Page 53 of Death at Inishmore Castle

I shivered. “Right. And you’ve done a thorough check on the staff?”

“We’re in the process of it. They have thirty regular staff members on the estate and another ten to fifteen who come in for part-time work.”

“That has to be expensive, covering all those wages,” I said.

“Yes. I’ve been going through the paperwork, and it takes millions of pounds each year to cover their expenses. Hence the reason they are looking to expand their whiskey enterprise.”

“And why they are bringing in tourists for the weekends.” A thought struck me. “Do you think this might be more personal than someone just planning a heist?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this is their first soft-open weekend for tourists to stay and do all of the events they have planned. Two murders in oneweekend might make potential visitors think twice about coming out here.”

“True,” he said. “So, you’re thinking it may also be some past history between the O’Sullivans and the killer.”

I shrugged again. “I mean, it’s possible. None of this really adds up. We’re missing something. I’m just trying to make different connections for us to explore.”

He shook his head. “Mercy, there is no us. I will explore these different avenues with my team. Your job is to stay safe and out of the killer’s way. Do you not remember what happened the last time you inserted yourself into an investigation?”

I’d been held at gunpoint and threatened. It was tough to forget that. “I remember. But I will be keeping my eyes open. Besides, I helped you figure out who Sarah really was. It isn’t like I’m not useful.”

“That’s true. You know I appreciate your help.”

I smirked. “Just not when I’m too intrusive. There is one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Like I said earlier, I’d really like to do some research in the study. I think it’s significant that Carl was murdered there. He’d been spending time supposedly doing historical research, according to the O’Sullivans. Why? It has to be the treasure, right?”

“As I said before, the books that were on the desk have been gathered for evidence,” he said.

He took out a pair of gloves. “Use these. They are in box number twelve over there in the corner.”

“I brought my own.” I pulled them out of the pocket of my cardigan.

He smirked.

“What are you going to do about Sally Airendale?”

“I texted Sheila at the station, and she’s working on processing a search warrant.”

“It’s the O’Sullivans’ property, can’t you just ask them?”

“I’m sure she’s hidden the figurine somewhere. To go through her personal belongings, we need to go by the book. Until then, please don’t say anything.”

“I won’t. But I will be keeping an eye on her.”

“That’s not a bad idea. It may be a while before we can get the warrant. Sheila texted and said the judge is on a fishing trip, so he won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

I smiled. Small-town justice was quite different from what I’d experienced in New York. Let’s just say, it was a bit more relaxed than the big city. Though, in both places everything took longer than one might expect. The city because they were overwhelmed with too many cases. Sometimes autopsies would take weeks, if not months. Things happened a bit faster here, but not by much.

I went through some of the books that had been on the desk. There was a diary of a former noblewoman who had lived in the castle in the seventeen hundreds. The loopy handwriting was sometimes difficult to read, but she spoke in detail about the grand parties that had been held on the estate. There were balls where hundreds of people had been invited.

Her marriage, however, was not exactly happy. Once she’d delivered two sons, her husband had little to do with her. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he gave her great freedom to travel, which was unusual for a woman of her station. She kept a list of her purchases in her diaries.

She was one of the residents who had acquired many of the pieces of art now adorning the walls of the estate. It was obvious she was an intelligent woman with fantastic taste. She had traveled throughout Europe with her sons. In her words, she wanted them to grow up to be more appreciative of their place in the world, and not a drunken sod like their father.

She pulled no punches when it came to writing about her family and friends.

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