Chapter 4

“Angus. My given name is Angus,” Inspector McCray said. He sat in a chair in front of the desk in Moira’s office, shaking his head. Then he stared seriously at Angela. “I’ll admit, I thought our high-powered politicians were just trying to play nice and keep relations between the United States of America and the Irish Republic going at full speed. To remain warm and cozy. With all due logic, why in the hell would anyone murder a random tourist in an Irish castle?”

“First, we need to find out if she was a random tourist,” Angela told him.

“Right. And your people are working on it. My people are working on it. And we also know that all our intelligence experts are working on discovery. As in, how the hell did an Amazonian poison wind up in Ireland?”

“There’s the catch,” Jackson said. “And, as you said, our people are looking into everyone to determine if they’ve been in the Amazon recently. But then again, there may be partners or more involved in this. So, the question of who has been where may grow complicated. Not to mention the fact that many of the creatures can be bought in pet stores around the world.”

“My people are good. I told you. They have it down to a poisonous frog from Phyllobates terribilis—the most toxic species. Do they sell those?”

“Hard to tell,” Jackson said. “Supposedly, the creatures gain their toxins via their diet and then secrete it through their skin. To create something like what we found—a patch so extremely tiny and so potent—I’m thinking someone knew what they were doing.”

Angela was listening to the two men while working on her computer. They were waiting for Mark Meadows to arrive. And from there, in the friendliest fashion, they would interview everyone who had been on the tour the night Mrs. Robertson was killed.

With toxin from a poison dart frog.

No wonder the banshee was wailing at such a high pitch.

“Oh, my God,” Angela exclaimed suddenly.

Both men looked at her.

“I just found an article in the back pages of a New York paper,” she told them, looking up. “A Professor Jared Carlson was working in a small village on the Amazon River, trying to create an antidote. Someone broke into his lab—he didn’t have much security and was in the middle of nowhere, so there were no cameras. The door had a key card entry, but one of his employees admitted to having lost his. He thought he might have dropped it in the middle of the river.” She licked her lips.

“I guess no one suspected that anyone would want to break into such a lab, nor were there many people in the area. Those there, of course, were anxious to see the professor succeed with his work. Medical care there is good where it exists, but villagers would have a long haul to get where any help could be found. That poison can cause arrhythmia and cardiac distress just from contact with the skin.” She shook her head. “It’s an oddly beautiful frog. Colorful. Apparently, the appearance warns would-be predators to stay away, but even accidentally touching the creature can be fatal.”

“When was this robbery?” Jackson asked her.

“Just about three weeks ago,” Angela said.

“Time enough for poison to travel around the globe,” Angus McCray griped, shaking his head. “That means we must be careful coming close to anyone. And I want to suggest you speak with Moira’s household and make sure everyone is aware there’s a lot of poison out there. And then there are all those people who arrived for Mark Meadows’ tour.”

“They’ll be coming in shortly. We’ll begin our interviews then,” Angela said.

“Of Mr. Meadows and the twenty people on the tour,” Angus added. “How are we going to do this?” he asked.

“Divide and conquer,” Jackson answered. “Except I think we’ll all interview the last two people in the castle, those with the teenage son.”

“You think one of them—?” Angus began.

“I don’t think anything yet,” Jackson clarified. “But they were there at the end. They would have observed Amelia Robertson last. They might have noticed a guest hanging around her. Of course, we’ll talk to Mark, too. Because he might have seen something.”

“Right. Still…” Angus leaned forward on the desk. “Why?” he asked. “She had no money. She was just a working widow. No enemies—and my people went over and over that possibility. I’ve worked murders before. Some were domestic. Others had to do with greed. One was a bar fight gone too far. This…? Murder by poison dart frog?”

“A toxin that wouldn’t have been found,” Angela reminded him, “without pushing the usual boundaries on tox screens at the time of autopsy.”

“Right. The killer expected everyone to believe the death was natural. That’s even stranger. To what end?”

“Well,” Jackson said lightly, “that’s why we’re investigators, right?”

“Aye, I’m just not accustomed to not having a clue,” Angus said. He seemed to mentally square his shoulders. “But we’re going to get some clues. And so help me, we will find the answer to this.”

Angela glanced at Jackson. Inspector Angus McCray was proving helpful. He was far from feeling resentment, and he seemed determined.

A knock sounded on the office door.

“Yes?” Angela said.

Nellie Antrim stuck her head in. “Guinness chocolate mousse,” she announced. “I understand the castle is about to be flooded with people, and ye might just be needin’ some sustenance first.”

“Lovely, thank you. Come on in,” Angela told her.

She carried a tray with three cups of her dessert, three teacups, a teapot, sugar, and cream. She set the tray on the desk, smiling but looking like she felt a little ill.

“I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” She shook her head. “Why?”

“That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” Jackson assured her. “And thank you. This is lovely.”

Angela took a spoonful of her mousse. “Delicious,” she announced with a smile.

“Absolutely,” Angus agreed. “I told you I was happy to come here. And I believe we’ll have more cooperation from our witnesses. Getting to return to a castle is better than going to an interrogation room.”

Jackson wasn’t eating the mousse. Angela looked at him curiously.

He shook his head. “Someone got poisoned here. Makes me suspicious of everything.”

She froze, her spoon partway to her mouth.

“Couldn’t be. I mean, you have been here for a bit now and…” Angus let his thought taper off.

“Yeah. The food hasn’t poisoned us,” Angela reminded Jackson.

“Suspicious of all and everything,” Jackson reiterated. “And—”

Another knock sounded. This time, it was Moira. Angela noted that her cousin’s continual optimism and cheer seemed to be ebbing.

“Mark is here. Should I—?”

“If you don’t mind that we’re using your office, bring him here. Please,” Jackson said.

“Mind?” Moira asked. She shook her head. “I am so very grateful.”

She disappeared. A minute later, Mark Meadows walked through the door, looking around. Jackson, who had been standing behind Angela, pulled a second chair up to the desk for him.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” Jackson told him.

Angela watched the young man as he took his seat. She’d researched him and knew he had been born in the States but came to Dublin for college—and then stayed. From all appearances, at least on paper—or via computer research—he seemed to be an upright human being simply in love with history.

And legends.

“I’m sick. Just sick,” he told them. “How? How could this happen? I feel like it’s my fault. I mean, I couldn’t go into the bathroom with the lady, but if I’d been on the second floor, I might have seen if anyone went in with her. Or after her. Or…”

His voice trailed off.

Angela decided to play good cop.

“Mr. Meadows, you can’t blame yourself. The culpability lies with the person who did this. What we’re hoping you can tell us is if anyone was behaving suspiciously on the tour. Did anyone try to get close to her? Try to create an instantaneous friendship, that kind of thing? Or did someone on your tour seem suspicious in any way, like not really interested in the tales you were telling?”

Mark let out a long sigh. By all appearances, he was a young, good-looking man in distress.

“I run a tour company and love to give the tours myself,” he said. “But…it’s a tour company. I don’t deal with national secrets, banking, or flights. We don’t do background checks on those in our groups. I’m trying to think, but…people chat while on a tour, especially when I’m not speaking. They talk about history, and half of them hope they’ll see a ghost. I’m trying desperately to remember if anyone was close to Mrs. Robertson. She seemed like such a lovely woman. So very interested in the history of the castle. She was American but lived in Dublin and knew so much. She was a joy to talk with.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We all checked in at the gate, and everyone on the tour signed in—we always insist on that. You know that the gatehouse helps save the property from litigation.” He offered a weak smile. “People in Ireland aren’t quite as litigious as those in the States, but still. Someone getting injured on the property can be serious. The names—”

“We have all the names, thanks,” Jackson told him. “But what we have is just that: a list of names. You spent time with the people on the tour.”

The man nodded. “It seemed like an ordinary tour. We were just waiting for Mrs. Robertson to return from the restroom, and then Moira appeared. She went up to the washroom, and then we called emergency services, and—” He paused, glancing at Inspector McCray. “And then the inspector arrived and checked everything. We were just heartbroken that someone who seemed so lovely and young had perished up there.”

“What about the couples who stayed downstairs with you?” Angela asked.

“Nice. Young couples,” Meadows said. “Sherry and Max Dayton from the States, and their son, Kevin. I think he was about twelve, maybe. We warn parents there will be talk of ghosts and beheadings and…well, we don’t recommend those tours for children under twelve.”

“Okay. And the other couple?” Jackson asked.

“The Millers. Connie and Steve. Also American. They said they were from Georgia. They were dismayed when they had to remain until the inspector arrived. Horrified that the woman had died.”

“They seemed anxious to leave,” Angus said.

“I remember. Even having their kid with them, Max and Sherry seemed to understand, while Steve kept insisting his wife was about to pass out from fright, certain the castle was somehow evil.” He paused, wincing. “I do tell a good ghost story,” he said apologetically, then shook his head. “I’ve been doing tours here for four years and worked for Moira’s granny before…before we lost her. I’ve tried in every way to keep the money flowing for Moira. She’s amazing. A working actress ready to give it all up to preserve this wonderful history.”

“Do you remember anyone on the tour behaving strangely in any way?” Jackson asked.

Mark shook his head, seeming at a loss. “No one seemed to be trying to get close to Mrs. Robertson. I mean, people talk to one another. Most on a tour are nice and ready to mix and mingle. And they tend to enjoy learning about those here from other countries. And, of course, they like finding out they’re from the same country if that’s the case. So, aye, people talked. But it was all idle chitchat, all whoever wound up being by one another wherever we were.”

“Thank you,” Angela told him. She glanced at Jackson. “Have we compared Mr. Meadows’ list with the gatehouse’s? The one signed by all the attendees?” she asked.

“I’ll go get it now,” Jackson said.

He left the office and headed out quickly.

Mark frowned at Angela. “Do you think they won’t be the same?” he asked.

“I just think it’s something we need to check. If anyone tried to get away without signing in, you might remember who it was from your list.”

“Of course, of course,” Meadows murmured. Then he asked, “Is Moira here?”

“She is. I’m not sure where, but yes, she’s around.”

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper, handing it to her across the desk.

“These are the people I accepted on the tour. Most of them paid with credit cards. Only a few paid with cash. May I…would you mind if I spoke with Moira quickly? I just want her to know I will continue to support her in any way possible when she’s ready.”

He spoke passionately. Angela wondered if he had a bit of a crush on her cousin.

Was it reciprocal?

He was certainly a handsome enough man. And charming. Someone who possessed a strong work ethic.

Or…

No. He wasn’t related. There would be no reason for this man to want to wrest the castle from its rightful owner.

Yet…

“May I?” he pressed.

“Of course,” she murmured. The second he left, she began to worry. Had she let a man with ridiculously lethal frog toxin get away? And send him right to her family?

No, no, no.

Nothing would happen now. She knew it.

The banshee isn’t wailing.

* * * *

Samuel Hall from Lock-Stone Security was still standing guard at the gatehouse, manning his post, just as he was supposed to be doing.

Of course, in reality, he was sitting at his post. The guardhouse appeared to have all the creature comforts for those who spent hours in it.

Samuel heard Jackson coming and rose to greet him. He stepped from the gatehouse and asked anxiously, “Is everything all right?”

Jackson shrugged. “Other than a murder taking place here the night before last, everything is fine.”

“Thank God,” the man breathed.

“I just want to get the list of those who signed in and out of the castle for the tour the other night. And anyone else who might have visited,” Jackson said.

“No one. Mark Meadows arrived early as always and waited for his guests at the entrance to the Great Tower. Mark always signs in and out. And he makes sure the others do, too. Seems to be part of his work ethic. Under normal circumstances, it would not be strange for someone to miss signing while coming in or out when a tour group is large, but Meadows is a stickler. He collects the sign-in sheets now and then, and they must align.”

“That’s a good thing. So, may I have that list?”

“Of course.”

Sam walked back into the guardhouse and returned with a clipboard. “Just take the whole thing. You can return it when the castle is cleared for tours again.”

“But we need to keep a list of anyone who comes to the castle now,” Jackson told him. “I’ll take all the old sheets that Meadows hasn’t collected yet but leave you the clipboard. Seriously, we still need you to keep a log of everyone entering who isn’t part of the household.”

“Aye, sir, as you say,” Sam assured him. Jackson thought he was about ready to salute but refrained from doing so.

“Thank you,” Jackson told him.

“I am happy to do anything to help.” Hall appeared anxious.

Jackson asked, “Are you all right?”

“Aye. I mean, I’m taking on double shifts because…”

“Because?”

Hall shook his head. “I just keep thinking if I’d been more attentive.” He sighed.

“You were fine,” Jackson said. “What was done would have passed through the toughest security in the world, I’m afraid, other than full body cavity searches. Don’t blame yourself. Blame whoever did this.”

“Right. Right. Of course. I still feel re—”

“Don’t,” Jackson interrupted. “Unless you were in on a conspiracy to commit murder, don’t feel responsible.”

“What about Moira?” he asked anxiously.

“What about her?”

“How is she?”

Jackson smiled.

“She’s doing fine, honestly.”

Hall nodded. “I know this sounds…silly, and maybe even wrong. I mean, I care about the poor woman who was so cruelly killed, but I don’t want it falling on Moira.”

“It won’t.”

“But—”

“She wouldn’t have called us in and pressed us to discover what happened if she were involved,” Jackson said flatly.

“I just don’t want her to give up.”

“Give up?”

“She’s an actress. She’s beautiful, and she has the world ahead of her. Yet she’s given it all up to honor a dying woman’s wishes. It was one thing for old Colleen Darien to be determined to hang on to the castle. It was all she knew. But Moira…she’s seen so much of the world. She could have fawning fans wondering when her next movie might be made. She has so much promise. Yet she’s here, fighting to save her family home and its history.”

“You know, the time will come when she can run this place and pursue a career,” Jackson assured him. “Many people do it.”

“I don’t know,” Hall said. “Sometimes…”

“Sometimes, what?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Sam?” Jackson persisted.

“I’d be talking out of turn.”

“Talk out of turn, then. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Sam looked down and then took a deep breath. He glanced at Jackson. “Aye, and all right. I just wonder sometimes…I mean, they’re always professional, but…”

“But? Who are they , and what do you wonder?” Jackson asked firmly.

“That, um…that Mark Meadows.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess he and Moira are both young and beautiful and…well, I think he has a thing for her.”

“If he cares about her, he’d be the last one who would want to see her in distress,” Jackson noted.

“If he cares…for her.”

“You just said he did.”

Again, Hall seemed to be struggling, wanting to speak.

Not wanting to speak.

“Hall, to use an Americanism, spit it out,” Jackson admonished.

“Okay, okay. I just hope he cares more about her than he does the castle.”

Jackson frowned. “He isn’t a Darien. He has no connection to the estate. I believe Angela would be in line before Meadows. So—”

“You don’t understand. The castle takes incredible management and care. Historical societies could take it over, but other than that, the expense just to purchase the property would be mammoth.”

“Then there you go,” Jackson said.

“Mark Meadows is a rich man. A very rich man. He came out of college blazing. If it came to a sale, Meadows could afford to buy.”

Sam stepped back, almost as if he could deny his words by doing so. “I’m just talking. Thinking out loud. I don’t know anything. Anything at all. Except it was a member of one of his tour groups who was murdered. Without the tours, the woman would have never been in the castle—”

“And we’re still investigating her, trying to see if someone elsewhere in her life had any reason to want to see her gone,” Jackson said. He smiled wearily. “Right now, well…the whole world is under suspicion.”

Nodding, he turned and headed back to the castle.

He had spoken the truth. They had no real suspects yet.

Still…

Mark Meadows. The man was rich. And he knew Castle Darien as few others did. He knew all about the ghosts and possibly the skeletons in the closet.

The murder had happened on his watch.

Jackson’s strides grew longer. Meadows was at the castle.

Moira was there, Angela was there.

He had a firm rule: evidence rules the way. They had none, other than proving it had been murder. And murder most foul—and bizarre.

He was almost running when he reached the doors to the Great Tower and streaked across the hallway to get to those within the castle and assure himself that no other evil was afoot.