Crimson Twilight (5 page)

Green nodded in complete, conspiratorial agreement. He lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone with no one remotely near them.

“There are ghosts around here. A couple of them. There’s—” He hesitated, as if still not sure, but Sloan stayed silent, watching him, waiting. “—a man in boots and breeches and a black shirt who watches me sometimes. He tends to stay behind the trees, down toward what’s left of the forest to the rear of the property. And as far as Elizabeth Roth goes, I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her often, from the upstairs window. Her room—Elizabeth’s room—it’s the bridal suite now. I guess you’re staying in it.”

Sloan nodded. “That’s us. I’ll watch out for Elizabeth,” he said. “Tell me, has anything ever indicated to you that the ghosts could be—mean? Vindictive?”

Green shook his head. “Naw, in fact… hell, one day I slipped on some wet grass and went tumbling down. It was summer and I blacked out. When I woke up, all dizzy and parched, a water bottle came rolling down to me. Now sure, bottles can roll. But I think John McCawley was there. He rolled that bottle to me. I took a drink, got myself up, and all was well. There’s nothing mean about the ghosts in this place.”

“You were here when another accident took place, right?”

Again, Green nodded. “Poor thing. That girl broke her neck on the stairs, same as the minister today. We checked the banister. The carpeting on the stairs is checked constantly to see that it’s not ripped. The stairs aren’t particularly steep or winding. Go figure. Bad things happen.”

Sloan thanked Green and headed back toward the house. The foyer and Great Hall were empty. He heard voices coming from the kitchen but headed toward the stairs. At the top, he could see one of the maids.

Phoebe Martin.

She seemed to still be in shock and was stroking a polish rag over the same piece of banister over and over.

Sloan walked up the stairs. “You doing okay?” he asked.

“It’s just so sad. How about you?”

“We’re all right. Did you know Reverend MacDonald?”

“No, I’m bad, I guess. I haven’t gone to church in years. And I was raised Catholic. I wouldn’t have known Reverend MacDonald anyway. He was at the really small parish just outside town, and he was an Episcopalian, I believe.”

“You never saw him around town?”

Phoebe shook her head. “No, I guess we didn’t shop at the same places. And, I admit, I’m pretty into clubbing. Not many ministers go clubbing, I guess.”

“Ah, well. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Roth.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Can you believe it? He was here when this happened, and he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Since he is here, I was hoping to talk with him.”

“That’s his suite, there, at the end of the hall.” She lowered her voice. “That was always the room that was kept for the master of the house. And there has been a Roth here since the castle was brought to the United States.” She hesitated. “You know, don’t you, that the bridal suite was once Elizabeth Roth’s room when she was alive?”

“I’ve been told.”

Phoebe looked at him with wide, worried eyes. “You need to be careful. Especially careful now.”

“I don’t believe Elizabeth would want to hurt Jane or me.”

“She hurt the Reverend MacDonald,” Phoebe said. “I truly believe it.”

“Phoebe, sadly, accidents do happen.”

“They happen more often with ghosts,” she insisted.

“What does Mr. Roth believe about the place, or do you know?” Sloan asked.

“He doesn’t believe in ghosts. Which is good—I guess. But then, he’s not here a lot. Too quiet for Mr. Roth. He likes Boston and New York and travel in general. I guess if I had his money, I’d travel, too.”

“Everyone can travel some,” Sloan told her.

“Sure,” Phoebe said. “But, still… be careful, please.”

“We’ll do that. I promise,” Sloan told her. “And perhaps, if you’re worried, you might not want to work on the banister.”

“Oh.
Oh!
” Phoebe said. “Right!” Gripping the banister tightly, she started down the stairs.

Sloan smiled, thanked her, and headed down the hall. He knocked at the double French doors that led to the suite. Emil Roth answered so quickly that he wondered if he’d been waiting for a summons.

“What can I do for you?” Roth asked.

Sloan studied the man. He was young to have such financial power, Sloan thought. Late-twenties, tops. And he seemed to enjoy the look of a Renaissance poet. His haircut would make him perfect for a Shakespearean play. But his gaze was steady as he looked at Sloan.

“Since you’re here, I was hoping you’d give me a tour of the castle and a tour of your family history,” Sloan said.

Roth stared at him. He was a man with a medium build and light eyes that added to what was almost a fragile-poet look.

“Sometimes, family history sucks, you know?” he said. “I’m sorry about your wedding. I mean, really sorry that a man is dead. By all accounts a good and jovial man. And I’m sorry that my family history is full of asses. But I don’t think that it means anything. A man fell. That’s it. He died. So tragic.”

“I agree. But, we’re not getting married today and we’re still here. And history fascinates me,” Sloan told him.

Roth grinned at that. “You’re a Fed involved with a special unit that investigates when deaths that are rumored to be associated with something paranormal happen. I’m young, rich, and not particularly responsible, but I’m not stupid either.”

Sloan laughed. “I wouldn’t begin to suggest that you’re stupid. I believe that, tragically, Reverend MacDonald fell. But I am fascinated with this place. Jane didn’t really check out much of the history here. She fell in love with the castle. She wanted a small and intimate wedding more or less on the spur of the moment. And sure, under the circumstances, I’d love to know more about the ‘ghosts’ that supposedly reside here.”

Roth grimaced. “The maids have been talking again.”

“Everyone talks. Ghost stories are fun.”

“So I hear. Mrs. Avery thinks that they create the mystique of the castle. I personally think that my ancestor’s desire to bring a castle to the United States is interesting enough. But, we do keep up a lot of the maintenance with our bed and breakfast income, parties, and tours. So, I let her go on about the brilliance of a good ghost story. But, what the hell? I’ll give you a tour.”

“That’s great. I really appreciate it,” Sloan told him.

“What about your fiancée? Maybe she’d like to come, too?” Roth suggested.

“Maybe she would. I’m not sure where she is… I’ll try her cell,” Sloan said.

Jane was number one on his speed dial and, in a matter of seconds, she answered. He cheerfully explained where he was and asked what she was doing. She said that she’d be right there.

As they waited, Roth asked Sloan, “How do you like your room? No ghostly disturbances, right?”

“Not a one,” Sloan told him.

“You should see people around here when they come for the ghost tours,” Roth said. “They all have their cameras out like eager puppies. They catch dust specs that become ‘orbs.’ Sad. But, then again, we’re featured in a lot of books and again, I guess my dear Mrs. Avery is right.”

“I understand she’s a distant relative,” Sloan said. “Pardon me for overstepping, but it doesn’t sound as if you like her much.”

Roth grinned. “I’m that transparent? Sad. No, I don’t like her. Her grandmother was my grandfather’s sister. I guess we’re second cousins or something like that. But, no, I don’t like her. She’s self-righteous and knows everything. I understand keeping the place up and keeping it maintained, but she’s turned it into a theme attraction. I’m really proud of it as a family home. But… anyway, in my father’s will he asked that I keep her employed through her lifetime—as long as she wishes. So, there you go. She’s no spring chicken, but she’s a pretty healthy sixty-plus. I have a few years to go.”

Sloan heard footsteps in the hall and saw Jane coming.

They always managed a real balance when working, as did the others. Those in the Krewe of Hunters units tended to pair up—maybe there was just something special that they all shared and that created a special attraction. Jane had belonged to the Krewe before he had. He’d met her when she’d come to Lily, Arizona, his home, where he’d returned when his grandfather had suffered from cancer. She’d been both amazing and annoying to him from first sight. He’d been attracted to her from the start, falling in love with her smile, her eyes, her mind. In his life, he’d never been with anyone like her. She seemed aware of everything about him, faults and flaws and “talents,” and she loved him. They hadn’t been in a hurry to get married, but they’d both wanted it.

She met his eyes with the same open gaze she always did.

He walked to meet her, slipping his arm around her shoulder. “I’m really pleased. It’s not a good day, certainly, but Emil Roth has offered us a real tour. History, and all else.”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Roth,” Jane said.

“But you saw the castle before, right? You took the ghost tour, didn’t you?” Roth asked her.

“I took the tour. So I know about Elizabeth Roth and her beloved, John McCawley. He was killed in a hunting accident the day before the wedding, and then Elizabeth killed herself.”

“Come on then. I do give the best tour,” Roth said. “And call me Emil, please.”

“Then we’re Sloan and Jane,” Sloan said.

Emil smiled and nodded. “Let’s start in the Great Hall and go from there.”

He seemed happy. Sloan looked at Jane. He took her hand and she smiled and shrugged and they followed Emil Roth. At the Great Hall, he extended his hands, as if displaying the massive room with its décor of swords and coats of arms and standing men in armor.

“Castle Cadawil was built in 1280 and the Duke of Cadawil held it all of two years, until the death of Llywelyn the Last in 1282 and the conquest of Edward I from the Principality of Wales. That’s why, to this day, the heir apparent to the British crown is called the Prince of Wales. Anyway, the castle wasn’t a major holding. It was on a bluff with nothing around it that anyone really wanted to hold for any reason. So, through the centuries, it had been abandoned, half-restored, abandoned again. In the early 1800s, my self-made millionaire ancestor saw it there and determined that he could move a castle to New England. And he did so. Of course, when it came over, it was little but design and stone. Antiques were purchased and through the years, Tiffany windows added. My family apparently loved their castle. But then, as you know, tragedy struck before the wedding of Elizabeth Roth and John McCawley.”

“What do you think about that?” Jane asked him. “Did the family love and welcome McCawley, or did someone hate him?”

“Enough to kill him?” Roth asked.

“He died in a hunting accident. Other men in the family were out there, too, right?” Jane asked.

“Yes, they were. And it’s an interesting question. There are no letters or family records that reflect anyone’s feelings on the matter and the two men involved would have been my great, great, great, grandfather, Emil Roth, and my great, great, grandfather, another Emil Roth. I don’t like to think that my ancestors would have killed a man they didn’t want marrying into the family.”

“What happened?” Sloan asked. “McCawley was shot?”

“With an arrow, they were deer hunting,” Roth said. “But, you see, they weren’t the only ones out there. A number of wedding guests were there. You two wanted a small wedding. The wedding of Elizabeth Roth was the social event of the season.”

“Of course,” Jane said.

“No one saw anything? No one knew who missed a deer and killed a man?” Sloan asked.

“If so, no one admitted anything. He was found by Elizabeth’s father who, of course, immediately rushed him back to the castle and called for a surgeon. But it was too late. Elizabeth came running down the stairs and—”

Roth paused in his speaking, looking troubled.

“And?”

“The story goes that John McCawley died at the foot of the stairs. The men carrying him paused there because Elizabeth was rushing down. When she reached him, he looked into her eyes, closed his own, and died.”

“How sad,” Jane murmured.

“And then, of course, that night, Elizabeth took an overdose of laudanum and died in the early hours of the following morning, when the wedding should have taken place.”

He led them out of the hall.

“If you look at the arches, you can see that the foyer was originally a last defense before the actual castle. There would have been a keep, of course, in Wales, and a wall surrounding it. We have the lawn in front and the wild growth to the rear, except for where the grass is mown just out the back. Following along to the right of the castle, after the entry, you reach the offices and such and going all the way back, you get to the kitchen. Heading upstairs, are the rooms. Mine, of course, was always the master’s suite. Where you’re sleeping—and though they weren’t actually married here, many a bride and groom have slept there—was Elizabeth’s room. There are four more bedrooms. Your friends are in one. Reverend MacDonald was in another, and there are two more guest rooms. The attic holds five rooms. Phoebe lives in one and the other two maids come in just for the day or special occasions. Chef has an apartment over the old stables, and Mr. Green has an apartment on the property, too.”

“Mrs. Avery doesn’t live here?” Jane asked.

“Yes, she’s on the property. You passed her place coming in. The old guard house at the foot of the cliff. But her assistant, Scully, lives in the village as do the other cooks.”

He looked at Jane curiously.

She asked him, “Is there a big black spot on my face that no one is mentioning to me?”

Emil Roth laughed. “I beg your pardon. Forgive me. It’s just that when I look at you and your face, tilted at a certain angle, you look so much like her.”

“Her?” Jane asked.

“Elizabeth,” Emil said. “Come look at the painting again.”

Sloan wasn’t sure why the idea disturbed him but he followed as they headed to look at the painting on the wall. Elizabeth Roth was depicted with her hair piled high atop her head, burnished auburn tendrils trailing around her face. Her eyes appeared hazel at first but when Sloan came closer, he realized they’d been painted a true amber.