Chapter 17

The door behind the empty reception desk was unlocked the next morning, so Jane tiptoed through it.

On the other side was a cozy, round room with lamps, a worn sofa, and overstuffed chairs, surrounded by whitewashed, curved brick walls.

She made for the spiral staircase at the far side of the room. Alert for every sound, Jane circled around and around on short, stone steps hewn for smaller feet and worn down in the middle over time. Tall windows as narrow as slits provided light. Through the thin openings, she took stock of the landscape below to get her bearings, remembering the tower was in the corner of the castle wall beside the graveyard. As she continued to climb, a landing came into view, opening to a hall in the shape of a semicircle with a door cut in the center. She knocked, but there was no answer from within, so she tried the door handle, which turned.

She held the knob in a death grip, as she stood transfixed for a moment or two before entering. The room was decorated in white and beige, modern looking in the ancient bedchamber. White linens made up an elegant four poster bed. An old-fashioned, mirrored dressing table held brushes and jewelry, and an antique wardrobe with its door ajar housed expensive-looking dresses and sweaters, all black. The room was obviously Mairéid’s.

Jane darted several glances back toward the door and strained to listen for any sound coming up the stairwell, but didn’t hear a thing. She examined all the pictures on the walls. Next she inspected the bottom of the wardrobe, but the cupboard floor only held a hint of perfume. Her scalp prickled when lilting, Irish voices floated in through the window, the words indistinct. She risked a glimpse through the glass and saw with relief that Mairéid was busy talking to Sean in the graveyard below.

She crept away from the window. Several glossy, celebrity magazines were spread out on the floor near the bed. She prodded one of the publications with her toe, a pro-wrestling journal, which was opened to a spread of wrestling holds. The caption under the full page picture read, “Front chancery hold, also known as neck wrench.”

She did a double take. What the heck? The celebrity mags were no surprise, but the sports one didn’t fit, and a photo demonstrating a choke-like hold had to be significant. She snapped a photo of the open magazine on her cell.

After taking a last look around, Jane closed the door and ran up the rest of the stairs. Another landing appeared. She leaned her weight against a heavy door, it opened, and she toppled inside.

Three of the walls were draped with tapestries in faded colors. She wondered if the tapestries were medieval. Surely they would be valuable enough to be in a museum. Several portraits of people in Victorian clothes adorned the fourth wall. The family crest mounted in an ornate shadow box was positioned above the bed. She rubbed her hands over the smooth, polished wood of the dressers and bedstead. Did the furnishings come with the castle? They seemed to belong to the room.

What didn’t match was a new desk with a laptop computer and printer, both of which looked incongruous next to an old wardrobe. The computer was turned off, the screen blank. She switched the laptop on, but a log-in screen requiring a password popped up, so she shut the power back off.

Better check on Mairéid.

She twitched open the curtains to gaze out the third floor window onto the grounds below. Because the castle tower was perched on the steep bluff, it felt like she was floating far, far above the town and all its people…as if overlooking a kingdom. Not obvious from the street level, but apparent from this great height, the houses all faced the castle, since the roads circled around the ancient fortress—the smaller, squat dwellings bowed in worship to the towering citadel on the hill. It was fitting that Griff had this upper room somehow…

But Mairéid and Sean were no longer in the graveyard. A little dizzy from the view, Jane stepped back from the window and ran a shaky hand over her brow, her nerves raw and her heart racing. Was Mairéid on her way back in? Images of being caught in Griff’s room flashed through her mind. She must hurry.

Her trembling hand hovered over his dresser drawer. What would Griff think if he knew she was looking through his personal things? Jane, don’t open it…don’t do it. Despite the angel on her shoulder telling her not to, she slid the dresser drawer open. She rummaged through his shirts, size XL. She went to the closet for his shoes, size 11. But she needed to concentrate on clues. Focus…

The top of the bedside table was cluttered with numerous objects—pens, loose change, scraps of grocery store receipts, a band aid. The drawer opened easily without a sound. It held the jackpot—a bundle of letters from Kate Irwin. The beautiful Kate! Jane stuffed them in her pocket before her conscience could get the better of her.

She hastened down the stairs, but instead of leaving through the reception area, she exited by the outer door leading to the deserted graveyard, then looped around to the front and entered that way. And it’s a good thing she did. At the reception desk, Griffin was talking with none other than Kate herself.

Jane’s heart leapt to her throat as she stopped in the doorway, her guilty fingers reaching into her pocket to clutch the letters.

The young woman was saying, “I sent ya’ a note, but I didn’t hear back.”

Griff had a hard set to his face and his lips were in a tight line. “We’re done here.”

“Aw, darlin’…ya’ have nothin’ for me?” Kate’s fingers twirled her hair in a coquettish way, and his expression softened. The attractive couple fell silent as Jane approached.

She gave them a smile, hoping no culpability showed there, since the letters were burning a hole in her pocket. The letters would have to wait. She didn’t want to risk Griff or anyone else following her to her room, so she said, “I’m off. See you later.”

“When will you be back?” Griff grinned a saucy grin, but Kate shot her a sour-lemon look.

“In a bit. Just going to see Ryan,” she said, reversing out the door. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she caught Griff’s eyes on her back, and Kate’s too, but now Kate had a smug smile on her face. Was that a look of I’ve-got-one-up-on-you? When Mairéid appeared from the dining room to join their stares, Jane snapped her head forward. She bounded down the front steps with her eyes to the ground.

Once she was a few blocks from the chemist shop, she stopped to catch her breath. Her phone pinged with a text message from an unrecognizable number with a Limerick area code, 061. Stay away from Griff! A strange hexagonal emoji with a shamrock followed the text. The emoji looked like a hex. Who had her cellphone number other than Griff? Probably everyone with access to the reservation records and probably everybody else on top of that…She hit the button to dial the number, but no one picked up.

Her heart pounded with guilt from having stolen the letters. The warning text didn’t help her blood pressure, either.

****

“Good morning, Ryan.”

“Good to see you, Jane. What are you up to today?” He punched a key on his computer terminal, which started emitting loud beeps.

“I don’t have plans.”

“Would you like to have elevenses with Una and me and Benjamin?”

“Elevenses? What’s that?” She poked her tongue into the side of her cheek.

“Oh, a mid-morning tea break.”

“Sure. I’d love to.” The welcome feeling of familial belonging washed over her. “What time?”

“Right now’s good.” Ryan grabbed a jacket off the hook and told his assistant he’d return in an hour. He led Jane down the cobblestone street and around the corner, then a few blocks farther.

Una opened the front door of a townhome set in a long row of identical brick homes butted up against each other. The baby was on her hip, and a black and white collie mix was underfoot. “Good mornin’.”

“’Morning. Ryan invited me for tea, or elevenses, I guess.” Jane entered a living room with a well-worn sofa covered with toys and blankets facing a flickering big screen television on mute, and Ryan stepped inside after her. The interior was modern, in spite of being part of a row of old townhouses. An open door to the left lead to an updated bathroom, and the kitchen beyond the living room had full-sized appliances that appeared new.

Ryan said, “I know you always make plenty, Una.”

“I do. Glad you could come, Jane.” His wife smiled, not seeming to mind the unexpected company.

“Can I hold Benjamin?” Jane held out her hands.

Una heaved him into her arms. He was heavier than he appeared, drawing back and observing her with wide eyes. Gripping him tightly as he squirmed and kicked, Jane followed his parents into the kitchen. Una tugged open the oven door, and they breathed in the aroma of baking bread. Benjamin kicked his little feet into her stomach as Jane held onto him.

“Benjie needs to go into his high chair.” Una pointed to the chair pushed up to the table.

After Jane raised him in the air, his mother navigated his dancing feet through the leg openings and plunked his bottom onto the seat. Ryan scrapped a chair out from the table. “I hope you’re hungry. Una makes a great breakfast roll. It’s called a rollóg bhricfeasta.”

“What’s that?”

“A roll filled with a traditional fry.”

That didn’t mean anything to Jane. She helped his wife bring the tea things to the table, and Ryan said grace.

“Thanks, Ryan. I’ve been forgetting about blessing the food.” Jane peeled back one of the rolls and breathed in the hot smell of sausage, bacon, mushrooms, and tomatoes, which threatened to overflow from the soft bread onto her plate. One bite of the steaming concoction made her moan with pleasure and her stomach rumble. “This reminds me a little of the breakfast burritos we eat in Colorado.”

Her cellphone vibrated. Jane checked the caller ID—a call coming from Dublin—which she let go to voice message. Perhaps the person who threatened her earlier was calling to menace her again.

Una looked over the top of her oversized, red glasses at Jane shakily returning her phone to her pocket.

“Everythin’ okay?”

“Yes.” Jane gave a little shiver. “This breakfast roll is delicious.”

“So, Ryan told me Bruce and Cheryl cut their time in Ireland short.”

After Jane explained the police had all but accused Bruce of providing Ryan with illegal drugs, Ryan pounded the table and denounced the guards, with “They haven’t accused me to my face of giving Alsander amphetamines. And they’d better not.”

“Not if they know what’s good for them,” Una agreed in a forceful voice. “Hey, if Bruce is a suspect, why’d they let him leave the country?”

Jane shrugged. “Doubtless there’s an extradition treaty. It’s not as if they can’t get him back. But I can’t believe Bruce is a serious suspect.” She nodded at Ryan. “Or you either.” They all chewed on their breakfast rolls for a few moments, before she asked Una, “Living so close, you must know quite a bit about Alsander. Did he have enemies?”

“I never heard about any enemies.” Una gave her husband an inquiring look and he shook his head as well.

“Hmmm, let’s see.” Jane extracted her spiral notepad and tapped a finger on her page of questions. “Ryan, the day we met, when we toured Limerick and went to King John’s Castle, right afterward I saw you and Mairéid arguing on the street. I’ve been meaning to ask you what that was about.”

At first he looked confused, then his expression cleared. “Oh, yeah. Mairéid asked me about her Da’s prescription. She thinks she knows better than the doctors.”

“Did you know Mairéid worked at a doctor’s office?”

“Oh, sure. That’s why she thought she knew so much, but she doesn’t have medical training. Her job is just checking in the patients.”

“Could she have had access to drugs, like amphetamines?”

His weak chin fell to his chest as he stared fixedly at his plate. “She wouldn’t have. That medical office is on the up and up. Nothing like that coulda’ happened there.”

Jane set her notepad down and picked her breakfast roll back up. “Do you think I could call them?”

“They won’t tell you anything about one of their employees.”

“Griff said her old boyfriend is a doctor.”

“I don’t know anything about him.”

Una’s eyes bulged so much they looked enormous behind her glasses. “Who you should be lookin’ at is Sean Smithwicket.”

“That’s right. Una knows something about him.” Ryan punched Jane’s arm and made her drop her roll onto her plate. “Tell her, Una.”

“Yes, tell me.” Jane retrieved what was left of her roll.

“He’s done jail time for drugs. He’s a hoodlum. Got a record.”

“What?” Jane felt a great leap of excitement as the roll slipped back out of her hand.

“Selling illegal drugs,” Ryan bellowed.

“Calm down. It’s not as if he’s takin’ business away from you,” Una yelled back. With apparent enjoyment, Benjie kicked his feet and smacked his spoon on the high chair tray.

Jane relaxed into her chair as the husband and wife continued their argument and Benjie continued his racket. So, Sean Smithwicket had an arrest history. Bingo. Motive, means, and opportunity.

“Sean is the drug connection,” Jane said as soon as there was an opening. “Mairéid was getting the amphetamine from him.”

“Well, I didna’ say he sold amphetamines, just tha’ he’s done time for drugs before.” Una leaned away from the table and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“It’s interesting, though, isn’t it?” Jane gobbled down the rest of her roll, as her hosts had a vociferous discussion on crime in the neighborhood. After everyone was done eating, she helped remove the plates from the table. When Ryan was about to leave to return to the chemist’s shop, Jane thanked them both and then made her own escape from the contentious household.

The brisk, fresh air buffeted her face as she traversed the five or six blocks to the castle.

Standing in front, eyes riveted on the green ivy crawling up the tall walls, was Sean Smithwicket. He seemed to spend more time lately at the castle than at his coffee shop. What was he doing? Assessing his future property? Planning to tear down the ivy, planning to paint and redecorate? He made an about-face, almost colliding into her, apologized, and took off in the other direction.

She blew through the double doors and past the empty reception desk, then ascended the stairs two at a time. After entering her room, she stepped on a piece of paper that had been forced under the door.

Pinching the note between her fingers, she squeezed her eyes shut, and taking a deep breath, she opened them to read the printed paper. I saw you coming out of the tower. What were you doing up there? Leave while you still can.