Page 22 of Death at Inishmore Castle

“Well,” he said. “Ask your questions.”

“It’s like you know me.”

He laughed. “That I do. Let’s see if I can guess what you were going to ask. Do I have any suspects?”

I nodded.

“There is a house full of them,” he said. “No one seems to have heard or seen anything. The last time anyone remembers seeing the priest was on the way back from the whiskey tour.”

“Do we still think he’s a priest?”

“Sheila took his prints, and I’m waiting for a report. Even though the water has receded some, the internet is still down here, which isn’t unusual in rural Ireland. So, she had to take everything back to the station. I’m waiting for her call.”

“Did the guests freak out when you interviewed them?”

He chuckled. “A few of them thought it was a murder mystery play. Though, we didn’t tell them he was dead. As far as the guests know, the priest is missing. I’m still not certain they’re taking things seriously. I’m still checking their alibis for late afternoon. So far, everyone I’ve spoken to says they were getting ready for the evening activities.”

“It should help that half the guests are from the court. Lots of ears and eyes on the others for you.”

“True. Gran and the others didn’t have many answers, though. The only bit of information that has been consistent is that the priest wasn’t the friendliest person.”

“That’s true. There was just something about him. I’m not even sure I believe he was a priest.” I didn’t mention that I’d taken a look in his pockets and found an ID. “Was there any identification on him?”

He nodded. “There was. We’re checking it out. And we thoroughly searched his room.”

“And you still think he is a priest?”

Kieran shrugged.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Let’s just say his identification and the items in his room made me suspicious.”

“Like what?”

“We found a handgun and some papers pertaining to the ownership of the estate here.”

“Oh?”

“I should say copies of them. They were old records from a few hundred years ago.”

That was interesting. “Did he have a claim to the estate?”

“We’re going through the papers. The owners say he was asking a great many questions, but as far as the O’Sullivans are concerned, this place has belonged to their family since the French nobleman built it. From the quick glance that I took last night, that is correct.”

“I don’t suppose I could look at the papers?”

“They’ve already gone back to the station with Sheila. But she’s making us copies. We’re setting up an incident room here in the castle. She’ll be back with the originals later.”

I pursed my lips. “Well, if he were going to lay a claim to the place, then the owners would be the most likely suspects, right? I mean, Occam’s razor: the explanation with the fewest criteria.”

He shook his head. “I know what Occam’s razor means. We asked for confirmation of ownership, and from what I could see, there is no discrepancy. The place belongs to the O’Sullivans. There seems to be no question about the validity of their deeds.”

“Lots of things can be faked though. Especially with the quality of printers and how easy it is to age paper these days. Anyone with the internet can research how to do that. The priest, for whatever reason, could have forged the papers. I mean, I don’t know why. But it could happen.”

“Let me guess, it’s in one of your books.”

“It was. Though in the book, it was the proof of provenance for a piece of art.”

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