Chapter 5

Jackson frowned as he came through the office door.

Angela looked at him curiously. He had just gone to retrieve the sign-in sheets. Now, she was sitting with Moira and Mark, once again speaking about the night’s events.

“So, you say anyone could buy one of these creatures in a pet shop?” Mark said, sounding surprised. “But who would want a frog that can kill them if they touch it?” he asked.

“The same people who buy poisonous snakes, other reptiles, and things like tarantulas and deadly spiders,” Angela said.

“Jackson,” Moira said with pleasure, “I need to say again—thank you. Thank you so much for being here. I can’t believe what has happened. And now… Do you think there could there be any more of that toxin around? Oh, God. I’ve put you at risk, too.”

Jackson shook his head. “Moira, honestly, I don’t believe there’s more. Not at this time. And as you were all discussing, people buy the frogs as pets. They are really colorful and pretty but not something we’d want our kids to have. We think this particular strain might have come from some that were stolen from a researcher working on antidotes down in the Amazon.” He gave her an assuring smile and turned to Mark. “I have the sign-in sheets.”

“And I gave mine to Angela,” Mark said, looking at his watch. “We’ve timed them coming in every fifteen minutes.”

“Where’s the inspector?” Jackson asked Angela.

“Downstairs. He brought the tray to the kitchen. He’ll be right back,” Angela told him as she accepted the list he handed to her.

She quickly looked over the pages and then back at the group waiting for her to speak again.

“The lists match,” she said.

“Then it was someone who came in the tour group,” Mark said, his voice low and weary.

“Improbable but not impossible,” Jackson said. “Still, we need to start interviewing people, and it’s best if we do so alone.”

“Of course,” Moira agreed, rising.

“I’m taking the dining room,” Angus told her when he returned.

“Right. Fine,” Moira acknowledged. “And—”

“We have the final two couples who were here that night coming in last. We’ll meet them all in the dining room,” Angela said, nodding. “For now, I’m keeping the office—”

“And I’m heading for the entertainment room,” Jackson said.

“Yeah, great entertainment,” Angus said dryly.

Jackson looked at him, arching a brow. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just… I’m still having trouble believing all this.” He was quiet for a minute. “And the thought that the killer might have easily gotten away with it if you two hadn’t believed Moira and used your powerful friend to get here.”

“Inspector, you have been a team player since we arrived,” Jackson told him. “We thank you.”

Angus nodded. “Well, then, Moira—”

“Mark and I will head out to the courtyard. He can tell me some more tales about my home,” Moira provided.

“You know all the tales,” Mark said.

“Not the way you tell them,” she replied with a shy smile.

Angela knew, then. Mark cared about Moira. And it was mutual. They were a handsome couple, just like Barbie and Ken.

Unless…

No. Nothing would happen. Not when they were all there and knew the two of them would be together. But with a killer cunning enough to almost get away with murder by making use of a tiny tab filled with poison dart frog toxin…

The others left Angela alone in the office. She began her third of the first fifteen interviews.

No one stood out. Everyone was horrified, and most were scared. They all wanted to go back home.

A woman had been murdered. And a murderer was still at large—a cunning one who could kill with subterfuge and a smile.

It was easy to understand their fear. Yet even as Angela met her five guests from the night of Mrs. Robertson’s death, she wondered if one of them might have been part of a conspiracy, one in which someone from somewhere had delivered the toxin for a resident of the very tower they were staying in.

* * * *

“Anything?” Angus asked Jackson as the last of the first fifteen visitors left the castle, and Jackson joined the inspector in the dining room.

“Nothing concrete. I had one Parisian, two Americans, and two young women from Dublin. I looked for tells, the things we’ve been trained to seek out to know when people are lying, and didn’t see anything.”

“And still,” Angus said, “you’re suspicious of everyone, just like me.”

“Well, someone brought that toxin in here,” Jackson said.

Angus nodded dully. “Do you really think…?”

“That it’s gone from the castle? I do. Because we were never supposed to realize the woman had been murdered.”

“And wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself,” Jackson said. “We got to the truth, and we couldn’t have made a move without your cooperation. You’ve been great to work with. Accept the wins, please. We have to move on.”

“At least now we know. Unfortunately, the press somehow got ahold of the information immediately. I just hope…” The inspector trailed off and blew out a breath.

Jackson cocked his head.

“What?”

“I think the castle is supposed to appear cursed, not haunted. A drowning? A fall? A heart attack—but one proven to have been caused by a toxin.”

“Hmm,” Angus said.

Jackson knew Angus would likely remain aggravated with himself—as would he in the man’s shoes. But he also knew Inspector McCray was fully with them now, and he was equally determined to uncover the truth.

Angela joined them, making a face. They didn’t have to ask her if she’d met anyone suspicious. She would have immediately said something.

“What now?” she asked, taking a seat.

“Moira and Mark have seen the others out. They’ll bring in the last two couples and the kid, though I’m not sure we should be questioning a child,” Angus advised.

“He might have seen something,” Jackson said simply. “Who’s first?”

“Connie and Steve Miller from Augusta, Georgia,” Angela said. "Connie is a geography professor at a local college and originally from Kentucky. Steve is a medical doctor and moved from North Dakota. They met on a dating app while on vacation in the Caribbean, and it was love and new jobs all around about two and a half years ago.”

“Americans,” Angus pointed out.

“With no relationship whatsoever to Castle Darien,” Angela reminded them.

She fell silent as the couple entered the dining room. They were young—just in their late twenties according to the research she had done on them. Due to their extensive social media accounts, she also knew what they’d been up to these last years.

Everyone in the room rose to greet them.

Steve immediately set an arm around his wife’s shoulders and admitted, “We’re terrified just to be here now. We heard what happened. Please, don’t touch us.”

Angela nodded solemnly. “Not to worry, Dr. Miller. We have no intention of touching you. But we are talking to everyone, desperately hoping one of you might have seen something. In fact, did you see anyone touch Mrs. Robertson or perhaps head into the ladies’ room before or after her?”

A petite brunette, Connie Miller looked at her husband and shook her head. Then she looked at Angela. “I mean, there were instances when we brushed by each other in the hallways or while moving. Mrs. Robertson was next to me on the stairs when we first went up to the second floor, but I swear we didn’t do this. You can search our hotel room. You can search me… I didn’t do this. Please, we’d have no reason.”

“We’re not suggesting you did.” Jackson turned to Dr. Miller. “Did you see anyone close to Mrs. Robertson?” he asked.

Steve started to shake his head but then frowned. “Yeah, actually. The tour guide. The master of history himself. You know, I think he’s one big phony. He grew up in the United States, and now he feigns that Irish accent when he’s telling stories. He had his arm around the now-dead woman when we first arrived. Oh, my God. He did it. Mark Meadows did it.”

Inspector McCray gave the man an icy stare. “We don’t throw accusations around without facts. So, please, I would appreciate it if you didn’t make assumptions.”

“She ruffled the kid’s hair,” Connie Miller said suddenly.

“What?” Jackson asked. “You mean Mrs. Robertson? Which kid? The remaining couple’s son? Kevin?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think that was his name,” Connie Miller said, nodding. “She was…well, she seemed to be very nice. Some of us weren’t too crazy about a kid being on the tour. We thought the guide might water it down a bit, but Mrs. Robertson liked him from the start. She took his hand now and then and chatted with his parents. They were very friendly.”

Steve Miller stood. “We can’t tell you anything more. So help me, if we knew anything, we’d tell you. It’s horrible. And was bad enough to think the poor woman had a heart attack, but now, after hearing what has been on the news all day, and knowing what really happened…”

Angela looked at McCray, as did Jackson. The inspector just shook his head. He didn’t know any more than they did about who had given the information to the media.

“Anyway, we’re leaving. We’re getting out of here—”

“Sorry to say, you’re not, sir,” Inspector McCray said. “You’ll stay in case we need you again.”

“You can’t do that. We’re American citizens—”

“I can do that. Don’t worry. We’ll have people guarding you at your hotel. But until this matter is resolved, I’m afraid everyone on the tour that night will be enjoying Irish hospitality.”

Steve Miller set his arm around his wife again, angrily turning and leaving the room without another word.

“Can you really keep them here?” Angela asked him.

He grinned. “I’m not sure if I could without help. But it seems your great American benefactor can make just about anything happen.”

“Kudos to Adam,” Jackson murmured.

Then Moira politely ushered the last family into the room, Sherry and Max Dayton, and their son, Kevin. She made introductions all around.

The boy was cute. He reminded Angela of Corby. They were close in age, too. Kevin appeared to be worried but not frightened.

“Hey,” Angela said gently, addressing the teen. “Kevin, I’m so sorry you had to come here—”

“It’s all right,” the boy said, the words coming out in tandem with his father’s.

Kevin grinned, but it quickly faded. “She was nice. The lady. She was so nice. We want to help if someone hurt her.”

The three of them sat, and Jackson asked them if they had seen anyone especially close with Mrs. Robertson or anything that might have appeared at all suspicious.

“This is so hard,” Sherry Dayton said. “I mean, we were visiting with each other. It was one of the best tours we’d been on. Mr. Meadows is so very good. He changes voices and everything when speaking about events from the distant past. And he knows so much. I thought I knew Irish history, but my knowledge is nothing to the way he knows it. He tells facts first—just the truth of the events. And then explains what has been reported as being seen since. And the group…well, everyone seemed so very nice. We all chatted between stories and…”

Her voice trailed away with a whisper of misery.

“I can say the same and little more, I’m afraid,” Max Dayton told them. “She was kind. She seemed to love kids. Actually, she told us she loved kids and approached Kevin right away. She said he was amazing, so interested in history that wasn’t even his. It was so cute. She told him to look out for leprechauns while he was here. Said they could be tricksters but weren’t mean—they just liked to play harmless pranks. Kevin was with her, holding her hand for most of the tour.”

Angela hated to do it, but she turned her attention back to Kevin. “So. She was really, really nice, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kevin said. “And almost as good as the tour guy. She was fun. And she didn’t act like she had something icky stuck to her foot when she was around me. Not like some other people. I didn’t even mind her holding my hand, even though I’m too old for that.”

“Others acted that way to you?” Angela asked.

“The, um, the couple who just left,” Max said, replying for his son. “I heard them. They asked the guide why kids were allowed on a ghost tour. They said kids should be in bed, not out that late at night.”

“Connie and Steve Miller?” Jackson asked.

“I didn’t really catch their names,” Max said. “But we saw them leaving as we arrived tonight. I was going to wave or do something, but they acted like they didn’t see us.”

“It’s clear they don’t like kids,” Sherry said. “But I didn’t see them do anything. Kevin seemed to be near Mrs. Robertson most of the time, and they didn’t want to be near Kevin. Well, I think maybe on the stairs. Those old stone stairs are dangerous if you don’t pay attention. We were all close. Maybe the woman was close to Mrs. Robertson then. I don’t really know.”

“I do,” Kevin said.

Angela turned to the boy. “You know what, Kevin? Please, tell me,” she urged.

“I know that lady was right next to Mrs. Robertson on the stairs. I know because, well, I’m a kid, and we’re better at some stuff than adults. I tried to stay behind her, just in case she slipped.”

“Kevin,” his mother admonished, “if anyone had fallen, you’re not big enough or—”

“Mom, chill. Please,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

He leaned forward, talking to Angela earnestly. “This isn’t just because that lady was mean to me. Honest. She was right next to Mrs. Robertson. And I swear, at one point, she had her hand on Mrs. Robertson’s shoulder. I saw it. I swear to you… I’d swear on a stack of Bibles.”

“We go to church—” his mother began.

“I’d swear it right in the middle of St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” Kevin continued.

“Thank you, Kevin,” Angela told him. “We will check it all out. We know you’re not lying. She told us herself that she was next to Mrs. Robertson on the stairs.”

“Do any of you know anything else?” Angus asked, looking from one of them to the other. He frowned suddenly and then added, “Wasn’t it strange to you that the three of you and Dr. and Professor Miller were left downstairs with Mark Meadows while Mrs. Robertson was upstairs, and the others on the tour had left?”

“Honestly? I didn’t want to stay,” Sherry said. “I didn’t want to be near them anymore, in any way. I mean, we understand. We have friends who don’t have children, and they don’t know how to deal with them or accept them. But Kevin is a good kid. He’s quiet. He listens. He wasn’t bothering anyone on the tour, and they were the only two who seemed…almost hostile.”

She reached out and fixed her son’s hair, much to his embarrassment. “But Kevin was so into the stories. He wanted to ask more about the Vikings and what had been going on here when the Irish gained a hold against them. This castle was built during the Norman age, but Mr. Meadows made mention of the Vikings, and Kevin loves all things Viking and wanted to ask more questions. So…we stayed.”

“And then stayed more when the inspector came,” Max said, nodding toward Angus.

“I didn’t mean to bug Mr. Meadows,” Kevin suddenly chimed in. “But he told us we could ask him questions about anything.”

“I’m sure he meant that and appreciated all your interest,” Angela told the boy.

“And we appreciate that you understood the severity of the situation, waited for clearance from me, and came back in today,” Angus told the group.

Angela turned to Kevin again. “Did you see anyone else near Mrs. Robertson, anyone who might have hugged her? Touched her?”

Kevin shook his head.

“I heard she was close to Mark,” Jackson prompted.

“I don’t know how or when. Most of us were already here when Mrs. Robertson arrived. She was almost one of the last people, just making it, and only about five minutes before we were set to begin,” Sherry said.

“I see,” Angela murmured. “Well, then—”

Max and Sherry rose, and Kevin immediately followed suit.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to give us the spiel. We have no intention of leaving Ireland until…well, until you say we’re free to go,” Max said. He laid a card on the table. “This is where we’re staying, my cell phone, and Sherry’s number. We’re here if you need us. Of course, if you do learn anything… The woman was kind. So kind.”

“Of course,” Angela said. “And thank you so much.”

They exited the dining room. Moira had been waiting just behind the dividing wall and thanked them sincerely, too, smiling at Kevin as they all walked out.

Left together, Angela, Jackson, and Angus stared at one another.

“Why in the hell would a couple of Americans want to kill Mrs. Robertson? I mean, we can’t just believe it was the Millers because they seem to be rather nasty people, but…”

“They lied,” Angela said flatly. “They lied about Mark hugging Mrs. Robertson, something no one else mentioned in any way, shape, or form.”

“So we have suspects,” Jackson said, looking at the others. “Now, how the hell do we prove they did it? Angela, can you—?”

“I’ll find out if they’ve ordered any poisonous pets. That is if they ordered any and left a record , but I doubt that will be the case.”

Angus shook his head. “There has to be something. It’s bizarre to think an American couple came to Ireland to murder a stranger.”

“More than bizarre,” Angela agreed. “There must be a relationship somewhere, a connection. If they’re guilty. Just touching someone in a non-aggressive or non-sexual manner isn’t illegal.”

“So,” McCray mused, “just what could the relationship be?” He looked at them before adding, “And just how many people might be involved in one way or another?”

“ And ,” Angela provided, “to what end? If we knew that, maybe we could piece this together.”

“Someone wants the castle,” Jackson said flatly.

“But, Jackson,” Angela murmured, “I told you—”

“We definitely need to look into the Millers’ finances,” Jackson said. “Though I don’t know what they’d want with an Irish castle.”

“Hey,” Angus protested. “Wouldn’t anyone want an Irish castle?”

Jackson grinned, but it quickly faded. “Wait. Doctor Miller. The man would know that just a brush with poison dart frog toxin could cause serious damage or death,” he pointed out.

“And his wife teaches geography,” Angela said.

“They do make good suspects,” Jackson agreed. “Now, we just need the thing that’s necessary in both our countries.” He looked at Angela and then Angus.

“It would be nice to know the motive,” Angus said.

“It would, indeed,” Jackson agreed. “But what we need is—”

“Proof,” Angela said softly. “And here’s the thing. If we can get something that resembles proof against them, they could be coerced into telling us who else is involved, if anyone is. Therein, we just might find the motive.”