Chapter 8

“You’ve seen her, haven’t you?” Moira asked Angela.

“Pardon?” Angela said, stalling. They sat together on the bed in the room Angela was sharing with Jackson, far from any others who might overhear.

Moira smiled. “I hear her,” she said softly. “But you saw her. Oh, don’t worry. I’ve done my research on you and your Krewe of Hunters.”

“Officially, we’re not the Krewe of Hunters. We are a specialized unit within the bureau.”

“ The X-Files ,” Moira said.

Angela grinned and shook her head. “ Most things in the sky are unidentified, as far as I’m concerned. Though a friend at NASA told me we’ve created tons of space garbage that’s swirling around above the atmosphere. Go figure. People creating garbage.”

“Not The X-Files ,” Moira said. “But you go in when there are cult killings, when strange things happen around murders, and when bizarre rumors spread that may or may not be true. Angela, please, just tell me. Don’t let me think I’m crazy. There is a banshee here, right?”

Angela hesitated for just a second before nodding. “She’s sweet and beautiful, Moira. She lived here hundreds of years ago, and she’s here to help people, not frighten them.”

“Banshees lament,” Moira said softly. “But that night, she was…it was more like screaming. Tell me, does she know what happened?”

Angela let out a long breath. “No. She senses things and felt that Amelia Robertson was in trouble. And…”

Her voice trailed off.

“What? Angela, please.”

“Okay, first, you should know she loved Colleen and thinks the world of you.”

“That’s nice. But?”

“As I said, she said she senses things. When Mrs. Robertson was killed, she sensed evil.”

“Evil?” Moira whispered. “But we’re trying so hard to do all the right things here. To honor all the history that has passed in the long years these walls have stood on this land.”

“She knows that.”

“Then?”

“All right. Remember, we’re in the middle of an investigation. But we do have suspects.”

“They’re gone? They’re not in the castle?”

“They are not in the castle.”

“But you can’t do anything about them.”

Angela let out a breath. “We’re working on it,” she assured her cousin.

“Mark is innocent of anything evil, you know,” Moira said, staring hard into Angela’s eyes.

“I didn’t say he was guilty.”

“But I know you are suspicious of him.”

“Moira, honestly, Mark isn’t coming off as suspicious to us.”

“Then he’s not one of your suspects?” Moira asked.

“Not particularly. Why?” Angela asked.

Moira was quiet for a minute. “Because I’m in love with him,” she said at last.

Angela smiled softly. “It seemed to me there was something between you. I was thinking more that you two were attracted to each other, not that you were full-scale in love.”

Moira laughed softly at that.

“It was a slow thing. He was doing some work here when Granny was still alive, and she was determined that we do what we needed to do. She truly was amazing. So much passion and energy—and love—packed into such a little body. She was about five feet tall and ninety pounds, but…wow. She could move mountains. She told me Irish women were born tough. That we were given that gift because of the years of bloodshed and warfare the country went through. But everything’s good today. Ireland is great. You need to spend more time here.”

Angela laughed. “Irish hospitality. And it does seem to be real.”

“I’ve met incredible people in America, too.”

Grinning, Angela told her, “Our Canadian cousins are known for being even nicer.”

They both smiled, and Moira started to ask, “The banshee…?”

“She’s beautiful. And she’s determined to be a great guardian,” Angela said, then hesitated. “I believe she’ll warn us if anything else happens. We’ll hear her if something is wrong. Her name was Lady Doreen Darien, and she lived hundreds of years ago. She died trying to stop an arrow from piercing her husband’s heart to no avail. He died, too. In whatever afterlife there is, she sees him, but she loves her job as a banshee, trying to help the dead move on and the living deal with grief.”

Moira smiled. “I wish I could see her.”

“But you hear her. That’s what’s important,” Angela said.

“Seriously, you heard Elizabeth this morning. I don’t talk about her with any of them, even Nellie, who seems to believe in every legend out there. I mean, I guess I’m lucky to have the people who worked for Granny still here with me. Because taking all this over has been a lot. Stewart knows everything we need to hold on to the castle privately but also open it up for others. You couldn’t ask for a better kid than Daniel. And while Elizabeth can be hard, she’d do just about anything for anyone.

“Lock-Stone has covered the gatehouse for a reasonable sum for a long time. You can’t imagine what tourists sometimes want to do. Breaking into castles just for pictures or to chip away a block of old stone, and then… Well, you deal with it. North of here, they had a problem with a Tudor-era castle where people broke in to perform a rite. Though you guys deal with that stuff, so you probably know.”

“Yeah. You don’t want people just wandering around your property.”

“Not to mention the liability. Even here.” She sighed. “Thankfully, the thief died on the other side of the wall, but still. Oh, Angela. Why? It’s so ridiculous for someone to think they could scale the wall and crawl over the metal spikes.”

“Yes, it’s bizarre. I agree. But you must always consider many things as the heiress to such a fine property,” Angela said. “We’re here for you.”

Moira’s watch buzzed. She glanced at Angela. “It’s Mark.”

“Does he know you’re in love with him?” Angela asked.

“We’ve kept it pretty professional most of the time,” Moira said. “But…”

“But?”

“I want him to stay here.”

“You mean now, these next nights?”

Moira nodded. “I’m not sure if it has gone that far with him, but trust me, Angela. I did a fair amount of acting, as you know, most of it in the States. I met my share of men, some fawning, others with egos the size of the British Isles. But…”

“But?”

“The more I see Mark, the more I know,” she said.

“Know what?” Angela asked.

“I think I want him to stay here forever.”

“Oh.” She drew out the word.

Angela desperately hoped Mark Meadows wasn’t involved with whatever was going on here.

And that her cousin wasn’t in love with a calculating killer.

“Do you think having him stay now, while we’re still trying to get to the bottom of what happened, is a good idea?” Angela asked.

“I’m telling you, Mark had nothing to do with any of this.”

Angela nodded.

“You don’t believe me. You know, I sense things, too,” Moira said.

“I do believe you. It’s just—”

“Right. You must be suspicious of everyone. I believe your husband and Inspector McCray are down in the Great Tower. They’ll let Mark in.”

“They will,” Angela agreed. “But—”

“We should stay in the public spaces?” Moira asked dryly.

“It’s just not a good time,” Angela whispered.

“He’s innocent.”

“I hope so.”

“Did the banshee sense he was evil?” Moira asked.

Angela sighed deeply and shook her head. “But there is still something going on, Moira. Maybe if we catch the people who arranged for the patch and the murder, they’ll tell us why this happened. Until then, please…”

“I know. Just be careful. Yes, I will. How did you know you could trust Jackson when you first met him?” Moira asked.

“We were both asked to work on a case. We weren’t the ones threatened,” Angela told her.

“Hmm. Trust for some people is hard. For others, it’s natural.”

“Moira—”

“Right. Okay. We’ll play it your way. I’ll head to the entertainment room. I’ll be there in full sight of anyone who peeks in.”

Angela smiled. “I’m going to get on my computer and see what I can dig up.”

“You mean hack.”

“I mean discover,” Angela said.

Laughing, Moira rose, ready to leave the room. She stood by the door for a minute, listening.

Then she turned and smiled at Angela.

“Nothing will happen now,” she said softly.

Angela smiled. “No,” she agreed. “The banshee is silent.”

Grinning, Moira left the room. Angela pulled out her laptop and wished she had all the resources she had back home. But Bruce had her mainframe with all its many apps she’d gained access to over the years—and the information none of them wanted traveling the world.

Still…

She was studying the Millers’ social media when her phone rang. She smiled when she saw Jackson’s name.

“I’m poring over social media, Jackson. Connie Miller keeps up conversations with her students. They talked a lot about South America. And…”

Her voice broke off.

“And?” he asked.

“Jackson, there’s a conversation going on between her and a student named Antonio Ferrara. He’s originally from Brazil, and they’re discussing him going back to visit some of his family—along the Amazon,” she told him.

“Is he back in the States?” Jackson asked her.

“He is.”

“Bruce will get someone to wherever he is. She teaches in Georgia, right?”

“Yep. I don’t have an address, though.”

“Bruce will get it. I’m not sure if we have any agents in the area right now, but I want one of our people to question him. You’re in the bedroom?”

“I am.”

He hesitated. “I’ll get back to you.”

She ended the call and kept searching. There was nothing more, just a pleasant exchange between a teacher and a student who had returned from a trip. He talked about the beauty of Brazil and the power of the Amazon River.

Nothing more.

She went on another social media site.

There, she discovered a picture—one taken in front of a large mall.

A woman was in the photo, along with a man, and between them stood a boy of about seventeen.

There was a caption.

With brilliant student Antonio Ferrara.

Angela grappled for her phone again, eager to reach Jackson, but looked up to see him entering the room with Inspector McCray.

“Angela?”

“You’re here. Look.”

She turned the computer around so both men could see what she had found.

“And this kid—”

“Just came back from a trip to the Amazon in that picture. I’ve checked the dates. The timing of the break-in at the lab coincides with his visit to Brazil.”

“It’s a big country,” Angus said.

“But I think it’s enough to warrant a visit to Dr. and Professor Miller, don’t you?” Angela asked.

“I do,” Jackson said.

“We still need more than the fact that poison dart frogs come from the Amazon, and Professor Miller had a student there. That’s entirely circumstantial,” McCray said. “But I am happy to talk to the couple again. Maybe they’ll realize we are coming closer to the truth and throw their accomplices under the proverbial bus if someone else is involved.”

“We have agents in the area where the kid lives. Bruce will get them there.”

“Perfect. I just need to tell Moira we’re heading out,” Angela said but then hesitated.

“You don’t want to leave her here alone, do you?” Jackson asked her.

“No,” Angela admitted.

“We can handle this,” Jackson said, gesturing to McCray. “You never know. By the time we get to Dublin and reach the couple in their hotel room, I may have heard something from Bruce.”

“I think I’m going to hang here with Moira and Mark,” Angela said. “Just…”

“Yeah. We let him in when he arrived. No one else seemed to be around. I don’t know if Stewart ever came back from dropping Daniel at school. We didn’t see Nellie return from the gatehouse, either. Maybe she’s enjoying herself in the fresh air. I assume Elizabeth is doing whatever she does when she gets a free morning,” Jackson said. “We’ll see you down to join Moira and Mark then take off.”

“Okay,” Angela agreed.

They found Moira and Mark sitting on the couch, heads close together, deep in discussion. But both looked up expectantly when the three of them entered the room. They both smiled when Jackson explained he and Angus were off to follow up on a lead, but that Angela was staying with them.

“Let’s do this,” Angus said to Jackson.

“Let’s,” he agreed.

The two men left the room, and Angela looked at Moira. She wondered if her cousin resented her for being there, watching over her when she was with the man she said she loved.

But Moira seemed happy enough to visit with them both.

“Mark, history was your major, right? That’s really cool. I have to admit, the best stories in the world come from history,” Angela said.

Mark smiled. “I love it, and not just Irish history. I can tell you things about America that will make your hair stand on end.”

“I know a few of those stories, too,” Angela said, chuckling.

“And sad stuff. Like here, sometimes. Wherever it occurs, a Civil War is the worst kind. Neighbors against neighbors, even sons and daughters against their parents, brothers against brothers. Like what happened in the America Civil War. But history is also full of cool stuff. Want to hear about happy stuff that comes up during the ghost tours?” he asked her.

Angela smiled and made herself comfortable in the plush chair across from the sofa.

“I’d love to,” she said. “As long as I’m not interrupting. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s great you’re here,” Mark assured her. “Of course, if I know Moira, she may fall asleep while I’m talking.”

She gave him a light tap on the arm and a serious frown.

“Ouch! Just teasing,” he assured her. “Okay, then. Cool history about people being good to one another. Hmm…”

* * * *

“Good to see Sam finally took a break,” Angus said as he and Jackson drove out of the gate and headed toward the road to Dublin.

“It’s curious that he can pick and choose his hours like he does,” Jackson said.

“Oh, it’s a small company. The same three men are always here. Weird schedules, though. They work long hours and have odd days off, kind of like some of the medical personnel I know. I dated a nurse once who worked four ten-hour days and then had three days off in a row. Now that would be nice,” Angus said. He looked at Jackson. “The fact that I couldn’t just take off for three-day holidays whenever I chose to didn’t do a lot for our relationship, though.”

“I’m not sure any of us in this business are ever really off,” Jackson told him.

“That is very true. But you’re here.”

“We have great folks at our office,” Jackson said simply. “And we have a European division now that comes in when asked, especially when there’s an American connection in one way or another.”

“So, Angela and Moira,” McCray said. “Cousins?”

“Second cousins, but yes. Anyway, I suppose some would consider it a vacation to visit an Irish castle.”

McCray laughed grimly. “Especially when someone there gets murdered by poison dart frog toxin.”

Jackson shrugged. He liked McCray. It was easy to work with the man.

They continued to chat idly and were close to Dublin when Jackson received the call he’d been waiting for from back home.

“The kid spilled like a water faucet,” Bruce said.

“What did he say?” Jackson asked. “Did he admit to breaking into the lab?”

“No, nothing like that. He said he met up with some, as he called them, tough guys who broke into the lab in Brazil. They had these sealed bags they didn’t really know what to do with. Claimed they’d been looking for money or something to pawn, but all they found was a bunch of lousy frogs, vials, and those kinds of things. Anyway, this kid, Antonio Ferrara, was there with his parents and talked to our very own Axel Tiger, who was down in Georgia on a different assignment.

“The kid said he took the bag because he knew he had a cool teacher and thought maybe he could bring it to her and she would do something. They wanted a finders’ fee, of course. But, anyway, Antonio gave the bag with the rat patches to that teacher—none other than Professor Connie Miller.”

“All right, thanks. We’re on our way to them now,” Jackson told Bruce. He looked at McCray, repeating what he’d learned.

The inspector didn’t look his way since he was driving, but he did smile.

“It’s going to be a complicated case, but I think we’ve got enough to bring them in and hold them while we try to get something out of them or find some evidence,” McCray said.

“Let’s do it,” Jackson agreed.

McCray was still smiling.

“What?”

“Well, I mean, we all know that not liking animals or children doesn’t make a person evil, but… I don’t know. I find it a good indicator.”

“While not liking animals or children doesn’t make a man or woman a murderer,” Jackson said, “walking around with transdermal patches with poison dart frog toxin may.”

“Why, though?”

“Maybe they’ll tell us,” Jackson said.

“Great,” McCray said, pulling into the hotel’s small parking lot. “My men are here, right in front, watching over them. I can guarantee the couple hasn’t fled.”

“Good thing,” Jackson said.

He nodded when Angus introduced him to the two men on duty, and then they headed in. Doctor and Professor Miller were on the second floor in room 212.

But when they knocked, they got no reply.

Angus looked at Jackson.

“This is Inspector McCray,” he called. “We need to speak with you again.”

Again, no answer.

“Think they’re taking a romantic shower?” Angus asked Jackson.

“Your country…but I suggest we break down the door. I mean…was that a scream I heard? Exigent circumstances, right?” He looked at Angus with a raised brow.

McCray nodded. “On three…one, two, three!”

They both gave the door a hard kick.

As they entered, Jackson knew the couple wouldn’t be telling them anything.