What a Ghoul Wants

by Victoria Laurie

  The inspector’s spine stiffened and his face flushed and it took him a moment to answer me, but he said, “I suppose it was shortly after Ollie died. Mother fell into a terrible depression, and because of my own grief, I didn’t notice her drinking until it had become a problem. She told me once that she blamed herself for Ollie’s death, and I don’t know that she’ll ever recover from the pain of his loss.”

  “And who had control over your inheritance? Was that her or someone else?”

  “It was Mother until Ollie and I reached the age of twenty-five; then we took control.”

  “I see, and who inherited Ollie’s portion when he died?”

  I could see that my questions were making the inspector more and more uncomfortable, and I braced myself for an outburst from him, but he surprised me by keeping his cool and saying, “Mother inherited it, and when she dies, it will go to me. But I’ll have you know that when the solicitor informed her that she would receive his portion of the trust, she protested and claimed to want no part of it. I’ve been managing her accounts since Ollie’s death.”

  I had an even more probing question to ask the inspector, and I hoped he wouldn’t get too angry with me. “Sir, I’m very sorry to have to ask you this, but did you ever notice that, when you turned twenty-five and took over your own finances, that there was less there than expected?”

  The inspector shifted in his seat, but I could see that I’d touched on the truth. “There may have been slightly less than expected,” he said grudgingly. “However, Mother was never really very good at managing money. She spoiled us a bit, I’m afraid.”

  “I see.” I knew he wasn’t being totally honest with me.

  Lumley’s face darkened. “What exactly are you getting at, Miss Holliday?”

  “I believe I know who your serial killer is, Inspector. And I also believe I know who her accomplices were.”

  The inspector stood up and balled his hands into fists. “Are you implying that my mother is somehow responsible for these murders?” he demanded.

  I was careful to keep my tone cool and even. “No, sir,” I said. “At least, not directly responsible. But I do believe she was involved.”

  “What’s your theory, Em?” Heath said, moving protectively to my side to show Lumley he’d better think twice about yelling at me.

  Before I told them, I wanted to be absolutely sure, so I turned first to Michel. “You said the other day that you had suggested Kidwellah to André for the location shoot. How did you come across this castle, Michel?”

  He cocked his head quizzically at me and said, “Jaqui sent me an email with a link to the castle. But she also sent me several other choices.”

  I thought on that for a minute before I followed up with another question. “And these other choices that Mrs. Lefebvre sent to you, how did they compare to Kidwellah?”

  “Well, they didn’t,” he said with a slight smile. “Kidwellah’s hall was exceptional by comparison. I knew it was the perfect location for the shoot the moment I laid eyes on it.”

  I nodded knowingly. Then I turned to Gil and said, “The other nine victims that ended up in the moat, Gil. Did you happen to find out anything about them?”

  Michel raised his hand to get my attention back to him. “While Gilley was looking up Clarence, I was able to come up with some information on them, and just like the others they fit the profile. Two of the three remaining victims were middle-aged wealthy men, here on holiday with their wives, and those who had children did not have them in attendance when they were here.”

  “And who was the third victim?” I asked.

  “He was a groundskeeper here at the castle. His name was Richard Farnsworth. I doubt he was a wealthy man.”

  “But I’d wager he was a mean one,” I replied, recognizing the last name immediately.

  Michel cocked his head as if I’d just said something odd. “You know, you might be right, M. J. I did come across a small article about Richard which said that he spent a night in the Penbigh jail on suspicion of battery to his wife.”

  “Farnsworth,” Heath said, eyeing me curiously. “Where have I heard that name before?”

  And as if on cue, Mary Farnsworth, the hotel waitress and cook, came into the dining hall and asked us if we’d care for something to eat or drink.

  Wanting to send her out of ear range, I told her that we’d all love some tea and pastries, and off she went to see to preparing it for us.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Lumley said, as if a lightbulb had just gone on above his head. He turned wide eyes to me and I nodded.

  “Yes, Inspector. I believe she was, and perhaps still is, an accomplice too.”

  “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Gil complained.

  I kept my eyes on the door that Mary had walked through into the kitchen while I answered Gilley. “I believe that the person murdering all the men at the keep was none other than the dowager, Lady Lydia Hathaway.”

  Heath’s jaw fell open. “Lady Hathaway?” he said. “But, Em, she’s got to be in her seventies if she’s a day. How would she have done it?”

  I shrugged. “She had help. You saw her butler. He’s not quite as old as she is, but he’s certainly capable of striking someone on the head from behind, and if it’s not him, then it could’ve been some other hired hand to do the dowager’s dirty work.”

  “But why would she want to murder all those men?” Gil pressed.

  “For the money, honey,” I said. “I doubt that Kidwellah Castle has generated enough income to keep the dowager so finely furnished all these years. Her house is like a museum of priceless antiques, artwork, and expensive furnishings. If, according to her, she had the castle converted years ago into a hotel, I doubt it’s been able to pull in enough money to keep her in that kind of lavish lifestyle.”

  “But how does she make money off of murdering the men?” Michel asked.

  “By having their widows be in on the scheme. You know how tight-lipped these European aristocrats are, Michel. Entrance into their little club of wealthy elite comes only with a title or a great deal of money. And I’d wager that there’s likely a rumor out there amongst the women of this aristocratic circle that if you have a difficult, abusive, or irritable husband whom you can’t afford to divorce, the dowager Lady Hathaway may just be someone who can help you.”

  I allowed my eyes to settle on the inspector and his jaw clenched.

  “Do you know what you’re suggesting?” he asked me so softly it was barely audible.

  “I do, sir. I’m suggesting that your mother may have been involved in the murder of your father, and when her own son was drawn to Kidwellah Castle for inexplicable reasons, she tried to redirect him. But he wouldn’t let it go, and when he became the inspector here, she must have been deeply worried that he’d discover something about his father’s disappearance that would lead him back to her. What’s worse, when Ollie was murdered by one of the dowager’s helpers because he might have been getting too close for comfort, your mother must have known that she was indirectly responsible for his death, and the guilt got the better of her, and she began drinking, trying to numb herself from the pain.” The inspector looked visibly stricken by my speech. “Inspector Lumley, I’m so sorry, I know this hits very close to home for you, but the theory is at least worth checking into.”

  “How the devil would you propose I prove something like that?” he snapped. Clearly I’d touched a nerve.

  “I think you should have a talk with your mother. And if that’s too difficult a task, then find the widows of the men who were drowned in the moat over the past four decades, and begin questioning them. Better yet, go over their finances. My guess is that right after their husbands were found floating in the moat, there was a sizable withdrawal from their accounts. In fact, I’d start with Mrs.
Lefebvre and work your way backward. Question the widows, because I have a feeling that the farther back you go, the more willing these women will be to cooperate. Especially if I’m right in thinking that Lady Hathaway had blackmailed them.”

  “I think M. J.’s right,” Heath said. “But I still don’t understand why Merrick Brown was murdered, or Mrs. Hollingsworth.”

  “Well, I actually have a theory about both of them too,” I said. “I think that Mrs. Hollingsworth was a victim of circumstance. I believe she lured her husband here to have him taken care of, only Mrs. Lefebvre jumped ahead of her in line, probably by paying more money. That’s when Mr. Hollingsworth lost his temper and probably took the opportunity to murder Fiona, thinking she’d just end up as another of the castle’s mysterious victims. He has the perfect case for reasonable doubt, even if he is fingered for the crime.

  “And as for Merrick, I don’t think my first impression of him as a kindly young man was off. I believe he might have figured out what was happening here at the castle, but, given the dowager’s sizable influence in Penbigh, was probably too afraid to go to the police. I think that when he learned our film crew was coming here to investigate the ghosts of Kidwellah, he did something a bit drastic, and he put us in the south wing on purpose. He might have felt confident about our abilities to deal with the Widow, and also to expose the truth.” Turning to Heath, I said, “Do you remember what he said to us? That he’d looked us up online and thought we were amazing investigators?” Heath nodded. “At the time I thought he was talking about our ghost-hunting abilities, but have you seen what’s been written about us? There’re more than a few articles out there giving us credit for solving a couple of murders. We’ve got a reputation for being not just ghostbusters, but amateur murder investigators too.

  “And I bet that’s what Merrick was referring to, and I also bet that’s why he put us in that room in the south wing, to ferret out the truth about what’s going on here, but unfortunately, someone must have discovered what Merrick was up to, or worried that he was getting too suspicious and they murdered him.”

  “But who?” Heath asked. “Who murdered Merrick?”

  “Me,” said a voice behind us. We all jumped and turned in our seats to find Arthur Crunn standing in the doorway holding a pistol. The inspector reached for his own weapon and Crunn cocked his gun and said, “Ah, ah, Inspector. I’d hate to shoot you and ruin this carpet. It’d make such a mess for Mary to clean up.”

  At that moment Mary came into the dining hall and dropped the tray she was carrying. Dishes clattered and broke and she reeled backward a few steps. “Arthur!” she gasped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “They know, Mary,” he said, his eyes full of meaning.

  Mary’s hand flew to her mouth and it took her a moment to reply. “But. . . but. . . you can’t kill them all!”

  Crunn tugged at his collar with his free hand, clearly nervous. “Of course I can,” he said. “They’ll find them all floating in the moat, their boat capsized. Just another dreadful accident.”

  My eyes slid to the inspector, who was watching Crunn like a tiger considering its prey.

  “I’m too young to die!” Gil cried as big wet tears filled his eyes. I wanted to comfort him, but I was afraid to move.

  Crunn glared hard at him, as if Gilley’s pleading face was an irritation. “Stop blubbering,” he snapped. “Now all of you, get up and move against the wall. Mary, go get a good length of rope. You’ll need to tie their hands and feet, but not too tight. Just tight enough for them to struggle for a bit before the Widow gets them. Not to worry, I’ll show you. I’ve had some practice with Merrick.”

  Mary stood frozen in place, and while she didn’t move, neither did we. “Now!” Crunn yelled, and we all jumped.

  Mary hurried off to get the length of rope and I wanted to call out to her to stand up to her brother, but I realized that Mary wasn’t the type to stand up for herself. Not with her brother, her late husband, or the dowager, who’d likely enslaved her here at the castle as repayment for killing Mary’s husband.

  In the silence that followed, the inspector softly said, “He can’t shoot all of us.”

  “Stop talking!” Arthur yelled. “And move over to the wall or I’ll shoot you first, Jasper.”

  The inspector took a subtle step to the side, close to a table stacked with clean dishes. I chanced a look at him, and he glanced meaningfully at the dishes. I understood immediately, and my heart quickened.

  “I said move!” Crunn yelled again. Gilley sniffled loudly and said, “Is he really going to kill us?”

  I ignored him and focused subtly on the inspector. I saw his right hand—hidden from Crunn—count down, three. . . two. . .

  “Hey, guys, sorry about that. Sometimes it’s hard to shut Chris up,” Gopher said as he came hurrying into the room wiggling his cell phone.

  Arthur turned and began to raise his gun toward Gopher, and that’s when Heath, the inspector, and I all reached out and grabbed for a plate, hurtling them toward Crunn. Two of the three found their mark, striking him in the forehead. Crunn’s gun went off, Gilley screamed, Gopher fell to the ground clutching at his chest, and Heath took off like a rocket. He covered the floor in six paces and launched himself into the air, tackling Crunn and taking him down. The pair hit the carpet and there was a loud crunching sound, and Arthur screamed in pain.

  Meanwhile I raced forward to get to Gopher, who was lying on his side, his face away from me. “Gopher!” I cried, falling to my knees in front of him. “Are you hit? Are you hit?”

  The inspector was at my side in a moment and together we gently rolled Gopher over. To my immediate relief I could see that Gopher’s eyes were open and he was conscious, but he was quite pale. “Owwwwwww!” he moaned. “What the hell?”

  “Are you hit?” I asked him again, gently probing his bubble vest for any signs of a wound.

  Gopher lifted his hand, which was bloody and badly cut. “He shot my phone!”

  I gave a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God,” I whispered, bending forward to hug Gopher.

  “We’ve got Mary!” Gilley called, and I looked behind me to see that Gil and Michel were busy using all of Mary’s rope to bind her to a chair. That woman wasn’t going anywhere.

  Meanwhile Crunn was still squirming under Heath, his face contorted in pain. Clearly he’d broken something—probably a hip. Heath didn’t seem to have an ounce of pity for him, and he held him in a headlock until the inspector could come over and handcuff him.

  * * *

  Several hours later the inspector had made half a dozen arrests: Crunn and his sister, Mary; Lady Hathaway; her butler (who’d been the primary hit man and the one to actually pull the trigger and murder Lumley’s father so many years before, we later learned); Mrs. Lefebvre; and, sadly, the inspector’s mother.

  I couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him to arrest his own mother, but Lumley seemed to see her with a different set of eyes now. I could tell from the news broadcast that evening that he had emotionally, and perhaps permanently, divorced her.

  Mr. Hollingsworth was brought in for questioning on the murder of his wife, which Crunn and the others flatly denied having a hand in. But Hollingsworth had already had many years’ practice denying the abuse of his wife, and he wasn’t about to confess to her murder. Still, his DNA was collected, as the inspector had noticed some scratches on the top of Hollingsworth’s hand when he’d interviewed him on the night of Fiona’s murder, and the coroner had discovered some foreign skin particles under her fingernails after she’d been pulled from the lake. I figured it was only a matter of time before it came back from the lab pointing to him as a match. I had no doubt the trail would lead back to the bastard husband, and he’d spend the rest of his life rotting in some cold prison.

  As for us
, well, at first we didn’t know if we were even allowed to stay on the premises. Lady Hathaway’s solicitor had her out on bail within a few hours and I was sure she’d kick us out. But the inspector intervened, declaring the entire castle a crime scene, and with his permission we were allowed to stay in a small section that didn’t fall under the area of investigation—namely, our rooms, the front hall, the kitchen, and a small section at the back of the dining hall next to the kitchen.

  I told my crew that the minute the Widow was taken care of, we’d be out of there, never to set foot on those moors again. At least that was the hope.

  We met the next day to come up with an actual plan, and to my surprise, it was Gilley who proved just how valuable a team member he was. “I was thinking about Sam’s idea to stage a prison break,” he said, hoisting up a box the size of a large radio onto the table. “And I think I have an idea.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” Heath asked warily.

  I knew it was. Several months earlier we’d been involved in a particularly nasty ghostbust in Scotland, and on that shoot we’d come across a gadget that could enhance the electromagnetic energy within a given area. The effect was to thin the veil between our realm and the realm that spooks walked in. With the veil weakened, a powerful spook would become even more so, and any living creature within the vicinity would be vulnerable. In other words, it could turn a dicey situation downright dangerous, and a dangerous situation downright deadly.

  “It’s the Super Spooker,” Gilley said with a big ol’ grin. “Like it?”

  “No!” we all said at once.

  Gil made a face. “I’ve tweaked it a little,” he told us, like that was supposed to make us feel better. “It has directional controls now.”

  “Meaning?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

  “Meaning that if you want to give your spooks a boost of energy, you can actually control in what direction you aim the electrostatic ray.” Gilley demonstrated by turning the dial to the right. “This will give you about a three-foot-wide by six-foot-long ray to the right, and moving the knob to the middle shoots it in the middle, et cetera. In other words, if you find yourself at an odd angle to the portal where the prisoners are, then just turn the dial and point the electrostatic ray.”