The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 Read online

  The police had taped off the floor and Elizabeth had gone one step farther by locking up the whole building. That meant Sorcha had some work to do rearranging guests. There was a golden anniversary party taking place at the castle this weekend. Rory, the acting head of Special Events now that Caera was off touring with her American, was taking care of the post-dinner dancing and drinking that was set to take place out in Finn’s Stable, the renovated stable turned music space, while Sorcha and Elizabeth were handling the formal dinner in the restaurant. Event guests had booked out all the rooms in the east wing above the pub and a few in the first floor of the west wing. Since they couldn’t stay there any longer, Sorcha had Liam look in on the unoccupied guest cottages. Though Sorcha, Caera and a few other staff, including Liam and his wife Kristina, lived in the nicest cottages, there were a few that had gone through preliminary renovations. Liam had called in a few men to help move beds out of the first floor west wing rooms into the cottages. All the guests she’d called had been happy enough to change to the cottages in exchange for a reduced fee.

  The problem had been what to tell them.

  At the weekly management meeting, Elizabeth had announced that they were to say that while doing renovations on the second floor, they’d made an unexpected discovery and that for now the wing wasn’t usable. That might have worked if they hadn’t had guards tromping in and out of here for two days. As of now, all Glenncailty employees were sticking to the company line, though she was sure behind closed doors the truth was slowly spreading. There’d been an upswing in business at the pub as curious locals came looking for information.

  She wondered what people were saying to Séan, how he was handling the non-stop inquiries she faced.

  She hadn’t seen him since he’d brought her back to the castle. They’d been dozing on his little bed when she’d suddenly realized that she’d just left in the middle of her workday. Though if there were ever an excuse to abandon work, finding bones was solid enough. But the castle wasn’t so big or so heavily staffed that she could just take off without it impacting the running of the place. Plus, she had nothing with her—no purse, no phone. She and Séan had jumped out of bed and, after a brief argument in which she’d threatened to walk back, he’d reluctantly driven her. She knew he thought the castle was dangerous and had been surprised that he’d agreed to take her back, until he’d said that maybe now the secret had been exposed and the bodies found, the ghosts would rest.

  Even so, he’d sat in of the foyer chairs until near sundown, when he’d had to leave.

  That was two days ago. She hadn’t heard from him or seen him since.

  The logical part of her said that he was probably doing what she was doing—avoiding people so she didn’t have to answer questions and keeping busy so as not to think about what they’d found.

  The emotional part of her said that now he knew about her past, that she’d slept with an older man and had a child out of wedlock, he didn’t want to see him anymore. She wanted to believe he was a better man than that, and that he wouldn’t judge her past mistakes and would understand her reasons for not risking another child and therefore no relationship. She wanted to believe it, but he was a traditional man and her story probably shocked him.

  Then again, maybe now that he knew that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, be in a relationship with him, he was no longer interested. He was too good a man to remain unmarried and any woman would be lucky to have him. Despite his unassuming appearance and ways, he was probably one of the wealthiest men in Glenncailty—between him and Seamus, they owned much of the land in the glen.

  Though these thoughts kept her up at night and the wondering was making her mad, the one thing she did know was that he hadn’t tried to see her—hadn’t called, hadn’t stopped by.

  And she was every kind of hypocrite for pouting that he wasn’t chasing after her when she’d made it so clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Sorcha, are you in here?”

  “Yes, I’m in the back.”

  There was the sound of a door closing and then Elizabeth made her way back to the small staff lounge and workspace. The staff room was long and narrow, with no windows, so it had a cave-like feel. The area closest to the door served as luggage storage, with big metal racks for bags. Behind that were a few couches, a table, a small refrigerator and a water kettle. The back, where she sat now, was an office space. Sorcha and Tristan were the main ones to use it, for replying to guests and placing food orders, and the phone here had inputs for all the various castle numbers. Elizabeth had an office somewhere, but Sorcha had never been sure where it was. It wasn’t in the castle itself, which only left Seamus’s house, but Sorcha couldn’t imagine Elizabeth and Seamus working so closely together. They were like fire and ice.

  “How are you?” Elizabeth took a seat in one of the spare chairs, her icy blue gaze focused on Sorcha.

  “I’m fine. We’ve all the guests for the anniversary party rebooked into the guest cottages.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. How are you handling what happened the other day?”

  Sorcha closed out of the computerized reservation system. “I’m just glad we’ll finally be able to…” She had to stop and take a breath. “…to bury those people.” A memory of the small white casket she’d buried her own boy in flashed into her mind.

  “I’m afraid that may take some time.”

  “Why? What is there to do besides bury them?” Sorcha hated the idea of those little bones just lying there.

  “The Guards have opened an investigation. The bodies will need to be identified and the cause of death determined.”

  “I think we’d better serve them by giving them a proper burial.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrow went up. “With no names on the graves?”

  Sorcha sighed. “No, of course not, you’re right.” She wanted to explain that despite the fact that the bones had been there this whole time, now that she knew they were there she wanted them buried and gone from that terrible, sad room.

  “To that end,” Elizabeth continued, “we’ll have a guest arriving soon.” Elizabeth placed the book she carried on her lap, flipping it open to reveal the tablet computer hidden inside. “Her name is Dr. Melissa Heavey. She’s a forensic anthropologist from London.”

  “She’s coming in from London?”

  “No, it appears she’s half-Irish and was in Dublin. Because the government wouldn’t be able to send someone here for months, and we can’t have the west wing closed for that long, she’s coming instead.”

  “So we’re paying for it?” Sorcha blew out a breath. One of the things she loved about this job was that she got to be a part of the planning process for the overall hotel. There were quite a few projects they were working on that would suffer if they had to divert money to paying someone to examine the bones. “What will we give up? The pool and spa are almost done.” She bit her lip. She’d forgotten it didn’t matter. The castle would close.

  The mews out behind the west wing had been renovated to include an indoor heated pool on the first floor and treatment rooms on the second floor. They’d planned for a grand opening in only a few months.

  “We cannot afford to stop any currently in-progress hirings or renovations. We need a special events coordinator who can focus on non-musical events and we already have the architect plans for the cheese room Tristan wants, and the recording studio and accompanying cottage.”

  Tristan had come to the management team with the idea of producing foodstuffs, particularly cheese, under the Glenncailty brand. At the same time, Caera, whose musical career was taking off, had suggested they build a recording studio and self-catering guesthouse. The castle already had a good reputation for attracting musical acts, and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to leverage that into renting out a studio and house to the same caliber of musicians who came to play at Finn’s Stable.

  “We’ll need those projects to help quiet talk of what we found.” Elizabeth’s lips pur
sed. “Seamus—I mean Mr. O’Muircheartaigh—will be paying for Dr. Heavey’s services privately.”

  Sorcha nodded. “And she’s going to identify them?”

  “At the very least she’ll be able to tell us the sex and age of each skeleton and possibly how they died, as well as how old they are.”

  “And how will we find out their names?”

  “I assume that once we know the time period we’re looking at as well as the age and sex, we’ll be able to check the records and match up the skeletons with the names.”

  Sorcha started to nod, but then something Elizabeth said struck her. “But there are no castle records for us to look at. We know almost nothing about the history of Glenncailty.” They had a whole paragraph in the castle history about why they knew so little about the place.

  Elizabeth looked down at her computer. “Of course. My mistake.” She looked up. “I’ve sent you the details for Dr. Heavey. She should be here this afternoon. Please consider her a VIP guest.”

  “Elizabeth, we’ve no rooms to put her in.”

  “There are the rooms on the first floor of the west wing, and even the second. She’s a scientist and—” Elizabeth smiled for a brief moment, “—she’s British. I expect she won’t be so squeamish.”

  With that, the manager of Glenncailty Castle rose, leaving Sorcha to wonder if she’d just been insulted or if her very proper boss had just made a joke.

  At four o’clock, Sorcha stood in the foyer by the registration desk, hands folded together in front of her, nametag on her lapel perfectly level and a pretty, professional smile plastered to her face.

  At 4:17, the door opened and a blonde woman shouldered her way in. She wore loose pants that seemed to wrap around her legs and be held up with ties. Her shirt was a tunic embroidered with geometric shapes in bold earth tones, worn over a simple white turtleneck. A heavy brass medallion hung from a cord around her neck. Her rain-straight blonde hair stopped just above her shoulders.

  “Dr. Heavey?”

  The woman looked around, taking in the black and white stone floor, wainscoting, mint green walls and palatial high ceilings of the castle foyer. Sorcha took a few steps, letting her heels tap loudly in case the other woman hadn’t heard her.

  “Dr. Heavey? I’m Sorcha—”

  “The floors are original, the stairs have been rebuilt.” The blonde woman’s head swiveled to her. “Am I right?”

  “Yes, you are. These stone floors are original.” Without batting a lash, Sorcha jumped on the topic of the castle’s renovation. “The structure had been neglected for many years and almost all the wood detailing had to be replaced, including the grand stairs. We did reclaim some doors, such as the main doors you just came in, and a few others. I will provide you with a castle map that includes the history of the building and of Glenncailty.”

  The blonde woman held out her hand. “I’m Melissa Heavey. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Sorcha Kerrigan, guest relations manager here at Glenncailty.” Sorcha took her hand. “We’re pleased and honored to have you with us.”

  “I doubt that. I’m here because you found human remains when you weren’t looking for them. You weren’t, were you?”

  Sorcha had met and dealt with her share of odd guests. If this kept up, Dr. Melissa Heavey was going to make Sorcha’s personal top ten list of strange people.

  “I assure you our discovery was accidental rather than deliberate.” Her smile didn’t waver. “If you’ll follow me, we can discuss your accommodation options.”

  “It’s better to find them by accident. It’s worse when you’re looking for a body you can’t find.”

  “Of course,” Sorcha agreed, hoping to never find out if that was true. “I have several options for accommodation—”

  “I’m not worried about that.” Melissa set a heavy black case with clasps on the registration desk. “Where are the bones?”

  “Detective Sergeant Oren called. He’s busy at the moment but said he’ll stop by at the end of his shift, which will be about six o’clock. Until then I’m afraid I can’t show you to the…” Sorcha licked her lips, her facade cracking for a moment “…the bones.”

  “But I’m here now.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  There was a moment of silence while they stared at each other.

  “I have to wait to see the bones, don’t I?”

  “Yes, Dr. Heavey, you do.”

  She sighed. “Very well then, I’ll do some research between now and then. Can I have that map you mentioned?”

  “First let me check you in.” Sorcha was fairly certain that Melissa wouldn’t mind staying in the west wing, so she pulled out a key to one of the rooms they hadn’t taken a bed out of. “The only available room is in our west wing. We’ve relocated other guests due to the proximity to the remains. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being so close, I can recommend someplace in Cailtytown, the village at the other end of the glen.”

  “I’d rather be by the bones.”

  “Very well.” Sorcha printed out the room agreement and had her sign before passing over one of the heavy metal keys. “The room is not available at this time, but I can show you to either our library or—”

  “Is there someplace quiet I could get a bite to eat while I read?”

  “Our pub is open, but is not known for being quiet. Our award-winning restaurant doesn’t open until five, but I could show you to a table and perhaps you could order from the pub.”

  “That will work.” She hefted the case, tucking the key into the strange loose trousers she wore. Picking up the brochure, she smiled. “I’m ready.”

  Sorcha took her to the restaurant, which was just off the main hallway on the east side of the building. She passed the scientist off to the maître d’ and returned to the foyer to cover the phones and registration desk.

  Chapter Ten

  Desire Overcomes

  Séan pulled the lever that opened the gate. The eight cows he’d been milking slowly exited the milking parlor. Even through the heavy headphones he wore, he could hear the drone of the milking machine. Once this set was out, he closed the forward gate and opened those on the other end. The last few cows came in.

  The milking parlor was a small building compared to the barns where the cows spent the winter. Half the space was taken up by the refrigerated tank where the milk was kept until the milk lorry came around every second day. The rest of the building was the actual milking stations. The cows entered through door at the back of the building and walked to one of the eight troughs along the walls. With their heads at the walls, that put their tails facing the center of the room, where a few steps led down to a narrow pit where he stood and worked. Railings kept the cows from falling back into the pit and gave him somewhere to hang the milking equipment. There were four spots on either side of the pit. The six remaining cows divided themselves three and three and stuck their noses into the troughs.

  One mooed when she found it empty.

  “I’m getting to it, I’m getting to it.” Séan pulled a handle that released a measured amount of sweet pellets, which were his pretty girls’ reward for getting milked, into each trough. They settled in for their snack as Séan went to work cleaning their teats before attaching the clusters.

  A clock on the wall revealed that he was moving slower than normal. Milking should take about ninety minutes, and he’d already been here three hours. He flexed his stiff and painful hands. Since dropping Sorcha back off at Glenncailty, nothing had gone as planned. He’d returned home to take care of some farming chores, planning to then go right back to the castle, but instead he’d been so tired he’d gone up to his room to lie down.

  His mom had found him there several hours later, burning up with fever.

  He’d had to go to the hospital, where he was told that one of the cuts was infected and that he’d dislocated some of his fingers. Dislocated fingers were nothing new to him, but after the X-rays, the doctor had insisted on setting
them. They’d even given him these strange braces to wear on his hands to keep him from moving his fingers until they’d healed a bit more, along with antibiotics for the infection.

  He’d worn them for a day, but no longer.

  Yesterday he’d been confined to his mother’s parlor, lying on the couch with the braces on his hands while she fretted over him. He hadn’t specifically said how he’d been hurt, letting her assume it was a farming accident. He didn’t want to face the questions that would come if he started to explain what he’d really been doing.

  They’d called in someone from a farming relief agency to do the milking yesterday, but he wasn’t comfortable being away for more than a day. It would be a while before he could do anything more than the daily chores, and even that was more than he was supposed to be doing.

  When the milk stopped flowing through the clear pipes that ran into the tank, he gently pulled the clusters from the cows’ teats and opened the exit door. They filed out, each cow knowing the way back to the field they were on this week. Séan cleaned the equipment and closed up the milking parlor, pulling the headphones off with relief.

  Done for the night, he headed home, hopping over stack-stone fences and pushing through the barely-there breaks in shrubs. His property was divided into multiple fields so he could rotate the animals from one to another, giving the land a break while the grass regrew. The milking parlor was toward the front of the property near a road, which allowed the milk lorry access.

  He slipped into the mudroom, shucking his dirty farming coverall and washing his hands and face.

  “Let me see your hands,” Joan Donnovan said as he entered the kitchen.

  He held them out, allowing her to push him into a kitchen chair.

  “Séan Donnovan you shouldn’t be doing the milking,” she scolded. “And look at these bandages, soaking wet.”

  “I wore gloves,” he said, letting her fuss over him.