“A pleasure, and welcome to the village. Everyone comes to Dublin—it’s nice you’ve come further,” Kirkland said. “We do get a fair amount of visitors now, because of the castle. We’d have more—if the Karney family allowed for a themed nightclub or something of the like. I’m afraid they’re a wee bit too filled with Karney pride—nothing that might mar their great history. It is wonderful history in a land invaded one time too many. Ah, forgive me, one of you is a relative, right?”
Devin explained her family connection and Kirkland told them, “How fine! Well, as I was saying, we’re on the map now—what with the castle being a select destination these years. But, still, the castle, she has only ten rooms for let, and it’s the tourist eager to learn history who comes rather than the tourist longing for a few nights at the Temple Bar pub section in Dublin. Spicing it up to current times might help, don’t you think?”
He didn’t really want an answer—he seemed to assume that since they were Americans, they naturally agreed.
“We do get the tourist eager to see a ghostie or two. Naturally, all is booked now,” he added. “Everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day, eh? Used to be, we were more solemn here—honoring a saint in a religious manner. But, we’ve taken note from our American cousins and we’re all festive these days—does a lot for tourist dollars.”
“Aw, well, Dr. Kirkland, the estimate is that thirty-five million Americans are mainly of Irish descent—and that worldwide, it’s eighty million. That’s a lot of people who really are Irish in a way,” Devin told him.
“Yes, you’re right. Everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day,” Kirkland said.
“Do you know of anyone who would have wished ill for Collum Karney?” Devin asked.
“Wished ill?” Kirkland said.
“Wanted him dead,” Rocky said flatly.
“Why would anyone? He was a fine fellow—beloved by employees and visitors. Many came back year after year—not just for the castle, but because Collum and Brendan made sure that each stay was like coming home,” Kirkland said.
“I imagine the castle is worth a small fortune,” Rocky said.
“The property, the castle…yes. But after Collum there would be Brendan to inherit—and after Brendan, Seamus, then Kelly. Then there are still two cousins!” Kirkland said.
“That would be a lot of heart attacks,” Devin murmured.
“And if they all died, the property would go to the Irish Republic,” Kirkland told them. “There’s no reason for any living soul to have killed the man,” he finished and then added quickly, “If you don’t mind, we’re a small village, but I am the only doctor ’til one reaches the outskirts of Dublin.”
“Of course, of course, and thank you,” Rocky told him.
“What do you think?” Devin asked Rocky after they bid Dr. Kirkland—and his sour receptionist—good-bye.
“I think there should have been an autopsy,” Rocky said.
“But, do you think that Collum was frightened to death?”
“Not by any howling of the wind or banshee wail,” Rocky said. “But—we both heard that noise last night. It did rip right through the castle. And I do believe that Brendan might have died last night—except that we disrupted the killer’s plan by heading to his room.”
“But how—or by who?” Devin asked. “And since there are more people to inherit and the property would just go to the state, why would anyone kill him?”
“Maybe someone is more eager to sell than Brendan?”
“Not Seamus—not Kelly!” Devin said with certainty.
“If we want certainty, we need an autopsy,” Rocky said.
“We’ll have to ask Brendan and Seamus and Kelly,” Devin murmured. “And—wow. Digging up a loved one. Of course, we’ll have to have county authority.”
“It can be done. I wouldn’t want the autopsy here. Not unless we get Kat in,” Rocky said thoughtfully.
He was referring to Special Agent Kat Sokolov, Krewe member and medical examiner. Devin wasn’t sure where Kat was assigned now, if she was in the Virginia Krewe offices or out on a case. But the idea appealed to her. Kat’s significant other was Will Chan—one time magician, photographer, and computer genius—now a Krewe member, too.
“Tricky,” Devin noted. “We’re going to have to convince someone to dig up a dead man a reputable doctor signed off on as far as the death certificate—and convince him that we should have an American FBI doctor in to make sure it was all done right.”
“Life, my love, is tricky!” he reminded her. He paused in the street, staring down at her, and she suddenly wished that they had come for nothing more than their honeymoon. The Village of Karney was charming and beautiful. She could easily see forgetting what they did—and doing nothing but taking hikes up the cliffs, shopping in the quaint stores, enjoying a romantic meal or two in one of the small and intimate restaurants—and, of course, spending hours in the canopied master bed or giant claw-foot tub.
“Do you want to visit the sheriff?” Devin asked.
He smiled.
Devin’s mind was on business.