Page 15 of Death at Inishmore Castle

“Maybe it was one of the ghosts they keep talking about,” Fiona, the birder, said from Brenna’s other side. “I’ve been reading the pamphlets, and they talk about all the restless spirits who live here. Centuries of them. Nora has been sharing some of those stories, as well.” She sounded like she believed what she was saying.

Lizzie and I stared at one another.

“Most likely drafts,” Lolly said in her practical way. “Mind you, we Irish are a superstitious lot, but this place is drafty as they come. It doesn’t matter how many improvements they do. It’s the way the place was originally built to carry air throughout during warmer months. Even with proper heating, there are going to be drafts.”

Everyone tucked into their soup.

“Sister, how did you hear about the castle? Did you come with Father Brennen?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. I was curious about what she might say.

Her jaw tightened.

That wasn’t suspicious at all.

“No. I’ve never met him before,” she said offhandedly.

“Oh, I saw you, uh, chatting during the whiskey tour. I thought you knew one another.”

“No,” she said sternly. “I came on my own. My order is thinking about creating a business making soap. I came to see how they ran things here. Mind you, we wouldn’t be having guests stay. But they could tour our facilities and shop.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Lizzie said. “What kind of soap?”

The sister gave her a hard stare. I would have given millions to know what was going through the woman’s head.

“Soap using goat’s milk. There may also be a skincare line if we are successful in our initial efforts.” She sounded rehearsed. Something wasn’t right about her.

Or maybe my imagination was in overdrive.

That happened sometimes. My brain never stopped trying to write books. I could find inspiration for stories everywhere I looked.

But this was a real murder and I had to separate fiction from fact. The nun was at the top of my list. Even though I had none of that pesky evidence Kieran would insist was necessary.

He was right. I tended to go more by my gut. And it said Sister Sarah was up to no good.

The rain pounded against the stained-glass windows, and the wind howled around the castle, making an eerie sound. I shivered.

The servants cleared our plates. The next course was a delicious corned beef brisket with garlic cabbage and peas.

“Nora, where is Father Brennen?” the nun asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence as we ate. For someone who didn’t know the man, she seemed extremely curious. And it seemed like she might be trying to draw attention away from herself.

Nora went a bit white and choked on her beef. “Uh, he’s indisposed,” she said quickly.

The nun stared down the table suspiciously, which raised the hackles on my spine. I’d always wondered about that phrase, but I understood it now.

“Where exactly is your order?” I asked. The words came out a bit sharply, and Lizzie nudged me with her elbow. “I mean, it’s just that you don’t sound Irish.”

“I’m not. I’m British. Cornwall,” she said, without turning to look at me.

“I hear it’s lovely there,” Lizzie said. “I’ve always wanted to visit the coast. Maybe we can take a vacation there next year and visit your nunnery if you have your business up and running by then.”

My sister sounded sweet and positive. But I could tell she was trying to dig a little further.

The nun nodded but didn’t bother saying anything.

Between the makeup and the dyed hair, I would bet a dozen doughnuts this woman was no nun, and that she had murdered the priest. Or at the very least she’d been involved. The rosary she’d been wearing earlier was in the dead man’s hand.

Now, I just had to prove it.

FOUR

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