What a Ghoul Wants (10 page)

“The Grim Widow?” I repeated. “Is that what they call Lady Jane’s ghost?”

“It is,” Mr. Crunn confirmed. “After her husband’s death, the castle reverted to the
duke’s cousin, Sir William Mortimer, who preferred the south of France over cold,
drizzly Penbigh. He wanted nothing to do with Kidwellah or his cousin’s mad wife,
so she was left to terrorize the castle staff until they all but abandoned it. She
died in 1589, and in all probability she died of starvation as the remaining staff
eventually stopped feeding her after two members of their ranks were also found floating
in the moat.”

“If Lady Jane was suspected of killing people, especially the duke’s friends and family,
why didn’t any of the other nobles step in?” Gopher asked.

“Lady Jane had powerful friends,” Arthur told us. “She was a first cousin to Queen
Elizabeth, and they had played together as children. Elizabeth was the only person
able to keep Lady Jane calm and somewhat stable until Jane’s madness completely overtook
her.

“Before Jane was married to Sir Mortimer, Elizabeth spent some time in the Tower of
London, a courtesy granted to her by her sister, Queen Mary. It was Jane who convinced
her powerful father to support the effort to free Elizabeth, and Elizabeth never forgot
the kindness. Once she became queen, she all but looked the other way as Jane drowned
some of the lesser Welsh nobles. It helped that the Duke of Hereford lived to be a
very old man and suppressed any rumblings from the Welsh courts.”

I shivered again, remembering the sight of that awful-looking woman on the bridge
with that chain slinking its way from her to Merrick Brown. “Mr. Crunn,” I said, wondering
if he might know anything about why she would be keeping Merrick’s spirit captive,
“this morning when we took the constable back through that tunnel on our way to find
your sister and we first encountered the Grim Widow, she wasn’t alone.” He cocked
his head quizzically and I had second thoughts about telling him about Merrick. I
didn’t want to upset him all over again. “She had another person bound by a chain.
Do you know anything about that?”

Crunn opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment a whole troop of people came rushing
into the main hall, filling it with their giggles, catcalls, and loud voices. I turned
to watch them file in, taking note that there wasn’t an ugly person in the bunch.
Or a short one.

In all I counted at least a dozen model-looking types, both male and female. At the
back of the group was a stately-looking couple who appeared to be dripping with money.
They wore luxurious fabrics and walked with a distinct air of importance. Just in
front of them was a man who was so striking that for a moment my breath caught.

He was dark-haired with a goatee and thin mustache. His hair was jet-black with a
hint of gray around the temples, and his features were almost elfin. He was tall like
everyone else, but too old to be a model; at least that’s what I thought. And then
my suspicions were confirmed when I noticed the expensive digital camera around his
neck and another one in his hand.

I must have caught his eye, because his gaze fell on me, then casually away, but came
back again and this time it came with a smile. He then stopped midstride, raised his
camera, and took my picture. I was so startled by the move that for a moment I didn’t
know what to think.

“Ah, Arthur, there you are!” said the gray-haired man who was part of the couple that
seemed to be dripping with money. “Are you ready to give up your magnificent hall?”

Arthur moved away from us to go speak with the elegant man and his wife. Meanwhile,
next to me Gopher nudged my arm and motioned to the photographer. “That guy just took
your picture.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, still watching the man as he scrutinized the shot he’d just
taken in his viewfinder. He seemed to nod to himself and raised the camera again and
pointed at us, his finger clicking several more times before he lowered the lens to
study the images again.

“Now he’s taking
our
picture,” Gopher said.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?”

Gopher eyed me crossly. “Well, he is!”

“He’s a photographer, Goph. That’s what they do.”

“Yeah? Well, two can play at that game.” Before I knew it, Gopher had his smartphone
out and had started snapping photos of the photographer.

Seeing this, the gorgeous man laughed and walked over to us. “You must excuse me,”
he said with a distinct Scottish brogue. Extending his hand out to shake Gopher’s
hand, he added, “My name is Michel Keegan and I meant you no harm.”

Gopher lowered his camera so that he could shake Michel’s hand, but he appeared a
little flustered by the encounter.

I stifled a laugh and extended my own hand. “No harm done, Michel. I’m M. J. Holliday,
and this is Peter Gophner.”

The photographer gripped my palm and immediately placed his other hand over it. “Oh,
my, but you’re freezing, lass!”

“She fell into the moat,” Gopher told him.

We both looked oddly at him, and Gopher cleared his throat. “Well, she did. And so
did her boyfriend. Remember your
boyfriend
, M. J.?”

I felt my cheeks flush. Stupid Gopher. But Michel only smiled kindly at me and said,
“You fell into the moat? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Michel let go of my hand and stepped back. He raised his camera for a third time and
snapped again. “You have the most beautiful skin,” he said, lowering the camera to
show me the shot through the viewfinder.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat even more. I gave a cursory glance at
the image and my breath caught. My hair was an awful mess. I tugged at it self-consciously,
and Michel took notice. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “The wild look is all the
rage these days.”

“Michel!” someone called, and we all glanced up to see one of the male models pouting
at the photographer. “André says that we can go to lunch before the afternoon shoot.
Take me to lunch, okay?”

I barely caught the small sigh from Michel before he pushed a smile onto his handsome
features. “Of course, love. Be right with you.”

Inwardly I was surprised. My gaydar was almost as good as Gilley’s and I hadn’t caught
a hint of that from Michel. But after he excused himself and the other younger man
came to take up his hand, it was quite obvious the model was sweet on the photographer.

I glanced at some of the other young men chatting away in the hall. Not a straight
one in the bunch. Gilley was going to be in heaven. And that thought made me wonder
where he was. “You said Gil was still asleep when you came to the hospital?” I asked
Gopher.

“Yeah. I couldn’t get him to answer his phone or the door.”

I reached for Gopher’s wrist and turned it so that I could read the time on his watch.
“God, is it only noon?”

Gopher yawned. “I know, it feels more like midnight.”

The one thing about filming in all these foreign locations was that we were constantly
fighting jet lag. I saw Arthur scoot behind the counter and overheard him politely
refer to the elegant gentleman as Mr. Lefebvre. The name sounded familiar to me, and
then it hit me who he was: none other than the fabulous fashion designer André Lefebvre.
I even owned a pricey cocktail dress designed by him, but Gilley was the real fashion
horse. He loved the Lefebvre label.

It was clear that Lefebvre and Crunn were discussing the main hall as a setting, because
the designer kept holding his hands in a square, as if looking through a camera lens.
At last he seemed satisfied and Lefebvre motioned to his wife to follow him toward
the dining room, probably on their way to lunch, leaving his models to continue their
loud chitchat and gossip in the main hall.

I approached the desk, still needing to arrange a better room, when I heard a very
loud cry of alarm from somewhere up the stairs. The chatter in the main hall came
to an abrupt halt and we all turned our attention to the top of the stairs as another
high-pitched cry sounded.

I recognized that shriek and, in a panic, was about to bolt for the stairs when Gilley
suddenly burst into view and came dashing down the steps. “Taxi!” he cried. “I need
a taxi to take me to the hospital!”

Just behind him came John, and it was clear that John was trying hard to catch up
to Gil and calm him down.

All eyes in the main hall were still pinned on Gilley as he tripped and nearly tumbled
down the rest of the steps, but he caught himself in the nick of time by clutching
the railing and then he used his momentum to pull himself up and over the railing
to drop gracefully onto the stone like something out of a Jackie Chan movie. Gil was
wicked agile when he wasn’t busy stuffing his piehole. . . or complaining.

His acrobatics elicited a few gasps from the people in the hallway, but he hardly
noticed. Instead he set off like Usain Bolt, passing right by me. I even waved to
him, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. Instead, as he whizzed by, I saw him nod
slightly, but he didn’t stop or slow down.

So I waited as he sped across the wide hall and through the main door. I then smirked
sideways at Gopher—who was watching slack-jawed—and I held up three fingers, beginning
to count them down. “Three. . . two. . . one. . .”

“M. J.!”
Gil shouted, appearing again in the doorway.
“You’re alive!”

I opened my arms wide and Gilley sprinted straight at me, crashing into me with such
force that we both nearly went down. “John said you nearly drowned in the moat!”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Gil’s enthusiastic display of affection did a lot to
set me back to rights. “Well, Gil, I—”

“Who’re these people?” Gil suddenly asked, picking his head up to look around. I could
see his gaze home in on the cluster of beautiful men standing nearby, now eyeing him
with keen interest.

Gil let go of me in a snap and stepped toward them. “Why, hello there,” he said casually.

In short order Gilley was surrounded and I knew I’d lost him for at least the rest
of the afternoon. John, who’d made it down the stairs and over to us, stepped up to
Gopher and me and apologized. “Gopher called me from the hospital and it took me until
just a few minutes ago to wake Gil up. The minute I started to explain where you were
and what’d happened, he flew out of his room like a crazy person and I didn’t have
the chance to tell him you guys were okay.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, John,” I assured him. “Gil wouldn’t have
listened anyway. He’s the type to panic first, think second.”

“Miss Holliday?” said a voice behind us. I turned to see Arthur hold a key out for
me. “I’ve given you another room assignment. Your previously assigned room was apparently
given to Mr. Gillespie, and we only have one of the smaller rooms available for you
and Mr. Whitefeather on the second floor. As soon as there is a vacancy in one of
the suites, I’ll offer it to you at no additional charge.”

I took the key gratefully and was about to thank him when someone came up behind me,
pushing slightly at my back to get me to move, and said, “Crunn! What’s this about
a death here at Kidwellah this morning?”

I turned to see a bloated man with a bright red face and bushy mustache pushing his
way next to me to demand information from Mr. Crunn. I gave him a dark look, as I
have little patience for rude people, which he completely ignored. Beside him, however,
a mousy-looking woman met my eyes shyly, and she blushed. I could tell her husband’s
brutish behavior was an embarrassment to her.

For his part Mr. Crunn looked terribly caught off guard as the entire crowd of people
fell silent a second time and focused on him. I felt bad for him as he stammered out
apologies for the fact that his own clerk had drowned in the moat. The overbearing
man acted as if it were somehow Crunn’s fault, and in any other circumstance I would
have gotten in middle of the discussion and told the man to piss off, but I wasn’t
up to verbally sparring with anyone else that afternoon.

I did, however, insert myself between Mr. Crunn and the ass causing a scene and glared
hard at him until he backed off a little. Then I motioned to Gopher and John to come
away from the counter. Just as we all walked away, Gopher’s phone rang. He looked
at the display and frowned. “It’s Chris,” he said. Chris Weller was Gopher’s boss
(which technically made him our boss too). He was part of the network brass who were
constantly hounding us for better footage. Gopher turned away as he answered the phone.
I knew he’d be stuck talking to Chris for a while.

“Is Heath still at the hospital?” John asked.

“He is,” I told him, moving wearily to the stairs. I really wanted to take another
nap, but I was anxious about retrieving my stuff and Heath’s belongings from our old
room. If my phone, passport, and other identification weren’t all still there, I would’ve
left my clothes and bought new ones, but replacing that stuff was beyond a pain in
the neck. I’d have to brave going back to that room. Still, venturing through those
hallways to retrieve our personal items wasn’t something I wanted to do alone.

“Can I do anything for you, M. J.?” John asked while I considered my options.

I smiled at him. “Actually, you can. I have to get my stuff and Heath’s from our old
room. It’s in the south wing of the castle and I don’t want to go back there by myself.
Would you come with me?”

John eyed me curiously. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you were scared or
something, M. J.”

“Oh, trust me, buddy, I’m terrified. That wing is wicked haunted.”

John stopped in his tracks. “Do we need spikes?”

“Most definitely.”

* * *

We went to John’s room to gather up some magnetic spikes and I also stopped by the
room that Arthur had assigned to me. I found it much cozier, and even though he had
suggested the room would be small, it was still bigger than the old one. Plus, it
had its own bathroom, so I wasn’t about to complain.