“Because the butler often did it?” Kelsey asked.
Jane smiled. “No, it’s a castle. There should be a butler. But—” Her voice trailed as she looked at Kelsey’s board. “I wish that I believed that Reverend MacDonald just fell. But I don’t.”
“A hunch?” Kelsey asked her seriously.
They tended to pay attention to gut feelings. But, of course, everyone was wondering if Jane wasn’t influenced by the circumstances here at the castle.
“We’ll get images of everyone in the house and send them to the main office,” Sloan said. “They can find out things about the past by just running searches, and it will be much easier for them to do that than us.”
She smiled. “Yes, please. And maybe we can take a walk right before dinner and see if we can chat with any of the locals.”
“The locals?” Kelsey murmured.
“Local ghosts,” Jane said. “Who knows just what they might know?”
Chapter 5
“How is everyone doing?” Emil Roth asked as they entered the Great Hall.
He was there before them and held a crystal decanter of something dark in his hand. He waved it about as they entered. Jane thought he might have been there imbibing for some time.
“Brandy,” he said, “anyone want to join me?”
“Club soda with lime?” Sloan asked him.
“Wise man,” Roth noted. “Since people seem to trip down stairs around here. It’s best to keep a clean and sober mind. I, however, will just crawl up the stairs. It’s hard to trip when you crawl.”
He set down the decanter and poured a soda for Sloan, but as he handed the glass over he was looking at Jane. He shuddered, then smiled. “I’m sorry. So sorry! Really. It’s just you do bear a strange resemblance to Elizabeth Roth.”
“Resemblances can be strange, of course,” Jane said. “But sometimes it just depends on what angle an artist gave to a rendering.”
“You know a lot about art?” he asked her.
“Jane is a wonderful artist,” Kelsey said.
“I’m a forensic artist,” Jane said.
He shuddered again. “You draw or paint dead people?”
“Sometimes. But, sometimes, I paint the living. When they’re missing, if they have amnesia, if we need to get their images out to the public for a reason.”
He gave a slightly sloppy smile. “So you could sketch me?”
“Certainly,” she told him.
“Ah, yes. You could, but would you?” he asked.
“If you wish,” she said.
“How rude of me. A tragic day. It should have been your wedding. And here I am, asking you to sketch me.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Jane said.
“I’ll run up and get your sketch pad,” Sloan offered.
Emil lifted his glass to Sloan. “Don’t run, not on those stairs.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sloan promised.
“Do you need an easel? Is there something else I can get you? Draw what you really see, too, okay? I don’t need to be flattered and I’d like a true image.”
Logan pulled out a chair at the table for Jane as he told Emil, “Jane has a unique talent for catching expressions and what makes a person an individual. I’m sure what you’ll get is honest.”
Jane laughed softly. “I won’t try to be unflattering.”
Emil drew out the chair across from her. “Am I good here? Do you need more light?”
“I’m fine. As soon as Sloan brings down the pad, we’ll be set to go,” she promised.
“Please,” Emil told Logan and Kelsey, “help yourselves to drinks. I believe Chef will send someone in with hors d’oeuvres soon.”
“Thank you,” Kelsey told him. “Jane?”
“Diet cola, thanks,” Jane said.
“Ah, nothing more exciting?” Emil asked her.
“We’re just not feeling all that festive, I guess,” Jane said.
Sloan arrived with her sketch pad and a box of pencils. She smiled and thanked him.
“Ready when you are,” Emil told her.
“I’ve already begun,” she said.
“You’re not drawing.”
“But I am studying your face,” she said softly.
“Ah,” he said. “Should I pose? Lean in? Rest my chin on a fist?”
“No,” she told him, picking up a pencil.
She began to sketch. To her amazement, she thought that it was one of her best, and quickly so. She changed pencils frequently, finding light and shadows. She caught his youth, something of a lost empathy in his eyes, and a world weariness he might not have expected. She also caught a bit of the handsome young Renaissance man. Or, perhaps, a rich kid adrift because he could probably be more than what the world seemed to expect of him. When she finished, she hesitated, looking at him.
“May I?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she told him.
He took the drawing and studied it for a long time. “Could I possibly have this?”
“Of course,” Jane told him.
“May I snap a phone pic of it?” Logan asked him. “It’s really excellent. I’d love to have it, too.”