“Ah, now, luv, that’s nonsense!” Gary said. “I heard nothing—but then, I was away from the castle that night. Finished me tour and headed on home, down in the village. I heard nothing.”
“We’d just cleaned up here—closes at ten, but we’re known to cheat a bit on the side of the patron, you know, so it’s closer to eleven when we close the door,” Siobhan said. “At twelve—it was twelve exactly—I heard the sound of her wailing away! I tell you, the goose bumps rose all over me. Creepiest sound I ever did hear.”
“Wolves,” Gary said. “They cry from the forest sometimes, you know.” He looked at Rocky and Devin. “Beyond the road here, and away from the sea, there’s a great forest. You must have passed it on your way.”
“We did, indeed,” Rocky said. “But, if the wolves were howling that night, wouldn’t you have heard them in the village as well?”
“Not if you’re sleeping, which I must have been,” Gary said. He looked at Siobhan with a teasing eye. “Some of us work around here.”
“Aye, and that would be me!” Siobhan protested. “Not running my mouth as if I’d kissed the Blarney Stone like a lover! Hauling pints here and there and what have you for hours on end!”
“Teasing, me luv, but I must have been asleep,” Gary said. “Two weeks ago tonight; Collum has been in his grave but ten days now.”
“Glad I am that you’re here for Kelly, for she’s a sweetheart, if ever there was one,” Siobhan told Devin. “Anyway, now, some of your last tour is here, Gary, and it’s just me and Allen at the bar, so what will you have?”
Devin and Rocky decided to try different local beers; she ordered the shepherd’s pie and he ordered the bangers and mash. Gary decided on the fish and chips.
“Just give the cook the order, Siobhan, I’ll bring them to meet Allen at the bar and get the beers,” Gary said.
“Thank you!” Siobhan said, relieved. She hurried on.
Gary rose and Devin and Rocky did the same. “Allen Fitzhugh!” Gary said, approaching the bar.
The young man looked up briefly—he was pouring a Guinness with care, taking the time warranted of the rich, dark Irish beer.
He smiled at them, a man with slightly unruly amber-colored hair with amber eyes to match. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as he worked. He was of medium height and build, attractive with his quick, curious, and welcoming grin.
“Kelly’s cousin, Devin Lyle, and her husband, Rocky Rockwell.”
Allen paused long enough to wipe his hand on a broad green apron before shaking hands across the hardwood bar.
“Rocky Rockwell?” Allen asked.
“Craig Rockwell. If your last name is Rockwell, you just become Rocky, I guess,” Rocky said.
“Good to have you,” he said. “American pragmatism will be welcome!” he said. He added more somberly, “An American cousin for our Kelly will be good, too.”
“We’re delighted to be here,” Devin said.
“It was strange, the night old Collum died,” Allen said, still surveying them solemnly. “I’ve never heard anything like that wail—the banshee’s wail. Never. I’d heard that expression about the hair standing up on the back of the neck—never had it happen before that night!”
“It must have been very eerie,” Devin said.
“Banshee, banshee, banshee,” Gary said, shaking his head. “We’ve come up so our American cousins could meet you—and to help our Siobhan. So, sir, if you don’t mind?”
“What’s your pleasure?” Allen asked him.
Gary rolled off their beer orders and Allen, with a delightful brogue as well, described each in a manner to equal that of the best wine steward or sommelier to be found.
They thanked him and returned to the table.
Gary leaned toward them across the booth. “Everyone here is unnerved. Doc Kirkland says it’s just the way a man looks when he’s died of a heart attack. But—as you realize from the tales I weave—we are a fanciful people. The housekeeping staff, pub staff—all are certain now that the banshee wailed and that the death ghost came and met old Collum face to face. And thus he died—staring out in horror, as if he’d seen some beastie. Collum was a good man; they need to honor him and let him rest in peace.”
As he spoke, Devin looked toward the door.
Kelly was back.
Her cousin was a beautiful young woman with rich, flowing, red hair, and fine, delicate features. She was tiny—a mere five-two. A slight spattering of freckles across her nose added to something of her gamine-like appeal. She and Devin didn’t look much like cousins—Devin stood over Kelly a solid seven inches, her hair was nearly black to Kelly’s true red, and her eyes were blue while Kelly’s were a lovely, gold-studded hazel.
“Devin!” she cried with delight, finding her seated in the booth. She rushed over, speaking as she did so. “I’m so sorry, but our business here is with friends, and meetings and all can go to all hours. I never thought that we’d be so late! But Uncle Brendan said he’d sent you out on the tour.”
Devin was out of the booth to hug her before she reached the table.