Roth looked at Logan. “Sir, many died over the years, I believe. It was the Cadawil family home in Wales and the family died out. And here, my parents both died in the room I now keep. Of natural causes. A child in the 1880s died of consumption or tuberculosis. Only Elizabeth Roth died by her own hand. Yes, we had a tragic accident the last time we agreed to have a wedding here. The bride died. A terrible, incredibly sad accident. Oh, Lord. I just wish that we could cover him up!”
“Not until the police arrive,” Sloan said. “Best to leave him for the authorities.”
Phoebe was still just standing.
“Miss Martin, if you’ll gather the others, please?” Logan said gently.
Phoebe moved at last, walking slowly away at first, staring at them all, then turning to run as if banshees were at her heels.
Jane heard the first siren.
She was surprised when Emil Roth looked straight into her eyes. He seemed to study her as if he saw something remarkable.
“How?” he repeated, and then he said, “Why?”
The sound of his voice seemed to echo a sickness within him.
The police arrived. Two officers in uniform preceded a pair of detectives, one grizzled and graying in a tweed coat, the other younger in a stylish jacket. Sloan, closest to the door where they were entering, stepped forward and introduced himself and the others with a minimum of words and explained the situation. A Detective Forester, the older man, asked them all to step away. A younger detective, Flick, began the process of having the uniform officers tape off the scene. Everyone was led through the foyer to the Great Hall. They sat and Jane explained that the minister had been there to officiate at her wedding to Sloan. Emil Roth began to explain that he’d been in Europe planning for an extended stay in Africa but that a stomach bug had soured that prospect, so he’d returned late last night, entering through his private entry at the rear of the castle, where once upon a time guests of the family had arrived via their carriages or on horseback.
The others at the castle were herded into the Grand Hall and introduced themselves. Mrs. Avery, the iron matron in perfect appearance and coiffure. Scully Adair, her young redheaded assistant. Chef Bo Gerard, fortyish and plump, like a man who enjoyed his own creations. Two young cooks, Harry Taubolt and Devon Richard—both lean young men in their twenties who’d not yet enjoyed too much of their own cooking. Sonia Anderson and Lila Adkins, the other maids, young and attractive, like Phoebe.
None of them had been near the foyer, they said.
They were all astounded and saddened by the death of the minister. A few mentioned Cally Thorpe, the young woman who’d died in her bridal gown, tripping down the stairs too. Everyone seemed convinced that it was an accident caused by the ghost of Elizabeth Roth. The medical examiner arrived and while he said he’d have to perform an autopsy, it did appear that the minister had simply missed a step near the second floor landing and tragically broken his neck.
“Sad,” Detective Forester said. “Ladies and gentlemen, there will be an autopsy, of course, and I may need to speak to all of you again, but—”
His voice trailed as his younger partner entered from the foyer and whispered something to him. He suddenly studied the four agents.
“You’re Feds?” he demanded.
Logan nodded.
“And you’re here for a wedding?” Forester asked.
He seemed irritated. But, obviously, they hadn’t come to solve any mysteries since they’d been here already when the death had occurred.
“We’re here for our wedding,” Jane said. “I love the castle. It’s beautiful.”
“So you’re responsible for the minister being here?” Forester asked.
“Yes,” she told him.
He stared at her as if it were entirely her fault.
Then Scully Adair, Mrs. Avery’s pretty redheaded assistant, stood up, seemingly anguished. “It’s not Miss Everett’s fault that this happened. It’s the castle’s fault. It’s true! People can’t be married here. It was crazy to think that we could plan a wedding. Something bad was destined to happen.”
“Oh, rubbish!” Mrs. Avery protested. “Sit down, Scully. That’s rot and foolishness. The poor man had an accident. Miss Everett,” she said, looking at Jane. “Not to worry. We can find you another minister.”
Jane was appalled by the suggestion. Mrs. Avery made it sound as if a caterer had backed out of making a wedding cake. A man was dead!
“The ghosts did it,” Phoebe said.
“Ghosts!” Forester let out a snort of derision and stood. “I believe the medical examiner has taken the body. I have a crime scene unit checking out the stairway, but then there will be hundreds of prints on the banister.” He paused and looked around again at all of them. “None of you saw or heard a thing, right?”
“Not until I found him,” Phoebe said.
“And then she screamed, and we came running,” Sloan said.
Forester nodded. “All right, then, I’ll be in touch. We’ll be awaiting the M.E.’s report, but I believe we’re looking at a tragic accident.”
Jane knew what his next words would be.
“None of you leaves town, though. Yeah, I know it’s cliché, but that’s the way it is. I want to be able to contact each and every one of you easily over the next few days.”
He stared at Sloan, Logan, Kelsey, and Jane.
“Especially you Feds.”
Chapter 2