“You were here when another accident took place, right?”
Again, Green nodded. “Poor thing. That girl broke her neck on the stairs, same as the minister today. We checked the banister. The carpeting on the stairs is checked constantly to see that it’s not ripped. The stairs aren’t particularly steep or winding. Go figure. Bad things happen.”
Sloan thanked Green and headed back toward the house. The foyer and Great Hall were empty. He heard voices coming from the kitchen but headed toward the stairs. At the top, he could see one of the maids.
Phoebe Martin.
She seemed to still be in shock and was stroking a polish rag over the same piece of banister over and over.
Sloan walked up the stairs. “You doing okay?” he asked.
“It’s just so sad. How about you?”
“We’re all right. Did you know Reverend MacDonald?”
“No, I’m bad, I guess. I haven’t gone to church in years. And I was raised Catholic. I wouldn’t have known Reverend MacDonald anyway. He was at the really small parish just outside town, and he was an Episcopalian, I believe.”
“You never saw him around town?”
Phoebe shook her head. “No, I guess we didn’t shop at the same places. And, I admit, I’m pretty into clubbing. Not many ministers go clubbing, I guess.”
“Ah, well. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Roth.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Can you believe it? He was here when this happened, and he wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Since he is here, I was hoping to talk with him.”
“That’s his suite, there, at the end of the hall.” She lowered her voice. “That was always the room that was kept for the master of the house. And there has been a Roth here since the castle was brought to the United States.” She hesitated. “You know, don’t you, that the bridal suite was once Elizabeth Roth’s room when she was alive?”
“I’ve been told.”
Phoebe looked at him with wide, worried eyes. “You need to be careful. Especially careful now.”
“I don’t believe Elizabeth would want to hurt Jane or me.”
“She hurt the Reverend MacDonald,” Phoebe said. “I truly believe it.”
“Phoebe, sadly, accidents do happen.”
“They happen more often with ghosts,” she insisted.
“What does Mr. Roth believe about the place, or do you know?” Sloan asked.
“He doesn’t believe in ghosts. Which is good—I guess. But then, he’s not here a lot. Too quiet for Mr. Roth. He likes Boston and New York and travel in general. I guess if I had his money, I’d travel, too.”
“Everyone can travel some,” Sloan told her.
“Sure,” Phoebe said. “But, still… be careful, please.”
“We’ll do that. I promise,” Sloan told her. “And perhaps, if you’re worried, you might not want to work on the banister.”
“Oh. Oh!” Phoebe said. “Right!” Gripping the banister tightly, she started down the stairs.
Sloan smiled, thanked her, and headed down the hall. He knocked at the double French doors that led to the suite. Emil Roth answered so quickly that he wondered if he’d been waiting for a summons.
“What can I do for you?” Roth asked.
Sloan studied the man. He was young to have such financial power, Sloan thought. Late-twenties, tops. And he seemed to enjoy the look of a Renaissance poet. His haircut would make him perfect for a Shakespearean play. But his gaze was steady as he looked at Sloan.
“Since you’re here, I was hoping you’d give me a tour of the castle and a tour of your family history,” Sloan said.
Roth stared at him. He was a man with a medium build and light eyes that added to what was almost a fragile-poet look.
“Sometimes, family history sucks, you know?” he said. “I’m sorry about your wedding. I mean, really sorry that a man is dead. By all accounts a good and jovial man. And I’m sorry that my family history is full of asses. But I don’t think that it means anything. A man fell. That’s it. He died. So tragic.”
“I agree. But, we’re not getting married today and we’re still here. And history fascinates me,” Sloan told him.
Roth grinned at that. “You’re a Fed involved with a special unit that investigates when deaths that are rumored to be associated with something paranormal happen. I’m young, rich, and not particularly responsible, but I’m not stupid either.”
Sloan laughed. “I wouldn’t begin to suggest that you’re stupid. I believe that, tragically, Reverend MacDonald fell. But I am fascinated with this place. Jane didn’t really check out much of the history here. She fell in love with the castle. She wanted a small and intimate wedding more or less on the spur of the moment. And sure, under the circumstances, I’d love to know more about the ‘ghosts’ that supposedly reside here.”
Roth grimaced. “The maids have been talking again.”