by Diana Orgain
We made our way out of the kitchen, climbing the spiral staircase back to the dining room. The dining room was empty, but in the corridor we ran into Jessica and Ashley.
“Look at what we found,” Jessica said excitedly. She motioned toward a box of envelopes.
“What is it?” Scott asked.
“Letters. Old letters. We have to search through them! Come on! We need a little help sorting everything out,” Ashley said.
Scott pulled out a chair for me to sit, then took the chair next to me. We agreed to read and sort through the pile, sharing anything relevant.
In the silence, I remembered my dream about Jane. She’d written a letter to her mother . . . about something she’d seen . . . could it be that perhaps her mother had written back?
Eighteen
We sorted through the letters for quite a while. While the others quietly read, I was stuck pondering the dumbwaiter. Something about it nagged at me. I wanted to explore it a bit more, but knew Scott wouldn’t go for it.
How far did the dumbwaiter go?
Certainly to the dining room, but did it end there or go further up? Had I seen a dumbwaiter up on the third floor? I racked my brain to try to recall the third floor, but I came up empty.
I leaned into Scott. “I think I might try to hunt for Dr. Arch and Karen.”
He nodded, barely looking up from the letter he was reading.
Jessica and Ashley seemed equally absorbed in their reading. As I stood, Adam picked his camera up and stood, leaving the cameraman assigned to Jessica and Ashley to keep filming.
Ditching Adam was going to be a problem.
I knew I absolutely wasn’t supposed to go upstairs, but I slunk down the corridor to the staircase anyway. There I hesitated, deciding to go down or up. Dr. Arch and Karen were in the basement, so I should have headed down the stairs. Instead, I glanced at Adam.
He groaned.
“I’m going up,” I whispered.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Georgia. You want to get me fired?” Adam whined.
“Tell her I gave you the slip.”
“Telling Cheryl that will get me fired. Let’s just go back to the library,” he said.
Scott poked his head out of the library. “Hey, Georgia. We found something interesting. There’s a mention of another death in one of the letters. Three weeks prior to Jane’s murder. Come take a look.” He retreated back to the library and Adam happily followed him.
Seizing my moment of solitude, I crept up to the second floor and moved close to where I figured would be right on top of the kitchen and dining room. Sure enough, the dumbwaiter was there. Could I make it to the third floor and examine where the dumbwaiter led? Could it have led to the victim’s bedroom?
What would that tell me?
The third floor beckoned me like a siren to a sailor. There was something on the third floor I needed to see, even if I didn’t know what it was. Even Dr. Arch and Father Gabriel had been intrigued by the third floor, although they wouldn’t admit it.
I crept cautiously up the stairs, promising myself I would stop if it didn’t seem safe. I tiptoed up the rotted staircase and peeked out into the hallway. I was saddened to see the cavernous hole in the floor that I had caused. It seemed beyond repair, and that thought left a similar-feeling hole in my heart.
Then something down the hallway caught my eye. Something shimmery.
What was it?
It glittered like little gems in the light that poured in from the window.
And then it hit me; the window was broken.
Glass!
It hadn’t been here before, or else I hadn’t noticed it. I carefully made my way toward it. A breeze fluttered through the gaping broken window. Had the bird migration from the first day caused this? I crept toward it to examine it further. I peered out the window and my breath caught.
Through the window, down three stories, was a crumpled body.
Oh, dear God, no!
I whipped around to run toward the stairwell when Dr. Arch stepped out of one of the bedrooms, startling me.
Clamping a hand over my madly beating heart, I demanded, “What are you doing up here?” My voice was high-pitched, caught between anger and fear.
Wasn’t he supposed to be in the basement with Karen?
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. The look on his face was difficult to read, but his posture was challenging me.
How long had he been up here? Could he have pushed the victim out the window?
“There’s been an accident,” I said, pointing toward the window. “Look!”
He frowned, then crossed over to examine the window. His heavy shoes crunched on the glass and then I noticed he was holding his hand awkwardly, protectively in toward his body.
Was he injured?
Dr. Arch caught me noticing his arm and dropped it by his side, then he saw the body below. His face registered shock.
“Oh, my goodness! Who is that?” he asked
“I don’t know. Someone dressed in black.”
The terrible thought struck me that the victim could be Father Gabriel, but how was that possible? Hadn’t he already left the castle yesterday?
Together, Dr. Arch and I rushed downstairs. I was grateful that I didn’t cause any further damage to the third floor, but I knew Gertrude would be upset about the broken window. Forget about the dead body, that woman was cold and she likely wouldn’t give a flying hoot about the poor victim.
We took the stairs two by two and when I hit the bottom step, the wooden board cracked under my weight. Thankfully the banister held me.
Dr. Arch pushed past me. “You are accident prone, aren’t you?”
“What about you?” I pressed. “How did you hurt your arm?”
“My arm is fine,” he lied.
I ignored him and raced on to get to the body. As we rushed past the library, Scott popped out in the hallway and called, “What’s going on?”
Adam was right behind him, with his camera focused on me.
“Call 911,” I screamed, as I ran out toward the front door.
Adam groaned, as he fumbled for his phone. Scott followed Dr. Arch and me outside to the front porch and then around the side of the castle to where the body lay crumpled on the grass.
I was first to the body. The grass was wet around his head. I assumed it was perhaps blood that had sopped into the earth. Shards of glass covered the back of his cassock. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t touch anything,” I yelled as Scott and Dr. Arch joined me.
Dr. Arch ignored me and flipped the body over. It was definitely Father Gabriel. There was a large angry gash across Father Gabriel’s forehead, probably caused by the impact from the fall that had killed him.
“I have to try,” Dr. Arch said, pressing his fingers into Father Gabriel’s limp wrist. “Nothing,” he said sadly.
I refrained from scolding him. After all, I supposed he had a Hippocratic oath he had to abide by. At least it wasn’t me messing up a potential crime scene this time.
What had Father Gabriel been doing here?
Sorrow filled me as I looked down at the dead priest. Tears stung at my eyes, and Scott pulled me into an embrace.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry, Georgia.”
I held on to Scott as I surveyed the area. Father Gabriel was sprawled on top of a grassy knoll that rolled all the way from the castle to the perimeter of the rosebushes. Near the bushes was an old rusty wheelbarrow that seemed pushed out of the way.
There was nothing all that remarkable in sight.
Voices sounded behind us as Cheryl, my father, and Becca raced toward us.
“What’s going on?” Cheryl screeched. When she saw Father Gabriel, a string of expletives rushed out of her mouth and then she glared at me as if I was the source of all th
e bad luck.
Maybe I was.
Before long Officer Holtz arrived to investigate. I recounted for him my steps, including the fact that I’d been on the third floor.
He tapped on his notebook, only mildly interested, but Cheryl gasped. “What? Georgia! You know the third floor is off limits!”
“Well . . .” I stammered. “I saw broken glass.”
She frowned at me. “From where?”
“From down the hall,” I admitted.
Cheryl gave me the “you’re hopeless” look, but said nothing.
Officer Holtz looked from Cheryl and then back at me. He squinted. “All right, so you were up there and you saw the broken glass and then what?”
I pointed at Dr. Arch. “Then I saw him.”
Cheryl whipped around and glared at Dr. Arch. “You, too! What were you doing on the third floor?”
Officer Holtz turned red-faced. “I ask the questions around here!”
Cheryl looked chagrined and retreated to my father’s side.
“How about you, doc? How long were you up on the third floor? Did you see anything?”
Dr. Arch grimaced. “I didn’t see anything helpful. What I saw was Georgia skulking up the stairs alone. No camera—”
“What!” Cheryl demanded, “Where is Adam?”
Regret filled my belly. Why had I gone up to the third floor in the first place?
“I thought she was cheating,” Dr. Arch continued. “After all, we weren’t supposed to go up to the third floor. So I followed her to see if she had any inside information on the Jane Reiner mystery.”
“No. That’s wrong,” I said. “You were up on the third floor before I was. You came out of one of the rooms.”
He shook his head, looking offended. “No, I didn’t.”
“And your hand.” I pointed accusingly at him. “You’re hurt. What? Was it the struggle with Father Gabriel as you pushed him out the window?”
Officer Holtz held up a hand. “That’s enough.” He got close to my face, his sour coffee breath burning my nostrils. “I’ve already told you. SFPD is not handling this investigation. I am,” he growled.
Nineteen
Becca had ordered Mexican food for the buffet, and even as news about Father Gabriel spread, shocking the cast, it didn’t seem to slow down anyone’s appetite.
As we dipped tortilla chips into guacamole, the crime scene techs cordoned off the upstairs. I craned my neck to watch men in white suits swab the banister.
Suddenly, Gertrude raced into the hallway. “What’s going on?” she screeched at one of the techs.
I didn’t hear his mumbled reply, but in response Gertrude said, “Absolutely not! No one is allowed on the third floor. It’s unsafe! I demand a search warrant and a liability waiver before anyone can poke around up there!”
Officer Holtz was systematically questioning members of the cast and crew in the library. He must have heard Gertrude’s ruckus because he peeked into the hallway and called her over.
I resisted the urge to follow and eavesdrop, but just barely.
Next to me, Jessica ladled some refried beans on top of a flour tortilla. “Poor Father Gabriel. I can’t imagine him falling through the window. Something is going on here. Do you think a ghost pushed him?”
“I don’t think that’s possible, dear,” Karen Kenley said, shuffling past her to grab the salsa and cheddar cheese. “But you can certainly share that theory with the investigating officer when it’s your turn. I’m sure he’ll be fascinated with it.”
“Why wouldn’t that be possible?” Ashley demanded. “I bet Father Gabriel snuck up to the third floor to try to clear it of spirits and they had other ideas.”
I listened to the ladies argue as they piled food on their plates. First the carne asada, then some carnitas, black beans, sour cream, guacamole, all of it stacking into delectable burritos. My stomach rumbled, but I was more interested in food as fuel than as a gossip hub.
Next to me, Scott was quiet and subdued as he sampled the tilapia.
“Scott, before we found Father Gabriel, you said something about a mention of another death in one of the letters. Prior to Jane’s murder. What was it?”
Scott glanced over toward Karen Kenley and whispered, “Not in front of her.” Then he took his plate over to one of the tables to wait for me.
So they’d found something that could help us solve Jane’s murder.
Was Jane’s murder connected to Father Gabriel’s and the groundskeeper’s deaths? It had to be. What had Father Gabriel known? Had he seen something here in the castle? On the third floor? What had he been looking for?
As I pondered these questions, Becca came up behind me and asked, “Don’t you like the food?”
“It looks awesome,” I said, quickly assembling a taco salad. “Have you given your statement to Officer Holtz yet?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, he wanted the crew’s break schedule and stuff, which I was happy to give him, but I don’t know how much that will help. We’re strict on running background checks on everyone . . .” She sighed. “Poor Father Gabriel. Anyway . . .” She glanced over her shoulder and asked, “What do you think of Bert? He’s so nice, right?”
I followed her gaze toward the door and saw Bert standing there. “Is he still here? I thought he and Jack left.”
“Jack did. But Bert wanted to hang out a little longer.” She wiggled her shapely brows at me in a way that suggested she was very excited about the prospect.
I snorted. “I can’t believe you’re seriously interested in the lumberjack psychic.”
“He’s super sweet,” Becca said.
“Was he in the castle today?” I asked.
Becca frowned. “What do you mean?”
“After he got voted off and left. Did he come back in?”
She shook her head. “No, he ran into town with me to order the food for you guys.” She waved a hand over the buffet. “Why?”
“I guess he wasn’t wandering around upstairs on the third floor pushing a priest out a window then,” I said.
Becca made no attempt to hide the shock that crossed her face. “Georgia!”
I shrugged. “Don’t be offended. It’s just my SFPD training.”
All right, so Bert may have an alibi for today, but I still didn’t know Father Gabriel’s time of death. It had to have been today, though, I reasoned. His body was in plain sight. Otherwise someone would have seen him earlier.
“I heard from the producers of Globe Tracker again,” Becca said. “They think you’re brilliant. That you fell through the floor on purpose to garner sympathy and support from your fans. You just need to make it through one more elimination and the job’s yours.”
I glanced over at the table where Scott was waiting for me. “I need some answers on Jane’s murder if we have a chance of solving this,” I said.
Becca nodded. “Okay. Go do your thing. We’ll catch up later.” Then she practically skipped over to the doorway where Bert was waiting for her. Together they left the room. Now, only the three teams that remained, Dr. Arch and Karen Kenley, Ashley and Jessica, Scott and I, were in the room. Each couple sat at separate tables as if the competition was getting too serious now.
I joined Scott, who sat solemnly swirling his food.
“Don’t you like the tilapia?” I asked.
He looked up startled. “Oh, it’s fine. I was just lost in thought.”
“About what?” I probed.
He rubbed at his shaved head. “At all the craziness going on around us.” He lowered his voice and leaned in close to me. “These deaths . . . they have to be connected. Whoever murdered Jane is trying to stop us from figuring it out. Stop this show from airing . . .”
“You think so?” I asked.
He nodded.
“But how can that be? Her
murder was almost fifty years ago.”
“Well, that doesn’t make it impossible, but if it’s not the same murderer, it’s someone trying to protect them. A family member or something. Son or daughter.”
I mentally started to calculate ages of the contestants. “It could be anyone, though. Like Dr. Arch or something. We don’t know anything about him. His father could have attended here as a boy, right?”
“Right,” Scott agreed. “And we know Father Gabriel was enrolled here as a youth, but now we can’t ask him . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Tell me about what you found earlier,” I whispered.
“There was another death,” Scott said. “A boy named Merle Greens drowned in the river. He was seventeen. Had been convicted of shoplifting. He’d been at the school for six months. Was getting close to being released. He worked in the kitchen.”
“But what could that have to do with Jane’s death?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Scott admitted. “Some of the letters referred to him. He was friendly with a lot of people it seems.”
“Was he friends with Jane?” I asked.
Scott shrugged. “I couldn’t tell from any of the letters. Jessica said she knew about Merle because of the town’s history. I guess they have a plaque at city hall with the names of all victims the river has claimed. But she said she never heard her mom talk about Merle in any connection to Jane.”
I fidgeted next to him, impatient for more concrete information. “Any specifics about the drowning?”
The corners of Scott’s mouth turned down. “From what little I read, it seemed like an accident.”
After dinner, Cheryl stormed into the dining hall and announced, “All right, folks. We know some strange things are going on around here, but as you know, the show must go on.”
There was a little rumbling through the cast, but mostly I think their energy mirrored my own. We were anxious to get the show on the road.
“We’re going to proceed with the voting tonight. There will be an elimination in the morning. However, we’re still a bit short on footage for the episode tonight. I’m going to have you give your pleas directly to the audience. Live.” She gave the cast her most serious “I mean business” look, then landed on me. “I expect professionalism out of each and every one of you.”
