It was indeed. Tiffany windows displayed the fourteen Stations of the Cross along the side walls, each with its own recessed altar. The high arches were clean and simple and there were five small pews set before the main altar. A large marble cross rose behind the altar.
“Actually, there’s a time capsule in here,” Roth told him. “Emil, who brought the castle over, is under the main altar with his wife. Their children are scattered along the sides. Sometimes, of course, the daughters moved away, but there are a good fifty people buried or entombed just in the chapel. But you want our own Roth family Romeo and Juliet. Over there—first altar. Come on.”
His footsteps made a strange sound as he hurried along the stone floor. Sloan and Jane followed. There were six altar niches along each side of the structure. Someone had obviously been a stickler for symmetry. The first, closest to the main altar, had a window that depicted Judas’s betrayal of Christ. The altar beneath it was adorned with a large silver cross. On exact angles from the prayer bench below the altar were two marble sarcophagi or tombs. One was etched simply with a name. John McCawley. The other bore just a first name. Elizabeth. Beneath her name was a tribute. Daughter; the rose of our lives, plucked far too swift, and we left in life, adrift. In Spring she lived, in Spring she remains. There ’til our own sweet release, ’til this life on earth for all shall cease. Beloved child, we’ll meet again, where sorrows end and souls remain.
“It sounds as if she was deeply mourned,” Jane said.
“They say that her father was never the same. He lived as if he’d welcome death every day.”
“It’s amazing he didn’t fall apart completely and lose everything. But, then, of course, she had a brother. Your great-great-great—however many greats—grandfather,” Sloan said.
Emil laughed. “It was my great, great, great grandfather. And he apparently had a wonderful friend as an overseer who’d studied at Harvard. He kept the place going. So this is it. What else can I show you? I mean, you’re guests. You’re free to wander as you choose. And, of course, this was horribly tragic, but you were supposed to be married today. We’ll do anything we can. If you want—”
“We’re just fine,” Jane said quickly. “Will you be joining us at dinner?”
Roth seemed pleased, as if she were giving him an invitation rather than asking a question.
“I’d be delighted. Much better than eating alone,” he said.
“Chef seems busy. Don’t others eat here as well?” Jane asked.
“They do. But when I’m here, I just wind up eating in my room,” he told him. “And, actually, I have some e-mails to answer. Anything else, just knock on my door.”
“We’ll wander here for a minute, if it’s all right,” Sloan told him.
“My house is your house,” Roth told them with a grin.
He left them.
When he was gone, Jane looked at Sloan and asked, “Anything?”
“Quiet as—a tomb. No pun intended, of course.”
She grimaced at him and headed to the grave of Elizabeth Roth. She set her hand on the tomb, trying to feel something of the young woman who had lived such a short and tragic life. But all she felt was cold stone.
Sloan watched her.
She shrugged. “Nothing. But I can’t help but feel that somehow, what’s happened now, with Cally Thorpe and Reverend MacDonald, has something to do with the past.”
“You really think it’s possible that a ghost pushed them both down the stairs?” Sloan asked her, frowning.
“It’s not something that we’ve ever seen. So, no, I don’t. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all related.”
“Why?” Sloan asked.
She smiled. “I guess that’s what we have to figure out.”
“Let’s walk to the room,” Sloan said. “Maybe Kelsey and Logan are back and have come up with something.” He reached out and took her hand. “I love you.”
She nodded. “I’m not worried about our lives. I’m just sorry that Marty MacDonald is dead.”
“If we can stop something from happening in the future, at least he won’t have died in vain.”
“Let’s head up,” she said.
“There’s no dirt to be found on the Reverend MacDonald,” Kelsey announced. “His church is being draped in mourning, his deacon has sent for an emergency cover priest to take care of Sunday services. There are no allegations of his ever being flirtatious, too close to the children, or involved in any kind of scandal. But we have more reason to think it was just an accident.”
“Oh?” Sloan said.