“There’s no helping him,” Archie said. “I served in the Persian Gulf War. I know a dead man when I see one.”

He strode forward, his long legs eating up the hallway as his boot heels thumped against the stone floor. We passed the dining room that was still being set up, and then past several more rooms before he stopped in front of a small office. The castle caretaker didn’t bother to knock but pushed open the door and went in.

“Jenkins,” he barked. “We have a situation.”

The butler, Mr. Jenkins, was standing in front of a small mirror while removing the lint from his black suit with a brush.

“What is it, Carlton?” Jenkins put the brush down and turned away from the mirror.

“It’s the curse,” Carlton said. “It’s happened.”

“What’s happened?” Jenkins asked.

“The curse of the McKenna bride,” Carlton explained. His voice was tight and I realized the burly Scotsman was actually nervous. “The groom is dead.”

“What?” Jenkins blinked, uncomprehending.

We needed to get this moving. I stepped forward. “We’re mostly certain that he’s dead, but if you could call an ambulance, that would be great.”

“Ambulance?”

“Aye, the McKenna bride has taken him, but I suppose we’ll need medical personnel to confirm,” Carlton said.

“What are you talking about?” Jenkins was looking extremely frustrated.

“I found Dooney Portis on the floor of the library a few minutes ago,” I said. “He was unconscious. I’m afraid . . .” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t say it.

“Dooney Portis is dead?” Jenkins asked. He sounded shocked. “Of the May-Portis wedding, that groom? You’re certain?” His body went rigid. I wondered if he was going to have a fit or apoplexy or something even more dramatic that I was unprepared to deal with after finding a dead groom in the library.

“Aye,” Archie said. “And the miss here is right. We need an ambulance or an undertaker or something.”

“Of course,” Jenkins said. He took out his phone and began to scroll through numbers. He strode out the door and down the hallway, clearly expecting us to follow. Carlton shrugged at me and we fell in behind the butler.

I had a brief moment of panic that what I’d seen hadn’t been real. That we’d get back to the library and find Dooney drinking a scotch and sitting in front of the fire with a book. Hmm. That seemed unlikely as Dooney hadn’t struck me as much of a reader, but still, if he was up and awake, I was going to feel like an idiot. I really hoped I would feel like an idiot.