Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery

by Juliet Blackwell

  “Mmm,” said Kieran. “I don’t believe I’ve had a proper cup of tea since I arrived in this country.”

  “I love your accent,” said Jeanine. “Are you Scottish?”

  “Aye. Guilty as charged, as they say.”

  “Is your family Scottish, too?” I asked. “McCall?”

  “I’m a Velasquez by birth. But my husband’s . . .” Her big brown eyes filled with tears. She took a deep breath and blew it out, seeming to regain her composure. “Larry’s family came from Scotland, two generations ago. His grandparents on his father’s side. He loved all things Scottish. He was an absolute nut when it came to genealogies. He traced both our family trees.”

  Kieran was studying the jumble of items on the wall. There were two reproductions of paintings: One I recognized as Mary, Queen of Scots. The other was a striking painting of a beautiful woman in a very severe palette of browns and blacks. The only bit of color was the touch of blush in her cheeks, on her lips, and the brilliant red of the jewel hanging around her neck. My eyes also lit upon a painting of a castle that reminded me a little of Wakefield. On the fireplace mantel was a collection of photographs of what I presumed were the Scottish Isles.

  “Are those . . . ? Those aren’t pictures of the monastery Elrich is building from Wakefield, are they?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, of course not. Those photos are from our honeymoon. We went on a golfing and scotch-tasting trip in Scotland. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I keep threatening to run off to Paris, myself,” I said. “Do you still golf?”

  “Not at all. And to tell you the truth, I don’t much care for scotch, either. But I still enjoyed the trip,” she said with an indulgent smile. “We stayed in darling bed-and-breakfasts and had haggis and eggs every morning. Such fun.”

  I didn’t think haggis would ever edge out my fantasy of chocolate croissants and café au lait in a Parisian café, but to each their own.

  “Those photos bring me great comfort. Larry and I used to sit here in front of the fire and recall those days,” Jeanine said wistfully. “I keep meaning to light the fire, but it seems like too much effort. That was always Larry’s job.”

  “I’d be happy to do it, if you like,” said Kieran, jumping up.

  “Oh! That would be delightful!” said Jeanine.

  Kieran set about laying a fire with the newspapers, kindling, and firewood that had been laid out with care on the hearth. Soon a small but cheerful fire brightened the room.

  In our part of California, fireplaces are rarely needed for heat, but they can serve as the emotional center of a home, the closest the modern family came to an altar. The mantel in my dad’s house was crammed full of family photos, shells, rocks . . . mementos of happy times. I felt an unexpected surge of homesickness, making me realize how thrown off I’d been by what happened to Graham. I hadn’t even had time to think about what my interactions with the ghost of Donnchadh might have meant.

  “You said something happened to that nice man who came to see me?” asked Jeanine.

  “Yes. When he returned to the jobsite, after talking with you, he was struck on the head. He’s in the hospital. We hope he’ll be fine.” My voice wavered just a tad as I said this last bit. “But the timing of the attack, especially considering what happened to your husband, made me wonder if someone might have thought you told Graham something. Maybe something that someone else wanted to keep secret?”

  “I confess I can’t think what,” said Jeanine. “We spoke about the business—you know Graham, so you must know he had been a building inspector as well, for Cal-OSHA.”

  I nodded. Graham had worked for the California Office of Safety and Health Administration for a few years before establishing his green-building consultancy.

  “Larry just loved his job. He used to be in software sales, like everyone else in the world, right? But then he accepted a golden parachute. Retirement just didn’t sit well with him. He’s always been an active man, and he liked to be useful. I don’t mind telling you that he was starting to drive me crazy, underfoot all the time. So he took a training course to get his certification and started doing home inspections, and that led to the job with the county. He loved his work.”

  “Did he ever say anything about this particular project? Could you try to tell me anything you told Graham?”

  “Of course, I’ll try.” The smell of onions frying in the other room reminded me of my dad. “I knew he was working at Wakefield, of course. He was . . . bothered that Mr. Elrich was pushing his project past the regular channels, or so Larry believed. ‘Shoving it down our throats’ was how he put it.”

  I nodded and met Kieran’s eyes, wishing she would spill the whole story. She was one of those people who seemed to pause and beg for encouragement every time they gave out a morsel of information. Given the circumstances, it made me feel ghoulish to push her.

  “Did he think there was anything unsafe about the jobsite?” I asked. “Or that the building wasn’t up to code?”

  “There were problems with meeting code, because of all the new techniques being applied. I told Graham that, after he told me he was the one responsible for a lot of the green technology. Graham already knew my Larry, because of all the times he had been down at the permit office.”

  “So there were code issues because of new techniques, but not detrimental to health and safety per se?”

  “Not that I know of. I think what bothered Larry more than anything was he felt Ellis Elrich thought of himself as above the law.”

  “Did he . . . ? Did Larry mention anything to you about finding anything on the site?” I asked. “Something that might have been valuable?”

  She shook her head and nibbled on a crumpet. Crumbs fell onto her large bosom, and she brushed them off with a chagrined smile.

  “Mom, we should start the casserole soon,” called Meghan from the kitchen. She clearly wasn’t happy about us intruding on their sorrow, and I couldn’t blame her. This little interview hadn’t told me anything useful as far as I could tell, and we were taking up valuable energy the family needed for their own recovery.

  “We’ve intruded on your privacy long enough,” I said as I stood. “Thank you so much for speaking with us.”

  “Have I told you anything that might help figure out what happened to your friend . . . or to my Larry?”

  There was such hope in her eyes that my heart went out to her. “I don’t know, but I will try my darnedest to figure this out. That much, I can promise.”

  Jeanine reached out and squeezed my arm as she walked us to the door. “You do that, sweetheart. Don’t let the bastard get away with this.”

  She seemed suddenly fierce for so accommodating a woman.

  “Do you know something about this case?” demanded Meghan, finally emerging from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her stained apron. The bitterness in her eyes made her look older than her mother. “I thought the police had that Nolan guy in jail. Are you saying he didn’t do it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said with a shake of my head, afraid I was raising false hopes, or false doubts. “I think it’s possible that whoever killed your father also went after my friend Graham, which would mean it couldn’t have been Nolan. But I have no proof, or even a suspicion as to who that might be. Given my track record, I’m probably mistaken. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  * * *

  “That didn’t tell us much,” I said, in a gloomy mood as we drove back toward the hospital.

  “I think it’s interesting that McCall was such a Scotophile.”

  “Interesting how? Did you know him?”

  “I saw him go in and out the gates a few times, but that’s about it. He stopped once and complimented my kilt. I thought he was making fun.”

  “He probably wished he had the guts to wear one, himself.”

  Kieran nodded. “Funny, out of all those photos and paintings in their home, there was only the one from his wife’s side of the family.”

  “Which wa
s that?”

  “The Spanish painting. Didn’t you notice? Very different style—those Spanish are all about the dark colors. They’re a severe people, aren’t they?”

  “Right. Not peppy and lighthearted like the Scots.”

  Kieran smiled.

  “When Jeanine said her maiden name was Velasquez, I just assumed she was Mexican-American. Mexican art is usually anything but dark and somber.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about Mexico. But I’d like to go, sit on a beach, sip a margarita. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Kieran sighed. He sounded so plaintive, he reminded me of my depressed ghost. I guessed standing outside the gates wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But if he was staying at the Pelican Inn, Kieran must have some resources. That place wasn’t cheap.

  “I wish I could invite you to Ellis’s place to use the pool. But it might be awkward, given the circumstances.”

  Kieran shrugged and kept his grip tight on the wheel, as though keeping himself on the right side of the road through sheer concentration. I wished I had remembered to offer to drive.

  “Maybe you should declare a truce with Elrich,” I said. “I can give you my word that if I learn anything about a treasure, I’ll let you know. Then you could get the Scottish authorities involved, or whoever would be the agency to deal with this. Interpol, maybe?”

  “Bringing that place over is technically legal. It’s not like he’s involved in international smuggling or engaged in espionage.”

  “Really, Kieran, I don’t think Ellis wants to cheat anyone out of their national heritage. I really don’t.”

  “How about Florian Libole? I wouldn’t put it past him—that’s for sure. Look what happened in Strasbourg.”

  “What happened in Strasbourg?”

  He gave me a significant look. “Ask Libole. But make sure you have some time on your hands—he’ll talk your ear off trying to convince you it wasn’t his fault.”

  I filed that away for future reference. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask: Do you know anything about a woman who was present at the monastery at some point?” I kept wondering about the weeping woman: Who was she, where had she come from, and why would she be haunting the monastery?

  “A woman? No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I can’t imagine such a thing, to be honest. I mean, a woman among all those desperate men?”

  “The men were desperate?”

  “I’m just guessing. I mean, after all, they were a whole bunch of men living together, supposedly celibate. I don’t mean to be hard on my sex, but I don’t think it’s particularly healthy for men to live without women.”

  He looked at me rather soulfully. It made me realize just how immune I was to his charm. Harper seemed quite taken with him, but I’d had a few more years to develop skepticism.

  My phone rang. It was Raul, calling with a couple of questions about a stone countertop that was being installed at the Art Nouveau house. After answering his questions, I filled him in on what had happened to Graham. I hung up and was about to call Luz, only to find a text message from her that all signs were still normal and I should concentrate on finding out the identity of the culprit rather than wasting her time and mine by calling every half hour. Her text made me smile.

  “Where to now?” Kieran asked.

  “Back to the hospital, I guess. I can’t think of anything else. Do you mind if I make a few more phone calls while you drive?”

  “Not at all.”

  I called Dad and filled him in on what had happened. Graham’s father had died young, which was one reason he looked to my dad as a father figure of sorts, which made our relationship just a little too incestuous for comfort. Dad said he’d come up tomorrow and sit with Graham; he also told me he’d call Graham’s mother, who lived in Florida, and let her know what was going on.

  Then I dialed the number for SFPD homicide inspector Annette Crawford.

  “Please tell me you’re not standing over a body,” she answered without preamble.

  “The way you talk, a person would think you weren’t happy to hear from her.”

  “You’re not calling about a murder?”

  “Only tangentially.”

  “Can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Here’s the deal: I’m on a job in Marin County, and yes, a body was discovered several days ago.”

  “I like you, Mel, but I’m not putting my reputation on the line to spring you from the county jail.”

  “Did I say I was calling you from lockup?” Sheesh. Yes, Inspector Crawford and I had been through a few murders together. But I had never actually been guilty of anything. And on our last case, she had asked for my help, so you’d think she would cut me a little slack. “I have a question, that’s all.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How certain of a person’s guilt would police have to be in order to hold someone as a murder suspect? And once they make an arrest, do they continue investigating, or is that the end of it?”

  “That’s a complicated question, I’m afraid. If they have a person of interest, they’ll keep him around to talk with him, see if they can build a case. Normally, they would still follow up any other leads, unless they are completely convinced they’ve got the guilty party. It depends on a lot of factors.”

  I gave her the rundown of what had happened to Larry McCall, why Pete Nolan was being held, and how I came to be running the job at Wakefield for Ellis Elrich. Then I added: “Graham’s been hurt.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

  “He was hit over the head. Skull fracture. We’re hoping he’ll be all right, but . . .” My voice caught in my throat.

  “And you think the murderer was responsible?” she asked, her voice gentle.

  “It’s possible. As usual, I’m not sure what’s going on. And I’ll say one thing: The Marin police aren’t nearly as sweet and accommodating as you are.”

  I heard a chuckle.

  “Tell you what,” said Annette. “I’ll make a couple of phone calls and see what I can find out. Will that help?”

  “It would, yes. The detective on the murder case is named Bernardino. Also, could you ask them if they recovered a clipboard at the scene of McCall’s death?”

  “A clipboard? Holding what?”

  “I don’t actually know, but it might have had something to do with his murder. The construction workers called it his Clipboard of Doom. If the police didn’t pick it up, I think it’s possible that the killer took it. And that the killer isn’t the man they have in custody, Pete Nolan.”

  “All righty. You realize I can now follow your thought process with ease? Do you know how much that thought terrifies me?”

  “Think of it as wind sprints for your brain.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Could you . . . ?” I glanced over at Kieran, who appeared to be concentrating on the road. I lowered my voice, though it was obvious he could still hear me. “Could you also check on one Alicia Withers? She’s Elrich’s assistant, and someone mentioned that she might not be who she says she is.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Annette. I really appreciate it.” I hung up and pondered a bit more. I couldn’t think what my next step should be.

  “I don’t suppose . . . Maybe we should stop by the warehouse where Libole keeps the other items he’s collected,” suggested Kieran.

  “Just how is it you know about things like the warehouse?” I asked him.

  “People tell things to me.” He shrugged. “I think it’s the accent.”

  “If I knew where the warehouse was and how to get in, I’d be happy to oblige. But I don’t.”

  “You could use that magic talking device you’re holding in your hand and call someone,” Kieran suggested.

  “Good point.” When Florian didn’t answer, I tried Alicia, who suggested I take it up with Mr. Elrich. He had an opening tomorrow at three, she said, and she’d be happy to pencil me in. I made the appointment, though I was wil
ling to bet I could corner Ellis at the breakfast bar or out on the terrace with a glass of cognac or building his cairns before then.

  “No luck,” I said to Kieran after I hung up. “Maybe later. Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “We could break in,” I mused aloud. “If we could find someone to tell us where it is.”

  Kieran looked at me, startled. “Break in?”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with the concept, Mr. Gee I Just Had to Look Around the Ruins Even Though I’m Not Permitted on the Property.”

  He appeared to be blushing, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. He mumbled something.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, it’s one thing to wander onto an unsecured piece of land looking for a national treasure, quite another to break in to a locked building. Besides, I didn’t break in, exactly. Technically, I was invited.”

  “By Harper? Don’t play with her emotions, Kieran. You’re too good a guy to do that. She’s young and vulnerable and ripe to get her heart broken.”

  “Who said I was playing with her emotions? We’re friends; I like her. She’s actually quite knowledgeable about plants, and is sympathetic to my case for repatriation. She said she’d talk to her father about it. Anyway, about breaking in to the warehouse . . . I can’t be a party to something like that. What if we get caught?”

  “I’m pretty sure we’d be able to talk ourselves out of it, what with the connection with Elrich and all.”

  Kieran seemed unconvinced.

  “What, did you overstay your visa or something?”

  Now he looked guilty.

  “Kieran—I’m sorry—I was just joking. That can be serious, though, can’t it? Overstaying your visa these days could bring the wrath of Homeland Security down on your head.”

  He shrugged again. “I’m working on it.”

  I nodded and hoped part of his plan didn’t include marrying a gullible American citizen. But it really wasn’t any of my business.

  “You know what? I happen to know a few scofflaws who don’t have visa issues.” I placed another call.

  “Mel! How are you?” my friend Zach asked when he picked up.