Crimson Twilight (7 page)

“And that would be better than the alternative,” Logan said.

Jane rose and walked over to a table where a bottle of champagne sat in a silver bowl of ice with crystal flutes around it. She didn’t make a move to open the champagne. She spun around. “I say we go down for a cocktail hour and keep talking with whoever comes near us.”

“Okay,” Sloan said, rising again.

“Sure,” Kelsey agreed.

“Who knows? Too bad there isn’t a butler here,” Logan said.

“There should have been a butler,” Jane said.

“Because the butler often did it?” Kelsey asked.

Jane smiled. “No, it’s a castle. There should be a butler. But—” Her voice trailed as she looked at Kelsey’s board. “I wish that I believed that Reverend MacDonald just fell. But I don’t.”

“A hunch?” Kelsey asked her seriously.

They tended to pay attention to gut feelings. But, of course, everyone was wondering if Jane wasn’t influenced by the circumstances here at the castle.

“We’ll get images of everyone in the house and send them to the main office,” Sloan said. “They can find out things about the past by just running searches, and it will be much easier for them to do that than us.”

She smiled. “Yes, please. And maybe we can take a walk right before dinner and see if we can chat with any of the locals.”

“The locals?” Kelsey murmured.

“Local ghosts,” Jane said. “Who knows just what they might know?”

Chapter 5

“How is everyone doing?” Emil Roth asked as they entered the Great Hall.

He was there before them and held a crystal decanter of something dark in his hand. He waved it about as they entered. Jane thought he might have been there imbibing for some time.

“Brandy,” he said, “anyone want to join me?”

“Club soda with lime?” Sloan asked him.

“Wise man,” Roth noted. “Since people seem to trip down stairs around here. It’s best to keep a clean and sober mind. I, however, will just crawl up the stairs. It’s hard to trip when you crawl.”

He set down the decanter and poured a soda for Sloan, but as he handed the glass over he was looking at Jane. He shuddered, then smiled. “I’m sorry. So sorry! Really. It’s just you do bear a strange resemblance to Elizabeth Roth.”

“Resemblances can be strange, of course,” Jane said. “But sometimes it just depends on what angle an artist gave to a rendering.”

“You know a lot about art?” he asked her.

“Jane is a wonderful artist,” Kelsey said.

“I’m a forensic artist,” Jane said.

He shuddered again. “You draw or paint dead people?”

“Sometimes. But, sometimes, I paint the living. When they’re missing, if they have amnesia, if we need to get their images out to the public for a reason.”

He gave a slightly sloppy smile. “So you could sketch me?”

“Certainly,” she told him.

“Ah, yes. You could, but would you?” he asked.

“If you wish,” she said.

“How rude of me. A tragic day. It should have been your wedding. And here I am, asking you to sketch me.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Jane said.

“I’ll run up and get your sketch pad,” Sloan offered.

Emil lifted his glass to Sloan. “Don’t run, not on those stairs.”

“I’ll be careful,” Sloan promised.

“Do you need an easel? Is there something else I can get you? Draw what you really see, too, okay? I don’t need to be flattered and I’d like a true image.”

Logan pulled out a chair at the table for Jane as he told Emil, “Jane has a unique talent for catching expressions and what makes a person an individual. I’m sure what you’ll get is honest.”

Jane laughed softly. “I won’t try to be unflattering.”

Emil drew out the chair across from her. “Am I good here? Do you need more light?”

“I’m fine. As soon as Sloan brings down the pad, we’ll be set to go,” she promised.

“Please,” Emil told Logan and Kelsey, “help yourselves to drinks. I believe Chef will send someone in with hors d’oeuvres soon.”

“Thank you,” Kelsey told him. “Jane?”

“Diet cola, thanks,” Jane said.

“Ah, nothing more exciting?” Emil asked her.

“We’re just not feeling all that festive, I guess,” Jane said.

Sloan arrived with her sketch pad and a box of pencils. She smiled and thanked him.

“Ready when you are,” Emil told her.

“I’ve already begun,” she said.

“You’re not drawing.”

“But I am studying your face,” she said softly.

“Ah,” he said. “Should I pose? Lean in? Rest my chin on a fist?”

“No,” she told him, picking up a pencil.

She began to sketch. To her amazement, she thought that it was one of her best, and quickly so. She changed pencils frequently, finding light and shadows. She caught his youth, something of a lost empathy in his eyes, and a world weariness he might not have expected. She also caught a bit of the handsome young Renaissance man. Or, perhaps, a rich kid adrift because he could probably be more than what the world seemed to expect of him. When she finished, she hesitated, looking at him.

“May I?” he asked.

“Certainly,” she told him.

He took the drawing and studied it for a long time. “Could I possibly have this?”

“Of course,” Jane told him.

“May I snap a phone pic of it?” Logan asked him. “It’s really excellent. I’d love to have it, too.”

“Yes, definitely,” Kelsey said.

Mrs. Avery came walking into the room, her lips pursed. She seemed unhappy that Emil appeared to be enjoying his guests. Perhaps she was just unhappy that he was there at all.

“Will you have hors d’oeuvres soon?” she asked politely.

“Yes, we will, Denise. But, first, come here. You must see this!”

“Really, Emil—” Mrs. Avery began.

“Oh, come, come, Denny! Come over here and see this. You must sit, too, if Miss Everett is willing. I’m quite astounded by the likeness she created of me.” Emil said.

“I have business—” Mrs. Avery began.

“Yes, yes, you do. You work for me. Sit for a spell. Jane, will you?” Emil asked.

“If you wish.”

“Will this take long?” Mrs. Avery asked.

“Five minutes,” Sloan said.

Jane thought there was something firm in his voice. He used a tone she knew, though it wasn’t often directed at her anymore. People complied with that tone.

Mrs. Avery sat.

She began to sketch and caught the woman’s high cheekbones and thin lips. Because it seemed that the sketch was coming out a little too harsh, she set a tiny stray curl upon the forehead and down the face. The sketch caught the true dignity of the woman, but softened her as well. Jane was surprised to see Denise Avery’s face as she studied the drawing.

She looked up at Jane with a smile. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“And she’ll let you keep it, Denny,” Emil said. “After Logan snaps a pic, that is.”

“I would love to keep it. Thank you,” she said.

Before she could rise, Chef stuck his nose and then his body into the Great Hall. “May I begin with the service?”

“Oh, not until Miss Everett does a sketch,” Mrs. Avery said. “Come, sit!”

Jane looked at Sloan.

He grinned at her with pleasure. Logan, she knew, would get a snapshot on his camera of every shot. That night, he’d get every drawing, along with names, to their base. Then they’d know if everyone was who and what they claimed to be.

Before they were done, she’d sketched everyone working at the castle except for the two maids who only came in from nine to five—Sonia Anderson and Lila Adkins. Before she finished with everyone, she asked Chef to bring in the hors d’oeuvres. And as he and his assistants, Harry Taubolt and Devon Richard, served the food, Sloan began speaking with them. By the time she was done with her last sketch for the night—that of Scully Adair—it was agreed that they would all—guests, owner, and employees—eat together that night in the Great Hall.

“It’s nice to be together,” Scully told Jane, sitting beside her.

The food was all on the table and they passed things around.

It had all gone surprisingly well.

“Considering the fact that a man died here just hours ago,” Devon Richard said.

“An accident,” Harry said. “It’s awkward, isn’t it? I mean, none of us really new the reverend, so we can’t mourn him as if we lost a friend. And yet, he died here, and we’re having dinner.”

“People still have to eat,” Mrs. Avery said.

“Yes, I know. And work and breathe and go on. It’s just that I feel we should be mourning,” Avery said.

“And things shouldn’t go on as if they were so normal,” Phoebe Martin said. Then she laughed uneasily. “Of course, this isn’t normal. I’ve never dined in the Great Hall before.”

“This is our way of mourning,” Emil Roth said, and they were all quiet for a minute.

“We should say something,” Chef announced. “I mean, it doesn’t feel right. It just doesn’t.”

Sloan stood. He’d wound up across the table from Jane. “Shall we join hands.”

They rose and did as he suggested. Sloan said a little prayer for Reverend MacDonald ending with, “May he rest in peace, a good man. He’ll reside with the angels, certainly.”

“Thank you,” Emil said when he sat.

“The hall is quite something. But, I can see why you like to eat in your room, Mr. Roth, when you’re here alone,” Mr. Green said. Even he had been called in for a sketch and dinner. “Of course, I do remember the days when the family was alive and cousins came from many different places, old aunts and uncles, too. Then, the place was alive with laughter, kids running here and there.”

A silence followed his words.

“The castle is still a happy place,” Mrs. Avery snapped. “You should hear the people when they come here. They love to laugh and to shiver! And our overnight guests are always delighted. Why, we have some of the best ratings to be found on the Internet.”

“I wasn’t implying that it wasn’t happy,” Mr. Green said. He looked quickly at Emil Roth. “I certainly meant no disrespect.”

“None taken, my man,” Roth said. “I say, pass the wine, will you, Phoebe? And do fill your glass first.”

Phoebe looked at him, plucked up the wine, looked at him again, then poured herself a large glass.

Emil smiled at her and waited patiently.

Jane made a mental note that one of them would definitely make sure he got up the stairs okay that night. But as the wine flowed, the conversation became more casual. And when Chef and Harry headed to the kitchen to return with the dessert, Jane slipped away, determined to step outside for a few minutes. She headed out to the front. There were dangerous cliffs in the rear of the property, and she didn’t intend to become a victim of the castle herself. She walked down toward the caretakers cottage where Mr. Green lived, then kept going, toward the guard house and Mrs. Avery’s home.

She turned and looked back at the castle and saw the windows to her own room. They’d left the lights on. She stared upward for several seconds before her breath caught.

Someone in the room.

At one of the windows.

Watching her.

As she watched them.

* * * *

Jane was a special agent, the same as he was. She’d passed the academy and was in law enforcement. But she was still the woman he loved, the woman he was supposed to have married that day. So when Sloan realized Jane was out of the Great Hall, he followed. He didn’t know why he felt such a sense of anxiety, but he did. He saw her, far down the path to the castle, as soon as he exited and came down the few stone steps at the entrance.

She was just standing on the path, looking back.

He hurried to her. She smiled as he came to her and pointed up at the castle.

“Someone is there,” she said.

“Someone?” he asked.

“Were they all in the Great Hall?” she asked.

“When I left, yes.”

“Then I believe Elizabeth does haunt our room,” she said.

Sloan looked up. There was nothing there then.

She smiled. “No, I’m not losing it. Someone was there. Now, they’re not.”

“I believe you,” he said.

“You know, I’m really not losing it in any way,” she said, turning to him so that he slipped his arms around her. She smoothed back a lock of his hair. “I don’t care where or when we marry one another. It doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter that we weren’t married today. It does matter that a man died. A good man.”

He smiled and nodded. “I know that.”

Impulsively, he went down on a knee and took her hand. He kissed it both dramatically and tenderly and looked up to meet her eyes.

“I love you with the depth and breadth of my heart and soul. In my heart, you’ve already been my wife, my love, my soul mate, my life mate. Not to mention one hell of an agent. And artist, of course.”

She laughed, drawing him to his feet and giving him a strong buff on the arm. “That started off so beautifully!”

“Hey, you are an amazing artist. And agent. You want to be an agent tonight, right?”

“I do,” she told him. “It’s just that speech, it could have stayed romantic.”

“Want me to try again?”

“No!” She laughed. “I say we get back up there and make sure that Emil Roth makes it to his room.”

“And then we’ll make it to ours,” he said.

“And then we’ll make it to ours,” she agreed.

Hand in hand, they made it back to the house. In the Great Hall, Mrs. Avery was saying that she needed to get some sleep. Chef told her that breakfast came early, and Phoebe Martin was headed upstairs, but when she saw Jane and Sloan come in, she stopped.

“Thank you so much, Jane, for the sketch. It’s wonderful. And thank you both for somehow making a nice evening out of a horrible day. Good night. And don’t forget, if you need anything—anything at all—we’re happy to oblige.”

“Thank you, Phoebe,” Jane told her.

She scampered on toward the stairway. Jane followed her. As she did so, she heard Sloan and Logan talking to Emil Roth, convincing him that they’d see him to his room. It was time to sleep. The men and Kelsey were looking to see that Emil was safe. Jane followed Phoebe up the stairs, and then on up to the third floor.