Third Time's a Crime Read online

  The fresh air buffeted my face as I followed Dr. Arch outside. The sky was dark, covered with a full blackbird migration, swarms of them passing the castle. On the grassy area in front of the castle were literally hundreds of dead blackbirds, as if they had been steamrolled by an imaginary vehicle. Behind me, Scott and Karen Kenley emerged from the castle, followed by several more cast, crew, and cameramen.

  Scott laced his fingers through mine and pulled me back, away from the carnage. “Holy cow! This is terrible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The cameramen began to shoulder their equipment and film the disaster. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Cheryl jumping up and down. This would be gold in her promo.

  “What’s going on?” Karen, the FBI profiler, asked.

  “Blackbird migration,” Scott said.

  Growing up in the country, I knew that birds, or other animals, sensed things better than us humans. There was definitely something going on in our environment that was cause for alarm.

  “This is a bad omen,” Ashley, the paranormal docent, said.

  The priest, Father Gabriel, agreed. “Yes, a bad omen. A sign of evil.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Scott replied.

  “It’s not,” Father Gabriel insisted.

  The ghost hunter, Jack, laughed heartily. “Well, let’s see if we can figure out what’s happening here first.”

  Both men squared off against each other, glaring. I looked from one to the other, preparing to stop their quarrel.

  Scott put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from interfering. “Should we go back inside?” he asked. “They’ll probably need help clearing the birds out of there.”

  I hated to leave, but followed him back into the castle anyway, which despite the awful squawking of the trapped birds, seemed quiet relative to the pandemonium outside. We climbed the rickety stairs together.

  “What is it supposed to mean, do you think?” I asked Scott. “All those birds?”

  “I don’t know but it sure is creepy,” he admitted.

  “Definitely,” I said.

  We reached the second floor and darted past three birds that were flying down the hallway. Scott tore off his jacket and swatted at the birds matador-style to get them down the stairs and out the front door to freedom.

  “I think we’ll be clearing birds for days,” I said.

  No sooner were the words out of my mouth than another few birds flapped out of the library, one going for my dark hair as if I were a bush. I ducked, covering my head with my hands, as Scott batted it away from me. The other birds somehow found their way toward the open stairs and out of the castle.

  “O . . . men,” I said in an exaggerated way to Scott, who gave me his classic sideways grin.

  “If the spirits don’t get us, the birds will.”

  “Maybe Alfred Hitchcock is roaming these hallways,” I joked.

  Inside the library, the psychic, Bert, was still on his knees and the historian lady, Martha, was laid out flat on the floor. Only one crew member remained in the room and he was attending to Martha, fanning her and holding her wrist. Someone had propped a rolled-up jacket under her head.

  “Anyone called 911?” Scott asked.

  The crew member looked up. “Oh, that’s not necessary. She’ll come to in a minute,” he said. “Her pulse is strong.”

  The psychic startled when he heard us. He grabbed my arm. “Georgia, I had a vision of you.”

  “Of me?” I asked. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I pulled my arm out of his grip.

  “Yes,” he said dramatically. “You will have a visitor.” His face was grim as he said it. Even though I really don’t fancy myself a believer, goose bumps rose on my forearms.

  “What kind of visitor?” Scott asked.

  Before the psychic could reply, Cheryl bustled into the room.

  “What a scene outside. I’m glad we’ve captured everything,” she said, unable to contain the giddiness from her voice.

  Scott laughed. “Yeah. It’ll make a great promotion commercial. Right, Cheryl?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Oh!” She turned toward me. “I meant to tell you. Your father and Becca will be joining us for dinner tonight.”

  Relief flooded me. I looked at the psychic. “I guess that’s my visitor,” I said.

  Cheryl and my father had been dating since they first met on the reality TV set of Love or Money, where my father had joined me for moral support. Right now, Dad was in the middle of his harvest season, so he’d stayed behind to work. Ordinarily, Scott and I would have helped him with the harvest, but because of the production timeline, my best friend, Becca, had agreed to help him in our stead.

  “Who’s Becca?” Bert asked.

  “My assistant,” Cheryl said. “Speaking of which”—she poked the crew member attending the historian on the shoulder—“what’s going on here? Do we need a medic?”

  He shook his head. “No, she’s going to be fine. It’s just going to take a few minutes. I think I have some smelling salts in my kit. If you’ll stay with her, maybe I can get them.”

  Cheryl waved a hand, dismissing him. He bolted out of the room, but before he could return, the historian’s eyes fluttered open.

  She struggled to raise her head.

  I dropped to my knees and held her hand. “It’s all right,” I said. “You fainted. You’ll feel better in a moment.”

  She blinked rapidly. “The birds, the awful pounding. It was terrible, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. The migration was largely over now, but the wind howled through the broken window drowning out my words.

  The historian shivered.

  I patted her arm. “You have some time to rest. We’re done filming for the day and there’s going to be a crew dinner tonight.”

  Cheryl nodded. “Cast and crew dinner in about an hour. You all can take a break. I’m going to find some crew to clean the birds out of the castle.”

  I helped Martha to her feet. Scott took one arm and I took the other, and together we walked her down the precarious steps.

  Father Gabriel was on his way in from the outside. “Martha,” he said. “Are you all right now, dear?”

  “Yes,” she greeted him. “I don’t know what came over me. I found the whole thing rather frightful.” He took her from us and escorted her outside.

  “Some fresh air will do you good, darling,” he said, as they walked out together.

  Scott looked at me. “Well, I guess we got an hour to kill. What do you want to do? Walk around the castle?”

  “Heck, no.” I pushed the doors open to get us to the outside. “Let’s stay outside for a while, let the crew get rid of the birds on the inside.”

  He laced his fingers through mine. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  We walked toward the dead birds that littered the garden area. “Predators will come tonight,” I said.

  He laughed. “Predators of all kinds.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “This show is going to take a toll on me.”

  “We have a good chance of winning, though,” he said. “Think of that. Your dad can use the money to rebuild the farm and . . .” He hesitated.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  We’d been wanting to get the money so we could finally take our vacation together, hopefully get married, but since the accident, Scott hadn’t talked much about our relationship.

  He shrugged. “Nothing. I . . . Never mind.”

  Something about his demeanor bothered me. I knew it was tough on him after the mugging in Spain. He’d suffered a head injury and had even been in a coma for a week. Now at times, he couldn’t seem to recall mundane things, but worse there seemed to be a strange vibe between us, something I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  I suddenly felt the i
mpulse to rush into his arms, so I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his chest.

  He sighed.

  Sighing? Oh, that’s bad!

  Desperation flooded my heart. I wanted so much to turn the clock back, to go back to where we’d been before the accident. I squeezed his neck, moving my head from his chest and pressing my cheek against his, but he remained limp and listless in my arms.

  Dread snaked its way through my belly.

  Scott patted my back in an almost brotherly way that broke my heart, and stepped away.

  Before I could ask him what was wrong, Dr. Arch approached us.

  “Hey, you two lovebirds,” he said. “Are you ready for the gala event?”

  Scott smiled. “I don’t think it’s a gala. I think it’s sandwiches and salad,” he said.

  My stomach rumbled. Despite sandwiches and salad being a far cry from what the senora had fixed us in Spain during our last show, I was still eager to eat. “There could be soup, if we’re lucky. Shall we go help them set up?” I asked.

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Scott.

  The tables in the dining room were set buffet-style. There were deli meats—roast beef, ham, turkey—all on one platter and different types of cheeses on another. Sliced bread and rolls of all kinds were in baskets nearby with small bowls of condiments next to them. Green, Greek, and macaroni salad made up the last of the offerings.

  Scott stood next to me as he surveyed the sandwich fixings. “Not a bad spread,” he said.

  I nodded. I was hungry enough to be contented with cold cuts. “I don’t think there are a lot of restaurants in Golden. Cheryl must have had a hard time organizing a catering service.”

  He nodded absently in agreement as we assembled our sandwiches.

  I glanced toward the door to the dining room, eagerly awaiting my father and Becca. So far, they seemed to be at least an hour behind schedule.

  Cheryl approached us.

  “When are they getting here?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Gordon tried to call me a little earlier, but I missed his phone call,” she said.

  I reached into my back pocket to get my cell phone.

  “Ah,” Cheryl said, looking at me. “We’ll need to take everyone’s cell phone away tomorrow, so you better get whatever use out of it you can tonight.”

  “Why are you taking our cell phones?” I asked.

  She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Part of the game.”

  Scott glanced at me. “I have poor reception, in here anyway. You can have mine now.” He took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Cheryl.

  She waved a hand at him. “No, no. We’ll want to get you turning it in on camera.”

  Scott shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  “I’m having poor reception, too,” Cheryl admitted. “Do you think it has to do with the energy in the castle?” she asked, looking around.

  “You don’t believe any of that stuff, do you?” I asked her.

  “That it’s haunted?” She glanced around nervously. “Well, the birds this afternoon were rather frightening, weren’t they?”

  “There is something going on,” I said. “In the air, with the earth. They probably sensed something and wanted to do a mass migration out of the area. Believe me, I would join them if I could.”

  Cheryl shivered. “It’s freezing in here. We’re going to need to bring in some space heaters.”

  Several cast members behind me in the buffet line started to grumble. Cheryl waved at me, instructing me to finish loading up my plate, then scurried off. I took a piece of sliced provolone and put it on my sandwich and moved on. Scott followed suit.

  We found a quiet corner to sit in, but before we could have any kind of discussion, the ghost hunter, Jack, and his partner, the psychic, Bert, joined us.

  “Can we have a seat?” Bert asked.

  Scott opened the palm of his hand, indicating the chair in front of us. “Be my guest,” he said.

  They sat across from us. “This place is great,” Jack said. “I can’t wait to have at it tomorrow with my instruments. Tonight, I’ve set up my EMF by the door. We should see if we have any paranormal activity by morning.”

  “Is Cheryl allowing that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Why not? That’s what we’re here for. To discover what’s going on with this castle, discover the story of Jane.”

  “I thought we were here to make a TV show,” said Scott.

  Bert laughed. “Well that, too, but if we can figure out who killed Jane, all the better,” he said.

  From the adjoining room came some noise that startled most of the cast and crew who were eating. We all looked up expectantly to see my father and Becca enter the room. I jumped up and ran toward them.

  Dad was the first one to me, hugging me and lifting me into the air. “Georgia! How’s it going? Have you already solved the mystery?” he asked.

  I laughed, enjoying the closeness of my father and my best friend. “Not yet, but I certainly appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  Becca smiled. “Y’all have started filming, right? Bring us up to speed.”

  I led them over to the buffet table. Becca grabbed a paper plate and began piling sandwich fixings on it.

  “Oh, there’s plenty to tell,” I said. I turned to my dad. “Did you see the blackbirds?”

  He nodded. “Weather predictions say flooding in the area.”

  “Well, that explains it,” I said.

  California had suffered a drought for several years; now rain would pour in and flood the area. Mother Nature taking care of business.

  Jack overheard us. “No, no. Unexpected blackbird migration is definite proof of paranormal activity,” he said.

  Becca looked at me, a smile playing on her lips. “That’s what I heard.”

  I stifled a giggle.

  She squeezed her way between Bert and Jack and placed her paper plate on the table. Bert seemed to perk up at her presence.

  He offered a hand. “I’m Bert,” he said happily. “Robert, but you can call me Bert. Everybody does.”

  She smiled. “I’m Rebecca, but you can call me Becca. Everybody does.”

  Bert beamed. “So much in common already.”

  Scott pinched my knee and we refrained from giggling.

  Cheryl entered the room, followed by two crew members lugging some space heaters. She signaled to the far area for them to set them up, then joined us. She gave my father a chaste peck on the cheek. “Gordon, I’m glad you made it safely,” she said.

  He cleared a spot for her at our table and filled her water glass with a pitcher that was on it. Meanwhile, at the next table, I could overhear Father Gabriel chatting with his partner, Martha, who seemed fully recovered from her faint earlier in the day.

  At their table were Ashley, the castle docent, and Jessica, the grand niece to Jane.

  Father Gabriel said, “The castle should be cleared of evil spirits. I think tomorrow we should call on Saint Michael to help us.”

  “You don’t really believe the place is haunted, do you?” Ashley asked.

  Jessica quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, don’t you? I mean, you’re the paranormal docent.”

  “Well, I believe,” Ashley said, pressing a hand over her heart. “But so many people are skeptics.”

  Father Gabriel smiled at her. “I am not a skeptic, my dear. I am a man of faith.”

  Ashley’s cheeks flushed red. “Right, right. Of course. I just . . . I mean, the blackbird stuff. That isn’t proof of anything,” she said.

  At the next table, Dr. Arch sat with the FBI profiler, Karen Kenley. Their heads were huddled together in conversation. I wished I could overhear them.

  I leaned close to Scott and jutted my chin toward Dr. Arch and Karen Kenley. “What do you think they’re on abo
ut?”

  He looked over at their table and shrugged. “I don’t know, but I have to say I’d guess Dr. Arch is probably scheming something. He has that look about him.”

  Becca glanced over at their table. “Yeah, definitely. He’s up to something. You can tell by his body language.”

  Bert twisted around in his seat to look at Dr. Arch.

  “Any ideas, Bert? Are you a mind reader along with being psychic?” I teased.

  He turned back around to face us. “No, no. Not a mind reader. But I am intuitive.”

  I smiled. “Intuitive, huh? That sounds like the sensitive type,” I said, getting a kick out of how he colored.

  Suddenly his chin dropped and I immediately regretted teasing him.

  Had I embarrassed him?

  Becca waved a hand. “Oh, don’t listen to her. Georgia doesn’t know anything about sensitivity. She’s the furthest thing from it.”

  Now it was my turn to redden.

  Three

  Scott stiffened at Becca’s comment, and patted my knee, but it somehow felt a bit insincere.

  I stood. The entire table looked at me and I grew hot and uncomfortable. “I’m going to get some air.”

  Scott excused himself from the table and followed me. “Hey, wait up,” he said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  The serious expression on his face made my heart plummet into my stomach. I reached for his hand, only he wasn’t expecting it and our hands bumped awkwardly. Ordinarily, Scott would have made a joke about it and wrapped his arms around me, but tonight we both dropped our arms to our respective sides and walked out of the room together in silence.

  What was going on with him?

  Outside of the main dining area, the castle was frigid. There were drafts running throughout every room and passageway; the broken window in the prayer room only made matters worse.

  I shivered and said, “I think it’s warmer outside than it is inside.”

  Scott shuffled his feet next to me. “Yeah. This time of year, it’s like that in this area.”

  We walked outside. The grounds were enormous. We descended the back porch steps and went past the empty swimming pool onto the rolling grass. There was a large garden area surrounded by shrubbery and in the distance we could see planted vegetables, olive and grape groves, and wheat fields.