“These old locks are crude, but oiled up with WD-40 one could lock it from either side with a coat hanger or a large hook. Assuming one didn’t have a key.”

  Which proved to be the case. At least a mangled coat hanger was found on the floor of the passage which ultimately led out onto the hill just outside the hurricane fence where the security guard had been sent to look for a trespasser.

  The curving corridor was stone with some leaves and other debris piled around the edges where it jogged right and left. Though Juliet knew that the tunnel wasn’t part of a real dungeon or an oubliette filled with mantraps, her eyes kept moving from the floor to the ceiling and back again.

  There were no convenient muddy footprints or handprints displayed on the wall to prove that anyone had actually been that way in years. At the end of a fifty-foot tunnel there was a rectangular opening. Rusted hinges suggested that there had been an outside door but now there was only a screen of some kind of shrub that looked like thorny privet.

  “I bet we are at the back of the property, probably beyond the old wall that would have had a gate in it. This might be where the old cemetery was located.”

  Manoogin was looking at Juliet with something like awe as they scrambled up the short rise and onto the access road by the collapsed wall that had been replaced with wire fencing. A seasonal creek about two hundred yards away had been refreshed by the rain, but was still down to a ribbon of water, barely wide enough to entertain the brown dog who was clearly in violation of the local leash laws. A person on foot or in a vehicle would have no trouble crossing it and being of stone, once the tracks had dried there would be no sign of shoeprints or tire tracks.

  Weston was staring too but with clear suspicion that Juliet should have known that the tunnel was there. Possibly he was unnerved by her display of esoteric knowledge and that had him swelling like a challenged turkey. Some men were like that, unreasonably angered when faced with women who were smarter than they were.

  Juliet had been threatened by the envy of a lot more frightening men though, and just stared back until Weston looked away.

  “Detective,” Juliet said gently when she had won the stare-down. She brushed the weeds from her slacks so that her words would seem an afterthought. “I’m alibied for the killing. I was busy finding a skeleton in the chimney in the company of another artist when Mr. Kingman was killed. You will have to work harder for your suspect.”

  Manoogin turned quickly to study the fence, pretending to examine it for stray bits of clothing.

  So, he was not enamored with his partner. There was probably a sound reason for that. Juliet would be careful not to share much of anything with Weston. Manoogin could decide what he wanted this less-bright stranger to know about the case.

  “So who else could have found out about this exit?” Manoogin asked aloud.

  “Anyone with access to the castle blueprints—which should be on file with the county and probably with the various contractors who are working on the project. Or, as is often the case, older copies may have been kept in the castle library. There are lots of ancient cabinets in there and I don’t know if everything has been inventoried. It could also be anyone who has had time to explore, especially before the wine racks went in.” Juliet frowned. “Or anyone who was here when the castle was a hospital or reform school. That would make them quite old though and most everyone I’ve seen on the project is under fifty.”

  “So, basically anyone at all could know about this.”

  “Basically. But, on the bright side, at least this suggests that the guard was telling the truth and that Dolph did see someone suspicious out here. And I am thinking that the only place Dolph could have been that would have given him a view of the fence is in one of the second-floor bedrooms. They face the right way and are above the trees.”

  They all turned toward the castle. Juliet didn’t speculate about what Dolph might have been doing in the bedrooms. She didn’t need to; Manoogin wasn’t an idiot. People would have been gossiping about Dolph, confirming what she had told him about the lecher.

  “I’ll have someone take a look for clues out here. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will have lost a wallet or a monogrammed handkerchief in the bushes.” He didn’t sound like he believed evidence would be forthcoming.

  Manoogin headed back for the tunnel, stopping to offer Juliet a hand as they pushed past the thorny shrub and back into the oppressive corridor.

  “So, what brought you out here today, Miss Henry?” Manoogin asked. “I should have enquired before co-opting you in our search. I hope that I’m not keeping you from your work.”

  “Shelves. I need the space in my studio to finish the last tapestry, so I decided to ditch the shelves in the courtyard. If the room has been processed and cleared, Esteban will install them this afternoon. Frankly, the sooner I can wrap this project up the better.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Whether he was speaking of her presence or his own was up for debate.

  It was a relief to see the light from the wine cellar up ahead. The gloomy tunnel made her feel a bit claustrophobic. She didn’t know it for a fact, but her intuition said that it was in this tunnel that the body had been lost for all those years. A certain psychic gloom lingered.

  “The tower room has been cleared for use. It’s even had the worst of the masonry removed. We had to search the old chimney for evidence and it was impossibly dark in that room after nightfall, so I had the scrap carried down to the courtyard for detailed examination. Unfortunately, it didn’t help much.”

  That was a partial lie, or at least an improbable excuse. The police have floodlights that could light up Mars. Manoogin had probably had the debris removed to please her. Juliet didn’t smile particularly brightly because it might make the trailing Weston suspicious, but she held Manoogin’s sidelong glance long enough to say thanks with her eyes.

  “The walls are four feet thick in the tower. The sun has to travel a ways to make it inside. Until I install those mirrors, it’s going to stay gloomy.”

  Once Weston was through the cellar door, they moved the wine rack back into place. Weston started up the stairs immediately, leaving them to follow at a more leisurely pace. He might have been bothered by underground spaces, but Juliet was sure it was her presence that had driven him away.

  “I miss Hannah,” Juliet murmured. “She had better manners and is probably better at finding things.”

  “Juliet—and please don’t take this as anything except admiration—but you have a stare that would make the average criminal cower under a chair. I can’t blame Weston for beating a retreat.”

  Juliet had to choke down a sudden giggle. It wouldn’t go well with her fearsome professional reputation.

  “Only those who are soft in the head would be afraid of little ole me. And would that include our friend, Detective Weston?”

  “Yes, it would,” he agreed immediately. “There is mainly pickled pulp where there should be brains. It’s a case of nepotism though, so there’s no hope of getting rid of him.”

  “A pity. So who did you piss off to get saddled with him?”

  It was Manoogin’s turn to stifle laughter.

  “It turns out my new captain has literary ambitions. He gave me a manuscript to read, claiming it was from a friend who wanted a big city policeman to be a kind of fact checker on procedural matters. I guess I shouldn’t have been completely honest about all the errors.”

  “Was it a good read?”

  “No. And I shouldn’t have been frank about that either.”

  They parted ways in the kitchen and Juliet headed for the courtyard, watched by Weston with suspicious and baffled eyes.

  The corridors on the ground floor were nice and cool, and dark without being gloomy, and Juliet was in no hurry to go up to her tower, though she did want to see how it looked with the impromptu crypt cleared away.

  “The boss man didn’t care, but I’m just sayin’ that I like the rugs and drapes to match,” a male voice said before she could step outside. Given the laughter that followed, Juliet doubted the men were discussing the design theme of the library.

  Men, she thought with a sigh and changed her mind about checking on the shelving.

  Juliet liked Manoogin though, and hoped that their paths would cross again someday when there weren’t bodies around. But Weston and the other roughnecks were another matter. This project—and the murder—needed to be cleared up immediately so she could have a clear autumn calendar and be able to enjoy undistracted the commerce of the fall festivals which were her meat and potatoes.

  In fact, if Esteban was willing to be a beast of burden…. Juliet got out her phone.

  “Bella?”

  “Yes, it’s me. We’re on for this afternoon. And, if you are willing, could you stop by my place first and pick up the mirrors for the windows. They are all strapped into cardboard flats and there shouldn’t be any trouble with transportation.”

  “Of course.” He paused. “More ghosts in the tower?”

  “No, a cop named Weston who isn’t fond of civilians and especially women who can think.”

  “Ah. Well, be patient. I shall be there around one. Adios.”

  “Ciao.”

  So, perhaps she wasn’t ready to write off the entire gender. She actually knew a number of men who were perfectly lovely. It was simply unfortunate that they weren’t working at Barclay.

  Chapter 7

  Juliet found her way to the library blocked by a collection of wrought-iron pickets and had to return through the kitchen. On the way she passed the small half bath and found Julia Mannering on her hands and knees, groping behind the toilet. There was reddish sawdust stuck on the bottom of her muddied running shoes.

  It would have been easy to miss her in her peacock sweater among all the birds. The room had an avian theme. Any object—including the toilet—that was large enough to bear the imprint of a bird had one. Hummingbirds, parrots, flamingoes, and ravens. The mini awning over the sink had been painted with tropical plants and trimmed in ostrich feathers.

  “Julia? Are you alright?” Juliet forced herself to ask though she was annoyed by the distraction.

  “Dropped a contact,” the woman said, scrambling to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes suspiciously red.

  There had been some talk about Dolph being involved with her last spring when he sponsored a show for her. Perhaps the poor creature had still had feelings for the man. It wasn’t something she could ask.

  “I didn’t know you wore them. Did you find it?” Juliet asked. Hoping her answer was in the affirmative.

  “Yes. I’m fine now.”

  That was a big, fat lie, but Juliet let it pass.

  “Good,” she said and smiled politely as she moved on toward the kitchen.

  Myra Wicks, Dolph’s secretary, was already there and Juliet hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt if she wanted privacy for the conversation with Lieutenant Manoogin. It was apparent that Myra was stressed, but nothing about her suggested that she was wrestling with overwhelming grief at the loss of her employer.

  “Sandra asked me to give you this,” she said without preamble, thrusting a watch at a weary-looking Manoogin. Her voice denied all responsibility for the watch and the artist.

  Juliet had only a glimpse of it but recognized Dolph’s expensive Piaget. With Myra’s fingerprints all over it, and now Manoogin’s too.

  Was that deliberate?

  “Where did Sandra find it?” Manoogin asked in a level voice that somehow did not quite conceal his annoyance. With Juliet he had shown no teeth, so she knew that he could keep his lips from curling back from his fangs when he wished.

  “How should I know?” Myra snapped, turning away.

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “Sandra is upset. She isn’t very coherent. None of the artists are behaving normally.”

  “I know. Murder is upsetting. But it would be a very good thing for her to let me know where this was found since it is an item that went missing from a crime scene. That should have occurred to her.”

  Myra glared.

  “In the small bathroom down the hall.” Myra jerked her head. “She said she knocked it in the toilet on accident yesterday after she found the body. She stuck it in her pocket and forgot about it when she got sick.”

  Juliet didn’t say anything as she glanced back at the bathroom and saw Julia’s retreating form. It wasn’t unusual for someone to be in that bathroom. It was the nearest to the courtyard and all the workmen used it. Still, could she have had some other reason for being in there besides the call of nature?

  “If that’s all?” Myra asked sarcastically and Juliet turned back.

  “For now,” Manoogin said coldly.

  After Myra left the room on clicking heels that expressed her annoyance, Manoogin turned the watch over and read the back.

  “There’s an inscription?” Juliet asked, coming all the way into the kitchen, and he handed the watch to her without comment. She took it reluctantly.

  Love, Rose by another name

  “You know anyone named Eglantine or Floribunda?” Juliet asked.

  Manoogin blinked.

  “Those are other names for roses,” she explained. “I wonder if it’s anything that literal.”

  “Let me guess, you are also a botanist in your spare time.” His voice had warmed up several degrees but he still looked tired.

  “No, but I have a neighbor who is always trying to educate me about plants. It’s a struggle not to kill them, even with help.”

  “Are you off to your tower?” Manoogin asked.

  “I should be. It’s going to take several trips to get the shelving upstairs.”

  “But?”

  “But nothing,” Juliet said. “It’s just hot and … unpleasant.”

  “The body is gone,” Manoogin said kindly. “It doesn’t even smell. The crew was getting sick so they sprayed with some enzyme that kills germs and odors. Things should be a lot better now.”

  They should, but she bet they wouldn’t be. There was more wrong with that room than bad odors. However that was a conversation beyond her limitations of weirdness, so she didn’t try to explain.

  “Thanks.”

  Ashamed at her lingering nerves, Juliet turned around once again and marched back for the courtyard and her shelving.

  Juliet was taking a breather. It had taken three trips to get all the shelves upstairs and then a fourth trip for a broom. The worst of the mortar had been cleaned up, but she hated the reminder of the impromptu crypt crunching underfoot when she walked. It carried the residue of death even if she could no longer smell it.

  The human bones were gone but the detritus contained what looked like ancient birds’ nests, owl pellets, and a piece of dried bat wing. The repellant debris had to go.

  Behind where the chimney had been there was one stone that looked slightly off color, though it was hard to tell since the wall was lightly sooted and would have to be cleaned or else hidden under one of her tapestries. Juliet made a mental note to find out if the local hardware store carried soot sponges. They stank to high heaven, being impregnated with dry-cleaning solvents, but it was impossible to get soot off with soap and water. All that did was set and spread the carbon stain. She told herself that there wasn’t the ghostly outline of the poor woman’s body cast into the wall.

  Curious and needing a breath of air, Juliet ventured up to the top of the tower to have another look for a chimney stack or pot. The trapdoor was heavy and she was careful not to let it fall back on her.

  No chimney flue was to be discovered, perhaps because some of the containers had been built over the hole? Certainly there was no detectable current coming into the room. Wherever the chimney vent had been, it was open no longer. None of the hot winds of summer entered the chamber.

  She could see from her perch that the workmen were on the job, but the main parking lot was almost empty. None of the interior decorators were around and other than Julia Mannering, none of the artists. Were they showing respect by staying away? She didn’t blame them for avoiding the media and the police. One didn’t want notoriety because of proximity to murder.

  A glance out of the tower window showed her that the mass media vultures were still gathering at the gates. Hopefully they would leave after their newscasts. There really wasn’t much to see. The bodies were gone and the castle view was static. All work was being done on the inside or on the far side of the castle. There was nothing to look at but squared-off rocks baking in the sun.

  Juliet sighed and returned to her dark room. She began to sweep, not consciously pursuing any ideas as she cleaned, just letting her thoughts come as they pleased. Oddly, her brain didn’t choose to directly explore the two murders that had happened at the castle though they were not forgotten. That was all right. Juliet knew that it was sometimes better to let the brain sneak up on an idea than to confront it directly.

  She was still puzzling when she heard footsteps on the stairs and paused in her sweeping when she recognized the gait. Though she thought best when she was alone, and Manoogin was right that there was nothing smelly or repulsive left in the tower, Juliet was glad to see Esteban appear, wearing his tool belt and carrying the sheets of cardboard that held the precut mirrors. Her gloomy dread vanished at once.

  “Bella,” he said, leaning the mirrors against the wall.

  “Thank you for coming. I owe you a long cold drink.”

  “Two. Those stairs are brutal.”

  Esteban wasted no time in getting down to work. The tower was hot and rather stuffy. Esteban did not share her dread of the place but neither of them wanted to linger.

  While Esteban hung the shelf segments, obscuring the pop-eyed angels protruding from the wall, Juliet got out some mastic and began adhering her pieces of mirror into the deep arrow slits. They were all labeled. The three windows were slightly different in size. They didn’t speak for a while since Esteban was using a masonry drill and the noise was deafening, but eventually he finished grinding rock.

 

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