“Everyone talks. Ghost stories are fun.”
“So I hear. Mrs. Avery thinks that they create the mystique of the castle. I personally think that my ancestor’s desire to bring a castle to the United States is interesting enough. But, we do keep up a lot of the maintenance with our bed and breakfast income, parties, and tours. So, I let her go on about the brilliance of a good ghost story. But, what the hell? I’ll give you a tour.”
“That’s great. I really appreciate it,” Sloan told him.
“What about your fiancée? Maybe she’d like to come, too?” Roth suggested.
“Maybe she would. I’m not sure where she is… I’ll try her cell,” Sloan said.
Jane was number one on his speed dial and, in a matter of seconds, she answered. He cheerfully explained where he was and asked what she was doing. She said that she’d be right there.
As they waited, Roth asked Sloan, “How do you like your room? No ghostly disturbances, right?”
“Not a one,” Sloan told him.
“You should see people around here when they come for the ghost tours,” Roth said. “They all have their cameras out like eager puppies. They catch dust specs that become ‘orbs.’ Sad. But, then again, we’re featured in a lot of books and again, I guess my dear Mrs. Avery is right.”
“I understand she’s a distant relative,” Sloan said. “Pardon me for overstepping, but it doesn’t sound as if you like her much.”
Roth grinned. “I’m that transparent? Sad. No, I don’t like her. Her grandmother was my grandfather’s sister. I guess we’re second cousins or something like that. But, no, I don’t like her. She’s self-righteous and knows everything. I understand keeping the place up and keeping it maintained, but she’s turned it into a theme attraction. I’m really proud of it as a family home. But… anyway, in my father’s will he asked that I keep her employed through her lifetime—as long as she wishes. So, there you go. She’s no spring chicken, but she’s a pretty healthy sixty-plus. I have a few years to go.”
Sloan heard footsteps in the hall and saw Jane coming.
They always managed a real balance when working, as did the others. Those in the Krewe of Hunters units tended to pair up—maybe there was just something special that they all shared and that created a special attraction. Jane had belonged to the Krewe before he had. He’d met her when she’d come to Lily, Arizona, his home, where he’d returned when his grandfather had suffered from cancer. She’d been both amazing and annoying to him from first sight. He’d been attracted to her from the start, falling in love with her smile, her eyes, her mind. In his life, he’d never been with anyone like her. She seemed aware of everything about him, faults and flaws and “talents,” and she loved him. They hadn’t been in a hurry to get married, but they’d both wanted it.
She met his eyes with the same open gaze she always did.
He walked to meet her, slipping his arm around her shoulder. “I’m really pleased. It’s not a good day, certainly, but Emil Roth has offered us a real tour. History, and all else.”
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Roth,” Jane said.
“But you saw the castle before, right? You took the ghost tour, didn’t you?” Roth asked her.
“I took the tour. So I know about Elizabeth Roth and her beloved, John McCawley. He was killed in a hunting accident the day before the wedding, and then Elizabeth killed herself.”
“Come on then. I do give the best tour,” Roth said. “And call me Emil, please.”
“Then we’re Sloan and Jane,” Sloan said.
Emil smiled and nodded. “Let’s start in the Great Hall and go from there.”
He seemed happy. Sloan looked at Jane. He took her hand and she smiled and shrugged and they followed Emil Roth. At the Great Hall, he extended his hands, as if displaying the massive room with its décor of swords and coats of arms and standing men in armor.
“Castle Cadawil was built in 1280 and the Duke of Cadawil held it all of two years, until the death of Llywelyn the Last in 1282 and the conquest of Edward I from the Principality of Wales. That’s why, to this day, the heir apparent to the British crown is called the Prince of Wales. Anyway, the castle wasn’t a major holding. It was on a bluff with nothing around it that anyone really wanted to hold for any reason. So, through the centuries, it had been abandoned, half-restored, abandoned again. In the early 1800s, my self-made millionaire ancestor saw it there and determined that he could move a castle to New England. And he did so. Of course, when it came over, it was little but design and stone. Antiques were purchased and through the years, Tiffany windows added. My family apparently loved their castle. But then, as you know, tragedy struck before the wedding of Elizabeth Roth and John McCawley.”
“What do you think about that?” Jane asked him. “Did the family love and welcome McCawley, or did someone hate him?”