Murder at the Castle Wakes Up the Dead

Jessica opened the dark oaken door of Castle Ryan with some effort and pulled her suitcase over the stone saddle on the floor. Looking up, she saw a cavernous entrance hall illuminated by a massive chandelier that was balanced high up in the center of the vaulted and beamed ceiling. After hearing Sean and Millie’s dark stories about the castle, she felt the odd sensation that the chandelier was hanging over her like a Sword of Damocles. She scurried beyond its dangling circumference and walked further into the interior of the castle. Eager to assess the hostelry that Louis Aspen and Michael Thornes had chosen for the discussion of a potential television series, she thought a good look at it would give her a hint of the mood the two men were after.
Past the entrance hall, there was an intricately carved wooden staircase with a floral motif. It rose up grandly to the second level by a series of sharp turns and landings. It reminded Jessica of the stairs to a railway station as it zigzagged back and forth between the first and second levels. To the side of the staircase was a broad counter made of the same dark, highly polished wood that seemed to make up much of the interior of the inn. Behind the counter, and above the paneled wainscoting of the hall was green-and-white striped wallpaper with finely drawn renditions of trees and tiny birds who frolicked. It brought the flora and fauna of the surrounding landscape into the Victorian building that had intruded on the secluded natural setting.
The Victorian mood was reinforced by a few pieces of ornate furniture spread about the room. Jessica imagined that at another time, long satin skirts shuffled across the flagstones of the hall and were carefully arranged into place once the feminine owners of those lush fabrics positioned their graceful forms onto those generous seats. Seeing a circular brass bell on the counter, Jessica walked over to see if it were pressed whether it would summon one of the Ryans to the now empty hall.
“Here goes. Let’s give it a try,” she said, pushing down hard on the bell. A sprightly ping echoed through the vestibule with surprising force considering the tiny size of the bell and the massive dimension of the castle’s entry hall.
Soon a small woman of about sixty years of age came out of a closed door behind the counter. The dark-red hair color of her bob was an unmodulated shade, suggesting it came out of a bottle rather than being natural. The color just missed the trick in making her appear younger than she was; it was unable to hide subtle signs of age evident on her face. Jessica, not one to miss minor details, subconsciously cataloged them in her mind with another—the limp the woman had as she approached the counter. She wore a white linen blouse, which served to further highlight the bright redness of her hair. That she was proprietress of Castle Ryan was confirmed by her greeting. She said politely, “I’m Mrs. Ryan. How may I help you? Are you staying with us?”
“Yes. I am. I’m Dr. Jessica Shepard. Louis Aspen made arrangements for me to stay here. I don’t know if he’s arrived yet.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course. Mr. Louis Aspen, the television producer. He will be arriving soon with another gentleman, Mr. Michael Thornes.” Not checking the computer on the counter or the guest book to its side, she pulled the names easily off her tongue. It gave Jessica encouragement that the producer and the screenwriter she was expecting would actually appear and this wasn’t a ridiculous scam or joke someone was playing on her. “Mr. Aspen made the arrangements in advance, Dr. Shepard. We have your room all ready and tidy for you.”
“Thank you. Then they haven’t arrived yet?”
“Oh no. They’re coming in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Oh, I thought they’d be arriving today.”
“I can see you’re starting to fret. Now, don’t worry about anything. Everything’s under control. When Mr. Aspen made the arrangements, he said he wanted to give you a day to relax and get settled after your trip. He told me to be sure and take good care of you. We’ll make you feel right at home. Don’t worry about that.”
“Thank you. I’m not.”
“And as soon as he arrives tomorrow—he said he’s coming at the same time as the other gentleman—I’ll let you know. As I said, don’t worry.” She looked down at her guest book. “Yes, I’m correct about the date and the name of the other gentleman—Michael Thornes.”
“Yes. He’s a screenwriter. They’ll both be staying here while I am.”
“Yes, isn’t this exciting!” Brenda twittered and continued her new-arrival monologue. “You’ll be in the right wing of the castle and they’ll be in the left. But the wings are close enough on the second level that you shouldn’t miss each other coming and going. We serve meals in the dining room or in your room if you prefer. And we have a beautiful outdoor patio in the back by our gardens, weather permitting. But this time of year, they’re quite beautiful.”
“Yes, I heard about them.”
“I bet you have. We also have a library that’s perfect for quiet conversations if you’ll be wishing to talk privately to Mr. Aspen and Mr. Thornes—we can serve tea, coffee, or stronger drinks in there. And we have a small conference room, and an indoor spa. They’re both located on the lower level. By the way, if you haven’t brought a bathing suit, we have some for purchase. You’re a small thing, aren’t you? But I’m sure we have a few in your size. My daughter, Alice, keeps all the women’s sizes in stock. She thinks of everything that girl. But, there, that’s a proud mother talking about her only daughter.”