Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (17 page)

Luz looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

“Luz, do me a favor? Stay here with Graham? Just keep an eye on him?”

“The doctors said he’s stable for now, Mel. I’m sure he’s going to pull through, a big strapping man like him.”

Like size has anything to do with his ability to survive a skull fracture,
I thought, fear lancing through me. “He
does have a hard head, it’s true. But I can’t leave him here, defenseless. If someone tried to finish the job . . .”

“Are you going to call the police?”

“Yes. But then I’m going to look into this myself. I don’t trust the police to follow up. Will you stay here with him, just keep an eye on things?”

“On one condition: Don’t go around talking to people alone. Bring someone big and strong, who you trust, with you. Maybe Zach?”

Zach Yablonksy had once kind of kidnapped me, but we’d moved on from that incident and had developed an odd friendship. But Zach wasn’t close at hand.

“I promise, I’ll take someone with me.”

“Who?” Luz was a born skeptic.

“Kieran.”

“The Scottish guy?”

“He’s been trying to repatriate the monastery.”

“The entire place?”

“Pretty much, or at least the treasure, if there is one. But he has no ties with Elrich or anybody else at the project. And he’s a big, strong guy. Thanks, Luz.”

“Keep your cell phone with you. I added Buzz’s number to your contact list. He’s waiting outside somewhere with the limo. But wait. . . . Do we know we can trust Buzz?”

“You mean, what if it turns out Elrich is a criminal mastermind responsible for all that’s happened, and Buzz is one of his evil henchmen?”

“I wasn’t going to use those exact words, but yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Good point. I’ll figure out something else. But you have to promise to call me if there’s any news about Graham. Anything at all.”

“Roger that. I’m gonna go get the scoop from the
nurses, and then I’ll see about getting access to the ICU. I’ll tell them I’m his wife.”

“His wife?”

She smiled. “I did a stint as a hospital social worker, remember? I know my way around this sort of thing. Leave it in my capable hands,
amiga
.”

Luz had extremely capable hands, I thought, grateful for my friend.

Kieran agreed to come pick me up. Then I called the police and left a message for Detective Bernardino. Finally, I phoned Mrs. McCall, the widow of the building inspector. I was loath to bother her while she was grieving, but I had to know what she had told Graham. And I wanted to go in person, so I could study her body language. I told her that Graham had been attacked after speaking to her, and she put the pieces together and agreed to see us.

Twenty minutes later, Kieran pulled up in front of the hospital in a silver Prius.

“How’s our boy?”

“He’s . . . We’re watching and waiting now. He hasn’t woken up enough to say anything, but the doctor thinks he was hit from behind.”

“
Hit?
Someone attacked him? But . . . I thought it was an accident.”

“Apparently not. He was”—my voice wavered—“hit over the head.”

“Oh,
wow
.” Kieran blanched but kept his eyes on the road. His driving was precise, slow, and careful. In theory, I admired his prudence, but in reality, he was making me crazy. I thought I might offer to drive on the way back. “So you’re saying someone’s already been killed on this site, and now someone else is gravely injured—and you
still
don’t believe there’s a curse?”

I didn’t care for the term “gravely injured.”

“It’s not a
curse
; it’s some maniac on the loose.” Which, I thought to myself, was probably not much better than a curse. “Take a right at the corner.” I gave him directions and decided to change the subject. “How did you score a Prius? Do you like it?”

“It’s a rental. It was all they had available—costs more to rent, but I suppose I’m saving on gas. And, you know, less damage to the environment and all that. But do me a favor and give me a heads-up if I drive on the wrong side of the road, will you? It’s been known to happen. I don’t know why all you colonials insisting on driving on the other side, when the Brits have already figured all this out.”

“I would think that as a proud Scotsman, you wouldn’t be pro-British?”

He shrugged. “You know what they say: Choose your battles. Went to school in London; rather liked the place. So, where are we headed?”

“To talk with Mrs. McCall. She’s the widow of the building inspector who was killed.”

“What about?”

“Graham spoke with her right before he was attacked; it’s possible she told him something someone didn’t want him to know.”

“Like what?”

“What if McCall wasn’t killed by Nolan in a drunken fit of frustration? What if it was something else entirely, like the treasure you’ve been looking for? Maybe McCall knew something, found something, saw something . . . or something?”

“It’s worth checking out, I suppose,” said Kieran with a sigh. “Though if Graham had learned something vital, wouldn’t he have called you?”

“Probably,” I said with a sigh. “Unless he didn’t realize he had learned it. Or, it could be something else entirely.”

“Well, I’m happy to help, if I can. It’s not like I was doing anything, anyway,” he said in a wistful tone. “Elrich doesn’t even come out those gates anymore, and the local press has moved on. The costumes aren’t attracting attention like before. I’m going to have to think of something else.”

“How’s the lawsuit coming?” I asked, feeling as if I were playing both sides. Although I adored working on the building—Elrich was correct that I had fallen in love with the place—I was sympathetic to Kieran’s cause. In general, I believed a nation’s treasures should remain with the nation of origin.

He shrugged. “Ah, we’ll see. Your legal system is a bit of a mystery, to be honest. I wish the government would step in, but they believe it’s too petty. They’re not even sure the treasure exists—they say it’s based on nothing but old wives’ tales.”

“But you are sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” he said. “Which isn’t all that sure. I’ll certainly feel embarrassed if, after all this, it turns out to be some ridiculous legend.”

“I talked to Ellis about it,” I said.

“Ellis, is it?”

“He’s been nothing but inviting and friendly to me, so yes, I call him Ellis.”

“He’s a charmer, that one.”

“I can’t claim to be a great judge of character, but he strikes me as aboveboard. Anyway, he listened when I spoke to him about it.”

“Did he make any promises?”

“No, but he said he would consider it if and when we
found something. Though I have to say, I can’t think where they would have hidden things among the stones.”

“There’s that warehouse, though, right?”

“That’s true. Do you know if Florian stores any items from the original monastery there?”

“I have no idea. I’d love to get access to them, though, check them out.”

I nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Though I have to say, it really doesn’t help having you out at the gate all the time. Especially since you’ve allied yourself with the striking workers, and they’ve broken into the compound more than once. As have you.”

“I know. So, Florian Libole. How much do you know about him?”

“He’s pretty well-known in renovation circles. Ellis brought him in from England to oversee the historical renovation.”

He nodded.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was chatting with Alicia.”

“Alicia? Alicia Withers?”

“I assume so. Not sure of her last name.”

“When did you two chat? And where?”

“The other day, at the pub.”

And here I thought I was the only one with secret assignations at the pub.

“And what did she say?”

“She thinks Libole is harboring secrets.”

“She wouldn’t have to be a mind reader to think that. But Alicia thinks everyone from Ellis’s daughter Harper to Buzz-the-limo-driver is harboring secrets. Which, let’s face it, I’m sure they are. Even
I
feel secretive around Alicia, because she always has her nose in everybody’s business.”

“Really? She seemed rather sweet to me. Except for calling the police on us at the gate. She’s done that a few times. But then, that’s her job, I suppose. I don’t take it personal.”

I smiled. Then I remembered Graham, and called Luz to check in. She told me Graham was still sleeping, no news yet, but the panda face was developing. She was planning on taking pictures.

We arrived at the McCall house, in San Rafael. It was a pleasant ranch-style home with a big yard. Someone was into gardening—besides neatly pruned flower beds, there were three small topiary trees snipped to look like animals: a lion, a rabbit, a turtle.

The woman who opened the door was plump with a pleasing, pretty face and a short graying, practical bob.

“Mrs. McCall? I’m Mel Turner. We spoke earlier? This is my associate, Kieran Lackey. . . .” I trailed off as I butchered his name.

“Lachaidh,” Kieran put in.

“Yes, of course. Please call me Jeanine, and please come in,” she said, and opened the door wide.

T
he house smelled of potatoes and roasting meat. Inside, an unsmiling young woman hovered in the kitchen doorway, a stained apron tied around her waist, eyes swollen and red from crying.

“This is my daughter Meghan. She’s staying with me for a few days, because of . . . well, until after the funeral.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, feeling like a heel. These women had lost a loved one, while my sole interaction with him had been watching as he’d had a hissy fit with Nolan. There was no denying I had entertained unkind thoughts about Larry McCall. Now I glanced around the foyer and saw old school photos of two girls and a boy—awkward middle school pictures, lovely young people graduating from high school. However petty McCall had seemed to me in our brief interaction, his was a life cut short, a family rent asunder.

But I reminded myself that Graham lay injured in the
hospital and steeled myself to intrude on the family’s privacy.

“And I’m sorry to intrude.”

“Thank you,” said Jeanine. “Really, I don’t mind. In fact, I enjoy telling people about Larry’s work. Please, come on in and make yourself at home. I was just having some tea.”

We followed her and took seats in a comfortable, overcrowded living room. On the broad coffee table sat a plate of baked goods.

“Crumpets,” she said. “Homemade.
Do
have some, or I’ll wind up eating the whole plate myself.”

Kieran didn’t have to be asked twice. He jumped on them as though starving and served himself two, placing them on a napkin. Our hostess then poured three cups of tea and told us to help ourselves to cream and sugar. I took mine black; it was delicious.

“Mmm,” said Kieran. “I don’t believe I’ve had a proper cup of tea since I arrived in this country.”

“I love your accent,” said Jeanine. “Are you Scottish?”

“Aye. Guilty as charged, as they say.”

“Is your family Scottish, too?” I asked. “McCall?”

“I’m a Velasquez by birth. But my husband’s . . .” Her big brown eyes filled with tears. She took a deep breath and blew it out, seeming to regain her composure. “Larry’s family came from Scotland, two generations ago. His grandparents on his father’s side. He loved all things Scottish. He was an absolute nut when it came to genealogies. He traced both our family trees.”

Kieran was studying the jumble of items on the wall. There were two reproductions of paintings: One I recognized as
Mary, Queen of Scots
. The other was a striking painting of a beautiful woman in a very severe palette of browns and blacks. The only bit of color was the touch of
blush in her cheeks, on her lips, and the brilliant red of the jewel hanging around her neck. My eyes also lit upon a painting of a castle that reminded me a little of Wakefield. On the fireplace mantel was a collection of photographs of what I presumed were the Scottish Isles.

“Are those . . . ? Those aren’t pictures of the monastery Elrich is building from Wakefield, are they?” I asked.

“Oh, no, of course not. Those photos are from our honeymoon. We went on a golfing and scotch-tasting trip in Scotland. I’ll never forget it.”

“I keep threatening to run off to Paris, myself,” I said. “Do you still golf?”

“Not at all. And to tell you the truth, I don’t much care for scotch, either. But I still enjoyed the trip,” she said with an indulgent smile. “We stayed in darling bed-and-breakfasts and had haggis and eggs every morning. Such fun.”

I didn’t think haggis would ever edge out my fantasy of chocolate croissants and café au lait
in a Parisian café, but to each their own.

“Those photos bring me great comfort. Larry and I used to sit here in front of the fire and recall those days,” Jeanine said wistfully. “I keep meaning to light the fire, but it seems like too much effort. That was always Larry’s job.”

“I’d be happy to do it, if you like,” said Kieran, jumping up.

“Oh! That would be delightful!” said Jeanine.

Kieran set about laying a fire with the newspapers, kindling, and firewood that had been laid out with care on the hearth. Soon a small but cheerful fire brightened the room.

In our part of California, fireplaces are rarely needed for heat, but they can serve as the emotional center of a
home, the closest the modern family came to an altar. The mantel in my dad’s house was crammed full of family photos, shells, rocks . . . mementos of happy times. I felt an unexpected surge of homesickness, making me realize how thrown off I’d been by what happened to Graham. I hadn’t even had time to think about what my interactions with the ghost of Donnchadh might have meant.

“You said something happened to that nice man who came to see me?” asked Jeanine.

“Yes. When he returned to the jobsite, after talking with you, he was struck on the head. He’s in the hospital. We hope he’ll be fine.” My voice wavered just a tad as I said this last bit. “But the timing of the attack, especially considering what happened to your husband, made me wonder if someone might have thought you told Graham something. Maybe something that someone else wanted to keep secret?”

“I confess I can’t think what,” said Jeanine. “We spoke about the business—you know Graham, so you must know he had been a building inspector as well, for Cal-OSHA.”

I nodded. Graham had worked for the California Office of Safety and Health Administration for a few years before establishing his green-building consultancy.

“Larry just loved his job. He used to be in software sales, like everyone else in the world, right? But then he accepted a golden parachute. Retirement just didn’t sit well with him. He’s always been an active man, and he liked to be useful. I don’t mind telling you that he was starting to drive me crazy, underfoot all the time. So he took a training course to get his certification and started doing home inspections, and that led to the job with the county. He loved his work.”

“Did he ever say anything about this particular project? Could you try to tell me anything you told Graham?”

“Of course, I’ll try.” The smell of onions frying in the other room reminded me of my dad. “I knew he was working at Wakefield, of course. He was . . . bothered that Mr. Elrich was pushing his project past the regular channels, or so Larry believed. ‘Shoving it down our throats’ was how he put it.”

I nodded and met Kieran’s eyes, wishing she would spill the whole story. She was one of those people who seemed to pause and beg for encouragement every time they gave out a morsel of information. Given the circumstances, it made me feel ghoulish to push her.

“Did he think there was anything unsafe about the jobsite?” I asked. “Or that the building wasn’t up to code?”

“There were problems with meeting code, because of all the new techniques being applied. I told Graham that, after he told me he was the one responsible for a lot of the green technology. Graham already knew my Larry, because of all the times he had been down at the permit office.”

“So there were code issues because of new techniques, but not detrimental to health and safety per se?”

“Not that I know of. I think what bothered Larry more than anything was he felt Ellis Elrich thought of himself as above the law.”

“Did he . . . ? Did Larry mention anything to you about finding anything on the site?” I asked. “Something that might have been valuable?”

She shook her head and nibbled on a crumpet. Crumbs fell onto her large bosom, and she brushed them off with a chagrined smile.

“Mom, we should start the casserole soon,” called
Meghan from the kitchen. She clearly wasn’t happy about us intruding on their sorrow, and I couldn’t blame her. This little interview hadn’t told me anything useful as far as I could tell, and we were taking up valuable energy the family needed for their own recovery.

“We’ve intruded on your privacy long enough,” I said as I stood. “Thank you so much for speaking with us.”

“Have I told you anything that might help figure out what happened to your friend . . . or to my Larry?”

There was such hope in her eyes that my heart went out to her. “I don’t know, but I will try my darnedest to figure this out. That much, I can promise.”

Jeanine reached out and squeezed my arm as she walked us to the door. “You do that, sweetheart. Don’t let the bastard get away with this.”

She seemed suddenly fierce for so accommodating a woman.

“Do you know something about this case?” demanded Meghan, finally emerging from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her stained apron. The bitterness in her eyes made her look older than her mother. “I thought the police had that Nolan guy in jail. Are you saying he didn’t do it?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shake of my head, afraid I was raising false hopes, or false doubts. “I think it’s possible that whoever killed your father also went after my friend Graham, which would mean it couldn’t have been Nolan. But I have no proof, or even a suspicion as to who that might be. Given my track record, I’m probably mistaken. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

*   *   *

“That didn’t tell us much,” I said, in a gloomy mood as we drove back toward the hospital.

“I think it’s interesting that McCall was such a Scotophile.”

“Interesting how? Did you know him?”

“I saw him go in and out the gates a few times, but that’s about it. He stopped once and complimented my kilt. I thought he was making fun.”

“He probably wished he had the guts to wear one, himself.”

Kieran nodded. “Funny, out of all those photos and paintings in their home, there was only the one from his wife’s side of the family.”

“Which was that?”

“The Spanish painting. Didn’t you notice? Very different style—those Spanish are all about the dark colors. They’re a severe people, aren’t they?”

“Right. Not peppy and lighthearted like the Scots.”

Kieran smiled.

“When Jeanine said her maiden name was Velasquez, I just assumed she was Mexican-American. Mexican art is usually anything but dark and somber.”

“I don’t know the first thing about Mexico. But I’d like to go, sit on a beach, sip a margarita. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Kieran sighed. He sounded so plaintive, he reminded me of my depressed ghost. I guessed standing outside the gates wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But if he was staying at the Pelican Inn, Kieran must have some resources. That place wasn’t cheap.

“I wish I could invite you to Ellis’s place to use the pool. But it might be awkward, given the circumstances.”

Kieran shrugged and kept his grip tight on the wheel, as though keeping himself on the right side of the road through sheer concentration. I wished I had remembered to offer to drive.

“Maybe you should declare a truce with Elrich,” I said. “I can give you my word that if I learn anything about a treasure, I’ll let you know. Then you could get the Scottish authorities involved, or whoever would be the agency to deal with this. Interpol, maybe?”

“Bringing that place over is technically legal. It’s not like he’s involved in international smuggling or engaged in espionage.”

“Really, Kieran, I don’t think Ellis wants to cheat anyone out of their national heritage. I really don’t.”

“How about Florian Libole? I wouldn’t put it past him—that’s for sure. Look what happened in Strasbourg.”

“What happened in Strasbourg?”

He gave me a significant look. “Ask Libole. But make sure you have some time on your hands—he’ll talk your ear off trying to convince you it wasn’t his fault.”

I filed that away for future reference. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask: Do you know anything about a woman who was present at the monastery at some point?” I kept wondering about the weeping woman: Who was she, where had she come from, and why would she be haunting the monastery?

“A woman? No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I can’t imagine such a thing, to be honest. I mean, a woman among all those desperate men?”

“The men were desperate?”

“I’m just guessing. I mean, after all, they were a whole bunch of men living together, supposedly celibate. I don’t mean to be hard on my sex, but I don’t think it’s particularly healthy for men to live without women.”

He looked at me rather soulfully. It made me realize just how immune I was to his charm. Harper seemed quite taken with him, but I’d had a few more years to develop skepticism.

My phone rang. It was Raul, calling with a couple of questions about a stone countertop that was being installed at the Art Nouveau house. After answering his questions, I filled him in on what had happened to Graham. I hung up and was about to call Luz, only to find a text message from her that all signs were still normal and I should concentrate on finding out the identity of the culprit rather than wasting her time and mine by calling every half hour. Her text made me smile.

“Where to now?” Kieran asked.

“Back to the hospital, I guess. I can’t think of anything else. Do you mind if I make a few more phone calls while you drive?”

“Not at all.”

I called Dad and filled him in on what had happened. Graham’s father had died young, which was one reason he looked to my dad as a father figure of sorts, which made our relationship just a little too incestuous for comfort. Dad said he’d come up tomorrow and sit with Graham; he also told me he’d call Graham’s mother, who lived in Florida, and let her know what was going on.