Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (15 page)

“W
as anyone inside?” I demanded as I reached the scene.

It was the round room, where the men had been working on an exterior steel skeleton for added support. The interior stones had collapsed.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Miguel.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“I . . . I’m pretty sure.”

“Okay, until everyone’s accounted for, let’s proceed as if someone’s inside. Miguel, gather everyone and take a head count; use the payroll list as a guide. Tony, you and I will implement procedures.”

Forty-five tense minutes later, covered in mortar and stone dust, Tony and I were able to attest that no one had been trapped inside.

Just then Graham arrived to take me to our appointment with Jeanine McCall.

“What happened?”

“Just a little . . . building collapse. No one was hurt, and the stones can be used again, of course. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad news?’

“A room made of stone imploded for no apparent reason.” Our eyes held.

“So, I take it you’re not going to make it over to talk with Jeanine McCall?”

I shook my head. “I wish I could, but . . .” I trailed off as Elrich walked up, his entourage not far behind him.

“Dare I even ask?” said Elrich, displaying remarkable outward calm. Almost unnatural calm.

“No one was hurt,” I said.

“That’s the important thing. Do we know what happened?”

“Not yet,” I said with a shake of my head. “I know Larry McCall had some questions about the composition of the mortar. It’s possible it wasn’t adequate, or perhaps there was a small trembler or something that tipped the scales.”

“An earthquake?” Vernon scoffed. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Sometimes they’re too subtle to feel if you’re walking around, but—”

“I’m really quite sensitive,” he said, looking around at his companions as though searching for confirmation. Harper rolled her eyes, Alicia kept her gaze on her notebook, and Don Stickley just kept staring straight ahead.

“I think I should wait and do a walk-through on Monday,” said the replacement building inspector. “There’s no sense in assessing things right at the moment.”

You could say that again. On the other hand, Stickley was well within his rights to issue us a stop order until the cause of the collapse was discovered and documented. He was being extremely accommodating.

“Well,” said Graham. “Sorry to watch the disaster and run, but I have to go.”

“A solar emergency?” asked Elrich.

“I’m going to call on McCall’s widow, pay my respects.”

“That’s good of you. Please, if it seems appropriate, give her my regards as well.”

I walked Graham to his truck, which wasn’t far from where Dog was tied up. He made a slight detour to pet the pup.

“I wish I could go with you.” I heard someone shouting my name, and looked over my shoulder at a group of men, awaiting instructions. “I
really
wish I could go with you.”

“No problem. I’ve got it handled. McCall’s place is near a hydroponics store I wanted to check out, anyway, so I can kill two birds with one stone.”

“I hate that expression.”

“More than one way to skin a cat.”

“That’s worse.”

He grinned. “Softie. Surely there’s a similarly gruesome phrase regarding our canine friends?”

“Don’t even dare.”

He pulled on one of my corkscrew curls, patted Dog, gave me a wink, and strode off toward his truck.

*   *   *

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up and regrouping. When this sort of thing happened on the jobsite, people got jumpy. Especially when there was no obvious cause.

I’d asked Tony to take over for a few minutes and was walking up the path in search of my phone charger, which I’d left in my room. I also needed a few moments away from the site. It had been a hell of a day.

Off to my right, I saw something in my peripheral vision. I felt a wave of anxiety until I realized the man didn’t disappear when I looked at him directly. It was Elrich, intent on a task before him.

He was in the garden, in between the pool and the helipad. I watched as he chose one smooth, spherical river rock about the size of a hamburger, held it for a long moment in his graceful hands, and turned it over thoughtfully. Finally, he crouched and very carefully placed it atop three stacked stones. I watched, fully expecting the little tower to fall; it was like a game I used to play with Caleb where we set down pieces one after another until everything came tumbling down in a rush.

But when Elrich carefully removed his hands, stood, and backed away, the rock tower remained standing.

“I wish I could get the Wakefield stones to stand up that easily,” I said.

Ellis turned around as though expecting me. He smiled. “Well, I imagine when you put up those Wakefield stones, they’ll stay that way for generations. Whereas this tiny cairn? It’s ephemeral. It could topple over anytime, or be knocked over by an animal or the wind.”

“What’s it for? I mean . . . does it have meaning, or is it just a way to pass the time, like whittling?”

Now he chuckled. “I use it to settle my nerves, so yes, I suppose it’s a little like whittling. Though, in the old days, cairns had meaning, as markers in the road, or to mark the summit of a mountain, that sort of thing.”

“They’re called cairns? Sounds Scottish.” Now that I was an expert and all.

He nodded. “It’s an old Scottish tradition to carry a stone with you when you climb a mountain, and to set the stone upon the cairn at the top. They were sometimes
used to mark a grave, as well, and there’s an old Gaelic blessing
Cuiridh mi clach air do charn
. I’ll put a stone on your cairn.”

“You speak Gaelic?”

“I like to think so, but an actual Gaelic speaker would probably disagree. I spent a little time in Scotland—a remarkable time, actually—and I have an almost freakish ability to memorize quotes. You may have noticed that—it’s almost like a verbal tic. I’m trying to break myself of the habit. I fear it has to do with a lack of faith in my own thoughts, the need to use references to back up my ideas.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Another tradition holds that Highland clans used to place stones in a pile when they went off to battle. Upon returning, they’d each take one stone—the remainder signified the men who hadn’t survived. Then those were used to make a cairn to honor the dead.”

“That’s very . . . evocative.”

“But why am I telling you all this? You’re an anthropologist. You probably know much more than I do about this sort of thing.”

“I used to be an anthropologist, but that was a while ago. And I never studied Scotland. In fact, about all I can think of with regards to Scotland is scotch, golf, and the Loch Ness monster. And plaid, of course. I’m really more prepared to discuss the stainless steel flashing needed as a capillary break in order to forestall moisture and efflorescence in your stone walls.”

He smiled again and held my gaze for a moment.

“I did want to ask you one thing, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Please.”

“There’s an antiquities fellow, named Kieran Lachaidh, who says this building was wrongfully taken from Scotland.”

“He’s been in touch,” Ellis said with a nod. “I discussed it with Florian, who has been talking directly to the representatives of the Scottish government. He assures me they don’t want the building; in fact, they’re already designing a golf course on the land where it was located. Mr. Lachaidh is a lone wolf on this. I’m not sure why he’s fixated on it.”

“He says he’s from there,” I said. “He used to play on the ruins with his brothers when he was a kid.”

“Perhaps it’s as simple as that,” said Ellis, looking down at the jobsite. “Nostalgia is a powerful thing, and those stones can grab your heart. They certainly did mine.”

“I’ve heard people mention you had a spiritual awakening in Scotland?”

He nodded. “It was after my daughter’s death. I was distraught, and searching for meaning. Something about hiking those hills and going from isle to isle . . . I don’t know what it was, but I found peace. Finally. I was sitting on the ruins of Wakefield, and I could feel the peace settle over me. It’s a very special place.”

No encounters with weeping women or homicidal Highland warriors, I was guessing.

“If he contacts you again,” continued Ellis, “tell him Wakefield is here to stay.”

“All right. He also mentioned a treasure that might be hidden somewhere. . . .”

“His lawyer mentioned that, as well. I had never heard of such a thing, but if you find anything that looks like a national treasure, please let me know. We can talk about sending it back to the people of Scotland if and when you unearth such a thing.”

“That sounds fair. Okay, I should let you get back to your meditation. Nice talking with you.”

“And, Mel? Things fall apart now and then. Usually it’s more figuratively than literally, but all the same. You know what Winston Churchill said: ‘If you’re going through hell, keep going.’”

*   *   *

Not half an hour after I returned to work on the monastery, three men came running out of the front entrance.

I blew out an exasperated breath. This was becoming a daily event. What with imploding rooms and all, it looked like it was time to put my ghost-busting hat squarely on my head and figure this puppy out. Donnchadh had seemed approachable—by me, anyway, as an unarmed woman. And if he was starting to tear down rooms, I needed to find some way to negotiate a truce.

Could Kieran be right? Could there be a curse on this place? Could Donnchadh be guarding something, and was there anything I could do about it? And how did the Lady in Red fit in?

“Tony, why don’t you have the guys start packing up? They can go home early today.”

Tony looked torn. I was sure he was dying to flee, but he was a decent guy and worried about me going in by myself.

“Really, I’m okay,” I said. “I’m just going to try to talk to him, so don’t come in after me. I’m hoping I can communicate with him, maybe find a way to bring an end to all this excitement. Keep everyone out of the building, okay?”

This time I took a moment to do it right. My friend and mentor, Olivier, had taught me a method to center myself. I stood for a moment with my eyes closed and did a body scan, feeling my feet attached to the earth, the
sun on my face, a soft wind along my skin. I reminded myself:
I am of this physical world, whereas they are not.
I delved deep for compassion. The ghost was a soul. He was confused, upset. And I was one of the few people who might be able to talk to him, and to help.

I walked slowly through the chapel, listening. As before, I stepped as quietly as I could through the series of chambers behind the sacristy, then peeked around the corner.

There he sat on a stone bench, sighing, holding his head in his hands. Donnchadh was one depressed ghost. He reminded me of my first ghost sighting, a man I had known while alive, named Kenneth. Kenneth hadn’t done much with his life, and he’d felt bad about it after his death. He sat around moping a lot, like Donnchadh, though without a broadsword. And presumably, this poor fellow had been at this for centuries.

Where was ghostly Prozac when you needed it?

I moved slowly, tentatively calling out, “Hello?”

He sprang up, his eyes burning with an almost demonic fire.

I swallowed hard but stood my ground as he unsheathed his sword and it sang through the air. My heart pounded, and I hoped the sound of my gulp wouldn’t echo through these stone walls. I didn’t want him to think of me as a threat, but neither did I want him thinking I was afraid of him.

“Donnchadh, right? Remember me? I’m Mel.” I forced myself to breathe. “I’m a girl, a . . . lass. A lassie. Like the dog, but not really.” I was babbling, and tried to get a grip. “I was hoping to ask you some questions. Maybe you can help me.”

He looked angry, and confused. But, as before, he stopped short of trying to run me through with his sword.
I didn’t think he actually
could
run me through, but I really didn’t want to push that envelope.

This time I got right to the subject: “What is it that you’re protecting?”

His eyes narrowed. “What mischief is this? Surely ye know I am guardian of the vessel.”

Okay. This was good. Now we were getting somewhere.

“And this vessel would be a, um . . .” I tried to remember the term Kieran had used. “A ciborium?”

“I cannae understand ye.”

“Like a chalice? Maybe with a lot of jewels . . . ?”

“Mel?”
Graham’s voice came from the direction of the chapel. “Mel, where are you?”

Not again.
What
was
it with all these men wanting to rescue me?

“Graham!” I called. “Get out!”

The singing of the sword rang out again. Donnchadh’s face took on his fierce warrior hue, and he ran toward the chapel, screaming his terrible Highland yell. I ran after him. “Graham, get out of here! Run!”