Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (18 page)

Then I dialed the number for SFPD homicide inspector Annette Crawford.

“Please tell me you’re not standing over a body,” she answered without preamble.

“The way you talk, a person would think you weren’t happy to hear from her.”

“You’re not calling about a murder?”

“Only tangentially.”

“Can’t wait to hear this.”

“Here’s the deal: I’m on a job in Marin County, and yes, a body was discovered several days ago.”

“I like you, Mel, but I’m not putting my reputation on the line to spring you from the county jail.”

“Did I say I was calling you from lockup?”
Sheesh
. Yes, Inspector Crawford and I had been through a few murders together. But I had never actually been
guilty
of anything. And on our last case,
she
had asked for
my
help, so you’d think she would cut me a little slack. “I have a question, that’s all.”

“Shoot.”

“How certain of a person’s guilt would police have to be in order to hold someone as a murder suspect? And once they make an arrest, do they continue investigating, or is that the end of it?”

“That’s a complicated question, I’m afraid. If they have a person of interest, they’ll keep him around to talk with him, see if they can build a case. Normally, they would still follow up any other leads, unless they are completely convinced they’ve got the guilty party. It depends on a lot of factors.”

I gave her the rundown of what had happened to Larry McCall, why Pete Nolan was being held, and how I came to be running the job at Wakefield for Ellis Elrich. Then I added: “Graham’s been hurt.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“He was hit over the head. Skull fracture. We’re hoping he’ll be all right, but . . .” My voice caught in my throat.

“And you think the murderer was responsible?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“It’s possible. As usual, I’m not sure what’s going on. And I’ll say one thing: The Marin police aren’t nearly as sweet and accommodating as you are.”

I heard a chuckle.

“Tell you what,” said Annette. “I’ll make a couple of phone calls and see what I can find out. Will that help?”

“It would, yes. The detective on the murder case is named Bernardino. Also, could you ask them if they recovered a clipboard at the scene of McCall’s death?”

“A clipboard? Holding what?”

“I don’t actually know, but it might have had something to do with his murder. The construction workers called it his Clipboard of Doom. If the police didn’t pick it up, I think it’s possible that the killer took it. And that the killer isn’t the man they have in custody, Pete Nolan.”

“All righty. You realize I can now follow your thought process with ease? Do you know how much that thought terrifies me?”

“Think of it as wind sprints for your brain.”

“Anything else?”

“Could you . . . ?” I glanced over at Kieran, who appeared to be concentrating on the road. I lowered my voice, though it was obvious he could still hear me. “Could you also check on one Alicia Withers? She’s Elrich’s assistant, and someone mentioned that she might not be who she says she is.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Annette. I really appreciate it.” I hung up and pondered a bit more. I couldn’t think what my next step should be.

“I don’t suppose . . . Maybe we should stop by the warehouse where Libole keeps the other items he’s collected,” suggested Kieran.

“Just how is it you know about things like the warehouse?” I asked him.

“People tell things to me.” He shrugged. “I think it’s the accent.”

“If I knew where the warehouse was and how to get in, I’d be happy to oblige. But I don’t.”

“You could use that magic talking device you’re holding in your hand and call someone,” Kieran suggested.

“Good point.” When Florian didn’t answer, I tried Alicia, who suggested I take it up with Mr. Elrich. He
had an opening tomorrow at three, she said, and she’d be happy to pencil me in. I made the appointment, though I was willing to bet I could corner Ellis at the breakfast bar or out on the terrace with a glass of cognac or building his cairns before then.

“No luck,” I said to Kieran after I hung up. “Maybe later. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“We could break in,” I mused aloud. “If we could find someone to tell us where it is.”

Kieran looked at me, startled. “Break in?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with the concept, Mr. Gee I Just Had to Look Around the Ruins Even Though I’m Not Permitted on the Property.”

He appeared to be blushing, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. He mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“I said, it’s one thing to wander onto an unsecured piece of land looking for a national treasure, quite another to break in to a locked building. Besides, I didn’t break
in
, exactly. Technically, I was invited.”

“By Harper? Don’t play with her emotions, Kieran. You’re too good a guy to do that. She’s young and vulnerable and ripe to get her heart broken.”

“Who said I was playing with her emotions? We’re friends; I like her. She’s actually quite knowledgeable about plants, and is sympathetic to my case for repatriation. She said she’d talk to her father about it. Anyway, about breaking in to the warehouse . . . I can’t be a party to something like that. What if we get caught?”

“I’m pretty sure we’d be able to talk ourselves out of it, what with the connection with Elrich and all.”

Kieran seemed unconvinced.

“What, did you overstay your visa or something?”

Now he looked guilty.

“Kieran—I’m sorry—I was just joking. That can be serious, though, can’t it? Overstaying your visa these days could bring the wrath of Homeland Security down on your head.”

He shrugged again. “I’m working on it.”

I nodded and hoped part of his plan didn’t include marrying a gullible American citizen. But it really wasn’t any of my business.

“You know what? I happen to know a few scofflaws who don’t have visa issues.” I placed another call.

“Mel! How are you?” my friend Zach asked when he picked up.

“I’ve been better. I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow or the next day to help me break in to a warehouse.”

“I swear, Mel, it pains me that you have such a sketchy opinion of me. One little incident of breaking and entering and I’m forever a marked man in your mind.”

“It wasn’t the breaking and entering so much as the involvement in murder, and you know, the kidnapping.”

“Again with the kidnapping,” he said with a put-upon sigh, as though kidnapping were the moral equivalent of denting a fender.

I ran through what had happened to Graham, what I knew, and why I wanted to get into the warehouse. “So, can I count on you?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“I might get a better offer.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll call you when I have the location.”

“Oh, goodie.”

I hung up.

“You’re off the hook,” I told Kieran. “I found a bona fide US citizen to help me bend the law.”

“You’re not bending the law; you’re breaking it.”

“Semantics.”

“Will you let me know what you find?”

“Of course. We’re looking for a chalice, right?”

“Could be.”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“The legends say the ghost is protecting a priceless vessel, so I assume . . .”

He trailed off as we pulled up to the hospital.

“All right. I’ll keep my eyes open, and if we find anything that looks like a national treasure, I’ll let you know.”

B
ack at the hospital, there had been a shift change, so the nurses on duty didn’t recognize me. I was stopped when I tried to access the ICU.

“I’m here to see Graham Donovan.”

“Who is he to you, exactly?”

“My boyfriend.”

She looked a little surprised and turned to gaze at Luz, who smiled gamely.

“It’s the twenty-first century, after all,” Luz said. “As long as everyone behaves themselves . . .”

When the nurse turned away, Luz whispered: “I’m supposed to be his wife, remember?”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

Luz flung her arm over my shoulder and led me to Graham’s cubby in the ICU.

“I bet we’ll be the talk of the hospital for a few days. Intensive care ménage à trois and all that. But hey, you’re into all things French, right,
ma chérie
?”

I glared at her. She just grinned and gave me another squeeze.

I stood for a moment by Graham’s bed. He looked even worse than he had before; the panda markings were becoming more pronounced, he had a pallid complexion, and his stillness was unnerving.

“So give me the lowdown: What did McCall’s widow say?”

“Nothing much. Unless there’s something there that I’m just not seeing. Graham announced he was going to speak with her in front of a whole bunch of people, but it could just as easily have been someone following him, or watching the widow’s house, I suppose. But she really didn’t seem to have anything useful to tell us.”

The sour-faced nurse returned. “You can’t stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“No visitors in the ICU after eleven p.m. Hospital rules.”

Great. I had a Mrs. Danvers to contend with at the Elrich mansion and a Nurse Ratched here at the hospital. Good thing I knew so many cool women, or I might start to become pessimistic about our sex.

“I suppose I could call Elrich and have him raise a stink, or sweet-talk folks, or however it is he manages to get impossible things done . . . ,” I said, thinking aloud.

“Graham’s not going to be waking up and needing you anytime soon, Mel,” said Luz gently. “The nurses assure me they have pretty tight security here—he’ll be looked after. The best thing for you to do at this point would be to get some rest and come back tomorrow.”

“I guess I really should get back to Dog. . . .”

“Right, back to Dog, as well. Want me to come stay with you?”

“Don’t you have classes?”

“Papers are due this week; my graduate teaching assistants can handle it.”

“Thanks,
amiga
. I appreciate your willingness to exploit your students on my behalf. But you’ve done enough. I’m okay, really.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

*   *   *

Luz dropped me off at the Elrich house a little before midnight.

“Watch out for Mrs. Danvers,” she said with a smile. “Get some sleep, and call me in the morning to let me know how you are.”

“Sure thing.”

“And, Mel? Watch your back.”

“Thanks. I’m on it.”

Dog was especially excited to see me, and though I was sure he had probably dined on steak that evening, I fed him dinner anyway, and afterward sat on the floor and rubbed his belly for a while. I didn’t feel a bit sleepy. And I could hear that mournful flute music again, wafting up from the Wakefield building site.
I think my ghost needs Prozac.
I smiled, thinking what Luz’s reaction would have been if I’d asked her about it.

My eyes came to rest on my toolbox. It reminded me of home, of family. Caleb had written my name on it in Magic Markers back when he was a boy and still thought I was cool. I had inherited many of my tools from my father, and though there were newer, fancier versions out on the market, I enjoyed the familiar feel of the old metals in the palm of my hand.

I set my toolbox on the fireplace hearth, opened it, and brought out a small chisel and a strong putty knife, then started scraping at the mess left behind when I had
taken the tiles off the hood. The old plaster was disintegrating, and the tiles hadn’t been put on properly in the first place, which was why they had fallen off so easily. I wondered whether I should check the rest of the tiles throughout the house—there were a lot of them. The ones used for decoration weren’t as much of a worry, though it would be a shame if the glazed squares started to fall and break. But tiles in wet locales—showers, backsplashes, the Jacuzzi—would pose a serious problem if they hadn’t been properly cemented into place and then grouted.

Brendan had started completing tasks on the fix-it list in the Elrich house yesterday. I’d gotten the sense he was happy to be working here rather than on the monastery—he’d been one of the men chased out of the building by Donnchadh on his first day on-site. I made a mental note to check in with him and see how the work was coming along.

I kept scraping, and of course the other tiles had to come off, as well. Even a small job like this one created a huge mess of plaster dust and chunks of the old glue; but in order to reapply the tiles properly, the underlayment had to be thoroughly clean. I feared Alicia was not going to be pleased with me.

Thinking of Alicia, I realized that it was the middle of the night and I was scraping plaster off walls. The house was exceedingly well insulated, but I wondered whether the noise I was making might be disturbing the peace. Specifically, I wondered whether my neighbor, Florian Libole, was back, and whether I was driving him nuts with my scratching, tapping, and grinding.

And thinking of Libole, where had he disappeared to?

I blew away the last bits of dust and debris from the fireplace hood and then set my tools carefully back into
the toolbox. I used a small brush and pan I’d found under the sink to clean up the biggest part of the mess. Tomorrow I could reapply the tiles with proper mastic, and when the plasterers were here for the other small jobs around the house—there were many—they could patch this area at the same time.

Walking out my French doors and across the terrace to Florian’s bedroom, I put my ear to the door and listened. Nothing. I knocked softly at first, then louder.

Still no answer.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, I tried the door handle.

Locked. Of course.
Darn it
.

I went into my bedroom and out to the hall to Florian’s other door. I tried the handle, just in case, but it was locked as well.

Then I heard something.

A muffled sound, like people talking. The television was on. Probably the sullen Harper was watching music videos or some comedy I wouldn’t understand starring actors I wouldn’t recognize. But at the moment I was in need of a distraction.

I snuck into the television room only to find none other than Alicia slouched on the down-filled cushions of a large sectional. She looked less like Mrs. Danvers and more like one of Caleb’s teenage friends.

Potato chips went flying when she saw me and jumped, letting out a little squeak.

“Sorry I startled you,” I said, stifling a smile.

Alicia’s face flamed, and she picked up a few errant chips that had escaped the beautifully glazed handmade bowl. “I hope the television didn’t disturb you. I thought everybody was asleep.”

I glanced at the massive flat-screen, where a big truck
was pulling away, revealing to a large family their newly remodeled home.

“It’s . . . uh . . .” Alicia stood and hit a button on the remote, turning the TV off. “Sorry. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Please don’t turn it off on my account. What were you watching?”

I wouldn’t have believed her face could grow a deeper red, but it did. “HGTV.”

“What’s that?”

She gaped at me. “Home and Garden TV network. You don’t know it?”

“I’m not a TV person. And even if I were, my dad maintains control of the remote at all times. He’s like a dog with a bone.”

“I would have thought . . . I would have thought someone in your business would watch this channel.”

“Turn it back on,” I said as I plopped down on an overstuffed armchair. It felt like heaven. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. “Let’s give it a go.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

She clicked the remote and sat back down but seemed uneasy. She kept sneaking glances over at me. “Mr. Elrich says that Graham is going to be all right. Is that true?”

“It’s too early to tell for sure, but they think so. It’s sort of wait and see, but it looks like he’ll be okay. We hope.”

She nodded, awkward, then turned to the TV, where the show was wrapping up. I asked questions, and she filled me in on the setup: A couple bought a house and needed help renovating it. They brought in some gorgeous guy in a tool belt, and the subcontractors showed
up when they said they would, and if there were disasters, they were funny, and then the job was completed on time and on budget.

I could hear my father’s voice in my head:
They should call this channel
Fantasy
TV.
Still, it took my mind off Graham.

Then a show came on featuring a perky blond woman who was a fanatic for historical renovation and recycling. She drove her crew and coworkers nuts with her zealous insistence upon historical accuracy and original materials. At one point she crawled into a Dumpster behind of a house that had just been cleaned out in order to salvage a cupboard and a bunch of old moldings.

“That woman’s like my twin,” I said. By now I was sitting next to Alicia on the couch, my hand in the chip bowl. “Except she’s cute and blond. And perky. And she looks a hell of a lot better in jeans than I do. But other than that, we’re like this.” I held up one hand with two fingers crossed.

Alicia laughed. Just the tiniest little chuckle. She seemed almost embarrassed about it, and kept sneaking looks at me when she thought I was absorbed in watching the TV show.

“How’s Brendan working out?” I asked.

“Well. He’s very nice.”

“Good. I was noticing a small problem in my room, with the tiles. It’s really mostly cosmetic stuff—I could teach you how to check them, and to take them off and then put them back properly, if you like. It’s not difficult.”

“Really? You think I could do it?”

“Sure. I mean, only if you’re interested. I’m sure Ellis has more than enough money to foot the bill for repairs, and you’re probably busy with work already.”

“Oh, but I enjoy working with my hands.”

“I had a feeling.”

We shared a smile.

“So, Florian’s still out of town?” I said, real casual-like, during a commercial.

She nodded.

“What’s he doing? Do you know?” I know I sounded snoopy, but I was hoping Alicia would recognize a kindred spirit.

“I believe it was personal business.”

Or not. I tried again.

“I’m only asking because I understand Florian has a warehouse full of relics that will eventually be incorporated into Wakefield. I’d love to take a look at them, so I can have a better sense of what all we’ve got.”

Her attention remained fixed on the TV. Okay, one more try.

“Also, according to the paperwork I was looking at, several industrial-sized kitchen appliances will be arriving any day now. Wakefield’s kitchen space isn’t ready, not by any stretch of the imagination, so I was thinking maybe we could store them in the warehouse. But that’s okay. . . . I’ll just have them delivered here at the house.”

That got her.

“Here? Here where? There’s no room for kitchen appliances here!”

“Yeah, and these are industrial-sized suckers, too. Huge.”

She let out a dismayed gasp.

“I suppose we could stash them in the garage . . . ,” I suggested.

“Oh, no. That wouldn’t work at all,” Alicia said, sitting up straight. “We wouldn’t be able to park inside! Mr. Elrich has a Lexus LFA Nürburgring.”

“The weather around here isn’t that bad. That Lexus-burger would be okay sleeping outdoors, don’t you think?”

Alicia looked shocked.

“It would only be for a couple of months, tops.”

“No, no, no, that won’t do at all,” she said, collapsing back against the soft cushions. “This is terrible.”

“Mmm.” I nodded, pretending to be riveted by the TV show, where one of the hosts was trying to teach a hapless homeowner how to use a jigsaw to shorten newel posts. It wasn’t going well, but they were all good-natured about it.

Agitated, Alicia appeared to be running through options in her head. She nodded.

“You’re right; there must be room in that warehouse. And Mr. Elrich is footing the bill, after all.”

“That’s true. It’s not really Florian’s warehouse, is it? It really belongs to Elrich Enterprises.”

She slumped. “But I don’t have the address.”

“You don’t?”

“No, but I could probably track it down. Also, I don’t know where Florian keeps the key. Perhaps he has it with him.”