severely tested. “That’s why I’m staying behind to snoop around the castle today. Something caused those noises last night. I intend to find out what.” He shivered suddenly, then strode across the room to check the setting on the thermostat. “One thing is definite. The management needs to check the heating system. It was so cold in here last night, I could see my breath.”
I frowned. “That’s funny. The person I ate breakfast with complained about the cold too. I’ll stop at the front desk on my way out to see what the problem is.” I sighed with resignation and gave him a puppy dog look. “I’m going to miss you today, but we’re on for dinner tonight, right?”
He opened his arms and gathered me tightly against his chest. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He buried his lips in my hair, then worked his way lower, kissing my face with soft touches of his mouth. But despite his show of affection, he still seemed distracted.
“What’s bothering you?” I asked gently.
“I think you’d be better served by being left in the dark about this one, Emily.”
“I hate the dark. Please tell me. I’m not a wuss. I lived through the reformulation of the old Coca-Cola to the New Coke. I can handle anything.”
He smiled at that and hesitated long enough to make a decision. “I suppose you have a right to know, but I’d prefer you keep the information to yourself.”
“Okay.” Considering what I knew already, what was one more secret?
“I suspect you may be right about what killed the maid yesterday.”
I gasped at his words. “You do? You saw the look on her face? The fear in her eyes? I knew it. She had to have died of fright. Did the coroner agree?”
“The coroner suspected she died from a heart condition…until he moved her body.”
I gasped alarm. “Did he find evidence of foul play? A stab wound to the back? A pool of blood we didn’t see?”
“There was blood, but not from a stab wound. On the carpet beneath the maid’s body we found a set of footprints. Bloody footprints.”
A tingling sensation slithered down my spine. My mouth went dry. “What kind of footprints?”
“They show bare feet that manifest an unusual physical anomaly. There are no separations between the toes. They’re all conjoined. In essence, the footprints belong to someone with webbed feet.”
This was a real shocker. “You think the maid was frightened to death by a duck?”
“I think the maid was frightened by something in that room, Emily, but I doubt it was either fowl or beast. From the configuration of the footprints, I’d say she was frightened to death by a woman.”
“Were either one of you cold last night?” I was back in my room, pitching odds and ends into my shoulder bag for our day trip to the Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge and the Old Bushmills Distillery in North Antrim. Nana and Tilly had finished breakfast and were making up the beds, but my question caused each of them to straighten up and stare at me.
“People at breakfast were complaining about the cold,” Tilly volunteered, “but I didn’t offer an explanation. I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
Uh-oh. “Don’t tell me. You checked at the front desk and they told you the furnace is broken and they don’t expect the new spare parts to arrive until next week.” Like we really needed heating problems in addition to a dead maid, eerie cries, and a ghost with feet like a duck. I gave my jaw a vigorous scratch.
“The cold air in the castle has nothing to do with the heating system,” Tilly announced. “It indicates the presence of malevolent spirits.”
Great. Not only was the ghost saddled with foot problems, it had a bad disposition as well. I lowered my gaze to my own feet, wondering what it would be like to have webbed toes. It couldn’t be much fun. It would really limit your choice of stylish summer sandals. And you could forget about toe socks altogether.
But that led me to another thought. What if the ghost was in a
I frowned. “That’s funny. The person I ate breakfast with complained about the cold too. I’ll stop at the front desk on my way out to see what the problem is.” I sighed with resignation and gave him a puppy dog look. “I’m going to miss you today, but we’re on for dinner tonight, right?”
He opened his arms and gathered me tightly against his chest. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He buried his lips in my hair, then worked his way lower, kissing my face with soft touches of his mouth. But despite his show of affection, he still seemed distracted.
“What’s bothering you?” I asked gently.
“I think you’d be better served by being left in the dark about this one, Emily.”
“I hate the dark. Please tell me. I’m not a wuss. I lived through the reformulation of the old Coca-Cola to the New Coke. I can handle anything.”
He smiled at that and hesitated long enough to make a decision. “I suppose you have a right to know, but I’d prefer you keep the information to yourself.”
“Okay.” Considering what I knew already, what was one more secret?
“I suspect you may be right about what killed the maid yesterday.”
I gasped at his words. “You do? You saw the look on her face? The fear in her eyes? I knew it. She had to have died of fright. Did the coroner agree?”
“The coroner suspected she died from a heart condition…until he moved her body.”
I gasped alarm. “Did he find evidence of foul play? A stab wound to the back? A pool of blood we didn’t see?”
“There was blood, but not from a stab wound. On the carpet beneath the maid’s body we found a set of footprints. Bloody footprints.”
A tingling sensation slithered down my spine. My mouth went dry. “What kind of footprints?”
“They show bare feet that manifest an unusual physical anomaly. There are no separations between the toes. They’re all conjoined. In essence, the footprints belong to someone with webbed feet.”
This was a real shocker. “You think the maid was frightened to death by a duck?”
“I think the maid was frightened by something in that room, Emily, but I doubt it was either fowl or beast. From the configuration of the footprints, I’d say she was frightened to death by a woman.”
“Were either one of you cold last night?” I was back in my room, pitching odds and ends into my shoulder bag for our day trip to the Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge and the Old Bushmills Distillery in North Antrim. Nana and Tilly had finished breakfast and were making up the beds, but my question caused each of them to straighten up and stare at me.
“People at breakfast were complaining about the cold,” Tilly volunteered, “but I didn’t offer an explanation. I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
Uh-oh. “Don’t tell me. You checked at the front desk and they told you the furnace is broken and they don’t expect the new spare parts to arrive until next week.” Like we really needed heating problems in addition to a dead maid, eerie cries, and a ghost with feet like a duck. I gave my jaw a vigorous scratch.
“The cold air in the castle has nothing to do with the heating system,” Tilly announced. “It indicates the presence of malevolent spirits.”
Great. Not only was the ghost saddled with foot problems, it had a bad disposition as well. I lowered my gaze to my own feet, wondering what it would be like to have webbed toes. It couldn’t be much fun. It would really limit your choice of stylish summer sandals. And you could forget about toe socks altogether.
But that led me to another thought. What if the ghost was in a
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