Free Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery by Juliet Blackwell

Sneak it into Elrich’s august library and add it to his collection of “worthy” works of literature? And ultimately, why did I care what Alicia thought of my reading habits? Whether I read a trashy novel or Camus in the original French, she still wouldn’t think much of me.
    For the moment I placed it on a small shelf, which, I noticed, held not a single book but instead a classy glass bowl full of shells, a framed decorative tile, and a couple of brightly painted ceramic vases.
    I checked the clock: time to meet with Ellis Elrich and his minions.
    I consulted the map and located the stairs leading down to the Discovery Room. I pushed through a heavy wooden door off the main foyer and began to descend. Though the door doubled as a fire block, it was well appointed, like everything else in the house, and closedbehind me with a muted
snick
. The house had been well insulated; when the thick doors were closed, hardly any sound escaped.
    The basement was as attractive as it could be, given that the only source of natural light was narrow slits near the ceiling. They brightened up the space a bit but did nothing to assuage the discomfort of a claustrophobe.
    Discreet brass plaques indicated an exercise room, sauna, and Jacuzzi were to the left and the Discovery Room was to the right.
    I turned right, wondering what I would discover.

Chapter Five
     
    T he Discovery Room was apparently named for the hand-painted frescoes that covered the four stucco walls. Each wall depicted a different theme of discovery: one was of Hernán Cortés encountering the Aztecs, another depicted Neil Armstrong walking on the moon, and I thought a third represented Madame Curie. I never did figure out what the fourth was, as my attention was diverted by the handful of men sitting around a gleaming mahogany conference table. In front of each place was a notepad—engraved with
Elrich Method
—and a pen, a glass of water, and a muffin. A beautiful floral centerpiece added freshness to the virtually windowless room.
    “Ah, here she is now. Mel, welcome. I’d like you to meet my chief financial officer, Vernon Dunn,” Ellis said as he gestured to a large, constipated-looking man in his sixties. “And I believe you know Florian Libole, at least by reputation.”
    Libole’s pencil-thin mustache and long gray hairreminded me of a musketeer, a connection I had the feeling he played up given his outfit of loose linen shirt and leather boots—not work boots, mind you, or motorcycle boots, but nice leather boots that hadn’t see a day of labor in their lives.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking their hands.
    “And these are two of the men you will be working with on-site, Tony Esparza and Jacek Miekisz. Tony has stepped in as foreman, and Jacek is our master stonemason, direct from Poland.”
    “How ya doin’?” Tony asked. He looked to be in his early thirties, a big guy with navy blue tribal tattooing not only on his hands and neck, but also on his face. Tony looked ill at ease, which I could understand. His boss had just been arrested for murder, and he’d been saddled with the lead on this project.
    Jacek looked dusty, as most stonemasons do, as though he had come to the meeting directly from his workshop. He also looked bored, and though he nodded politely, he said nothing.
    The sour Alicia sat in one corner, taking notes. She did not look up.
    “I am so thrilled that you’ve joined our team,” continued Elrich in a warm voice. “Now that you’re on the job, I feel confident we will be able to do justice to the reconstruction of Wakefield, keep all these people employed, and make our deadline.”
    “Which, uh, deadline is that?” I realized we might have skipped a few of the details when I dove headfirst into this project. I hadn’t made it all the way through the thick sheaf of papers in the manila envelope. Once I saw the size of Elrich’s check, I had been blinded by dollar signs.
    “Our grand opening is