Page 32 of Death at Inishmore Castle

As friendly as she had been, she’d turned suspicious when I asked why she was here.

“You have to forgive her if you told her something and she forgot,” Lizzie whispered to Fiona. “When she’s working on ideas in her head, she tends to forget things.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“I could barely get through writing my papers and exams for school, I can’t imagine writing an entire book.”

“Me either, and she’s my twin,” Lizzie said. “I’m lucky if I can devise an email without typos. I overheard you went to school in Dublin. Is that where you live?”

Fiona nodded. “I’m the same, and yes. I’m a curator for a museum there.”

“Oh, that sounds glamorous,” Lizzie said.

The other woman shrugged. “It can be. Mostly, it’s a lot of work and searching through archives for the provenance of various pieces.”

“This place must be some kind of gold mine for historical artifacts,” I said.

Once again, she flinched and quickly recovered.

What was that about? Was she here for more than birds? In reading the brochures for the castle, I’d read that centuries-old art and antiquities were present. “This place must be full of great pieces.”

Fiona nodded. “I’m not certain they know how precious some items in their collection are. If they did, they’d have much better security.”

“Oh?” I asked.

She nodded. “I always keep an eye out to see if these old places have art from John James Audubon.”

I’d learned about art when I’d been in college, but I was no expert. Most of what I’d retained came from writing one of my earlier books which had been about stolen art.

“Oh? I knew about the books with all the pictures. I didn’t know he also painted.”

“Yes. Though I haven’t seen any here, yet. I wish I could draw. I’m hoping to take classes,” Fiona said.

“Let’s take a look at your progress. Hold up your designs,” Nora said.

My sister’s and Fiona’s looked like works of linen art. Even our neighbors had turned out some beautiful pieces.

Me, not so much.

Mine was just a bunched-up piece of knots. It in no way looked like the beautiful lace we’d been tasked to make.

“Lace-making takes a deft and gentle hand, and I hope you all have an appreciation for the women who helped save their families,” Nora said, smiling down at me like I was a sad orphan girl with no talents.

I could write books. That was about it.

“The owners of Inishmore helped many of those living on the estate and in the village of Shamrock Cove by helping to set up trade routes for the lace and whiskey. It is one of the prouder moments of the family’s history.

“Now, there is a break before the next class at the distillery. We hope to see you all there.”

“Do either of you know what happened to Father Brennen?” Mrs. Airendale, the wife of the American businessman, asked. “The police wouldn’t say anything other than he’s missing. Did he die? Why won’t anyone say anything?”

“I’m sure everything is fine,” I lied. I wouldn’t have Kieran blaming me for letting the word out about the murders.

I wasn’t sure how much longer the detective inspector would be able to keep the deaths under wraps, though. People were more than curious and now the police would be asking more questions about Sister Sarah.

But I understood why Kieran wanted to keep it quiet for as long as possible. Once people found out there had been two murders, they’d be tripping over themselves to get out of this place.

The nun’s pale face flashed through my mind. If I hadn’t seen the bleeding in her eyes, I wouldn’t have thought to look under her coif to find the bruising on her neck. Someone had strangled her and possibly held her underwater.

---