by K E O'Connor
“Rumor has it that anyone who tries to steal from the castle gets cursed by our local witch.”
“I can imagine that puts a lot of people off of getting light-fingered.” I cast a cautious look around the room, but didn’t feel anything otherworldly in there. Not that I believed in witches. But then most people didn’t believe in ghosts, and I could see them.
“This room is a mess,” said Sebastien. “There’s that stuffed dummy of the witch over there, but then there’s all the photographs about the trip your great-uncle made to Everest, and there’s one of the sleds he used on his trip covered by an old tarp. How can that be mixed in with a load of witch memorabilia? Are you trying to sell your relative as some ancient mystical warlock?”
“He’d shoot you if you called him that,” said Montgomery. “Shame he’s not alive to chase you around the castle.”
Sebastien chuckled. “I’d have liked to have met him. He sounds like fun.”
“He was. But you’re right, it does need a good sort out in here. People love the mismatch of stuff, though. They spend hours gazing into these cabinets. They're full of witch stones.”
“Witch stones?” asked Helen.
“People used to lay them on their doorstep to ward off evil and keep the witch from escaping the castle and coming to jinx them.” Montgomery took me over to the next display. “And see this massive bowl in here? It was used for pouring boiling oil on unwelcome visitors when the castle was under siege, which I believe it has been on several occasions, though never when I’ve been at home.” He laughed at his own joke before showing us the next room.
Montgomery and Sebastien showed us around the armory, a medieval courtyard, and the Great Hall, which was a vast space covered with weapons and trophies and had several original twelfth-century arrow slits carved into the thick stone walls.
We were also treated to a look in two rooms dedicated to late kings of England, all luxurious in their finery with velvet-covered wall hangings and deluxe four-poster beds. We were introduced to the main museum, another room crammed full of curiosities, and then shown the chapel, a place that was off-limits to the public during family services.
The next room was full of prehistoric finds, old flint axes, primitive tools, and maps showing the dispersal of modern humans across the country.
“This next bit is my favorite,” said Montgomery. “I hope the two of you don’t get spooked easily.”
I shot Helen a knowing look. “Not much scares us.”
“Glad to hear it.” Montgomery pulled open the door with a flourish. “Welcome to the castle’s torture chamber.”
I descended a short flight of stone stairs, the air getting colder with every step, and walked into a stone chamber.
Helen hurried past me and grabbed a vicious looking set of thumb screws. “I bet you can do some damage with these.”
I nodded as I inspected a gruesome looking executioner’s block, complete with its own basket to catch heads in, and worryingly realistic dark stains on the wooden chopping block.
“All of these are the real deal,” said Montgomery. “They’ve been used in this castle. But you’ll be happy to know we only have them on display now. Although Cordelia would probably like to use them on people who don’t do what she wants them to.”
“He’s exaggerating,” said Sebastien. “Cordelia has a gentle nature.”
“Compared to a pit bull, she does,” said Montgomery.
“This would make anyone talk.” Helen opened an iron maiden, its dull interior spikes looking long and menacing.
I ran my fingers over a scold’s bridle, used on gossips who didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut. “It’s an impressive haul of torture devices.”
Helen joined me and looked around the rest of the room. “It’s not so scary.”
“It would be if you were inside the scold’s bridle or the iron maiden,” said Montgomery. “Can I tempt you to try either of them?”
“Not likely.” Helen frowned at Montgomery.
“This is one of my favorite places,” said Montgomery. “Just imagine all the horrible things that happened down here to our enemies? All those people who tried to break into the castle and steal from us. Most castles have rooms like this, it’s only right you punish people who do things you don’t want them to.”
“You don’t have to torture them,” said Helen. “Simply telling them not to do it again should be enough.”
“Not when they’re trying to raze your castle to the ground it isn’t,” said Montgomery. “But I think we need a few more instruments of torture in here. I always liked the look of those balls with spikes on them, the kind you swing at your enemy when in battle. They would leave a nasty bruise.”
Helen shook her head at Montgomery. “We’ve seen enough of this room.”
Montgomery downed the contents of his hip flask. “It’s almost time for dinner, anyway. Let’s go and see what Daphne has rustled up for us this evening. She always puts on a good spread.”
“We’ll meet you in there,” I said. “Just want to freshen up before dinner and unpack.”
Montgomery shrugged. “As you like. Although you both look decent enough in what you’re already wearing. We don’t go for anything fancy here, unless Cordelia dresses you.” He looked over at Sebastien and winked at him.
Sebastien glowered in response and tugged at the hem of his tailored suit jacket.
We said our goodbyes, and I grabbed Helen’s elbow and hurried us towards our rooms.
“I thought we might get a chance to speak to Leo before dinner,” I said to her. “He was trying to tell us something just before Montgomery and Sebastien arrived. He disappeared through the wall, though, so I guess he didn’t want to do the castle tour.”
“Leo must have seen those rooms thousands of times when he was alive,” said Helen. “Isn’t it a shame the way he died, killed by something you love.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s still here,” I said. “Maybe a cat didn’t smother him.”
Chapter 5
I entered my bedroom and discovered a fat ginger cat sitting on the end of the bed, his large bushy tail tucked around him, covering his nose. One yellow eye opened and he regarded us calmly.
“I wonder if we both get a cat in our bedrooms.” Helen walked over to my bed and sat down, before offering her hand to the cat.
He inspected her hand carefully, before settling his head back on my bed. It looked like he approved of her.
“He certainly seems at home there,” I said. “How did he get in, though? The door was shut.”
“The window’s open,” said Helen. “Maybe he jumped in and decided to have a nap.”
Flipper wandered over to the bed and stared at the ginger cat. The cat lifted his head and blinked at Flipper.
“Do you think Flipper has found a new friend?” asked Helen, watching their interaction with interest.
“That is one enormous tomcat,” I said. “Flipper had better watch his nose if he doesn’t want to get it scratched. Not all cats like dogs.”
The cat hopped up, stretched his back and then curled himself around Helen several times, weaving between her arms and butting his head against her side.
“He’s a cutie,” said Helen. “If you don’t want him in your room, perhaps I can have him.”
“Cats decide where they want to go,” I said. “But if he’s willing, you’re welcome to him. Flipper usually shares the bed with me, and a large cat like that might make it a bit of a squash.”
The cat jumped off the bed and walked over to me, his tail in the air. He sat at my feet and gave the sweetest meow I’d ever heard.
I bent and stroked his head, hearing a deep purr rumble through his chest. “He is quite charming.”
I heard Flipper whine and looked up to see him standing by the door, a glum expression on his face.
“Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite,” I said to him. “You always will be.”
Flipper paced backwards and forwards,
his attention no longer on me. The cat backed away rapidly, his eyes also on the door, just where Flipper was looking.
The air chilled and suddenly Leo popped through the door.
Flipper danced on his paws, and the cat moved to stand next to him, his fur bristling all over his body and his eyes narrowed.
“I’m guessing Leo is here,” said Helen, as she watched Flipper and the cat.
Leo tried to stroke the ginger cat, but he spat at him and backed away.
Leo shook his head, his mouth turning down as he watched the cat grow fluffier, his fur bushing out, making it look like he had a ginger afro.
“He was trying to pet the cat,” I said to Helen.
“Poor Leo,” said Helen. “It must be so hard for him, not being able to interact with the cats. Sounds like he was fond of them when he was alive.”
Leo nodded at Helen’s comment and drifted slowly towards us.
I sat next to Helen on the bed and looked at Leo. “So, this is how it works; I can see you and I know you can see and hear me, but I can’t hear you. You’re going to need to be inventive if you want to communicate with us.”
Leo scratched a hand through his beard and then nodded.
“I’m guessing you’re still here for a reason,” I said. “Have you got something you want to pass onto a loved one?”
Leo glanced over at the ginger cat, who was now less fluffy and was licking a paw, his gaze still not leaving Leo.
“Does it have something to do with your cats?” I asked. “I hear you have quite a collection here. Did you want to leave them some money so you know they’ll be well cared for?”
Leo shook his head.
“If it’s not about the cats, could it be about Lady Cordelia?” I asked. “Are you unhappy she has found somebody new?”
“I hope you aren’t the jealous type,” said Helen. “It’s only fair your wife isn’t alone.”
Leo looked down at his ring finger and shook his head.
I glanced over at Helen. “It’s not the cats and it’s not his wife.” I looked back at Leo. “We met your brother this evening, has your being here got something to do with him?”
Leo shrugged and his bottom lip jutted out.
I let out a sigh. “He doesn’t seem to know why he’s here.”
“How does Leo think he died?” asked Helen.
“Good point,” I said. I looked at Leo. “What do you think happened to you? Daphne said you were smothered by a cat when you were asleep.”
Leo floated closer to the bed and pointed at a pillow, his hand squashing down on the middle of it.
“He’s trying to do something with my pillow,” I said.
“You think he was smothered by a pillow and not a cat?” asked Helen.
I grimaced. “I hope not. What a horrible way to die.”
Leo pointed at Helen and nodded.
“Oh dear, but it looks like you’re right,” I said.
Leo flopped onto the bed and rolled around a bit. I had to stifle a laugh as he flailed his arms and legs around.
“What’s going on?” asked Helen. “I can feel the bed moving. What’s Leo doing?”
“Re-enacting his last moments,” I said. “At least, I think that’s what he’s doing.”
Leo climbed off the bed and straightened his cravat and jacket. He pointed over at the ginger cat.
“He keeps going back to the cats,” I said. “If someone did smother Leo in his sleep, maybe a cat witnessed what happened.”
“That’s not going to be any help,” said Helen. “Or are you going to suggest a cat goes under questioning in a murder trial?”
I smacked her arm. “Of course not. But Leo thinks it’s important.”
“Maybe he keeps pointing at the cats because he was so obsessed with them when he was alive,” said Helen. “You always hear about mad cat ladies, those women who have given up on love and simply surround themselves with dozens of substitute fur babies, but you don’t often hear about men who get obsessed like that.”
“Are you ever tempted to go down that path?” I asked Helen. “You have been single a long time.”
“I haven’t given up on love just yet.” Helen shot me a glare. “And I’m not over the hill either. There are plenty of men out there who will consider me a catch.”
“Of course they will.” I looked over at Flipper and smiled fondly. I could understand why people get so obsessed with their animals. Flipper was my fur baby, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“What do you want to do about Leo?” asked Helen. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping out of the way of all the ghosts in the castle?”
“I don’t think Leo will be a problem,” I said. “He looks like a sweet old man to me, and is much more interested in his cats than anything else. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave them.”
“He won’t want to leave if he was smothered and someone got away with killing him,” said Helen. “And if he really was smothered to death, it’s only right we help him.”
I looked over at Leo, who was trying to get closer to the big ginger cat, who I decided should be called Big Ginge. He skipped out of his reach every time Leo got close enough to brush his fingers down his spine.
“It could be one of his family members got annoyed with Leo’s devotion to the cats and decided to get rid of him,” I said.
Leo pointed at me and nodded.
“He agrees with that idea,” I said.
“Since Lady Cordelia has so much to gain now Leo is dead, and she’s got herself a hot new lover, we should start with her as our main suspect,” said Helen.
“You could be right. And she didn’t act like much of a grieving widow when we met,” I said. “Okay, let’s do some discreet looking around and see what we can discover. But keep it discreet. We don’t want to lose our jobs before we’ve even started them.”
“Discreet is my middle name,” said Helen.
“I thought it was flirt.” That comment earned me a smack on the arm.
“I never flirt,” said Helen. “Now, let’s hurry up and go see what we’ve got for dinner.”
Chapter 6
I had a quick freshen up, and then met Helen outside my room, before we headed up the stairs to find the dining room. We were accompanied by Big Ginge and Leo, who drifted along beside us, occasionally pointing at pictures on the wall.
The sound of laughter alerted me to what was most likely the dining room, and I pushed open the door, to discover an antique-blue painted room, with a black fireplace and white mantel surround. Gold candlesticks dotted numerous surfaces, and the center of the room was dominated by a large, dark wooden table, set for dinner.
“Glad you found us.” Sebastien hurried over and smiled. “We didn’t get around to showing you this part of the house. This is the family only part, so no tourists allowed in here.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “It was easy enough to find.”
“I wanted to say sorry about Monty’s earlier behavior,” said Sebastien. He glanced over his shoulder as Montgomery laughed loudly to himself. “He’s a decent enough guy, but a bit too fond of drinking. He’s been like it ever since Leo died. I think it’s hit him harder than he cares to admit.”
“It must be his way of coping.” I looked over to where Montgomery stood. He had an empty whiskey glass in one hand and was studying a number of bottles of alcohol in front of him.
“Now you’ve made me feel bad for snapping at him,” said Helen.
“That won’t bother Montgomery,” said Sebastien. “And if he likes you, nothing will put him off. Just a word of warning, he does like blondes.”
“Perhaps I’m not available to be liked,” said Helen.
“A lovely girl like you must have a queue of suitors waiting to take her out,” said Sebastien.
Helen blushed and smiled. “I can see why Lady Cordelia likes you.”
Sebastien ducked his head. “We get on well, she’s a nice lady. A little demanding at times, but then she is used to g
etting her own way, given she’s now in charge of this entire castle.”
“Do you mind me enquiring about her late husband?” I asked, as I kept half an eye on Leo as he drifted around the room, his fingers trailing over objects as if he was remembering his time here when he was alive.
“That’s a bit of a sad story,” said Sebastien. “You’ve probably heard the rumors.”
“Tell us what they are,” said Helen.
“Well, as you may have noticed, there are lots of cats around.” Sebastien lowered his voice and leaned closer.
“Daphne said there’s a cat sanctuary somewhere on the grounds,” I said.
“That’s right. Leo was mad about cats. Even named his daughter Tabitha, because it’s his favorite cat’s name.”
“Bet she loved that,” said Helen.
“It suits her,” said Sebastien. “Anyway, Leo always had a cat on the bed when he slept at night. And one night, the cat decided to sleep on Leo’s face and suffocated him.”
“I had heard that’s what happened.” I looked over at Leo. Maybe he’d been mistaken about how he died, and hadn’t been suffocated by a human, after all. It could be easy to mistake such a thing if you were half-asleep when a cat shoved its fat behind over your mouth and sat down.
“I doubt Leo would have known what was going on when it happened,” said Sebastien. “And the cat wouldn’t have had a clue what it was doing. It probably got cold and decided to snuggle next to its favorite person.”
“How old was Leo when he died?” asked Helen.
“He was about fifteen years older than Cordelia. But that only made him sixty when he died, so he wasn’t an old man,” said Sebastien. “Cordelia was all for getting rid of every single cat after it happened, but then she calmed down and realized the cat didn’t do it deliberately.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said.
Sebastien looked towards the dining room door, where quick high-heeled footsteps could be heard approaching. “Cordelia doesn’t like anybody talking about Leo, so best you don’t mention this conversation. Don’t want to upset her.”
“Sebastien, darling!” Lady Cordelia dashed into the dining room and grabbed hold of his arm. “I was thinking you’d abandoned me. Why didn’t you come up and find me?”
