Top O' the Mournin' (28 page)

I couldn’t think about Bernice right now, and I sure as heck couldn’t deal with Ashley. I started to say as much, gave her an irritated look instead, then tore back across the room, leaving her standing in the doorway.

“I…I never! You Yankees are the rudest bunch. If the South had won the war, let me tell you, you would have learned some manners.”

“I have an emergency here!” I shouted back at her as I applied pressure to Etienne’s head wound.

“What kind of emergency?” She thumped into the room on her crutches and crossed to the sitting area, sucking in her breath when she saw Etienne’s nearly naked body. “Holy shit! Is that real?”

“Do you know anything about head wounds?”

“Only that they bleed a lot.” She hobbled closer. “What happened?”

“He must have been trying to straighten the picture when it fell on top of him.”

“That’s not surprising. I’ve conducted a few tours in Switzerland. Those people are such neatnicks. I guess this kind of interrupted y’all’s evening. That’s too bad, sugar. Looks like you were in for a hot ride.” She paused. “Are you sure that’s real? Have you looked?”

“No, I haven’t looked!”

“All right, all right. Is there anything I can do for y’all?”

“I’ve called the ambulance. I guess all we can do now is wait.” I heard an annoying noise in my ears and suddenly realized it was more than just adrenaline roaring through my veins. “Actually, you could turn off the water in the tub. Doesn’t look as though we’ll get to use it tonight. And would you see if there’s a blanket in the closet?”

As Ashley disappeared into the bathroom, I checked Etienne’s pulse. Strong and steady. I checked my own. Rapid and thready. And my wrists and forearms were peppered with welts that looked like thousands of interconnecting mosquito bites.
Scratch scratch scratch scratch. Scratch scratch scratch scratch.
I pinched my eyes shut and tried to think about something other than scratching.

Scratch scratch scratch.
Damn. I opened my eyes, my gaze falling squarely upon the portrait I’d hauled against the fireplace. What had Etienne said? That the children in the painting reminded him of someone? I studied the three barefoot children, my eyes roving their cherubic faces, their blue eyes, their fair complexions, their pale blond hair. They were absolutely beautiful children. If they’d lived to adulthood, they probably would have fallen into that elite category of people who could be called drop-dead gorgeous.

I heard the glide of the closet door behind me. “Don’t see any blankets in here, Emily. Sorry. There’s a pillow. You want that?”

Drop-dead gorgeous?
Oh, my God! I’d been so blind. Why hadn’t I seen it before? “Sure,” I called out. I craned my head around, watching her as she made her way back across the floor.

“Here you go. Are y’all going to put it under his feet or his head? Sometimes it’s good to keep the feet elevated above the heart in these situations.” She had to maneuver so close to hand me the pillow that her cast bumped against my leg and allowed me a clear view of the toes that were deeply bundled within their little plaster casing—toes that were perfectly formed except for one detail.

There were no spaces between any of the toes. They were all stuck together.

“It’s you!” I screamed at her.

Looking puzzled, she hobbled a step backward. “What’s me?”

I pointed to her cast. “You’re the one who’s trying to give the castle a bad name.”

“Whatever are y’all talking about?”

I pointed at the portrait. “You’re the one who’s related to the Ticklepennys!”

She regarded the portrait with blatant indifference, then laughed. “Their name’s Ticklepenny? Let me tell ya, sugar, if my name was Ticklepenny, I’d do something about getting it changed.”

My mind was racing at the same speed as my heart. “You have that innocent routine down so well. The
sugars
and
y’alls.
You’re convinced no one would think there’s another side to all that sweetness and light. And your job! You can breeze in and out of a place without stirring up any suspicion that…that you’re a killer!”

“Exc
uuu
se me?” Her chest puffed up like a prize pigeon’s at the county fair. “Did you just accuse me of being a killer?”

“It’s not an accusation,” I fired back. “It’s the truth!”

She lowered her voice and pinched her eyes into evil little slits. “You don’t like me much, do you, sugar? You haven’t liked me since you first set eyes on me. I’m used to jealous women spreading vicious gossip about me, but you’ve pushed the envelope too far this time. I’m gonna write you up, Emily. I’m gonna give the president of that little bank you work for such an earful about your maliciousness and misconduct that I’ll be surprised if you
ever
work again! You got that, sugar?
Ever
again. I’m gonna ruin you!” She angled her way around to leave.

“It was easy for you to double-talk your way around the hauntings” I dogged her, “but how are you going to double-talk your way around webbed toes? You have the same defect as the family in the portrait! Look at all their little piggies. They’re all fused together! Just like yours! Isn’t it just a
little
obvious?”

She stood statue still, then turned back to face me. “Having webbed toes is as common as having blue eyes.”

“Good luck finding a jury who’ll believe that. Did you think no one would notice that your feet are an exact replica of the ghost’s?”

“You do go on,” she said flippantly.

“You really had me fooled, Ashley. I bet it took an incredible amount of expertise and planning to pull this scheme of yours off. But even if your toes are a dead giveaway, I never would have guessed you were the ringleader because of one…
tiny
…fact.”

I noticed a tiny crack in her facade of invulnerability. A tenseness around her mouth. A hesitancy in her eyes. And I knew the exact comment that would infuriate her into singing like a canary.

She lifted her chin stubbornly and gave me a questioning look, unable to resist the bait. “What one tiny fact?”

“Who would have thought you had the brains? I mean, you’re blonde!”

Her eyes spat fire. Her body stiffened. She drilled me with a long, savage look, then curled her lips into a barracuda smile. Uh-oh. I didn’t like the smile.

“My, my, my, aren’t you the clever one. Morons! I told them the footprints should look like they belong to a small woman.
They
decided they should be historically accurate, so they made the toes webbed, ignoring the possibility that the trait might be traced back to the family. I’m related to morons!”

“You mean a real person didn’t leave the prints?”

“Plastics, Emily. You can create anything out of plastic these days.”

“And the wailing?”

“Major sound system. It cost a fortune. We operate it out of the dungeon.”

“And the cold spots?”

“All part of the ventilation system.”

I stared at her, disbelieving that she could be so cold-blooded. “You’re responsible for the deaths of forty-eight people! How can you stand there and be so cavalier about the methods you used to kill them?”

“They were old, Emily. They had their best years behind them. I simply saved the health care system the added cost of hospitalization and long-term care.”

“That’s so sick! You frightened people to death just so you could buy back a stupid castle?”

“Hey! Ballybantry Castle belongs to me! Not to the McCrilly family. Not to a board of investors. To me! It’s my birthright!”

“Someone should have told you—YOU LOSE YOUR BIRTHRIGHT WHEN YOU COMMIT MURDER!”

“This castle was stolen from my family four centuries ago, and no one is going to steal it away again. My ancestors would be proud of what I’m doing.”

“Your ancestors would be appalled! Ticklepenny is probably rolling over in his grave that he ever knocked up a serving girl whose descendants resulted in you!”

She jabbed her finger in the air at me, then paused. “Serving girl? What serving girl?”

“The one Ticklepenny got pregnant.”

“He got a serving girl pregnant?”

“Umm, that’s my theory. Someone had to have passed on the foot defect, and my money’s on Ticklepenny. If his children died before they reached adulthood, the only way the defect could have been passed on is if he fathered a child outside of marriage.”

“Excuse me? You think I’m the product of an illegitimate bloodline?”

“I was thinking more ‘bastard’ bloodline. That seems to suit you better.”

Her voice grew razor sharp. “I will have y’all know that my bloodline’s as pristine as they come. It’s pure. Untainted. You see that girl in the portrait there?” She lifted her crutch to indicate the older female child in the corner of the painting. “Her name was Cecily. She fell in love with an Irish laborer and
legally
married him.
They’re
the ones who passed on the defect.”

Oh, sure. “He drowned in the moat and she died in childbirth. Didn’t give them too much time to pass anything on.”

“Time enough. Cecily died in childbirth…but the baby didn’t.”

Her words jolted me like a zap of lightning. “The baby? Oh, my God. I forgot all about the baby.”

“Everyone always forgets about the baby.”

“The baby lived?”

Ashley struck a pose on her crutches. “If the baby hadn’t lived, I wouldn’t be here.”

Of course. The baby surviving explained so much. Relationships. Motive. Podiatrist bills. Why hadn’t I bothered to ask about the baby before?
Unh!
“The baby didn’t die when the fever that killed the rest of the family swept through the castle?”

“Ticklepenny washed his hands of the baby right after Cecily died. The lout gave him back to his Irish relatives to raise. But no one ever forgot who the baby was, or what his origins were. The O’Conors have long memories.”

“O’Conor? As in Nessa O’Conor, front desk clerk?”

“We’re cousins.”

“And let me guess, the rest of your cousins run a construction business in the village. Right?”

“How astute of y’all, Emily. It was the very construction company the board of investors hired to renovate the castle. Amazing what can happen when you lowball all the competition. Isn’t that a coincidence? Of course, there were cost overruns, but the board was American. Americans expect cost overruns, so they don’t blink an eye when you go over budget.”

Had I called that, or what? And I bet I knew who her company foreman had been. “Some coincidence. O’Conor, you say?” I heaved myself to my feet and strode across the floor toward the bed. “Is that with one
n
or two?”

“One. Why?”

“I want to make sure of the spelling for when I report you to the police.” I picked up the telephone.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were y’all, sugar. Put the phone down.”

I punched 999 and pressed the receiver to my ear. I glanced sidelong at Ashley to discover she was aiming the barrel of her cigarette lighter at my head.

“I won’t warn you again, sugar. Put the phone down, or I’ll shoot.”

“Nice try,” I said, dismissing her with a look. “I’m really afraid. You should consider chain-smoking. It kills people, you know.” The operator answered. “This is Em—”

CHOOOOUNG!

I dropped the phone and hit the floor as a bullet zinged past my head and thunked into the wall. Okay. Now I was afraid.

“Do I have your attention, Emily? Be a good girl now. Hang up the phone and come on back over here.”

I juggled the receiver onto its cradle and took hesitant steps back toward Ashley, my gaze riveted on the pistol in her hand.

“So what am I going to do with you, sugar? Too bad you know so much. That’s gonna make it hard for me to let y’all live.”

This might be a good time to reconsider my habit of screaming “It’s you!” when I figure out the killer’s identity. Something to think about. If I lived that long.

Knock knock knock.

I looked expectantly at Ashley. “It could be the ambulance.”

“It’s Ireland, sugar. Don’t hold your breath. WHO IS IT?” she yelled at the door. “It’s Nana, dear.”

She motioned me to a chair with her gun. “Sit down and don’t move a muscle. If you try anything—anything at all—your granny’s going to end up looking like a hunk of Swiss cheese. Understand?”

I nodded. “Did you know there’s no such thing as Swiss cheese? It’s called Emmen—”

“Shut up, Emily.”

“Okay.”

I sat worrying my lip and scratching my arms and neck as Ashley opened the door. “Mrs. Sippel. Ms. Hovick. Why, come right on in. Emily’s a little tied up at the moment, but I know she’ll welcome y’all’s company.”

“We’re here about Bernice,” I heard Nana say as she crossed the threshold. She looked like a Concord grape in her Minnesota Vikings warm-up suit. Tilly followed close behind, dressed in her standard pleated skirt and leaning heavily on her walking stick. Nana waved across the room when she saw me. “Hello, dear. I just wanted to let you know that Tilly and me are takin’ a taxi to Letterkenny to bail Bernice outta jail. Don’t know why they decided to go to Letterkenny instead of Derry, but she got picked up for passin’ bad money. Alice just called from the police station. She wanted to talk to you, but your line was busy, so she talked to us instead.”