Read Online Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery by Juliet Blackwell - Free Book Online Page A

What’s the deal with the protesters at the gate?”
    I would have thought it impossible, but her lips pressed together even tighter in disapproval.
    “Malcontents,” she said. “People who are unhappy with one very small aspect of Mr. Elrich’s Elrich Enterprises. He has nothing to do with it directly and has ordered the management to negotiate the matter with the employees, but the worst offenders have decided to bring their argument directly to his doorstep, so to speak.”
    She paused and fixed me with a look that indicated I should react.
    “Ah,” I said. In truth, I admired the protesters for taking their grievance to the top of the corporate ladder: Iimagined they’d get some results if Ellis Elrich himself picked up the phone and directed his managers to make a deal.
    “I suggest you come and go through the construction gate from now on. It is located on the lower level, closer to the building site.” Alicia ducked into the bathroom and flicked on the lights, her dispassionate eyes surveying the scene as though to be sure the toilet paper had been stocked.
    “Thanks. I will. So what’s with the costumes? Something about repatriation?”
    She turned toward me so fast I took a step back in surprise.
    “Costumes? What’s this about costumes?”
    “Um . . . I noticed one of the protesters wearing what appeared to be a costume: a kilt and a plaid tartan? Unless that’s what he wears every day. One person’s costume is another’s self-expression. Am I right?” I should know. “I mean, this is the Bay Area, after all.”
    Bright little flags of red painted Alicia’s cheeks, and she mumbled under her breath, something about “. . . foreign activists and local press . . .”
    “I’m sorry?” I asked for clarification.
    “Never mind. Some rabble-rouser from Scotland who is intent on halting the progress of the Wakefield Retreat Center.”
    From malcontents to rabble-rousers in just a few seconds? On top of a murder committed by a “hothead” the day before yesterday? Maybe Graham was right; maybe getting involved with this project was a bad idea. Maybe I should turn and flee back to Oakland. Surely if I shook enough trees, I could scare up a project or two in San Francisco, enough to keep my guys employed.
    But Elrich’s words rang in my head: What of PeteNolan’s men currently working on the project? Would they all be sent packing? Would Elrich bring in a crew from Europe to get this thing done, and would someone else get to work with Florian Libole, historic renovator extraordinaire?
    And . . . what was the story behind that weeping woman?
    “You’ll notice there are no TVs in the rooms. Mr. Elrich doesn’t believe in people sitting by themselves watching the programming dictated by the whims of Hollywood’s elite. However, there is a well-stocked library full of worthy books in the east wing and a large-screen television in the rec room for gatherings.”
    “Thanks. I’m not a big fan of television either.” Still, I hoped I didn’t sound as morally superior as Alicia here.
    “The renowned French chef Jean-Claude Villandry is in charge of the kitchen, which is strictly organic and locally sourced to the fullest extent possible. Do you have any special dietary demands? Gluten-free? Vegan? Religious concerns?”
    “I’m pretty much an equal-opportunity eater.”
    She nodded and made another notation on her clipboard. “If you consult your schedule, you’ll see that you have a meeting with Mr. Elrich in fifteen minutes.”
    I consulted my schedule. Yep, there it was: a meeting with Mr. Elrich in fifteen.
    “You might want to”—her eyes raked over me—“freshen up.”
    So much for good intentions; it was clear I didn’t measure up to whatever it was that Alicia wanted to see in a general contractor. Starting from having the gall to have ovaries. My admittedly weak attempts to win her over were clearly not working.
    “I’ll be there. Where’s the, uh”—I consulted