Shadow of Reality

The Shadow of Reality

By

Donna Fletcher Crow

Electronic Edition Copyright ©2010 by Donna Fletcher Crow

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. this ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

Original Copyright © 1992 by Donna Fletcher Crow. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Scripture quotations are taken from
The
New English Bible
, copyright © 1970, Oxford University Press, Cambridge University Press; or from the
Holy Bible
, King James Version.

StoneHouse Ink

Nampa, Idaho 83686

www.TheStonePublishingHouse.com

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Originally released as Castle of Dreams.

First Paperback Edition: 1992

First Hardback Edition: 1992

Second Paperback Edition: 2010

First E-book Edition: 2010

ISBN 978-0-9827705-2-8

Cover design by Andrew Garcia

StoneHouse Ink

Published in the United States of America.

Dedication

For fellow mystery fans, Gaymon and Evelyn Bennett “Old friends are best.”

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Erwin Sonnenberg, Ada County Coroner; Bob Mack, Detective, Boise Police Department; Rick Groff, Manager, State Criminalistics Lab; and Bob Martin, Forensic Toxicologist.

The Knowing

Between the dream and the reality,

from the coming of the light

to the falling of the dark,

from the openness of the truth

to the hiddenness of the lie,

there lurks the question.

Between the dream and the reality,

from the dawning of the day

to the closing of the night,

from the glory of the cross

to the depth of the pit,

there falls the shadow.

Between the dream and the reality,

from the clarity of waking

to the oblivion of sleeping,

from the doubt of the question

to the certainty of the knowing,

there cuts the truth.

And the truth shall make you free.

The Cast

At the Eyrie

Elizabeth Allerton

Richard Spenser

Sir Gavin Kendall

Irene North

Benton North

Helen Johnson

Bill Johnson

Cathy Johnson

Evan Johnson

Anita Crocker

Weldon Stark

Dr. Pearsall

Mr. Hamlin

Charles Parkerson

In “Death By Candlelight”

Sir Linden Leigh, mystery writer

Gloria Glitz, glamorous actress

Nigel Cass, theatrical agent

Brian Rielly, international playboy

Suzanna Sweetly, supporting actress

Millie Maeda, maid to Miss Glitz

Scott of the Yard, detective

Prologue

February, 1990

“No, Richard, I won’t marry you.” Elizabeth Allerton laughed and shook her head. “You are my best friend in the world. I am thankful for our friendship every day of my life, and I want it to stay that way—friends.”

“I didn’t suppose you would, but it seemed worth a try.” Richard Spenser dropped an exam paper back onto the stack on his desk.

“I know, you hadn’t asked me yet this week…”

“That’s right, and here you were, asking a favor of me—I might never have you at so vulnerable a point again.”

“Richard, I’m not asking a favor.” Elizabeth brandished an exclusive mail-order catalog. “I’m urging this for your sake. Think of it as professional development. Being
the
recognized authority on Sayers’ Dante, drama, and theology still only makes you half a man. You need rounding out.”

“And attending this mystery-week caper will do the rounding?” He pulled off his reading glasses and dropped them on top of the stack of papers he was grading.

“It’s a start. It’ll give you a feel for the whole whodunit thing.”

He shook his head. “I knew you should never have added that course on mystery writing to the curriculum—even if I do have to admit you were a sellout.”

She smiled, brushing back her short dark hair. “Nice to hear you admit it. But now, look. Concentrate on what I’m saying.” She shoved the magazine under his nose. “Sir Gavin Kendall is going to be there. How can you possibly turn down an opportunity like this? Why, he’s practically your opposite number—”

“Opposite number?” Richard looked at her dubiously.

“You really are hopeless.” She threw up her hands. “Opposite number—like in a spy movie—the foreign agent whose work corresponds to yours.”

Richard picked up a red pencil. “Your references are obtuse, Dr. Allerton. I don’t read Sayers' mysteries and I don’t read Le Carré‚ spy thrillers.”

“That’s precisely my point. Sir Gavin is the expert on Sayers’ mysteries and that whole period. All of his books are written in Sayers’ style, and he’s writing a biography of Lord Peter Wimsey. Think of the opportunity—why, even if you went to England to interview Sir Gavin you’d only get a few hours of his time. Here he’s going to be just eighty miles from us in the Rockies, and you could have an entire
week
to talk to him. Besides—,” she gave her argument all she had, knowing Richard’s patience for listening would soon wear thin—“the whole week is role-played as if it were 1933 on an English country estate. So you see, you wouldn’t have to read the books. You could
experience
them…and it comes right at spring break time…and—”

Richard took the catalog from her hand and turned it over. “November? This thing’s four months old—the reservations will have been gone long ago. Why are you pestering me with a Christmas item?”

“Well, I got a little behind in my catalog reading with the holidays and all, but the timing is probably perfect. They’ve undoubtedly had cancellations by now, so we’ll be able to get in.”

Richard gave a chuckle, deep in his throat, and shook his head. “I always knew your passion for catalogs would come to no good.” He replaced his glasses and picked up an unmarked exam paper. “In light of the fact that we’re four months late, I think I’m safe enough to agree to try.”

Knowing she’d won, Elizabeth slipped from the office, victory shining in her dark eyes. Of course, as head of the English department at Rocky Mountain College, the small interfaith liberal arts college where the two of them comprised the entire full-time English department, she could simply have ordered Dr. Spenser to attend. She wouldn’t do that, though. She far preferred to keep their relationship on the friendly basis that it had been ever since he joined the faculty three years ago. She enjoyed their friendship and their good-natured bantering. And she truly did have the deepest respect for his scholarship.

Dr. Richard Spenser's articles on many of the greats of English literature were widely published in scholarly journals, while her own work tended to the more popular, such as a well-received recent article in Mystery Magazine.  Although she was an extremely efficient administrator and had been at Rocky Mountain College ever since completing her Ph.D. five years ago, she realized that Dr. Spenser was more than her match intellectually. Thankfully, that fact never interfered with their working relationship.

Nor had it affected their friendship. Elizabeth knew Richard understood their friendship and that his proposals were more out of habit than anything else. That was why she always laughed at them.

Actually, though, if she were to be completely honest, Elizabeth would have to admit that she felt secretly flattered when he proposed—he
was
a most eligible bachelor: intelligent, well established, stable, a man of strong faith. . . Probably too strong, if she were to be entirely candid. After all, Rocky Mountain was endowed by an open-minded, forward-thinking corporation that stressed the importance of faith as an underpinning of a well-rounded education, but left the specifics to the individual whether student or faculty member.

The fact of the matter was, it was precisely those fine qualities of Richard's that worried her because she didn’t want to hurt him. And sometimes she thought he might really mean his proposals—he said he did. But no matter how much she enjoyed working with him, no matter how much she respected his scholarship and high moral character or valued the pleasure they took in many of the same things, she could never marry a man who was so basically boring. Pity, too, because he was awfully good-looking—in a quiet, tweedy sort of way. What with his strong cheek bones, thick brown hair, and gentle humorous eyes, he had plenty of female students vying for front row seats in his classes…

She picked up the phone and punched out the toll-free number for catalog orders.

Chapter 1

Monday, March 12, 1990/1934

Little rivulets of melted snow were rushing everywhere down the hillside, and here and there among the patches of tender spring grass, early snowdrops, wild crocus, and Grecian windflowers were blooming on the lower slopes of the mountain. As she and Richard drove through the tiny village of Hidden Glenn and headed north into the Rockies, Elizabeth suddenly felt the thrill of the adventure ahead of them—a whole week away from books and papers and students. A whole week at a beautiful mountain resort playing a sophisticated game in the style of her favorite reading. She clasped her hands and took a deep, happy breath.

Richard looked at her with a small smile. “I’ll have to confess to some sense of anticipation about all this, too. Tempered by my former doubts, you understand.”

Elizabeth couldn't always tell for sure when Richard was teasing her in his understated way, but she thought this was one of them. Before she could figure out how to reply, he went on. “You did take care of the costume bit, didn’t you?”

“What do you think that enormous clothes bag was that you put in the trunk? The body for the mystery? I even paid the rental deposit out of my own pocket—but don’t worry, I’ll get you back later.”

“I suppose it’ll be all right. Of course, the brochure said daytime costumes were optional.” He hesitated as if giving her a chance to assent to the idea of dispensing with the dressing up.

“Don't even think it! I even plan to change for afternoon tea.” Her voice held a determined ring that evoked a smile of capitulation from her companion.

He shook his head and guided the car around a sharp bend in the narrow, stone-edged road. “I never did know you to do anything by halves, Dr. Allerton. What did you get for me, a deerstalker and an Inverness cape?”

“Shows how much you know, Dr. Spenser. Sherlock Holmes was
Victorian
. I got ascots to go with your tweed jacket and blazer for daytime and very, very formal wear for evening—real Fred Astaire.”

“Yes, well—” Whatever comment he had been planning to make about her wardrobe schemes was interrupted by their arrival at the gateway to Eyrie House. They were still at the base of the mountain, two and a half miles from the mansion-cum-hotel that was their destination, but they had to stop and be checked in here. “Registered Guests Only Beyond This Point,” the sign said. The guard found their names on the list and waved them on. “Have a nice week.”

Although they were nearly above the timberline, a few pines grew on the sheltered side of the mountain and clumps of Colorado aspen were nearing bud. “In another month everything will be green.” Elizabeth looked around her with satisfaction. “But right now I like the bare branches, a bit of starkness adds to the sense of mystery.” Shadows from the bare trees fell across the narrow road like zebra stripes on a UPC code.

Another bend in the road and they were driving between massive granite outcroppings. “It’s like driving through a rock quarry,” Richard mused.

Five minutes on, past the rocks, Richard pointed almost straight up. “There it is.”

The turrets, towers, and jutting angles of the stone castle sat on the top of the mountain like something straight out of a fantasy. “No wonder they named it Eyrie House,” Elizabeth said. “Only an eagle could nest there.” She shivered. “What a place for a mystery.
Brrrrr,
shades of ‘Night on Bald Mountain.’”

As if on cue, a clap of thunder shook the ground.

“Mmm, that was close,” Richard said. “Looks like we may be in for one of our famous, quick-gathering cloudbursts.”

Elizabeth looked at the dark clouds gathering in the evening sky, then back to the mountain top fortress. “How did a castle get there?”

Richard smiled his slow smile. “I thought you were the expert on this venture.”

“As I tell my students all the time—best way to learn things is to ask questions. Besides, you’re the native Coloradan.”

“True. Well, the original part was built before the turn of the century by a New York banker and railroad magnate who wanted to move west and needed an enticement to get his society wife to go with him.”

“Did it work?”

“Oh, she moved with him all right, but she didn’t stay long. Too, too boring. And the servant problem, my dear.”

“What a shame, after he did all that for her. She must not have really loved him.”