Helen forced a smile. "Well, if you didn't and I didn't, it must have been Mary."
Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes, it must have been."
Hugging Claire to her, she said, "Come on. Let's stash the mop and broom and have a look at the rest of the castle."
Besides Mary's quarters, on the fifth floor there was a small library sitting room that also opened into Mary's room. They went down the back stairs, which were used primarily by servants, to the fourth floor. Helen imagined this was how their mystery person managed to get in and out without being seen. On the fourth floor they wandered through a ballroom and two more large guest bedrooms that shared a bath. The bathrooms all had lovely claw-foot tubs and new fixtures made to look old. All of the rooms were elegant and many had the same turn-of- the-century furniture Mary and Douglas Werner had brought over from Europe or had purchased here. Helen was amazed at how well the pieces had held up.
According to Claire, the Werners had retained servants for several years after he died. The last owner, from whom Paddy had bought the place, couldn't bear to sell off more than a few pieces and some of the paintings he knew to be worth a great deal of money. "He had no idea how much the contents of the castle were worth," Claire told her. "Lucky for him, Dad did and told him so after the deal had been made and he'd taken inventory. Dad paid him about what he'd have made selling it to an antique store, which made him very happy. He had no idea what kind of a gold mine he was sitting on."
"Do you suppose he's having second thoughts?" Helen said, thinking of the attempts on Paddy's life again. "Many people, upon discovering they could have made more money on a deal, have been known to turn resentful."
Claire frowned. "You're thinking he might have sneaked onto the island and taken the money? I suppose it's possible. If anyone knew how to get onto the island without being seen, he would. But it doesn't make sense that he'd kill Paddy. What would he have to gain? It's not like he could get it back."
"That's true. Don't mind me. I'm just thinking out loud."
"Well, it is something to consider. We should ask Dad about Ted at dinner tonight."
Making their way downstairs, they stopped at the third and second floors, where most of the guest rooms were. Since not all the rooms had their own baths, two common washrooms had been created, one for men and one for women. Each of those floors had a large hall and a sitting room where guests could relax, play pool, put together puzzles, or read. Nearly every room had a fireplace, but not all of them were usable.
On the main floor Helen marveled at the library with floor- to-ceiling shelves in rich dark mahogany. Along with the usual array of antiques, there were two more modern chairs in deep brown leather. Adjacent to that was a music room with a harp and a grand piano. A cello stood on its stand in one corner and on a table sat a violin placed in a lovely setting of fresh flowers and white gloves. These rooms were on one side of the great hall and on the other was Paddy's suite which consisted of a bedroom and sitting room.
Claire sounded much like a tour guide as she transitioned from one room to the next. "Here we have the formal dining room. The table can be set for twenty-six guests. The chandelier above the table and the one in the ballroom are the only two that Dad hasn't converted to electric. When we have a formal party, Dad uses candles like they did when the Werners lived here."
"Sounds like a lot of work."
"It is, but we usually only do it in the summer when we have a large enough staff.''
From the dining room they went across the hall into what the Werners used as their breakfast room. "This is where we usually eat. We can seat twelve in here comfortably."
The table had been set for seven.
From the breakfast room they went into the servants' quarters, where the furniture went from elegant Victorian to Shaker. There were five rooms in which the help could stay, but only one, Peter's, was occupied at the moment. They passed by a closed door. "This is Hillary's room," Claire told her. "It's a studio apartment and is one of the few rooms in this part of the house with its own bathroom."
"Where is the gift shop you mentioned? I'd like to see Peter's paintings."
"Oh, it's outside. We'll go out there as soon as I show you the kitchen."
The kitchen was a spacious room with dark cabinets and luxurious green marble. Hillary stood in front of a six-burner gas stove, stirring the contents of an enormous pan. "Hi, Hillary. Look who's here."
"Helen." The large-boned woman with white hair held out her arms for a hug. They both obliged.
"Hill, it's good to see you again." Helen gave her ample form an extra squeeze.
"Where have you two been?" Hillary picked up a potholder and waddled over to a large wall oven. "I sent Sarah up with coffee and tea an hour ago. She said you weren't anywhere around, so I had her bring it back down."
"I was showing Helen around. She probably just missed us."
"Who is Sarah?" Helen asked.
"One of our maids. She's a little bit of a thing, only sixteen, but she's efficient." Hillary glanced back at them, then opened the oven.
"Is she the one who cleans Mary's room?"
Hillary gasped, pulling her hand back as if she'd been burned. "My goodness, no. Why would you ask a question like that? No one goes up there."
"Someone must. It's spotless. Claire and I decided to check it out. We saw that the balcony door was open when we docked. Someone had taken a rose from the bouquet my husband sent me."
"We found it in a vase in Mary's room," Claire finished, sounding a bit breathless.
Hillary turned back to the oven and looked in on four light golden loaves of bread and two trays of scones, then closed the oven again. "I'm afraid I can't help you. Don't set foot on the upper floors myself. Arthritis in my knees. Can't go up the stairs and there's no elevator."
"The vase must have fallen when we opened the door," Helen went on, curious as to Hillary's sudden nervousness. "Claire went for something to clean up the spill, and I went out on the balcony to have a look around. When we came back into the room, someone had cleaned up the spill and the broken glass. Maybe Sarah heard the crash while she was bringing tea."
With fear evident in her eyes, Hillary shook her head. "No wonder the poor child was so upset when she came downstairs. She probably heard all the racket and thought Mary was at it again. She'd be too frightened to go up there."
"Where is she now?" Helen asked, hoping to speak with her anyway.
"Gone home for the day, I expect. Her father comes for her around six. It's well past that now."
"She commutes, then?" Helen asked.
"Yes. Lives on Stuart Island."
"Is anyone else working today?"
"No—the students have all gone back to school. We just have the locals now, and it isn't easy getting folks to commute this far. At the moment it's just Peter and myself. I think Luis has gone home for the day as well."
"Luis?" Helen asked.
"He's the head gardener." Hillary wiped her hands on her apron and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.
"Are you manning the kitchen alone?" Claire asked.
"Not entirely. Sarah has been helping some during the day, and Martha, her mother, comes in three days a week. She cooks everything we need ahead of time so all I have to do is serve it."
"Our head chef went south for the winter," Claire said. "Martha is second in command in the kitchen. Since she's a local, she stays on all winter. Looks like you could use an extra hand, though." Claire folded her arms and hitched herself up on a stool. "I could stay for a while."
"There's no need for you to do that."
"Will Sarah be back tomorrow?" Helen wasn't ready to let the subject of the rose drop. Not because she was upset with the theft, but because she didn't like unsolved mysteries. "I'd really like to know who was in Mary's room."
"Now, don't be troubling yourself about that." Though a trace of tension remained, Hillary seemed more composed. "You did say the mess had been
cleaned up. That's the important thing. I'll ask Sarah about it next time she comes."
"Well, that's settled. If that tea is still in the offing, Hill, I could sure use a cup," Claire said.
"Tea sounds wonderful." Helen wanted to talk more with Hillary and wished her cousin would stop changing the subject. "Can you take a break and join us?"
"Nothing would please me more." Hillary took a deep breath. "I'll even serve us some warm scones with boysenberry jam and coddled cream."
"That sounds heavenly." Claire drew in a deep breath. "I love fresh scones."
"Where would you like your tea?"
"In the music room," Claire said without hesitation. "It's so bright and cheerful in there."
"Then that's where we'll go. You two go ahead. I'll pour fresh water and join you shortly."
Their offer to help fell on deaf ears. "I'll manage just fine. Give me about twenty minutes. It'll take that long for the scones to finish baking and cool."
Helen had the distinct impression Hillary was trying to get rid of them.
"Perfect. That will give me time to show Helen the grounds and pools." Claire grabbed Helen's arm. "We'll go out the back entrance. It's faster."
Once outside Claire slowed her pace. "Hillary loves taking care of people. It doesn't matter whether it's feeding them or nursing them back to health."
"She certainly seems efficient. Did you notice how nervous she got when I asked about the rose?"
"Of course she did. I'm nervous too. I don't think Mary has taken anything before."
"Claire." Her cousin raised a hand to silence her.
"I know you don't believe it, but you heard Hillary. No one else was working. There's no other explanation."
A ghost was not an explanation. As much as she wanted to argue the point, it obviously wasn't going to sway Hillary or Claire. She'd wait until morning, and then question Sarah herself. For now she'd enjoy the rest of the tour and tea. They meandered down a path that led to a large covered gazebo that now served as a gift shop. It was closed, but through the windows Helen could see several paintings of various views of the islands.
"Are those Peter's?"
"Yes. They’re very good, don't you think?"
"Beautiful. They're so realistic, they could be photos. I love the one of the castle."
"Then it's yours." Claire laughed at Helen's objection. "My treat. I'll tell Peter to hold it for you."
Helen shook her head, perusing the small shop with its books and gift items. Many, she noticed, were Victorian. "I'm going to enjoy looking through the shop. When will it open?"
"I'm not sure it will while we're here. There’s no one to run it at the moment. But we can go through it later. Right now I want you to see the spa."
Helen scanned the sloping hill and woods but saw no sign of another building. "How far away is it?"
"Not far. Just beyond those trees."
A wide gravel trail wound downhill into the trees for a few feet, then into a clearing. A large two-story building sat beside an Olympic-sized pool. Inside the building was another pool, surrounded by a jungle of tropical plants. The turquoise water was far too inviting.
"Besides our therapy rooms," Claire explained as she pushed open a side door, "we have two big pools and a dozen spas." They walked through the treatment rooms where clients received massages, mud baths, body wraps, and mineral baths. This, too, seemed almost haunted in its empty state. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the tiled floor.
"I must say I'm disappointed." Helen sighed.
"You are? But this is one of the most complete spas in the country."
Helen smiled. "Yes, but no one is here to give me a massage."
"Oh." Claire chuckled. "I see what you mean. I'm not sure what the status is on the therapists right now. We usually have one in residence. Knowing how Dad enjoys his massage therapy sessions, I'm sure there will be at least one. We'll have to ask him at dinner."
After walking through the therapy area with its stalls and curtains, claw-foot tubs, and saunas, they exited the other side and stepped into the jungle Helen had seen earlier. A slight scent of chlorine mingled with orange blossoms and gardenias.
Even with the sun pouring through skylights and the pools of water, the room was not too humid or warm. The pool area must have been as big as a football field. The far side, entirely windows and sliding glass doors, ran along one side of the pool, offering a view of the islands. Palms, bougainvillea, orange trees, and a plethora of tropical plants had been placed strategically around tables, lounge chairs, and spas. The spas were placed about thirty feet apart in a semicircle around the pool.
Off to their right was a waterfall cascading over boulders into the kidney-shaped pool.
"I wish I'd brought my suit down. It isn't doing much good in the drawer." Helen touched the rubbery leaf of a banana plant. It was real.
"We'll have plenty of time for swimming. If you want, we'll come down after dinner."
"Perfect."
Claire frowned and walked toward the closest of the spas, then knelt down to pick up something shiny.
"What is it?" Helen moved closer.
When she didn't answer, Helen hunkered down beside her. Claire held the object in her fist. "It's Fabian's." Tears filled her eyes. She opened her hand. "His wedding ring."
"I'm sorry, Claire." Helen examined the expensive-looking gold band and inset diamonds. "He must have lost it."
"No. You don't understand. Something's happened to him. He never takes it off."
"Perhaps it slipped off when he was swimming. I'm surprised it's still here, though. You'd think the help would have found it."
"No," she said again. "At least, I don't think so. It wasn't loose. I knew they were wrong about him. If he ran off like they said, he would never have left his ring behind. It's worth over ten thousand dollars."
"May I see it?"
Claire handed her the ring. "What is it? What do you see?"
"It may be nothing, but there's something smudged on the stone and in the setting."
"Let me see." Claire shot her a look of disbelief. "It's blood."
Chapter Ten
You're jumping to conclusions, Claire. It could just be dirt, maybe from the mud bath. Though I doubt he'd wear a ring like this in the mud."
"What if it is blood? Is there any way we can find out? Maybe he left the ring here to let us know he didn't leave on his own. Maybe he. . .." Her voice rose to near hysteria.
Helen grasped her shoulders. "Stop it. You're working yourself up over what might be nothing. There are any number of reasons it might be here."
Claire sniffed. "I... I suppose you're right. It's just that. . .. He and Dad might have come here to talk. Dad often conducts business over therapy."
"There, you see?"
Claire sighed. "Oh, Helen. No matter how it turns out, I lose. I don't know what's worse, thinking he's abandoned me or that he's been abducted or worse."
"There is one thing we can do. We can find out exactly what is on this ring. I'll send it to Jason first thing in the morning and ask him to have forensics test it." She got to her feet and reached down to pull Claire up. "In the meantime, try not to worry. I promise you one thing. One way or the other, I intend to get to the bottom of this."
Claire threw her arms around Helen. "Thank you." She handed the ring to Helen. "Peter will take any packages we have to Friday Harbor tomorrow morning. I'll make sure he uses insured mail."
Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. They left the pools behind and walked back up to the castle. When they reached the entrance on the south side of the castle, Claire hesitated. "Why don't we take our tea out here on the veranda."
"Okay with me." Helen shrugged.
"I'll go in and tell Hillary. Make yourself comfy."
Helen watched her until she'd disappeared inside, then lowered her long, lean frame to a padded wrought-iron chaise. The veranda consisted of uneven stones with pillars that he
ld up a frame for the grapevines and wisteria. Someone had gone wild with rhododendrons and azaleas in the attached garden. They'd be spectacular in the spring. Now they were just green. Several flowering plants still lingered in the mild fall, roses, dahlias, fuchsias, begonias, and some she didn't recognize. Not being a horticulturist, she'd never paid all that much attention to their names. She just enjoyed them.
Sun filtered through the leaves, giving the area a dappled look. Comforting. Her hips ached. Helen closed her eyes, thinking about how nice the jets of a hot tub would feel on her sore muscles.
Minutes later the clink of china snapped her out of a light sleep.
"Oh good, you're awake. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to drink alone."
"Megan, hi." Helen massaged her neck and adjusted the chair back to a sitting position. "What happened to your mother?"
"She went upstairs to lie down. Said she had a headache. She and Hillary both looked frazzled. Have you been picking on them?" Megan poured a cup. "Cream? Sugar?"
"What kind is it?"
"Irish Breakfast."
“One of my favorites. I'll drink it black." Helen leaned forward to accept the gold-trimmed cup and saucer, admiring the floral pattern, then picked up the thread of conversation. "I wasn't picking on them, but apparently I managed to ruffle some feathers." Helen went on to tell her about their ghostly encounter. "Personally, I think it was Sarah, but I don't think your mother and Hillary agree."
"For what it's worth, I'm on your side. I've been hearing about Mary since Grandpa bought the place, but I have yet to see her. Of course, I've only been out here a couple of times. Personally, I think someone is playing games."
"My thoughts exactly. Though Claire seems to believe it. She was quite shaken."
"That's not difficult where Mom is concerned. She's been on the edge since Fabian left."
"Hmm. Did she tell you about the ring?"
Megan frowned while she stirred cream into her tea. "No. We didn't really talk about anything. She just asked me to keep you company. What ring?"
A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4) Page 9
