Chapter 14
The next morning, Elaine helped gather all the guests onto a private spot on the grounds of the castle. Nearby the river gurgled. There was a bite to the air, and the wind whipped around them as the threat of rain hung overhead. Many showed up with their books, all with similar stories of finding it in their path and assuming it was from Veronica. “I assure you,” Bartley said, his tall frame looming over them, “if Veronica was behind that book I would have been the one distributing it. I did not.”
“She could have asked someone else,” Eddie scoffed. Tara wondered if there was a history between those two, or was Eddie just surly with everyone? Temperamental artist? “Did you get a book?”
Bartley folded his arms. “No, sir. I did not.”
“Who else doesn’t have a book?” Mimi said. “He could be the killer.”
“Are you calling me a killer, madam?” Bartley’s voice remained professional. “I’ve worked for the O’Farrell family for forty years. I assure you if I was a murderer, I wouldn’t have waited this long.”
Tara thought he had a good point. On the other hand, didn’t everyone have a breaking point? Just like alcoholics needed to reach bottom before getting help? Maybe it took him forty years to reach his. Or maybe he felt left out. He wasn’t on Veronica’s amends list. Tara found it hard to believe that he’d been treated well the past forty years.
“You’re always around her,” Cassidy said. “How could she have snuck out that morning without your knowledge?”
Tara was surprised to hear Cassidy ask the very question she’d been dying to. She held her breath as she waited for Bartley to answer.
“She didn’t alert me or her driver,” Bartley said. “I was her employee, not her servant.”
“She called you her butler,” Cassidy said.
“She had a robust sense of humor,” Bartley answered without a hint of humor.
“Where were you when she was killed?” Cassidy continued.
“In my room. Having a well-needed rest. Where were you? That is, if you can remember.”
“Why wouldn’t I remember?” Cassidy put her hands on her shapely hips.
“It can be hard to recall things through a fog,” Bartley said.
“I could very well inherit the estate,” Cassidy said. “My first order of business will be cutting the dead weight from the staff.”
“I could have retired years ago,” Bartley said. “I’m only here out of loyalty.”
“Enough,” Mimi Griffin said. “There’s no need for squabbling.”
“I agree,” Iona said. She lifted her book. “This sounds like a threat. How do we know one of us isn’t next?”
“I want to go home,” Sheila said.
“So do I,” John added. “Is it legal for them to keep us here? Will they arrest us if we try to leave?”
“We’re all suspects,” Tara said. “I can’t speak for the legalities, but I don’t think it will look good if you leave.”
“Who cares what looks good,” Sheila said. “One of you is a killer.”
“We’ll be safer if we stick together,” Mimi said. “Don’t go anywhere alone, and if someone tries to get you alone, report it immediately.”
“Spy on each other?” Iona said. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“Of course not.” Tara replied. “Look out for each other. We aren’t safe until we know who did this.”
“What’s this we business?” John interjected. He glared at Tara. “You don’t have to stay at this castle surrounded by a killer.”
“Yet she chooses to,” Iona said. “Maybe she’s the killer.”
The group turned as one to wait for Tara to defend herself. The weight of everyone’s gaze was visceral. “I was hired to do a job.” There was a mob mentality at work here and she didn’t like it.
“What was the job exactly?” John asked.
“It involved doing something nice for all of you.” In New York Tara had been in high demand as a designer. She’d reached the fortunate position where she could choose the places she wanted to design, and was always welcomed with open arms. It was jarring to be treated as an outsider, let alone a killer.
“I think Iona might be on to something,” Sheila said, turning on Tara and pointing. “She’s the one who posted the murder weapon hours before poor Veronica was found dead.” Sheila brought up her phone and showed them the tweet. #Killerbrooch. Tara had since taken it down, so Sheila must have done a screen capture. Why would she do that?
A gasp ran through the patio as one by one the guests looked at her. “Total coincidence,” Tara said. She pointed at Bartley. “Ask him.” Bartley looked at his shoes. Apparently, he didn’t want to back her up. Was he just trying to throw suspicion off himself? “Where’s Andy?” Tara asked. “He was there too.” She looked around, but the young driver wasn’t in sight.
“I don’t understand,” Elaine said. “Why did you do something so vulgar?” She stared at Tara.
“I posted that before she died,” Tara said. “She encouraged me to take a picture of her brooch. It was a piece of art.”
“Hardly a piece of art,” Eddie said, as if the comment was an insult to his work. He glanced at Cassidy. “Where’s your copy of the book?”
“I didn’t bring that stupid book with me,” Cassidy said, crossing her arms. “Why do I need to visit me own country for, like?”
“Because it’s filled with magic and wonder?” Iona said, a lecturing tone obvious in her voice.
“Traipsing around in the muck and the rain?” Cassidy shook her head. “Pop culture is more my ting.”
“Did anyone’s book come with writing, or something slipped inside . . . anything?” Tara asked. One by one they looked at each other and shook their heads. A few rifled through their books. All books had been delivered to either their home or place of work, not mailed. “We’re going to have to tell the guards.” She took a breath. “In the meantime, I’d like to write down where everyone received the book, and anything else they can remember.”
“Does that include me?”
The smell of cigarette smoke hit Tara. She turned to find Andy, who had just exited through the patio doors. “Did you get a book too?”
He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled it out.
“Where did you find it?” Mimi asked before Tara could.
“On the passenger seat of me car. I thought maybe someone else left it behind.”
Why hadn’t he mentioned it earlier? Tara flashed back to Veronica being in her store. By the time Veronica noticed her book, Andy had already exited. She was going to have to be careful, it was so easy to suspect everyone else, and she didn’t like it when it was being done to her.
“What does any of this mean?” Sheila asked. John put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“It means the killer is playing a game,” Mimi said. “And Veronica may have been the first on his or her list. But what if she’s not the last?”