nodded and sat again, frowning but seeming happy enough to let them go.

Angela and Jackson walked down the hall to the Great Tower, where Angela hurried forward to open the door. The man they greeted seemed solid enough and quickly offered his hand to Angela and then Jackson.

“Inspector McCray,” he said. “And I know you’re Special Agents Hawkins and Crow from the States. We pride ourselves on Irish hospitality and agencies working well together, but you must know someone to have been granted the level of cooperation we’ve been ordered to give.”

“We have a great benefactor,” Jackson assured him. “And he is just about magical. Of course, we’ve not come to step on any toes. My wife is Moira’s cousin.”

“I know,” McCray assured them and smiled. “You’re welcome to anything I have. Still, by all appearances, the poor woman died of a heart attack brought on by acute arrhythmia.”

“I believe it’s the number of people who seem to have died by natural causes or accidents here that has Moira so upset,” Jackson said.

“The old fellow in the river was dying of cancer,” Inspector McCray said, frowning. “And he died by the castle, not inside. And the other…it was a sorry thing, but who tries to scale a wall like that?”

“That’s the thing,” Jackson said. “An elderly man choosing his own means of death might be one thing, but, as you said, what fool tries to scale a wall like that?”

“Sadly, the world is full of fools,” McCray said. “Keeps us working,” he added dryly.

“Cut and dried,” Angela said. “A drowning and a crushed skull. But I am curious about the woman who just passed. How extensive was the tox screen she received?” she asked.

“Tox screen? Well, the usual, I guess. The woman didn’t do drugs. She hadn’t even had so much as a glass of ale or wine before the tour.”

“We’ve asked th—” Jackson began.

“That another, more extensive post-mortem be done.” McCray finished. “Aye. But why the suspicion?” he asked, then groaned. “Moira,” he said. “Moira Hawkins and her banshee. Come now. You’re Americans. You mustn’t fall for our legends, though they are charming tales we tell our wee ones at night.”

“We’re here to make sure. And to be with Moira, of course,” Angela said.

“And glad I am that you are. I knew her granny growing up, and a dear, dedicated—and feisty—woman she was. Well, I’ll not complain. What more can I tell you?”

“We’ll start with what we heard. Mark Meadows, two couples, and a teenager were still downstairs. Moira woke up and came down here to find the body in the washroom,” Jackson said.

“Exactly. Which would make Moira the first person of interest if there were foul play,” McCray noted. “But I know Moira to be a most generous and lovely woman. And, certainly, she has been the one to suffer for what has happened,” he added quickly.

“All right,” Jackson murmured. “We gave the ladies’ room a quick sweep last night, but perhaps we should walk through it again, if that’s all right.”

Inspector McCray nodded solemnly. “Aye,” he agreed.

“What about Mrs. Robertson’s family?” Angela asked.

“None that we know of,” McCray said. “She was a widow. Her husband was older but still died quite young a few years back. They had no children. She has a cousin she never met who lives in Canada.”

“She has friends, though, I assume,” Angela said.

He nodded. “Yes. We’ve spoken with her neighbor—a woman about her age. She was out of town the night her friend died, but she’s making the funeral arrangements for when we release the body.”

“You haven’t agreed to do that yet?” Jackson asked.

McCray smiled. “I told you. You know someone with power. Our medical examiner has been told the body is not to be released until the two of you give the word.”

They followed the inspector up the stone stairs to the second floor of the Great Tower. Outside the ladies’ room, he swept out a hand. “Go to it, mates,” he said.

They began their new search. Once again, Jackson headed to the sink area. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he often didn’t.

Evidence was never labeled at the site.

He carefully examined the restroom, bit by bit. He checked the faucets and was ready to look for evidence on the floor.

He saw Angela was already on her knees in one of the stalls.

“May I say I’m quite grateful that even though we’re in an ancient castle, Moira and her granny saw fit to make sure the living tower was equipped with good showers?” he said.

He’d thought she would laugh and have some pithy reply. She didn’t.

“Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any evidence bags?”

“I do. Why?”

“There is something here. Tiny. An extremely small square patch. It looks like one of those used for bad backaches and the like, except miniature as if made for a doll.”

“Coming your way.”

He brought her one of the bags. She accepted it. At first, he couldn’t even see what she reached for. Then, when she used the bag to protect the item and herself, she murmured, “It may be nothing.”

“It could be something.”

“I mean, there was a tour group here. And even with as clean as they keep the place, there were also people here in the afternoon and the days before.”

“Again, Angela, it’s all we’ve found. It may be something. Let’s get it to McCray.”

They stepped out of the washroom.

The inspector was waiting patiently, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You found something?” he asked.

“Something,” Jackson said.

“We’re not sure what,” Angela added, producing the bag with the tiny square.

McCray frowned. “I am impressed. You found that searching white-on-white? I had a forensic team sweeping that bathroom.”

“Hey, I didn’t find anything the first time either,” Angela assured him. “And—”

“It may have fallen off someone or something long before Mrs. Robertson was ever in there,” McCray said. “And it might be something. I’ll get it to our lab.” He paused, taking a breath. “Do you want to take a quick trip to the morgue?”

Jackson and Angela glanced at each other.

“Yes, thank you,” Jackson said.

“We’ll take my car. I’ll get you back.” He gave them a weak smile. “Ms. Antrim might be making her famous Guinness chocolate mousse tonight in honor of Moira’s American cousin. If that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind staying on a minute or so. No dereliction of duty. My job today is to make the two of you happy.”

“That’s fine. Thank you,” Angela assured him. “Hmm. Guinness chocolate mousse? Sounds intriguing.”

“You’ve never had it?” McCray asked.

“No, I haven’t,” Angela told him.

“What kind of an Irish-American are you?” He flashed her a smile.

“A mixed-up one. A total American mutt, I’m afraid,” she said, laughing. “But rest assured, my Irish part is most eager to try this delicious dessert.”

The drive to the morgue wasn’t long. In the car, McCray pointed out some local spots of interest and asked if they would get to spend any time in Dublin.

“Probably not,” Angela said. “We left quite suddenly, and Jackson—”

“Supervising Field Director for your unit, yes? And I understand you are a computer genius who can find just about anything on anyone in a matter of minutes.”

Angela shrugged. “We also have two children. We’re very lucky. The aunt of another of our krewe—one of our unit members—lives with us. She’s wonderful with the kids. With what we do—”

“You’re lucky,” McCray assured her. “Ah, well, if you have time, you must explore. You think you’re in a castle now? You have to see Dublin Castle and, of course, St. Patrick’s Cathedral. And there’s so much more. For a night spot, just about anywhere around Temple Bar.”

“I’ve been before,” Angela murmured.

“I’ve been, too,” Jackson said. “But, yes, there are wonders we’ve yet to see.”

“Well, then, welcome back,” McCray said. “One quick stop. I’ll just leave this little thing you found at the lab.”

He stopped outside his headquarters and promised a quick return.

Jackson watched him as he went.

“What? You think their people can’t be as good as ours?” she asked.

“I think they don’t want it to be a murder,” he said.

“Jackson, no American egos here. I’m willing to bet their people are great. And honest, as well. Whether they want it to be nothing or not.”

“Angela,” he said, “no American ego involved. I believe they’ll be honest, and I’m grateful McCray is as cooperative as he is. I mean, the guy could have been a jerk.”

She smiled. “No. He’s a good cop—by any title.”

McCray was back in minutes. “Tests to begin immediately,” he assured them.

“Thank you,” Jackson said.

“Trust me. We have amazing techs and equipment here. If there is something to be found, my lab people are excellent and will discover it. I promise.” He let out a long sigh. “I admit, I hope it’s nothing. And I’m praying this is just a sudden—and tragic—death and not murder,” McCray said. “And unless there is something—”

“It will be ruled death by natural causes,” Jackson finished. “Let’s all hope.”

McCray drove with Angela next to him. From the back seat, Jackson saw him glance at her. “It’s the banshee, isn’t it? Naturally, I did some research on you two. You’re the head of a unit that specializes in the strange. Occult, ritual, all that.”

“Yes, but we’re here because Moira is a relative. I care about her,” Angela assured him.

“Of course.”

They signed in at the morgue, and then Doctor Byrne met them to escort them back to his autopsy room and the body.

Mrs. Robertson had been given the typical Y incision, but if not for the stitches and the presentation of the body, she might have appeared as if she were merely sleeping.

“Death occurred from natural causes from all I can discover,” the doctor said.

Mrs. Robertson’s shoulder-length hair was fanned out beneath her head. Jackson wasn’t sure why, but he found himself studying the area behind her ear, right around her hairline.

There was something…

Just a tiny patch that seemed to be whiter than the skin around it.

A tiny, tiny space.

Like a itty-bitty transdermal patch might have been there.

“Doctor, what is this?” he asked.

The doctor frowned. “An irritation? Perhaps she was wearing something that disturbed that area of skin.”

Jackson looked at Angela. She was studying the area near the woman’s hairline, as well.

“Do not let the body go,” Jackson said.

The door to the morgue opened, and a woman stuck her head in.

“Inspector McCray?” she said.

“Excuse me. Be right back with you,” he said.

He disappeared for a minute, and Jackson and Angela continued to study the body under the doctor’s watchful eye. He expressed his sorrow at such a sad death for one so young.

McCray seemed to burst back into the room, a serious frown lining his face.

“Doctor. Did you test for dart frog poisoning?” he demanded.

“What?” the doctor asked. “Sir, that is no customary test—”

“Do it.” McCray turned to Angela and Jackson, staring at them with surprised confusion and distress. “That patch. Blimey. There was poison on it from a poison dart frog. Bloody hell. They come from Central and South America. How the hell? This is Ireland.”

Jackson looked at Angela.

It wasn’t just murder.

It might be one of the most bizarre cases they had ever encountered.