5 The Murders at Astaire Castle Page 14

  “I’m going with David.” Chelsea shoved Mac out of the way to run to the ambulance where they were loading David into the back. Molly jumped out of the open window to go with her. When Gnarly tried to follow, Archie blocked the window with her body to stop him.

  Mac climbed into the driver’s seat of David’s cruiser.

  “Hold on, Mac.” Bogie grabbed the door to stop Mac from closing it.

  “Don’t tell me that I’m not authorized to question a murder suspect, Bogie,” Mac said. “I’m on contract with the Spencer police department. This is an attempted homicide. So I’m allowed to question Hollister. As for not putting him through a wall, I know how to control myself. If you want to monitor me, Bogie, then you’re more than welcome to come along. The question is, who’s going to stop you from putting Hollister through a wall.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” Bogie said.

  “Then what?”

  “I was going to tell you go home and get dressed,” Bogie said. “Hollister might respect your authority more if you were wearing pants.”

  Back at Spencer Manor, Mac changed into a sports jacket over slacks. As Bogie had pointed out, he wanted to exude authority when trying to capture whoever it was that tried to kill David.

  When he came out of his changing room, Mac found Archie sitting on the edge of the bed. Gnarly was lying on the bed with his head in her lap. There were tears in her eyes while she stroked Gnarly’s head.

  “Hey,” Mac said in a gentle tone.

  Aware of his presence, Archie wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Gnarly sat up.

  Mac knelt in front of her. “David’s going to be fine. He’s a fighter.”

  She forced a smile to cross her face. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

  “I know it,” he said. “I’ve worked with people like David my whole life. They don’t go down that easy.”

  “Someone tried to kill him.” She squinted at him. “David. Your brother. My friend. Our friend. Why?”

  “Like Bogie said,” Mac shrugged, “David’s put a lot of bad guys away. Whichever one it is, we’re going to get him.”

  Archie grasped his shoulder. “I want to be there when you do.”

  “Hey, Mac!” Bogie called from downstairs where he had let himself in after getting his officers working on the scene of the shooting.

  Mac and Archie followed Gnarly down the stairs. Mac sucked in a deep breath when he saw Bogie holding his cell phone. He had just taken a call. “Any news on David?”

  “Chelsea called from the hospital,” Bogie said. “One of the nurses told her that David wasn’t hit twice. It was a through and through. The bullet went in at the front of his waist on the left side and went out the back. Five bullets are missing from David’s gun.”

  “Chelsea heard seven shots,” Archie said.

  “Shooter shot twice,” Bogie said. “One went through the chief, so it’s still out there. That’s two slugs from the perp’s gun that we need to find. Our people will be looking for them while I’m with you, Mac. I’ve got to make sure you don’t kill our chief suspect.”

  “Would I do that?” Mac asked.

  “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t,” Bogie replied.

  Hector Langford and Jeff Ingles were waiting for Mac and Bogie in the lobby of the Spencer Inn. Their greeting was brief before Jeff asked about David’s condition.

  “Still no word,” Mac said. “What room is Hollister in?”

  “Four-eleven,” Hector said. “I’ve had my people doubling their surveillance of Hollister ever since you called.” He escorted them to the elevator. “According to his registration, he was driving a rental car, a silver Cutlass.”

  Mac smirked over at Bogie. “It’s him.”

  “Now don’t do anything rash,” Jeff warned Mac. “The guests get upset when you beat up fellow guests.”

  The elevator doors opened. Mac and Bogie stepped onto the elevator while Jeff held the door for them.

  “The car isn’t in the garage.” Hector stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the floor. “But Hollister is in his room. I’d like to think we would have noticed if he had left the Inn since we were keeping an eye on him.”

  “He couldn’t exactly drive it into the garage all shot up,” Bogie said. “He could have ditched it down the road and walked in a side entrance.”

  “We’re checking the security footage now,” Hector said. “Room service delivered breakfast to him twenty minutes ago.”

  Jeff’s tone was pleading. “Mac, please don’t go in there like a bad-ass and shoot up our guest. It’s not good for the Inn’s reputation when people staying here get killed by the owner.”

  “Am I allowed to shoot back if he shoots first?” Mac asked.

  “How about if you fire a warning shot first?”

  “Warning shot?” Mac chuckled. “Do you have any idea how expensive bullets are nowadays? I don’t fire warning shots. In my book, murderers aren’t worth the cost of wasted bullets.”

  Raymond Hollister was wearing his bathrobe when he answered the door. Recognizing Deputy Chief Art Bogart from years before, the silver-haired businessman stood up tall and stuck out his chest. He sucked in his lips to form a thin straight line. “Why do I have a feeling this isn’t a social visit?”

  “It’s not,” Bogie said. “May we come in? We have a few questions.”

  Raymond Hollister made no move to invite them inside. “Your police chief questioned me yesterday. I told him that I would come by the station this morning with the name of his killer. Obviously, you bunch of incompetents are too impatient to give me a chance to get dressed.” He tightened up the belt to his robe.

  ”Attempted murder has a detrimental effect on a man’s patience,” Mac said.

  “Attempted murder?”

  “Someone shot Chief O’Callaghan this morning,” Bogie said. “That’s what we want to talk to you about.”

  Hollister opened the door wider and stepped back into his room. They followed him inside. Hector closed the door behind him.

  “I’ve been here in my room since I spoke to O’Callaghan yesterday.” Raymond Hollister sat down at the table where he had been eating his breakfast of three eggs over easy, pancakes, and bacon, plus a tall glass of tomato juice that stood half-empty. “You can ask around. It isn’t like there’s a lot to do in this boring little resort town.” He resumed shoveling hungry forkfuls of egg into his mouth. “Besides, why would I want to kill Chief O’Callaghan?” he asked with his mouth full.

  “You tell us,” Mac said. “You did threaten him yesterday.”

  “I did not,” Hollister scoffed.

  “Yes, you did.” Tempted to grab the man by the front of his bathrobe, Mac stood over him. “I was there and saw you.”

  “Clearly, that was a misunderstanding.” He drained the glass of tomato juice and wiped his mouth with a napkin before continuing. “Why would I want to kill the man who had the power to arrest the person who murdered my most successful author?”

  Jeff gently pushed Mac away from the guest. “First of all, I would like to say that we are very sorry for any inconvenience we’re causing you by this interrogation. I only hope you understand how important any information you can supply us can be. If you didn’t try to kill Chief O’Callaghan, which I really don’t think you did, maybe you know who did.”

  With a forkful of eggs poised to toss into his mouth, Hollister said, “Probably the same person who killed Damian Wagner.” He shoved the eggs into his mouth. After withdrawing the fork, he used it to attack the pancakes.

  “Care to share this person’s name with us?” Mac asked with a sarcastic tone.

  “Of course,” Raymond Hollister said with a choked voice.

  “Who?” Bogie asked.

  Ra
ymond continued to cough. His face turned red while he tried to form words.

  “He’s choking!” Jeff yelled.

  “On eggs?” Mac asked.

  Hector grabbed Hollister in a bear hug and tried to apply the Heimlich maneuver with no success. In seconds, Raymond Hollister turned blue and collapsed to the floor.

  Bogie and Hector laid him on the floor while Jeff dialed for emergency. “We need an ambulance at—”

  “He’s dead!” Bogie announced.

  “Maybe it was a heart attack,” Hector said.

  “I don’t think so,” Mac said.

  “Has the world gone mad?” Jeff yelled while holding his cell phone up. “No, we have a dead body up here in four-eleven—not the parking garage.”

  “Parking garage?” Mac turned from the dead man on the floor to Jeff, whose eyes were huge. His face was drenched in sweat. “What is it?”

  “The emergency operator said that they’re already sending an emergency unit here to the Spencer Inn to answer a call for a dead body found in the parking garage.”

  The cell phone on Hector’s hip rang. While they all watched, he answered it. “Hello,” he asked in a hesitant tone. “Yeah, I know. Any idea who… I’ll be right there.” He hung up.

  “Two deaths here at the Inn?” Bogie asked.

  Hector nodded his head. “Our people found her while searching for the car. Her body was hidden in a maintenance closet—looks like she was strangled. Her clothes, hotel ID and security pass were all missing.”

  Mac looked over the uneaten food on the table. “How much do you want to bet that our shooter killed her to steal her clothes and ID to get access to Hollister’s breakfast to murder him?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Jeff, you were there,” Mac reminded the hotel manager. “I didn’t touch him. Even when he was dying, I never laid a hand on Hollister. So this wasn’t my fault.”

  “No, Mac.” Jeff patted him on the arm. “I know it’s not your fault.”

  Relieved that Jeff didn’t blame him for Raymond Hollister’s death and the resulting chaos at the resort, Mac grinned.

  “It’s your karma.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Jeff wiped his face with his sweat-soaked handkerchief. He eyed a media van that cruised by the front entrance. “You inherited it from Robin Spencer. It’s in your DNA. Wherever you go, trouble follows.”

  They watched a string of crime scene investigators, clad in jackets with FORENSICS emblazoned across the back, gather in front of the elevators. Bewildered-looking guests stepped off the elevator before half of the group stepped on to go up. The rest boarded the next elevator to go down to the garage.

  Jeff sighed deeply. “If you’ll excuse me, Mac, I need to go call my therapist.” With a dazed look in his eyes, he went back to his office.

  From the opposite hallway leading back to the security offices, Hector came jogging out. By the bounce in the security manager’s step, Mac could see that he had good news. “We got the bitch’s picture,” Hector said. “One of the security cameras on Hollister’s floor picked her up getting off the elevator with the room service cart, and then another camera picked her up wearing Sue’s uniform after using her access card to enter the employee section of the Inn.”

  “I want to see it.” Mac checked the time on the clock over the registration desk. It was quarter after eight o’clock. “What time did she take breakfast up to Hollister?”

  “Forty-two minutes ago,” Hector said. “It’s optimistic to think so, but I sent out the picture to all of our security people’s phones. They’re searching the Inn, out-buildings and grounds. Maybe we’ll get lucky. I sent her picture to your phone, too.”

  Mac took his cell phone off his belt to check the picture. She was a plain looking woman with short dark blonde hair. Her features were thin, almost gaunt looking.

  Seeing the cell phone in his hand, Mac was reminded of something Raymond Hollister had said the day before—a reason why he wanted to wait before telling them the name of the killer. Mac studied the face of Hollister’s killer without seeing it.

  Noticing the blank expression on Mac’s face, Hector asked, “What is it? Do you know her?”

  “Hollister told us he had to make a phone call,” Mac said. “Yesterday, when David and I questioned him, he told us that he would make a couple of phone calls and then he would give us the name of our killer. That’s why he was killed.” He turned toward the elevator. “We need to check his phone records to find out who he called after talking to us.”

  The elevator doors opened and Bogie stepped out. “What’s the saying? Everything happens in three?”

  “We’ve had our three and then some,” Hector said.

  “Not today,” Bogie replied.

  “Yes, we did.” Mac ticked off on his fingers. “David was shot. One of my servers was murdered and Hollister was poisoned.”

  “I was counting the server and Hollister as one,” Bogie said, “since the killer took her out to get to Hollister.”

  “A murder two-fer?” Mac asked. “I hope the jury that convicts our killer doesn’t see it as that because I don’t, and I don’t think Sue’s family will see it that way either.”

  They paused to listen to the increasing sound of the fire engine sirens approaching the Spencer Inn.

  “What’s that?” Mac asked.

  Jeff Ingles came running out of his office. “Now what?” He glared at Mac. “What did you do now?”

  “Fire engines,” Bogie said. “Call came in while I was upstairs. Astaire Castle is on fire.”

  Warning her to be careful of the hot coffee that she had poured in the hospital cafeteria, Archie handed the takeout cup to Chelsea and eased into the chair next to her. Picking up on her master’s concern, Molly’s brown eyes in her white face reflected worry. The German shepherd was almost invisible where she lay motionless at Chelsea’s feet in the waiting room.

  Nothing like Gnarly. Even when Gnarly is being still and good, everyone notices him. Maybe it’s his stare and size that commanded attention. The red smears of blood stood out against Molly’s white coat to remind Archie about what had happened. So much blood.

  “You and I must be the same size.” Archie noted that the fresh clothes she had brought for Chelsea to change into, fit her perfectly—maybe a bit loose. Covered in David’s blood, Chelsea’s running jacket and suit had been taken into evidence along with David’s clothes.

  “It isn’t every day that I meet women my age who are my size,” Chelsea said. “In school, I was embarrassed about how small I was. Now, women envy me.”

  “Things have a way of sorting out.” Archie took a sip of her coffee.

  “Did you ever date David?”

  “No.” Archie saw that she was studying her for her response. She looked right into her eyes so that she could see she was telling her the truth.

  “It’s okay if you did,” Chelsea said. “I was just wondering. A lot of my friends had crushes on him back when we were in school. He never knew it, though. Only Katrina had the bad form to act on it. The only reason she seduced David was to prove she could. That was who she was. She played with people like they were toys. I think she was the closest I ever came to hating anyone.” She sighed. “I wonder what ever became of her.”

  “She was murdered,” Archie said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Chelsea almost jumped out of her chair. “I have an alibi.”

  “You don’t know when or where or how it happened.” Archie giggled at her reaction.

  “Doesn’t matter. I know I have an alibi.”

  Archie patted her hand. “Her murder was solved and the case closed. So you don’t have to worry.”

  Chelsea sighed with relief.

  Deep in their respective thoughts, the two women and dog sat next to each other, staring straight
ahead without seeing anything before them.

  Chelsea broke the silence. “Do you remember your first time?”

  “I think every woman does,” Archie said.

  “I’ve read in so many places and heard so many people say that it was never what they had expected,” Chelsea said. “They were disappointed.” She shook her head. “David … even when our relationship was ending—” She hung her head. “He had a way of making it magical. It was special for both of us. I was convinced it had to do completely with how much we were in love with each other.” Her expression changed from dreamy to realistic. She sat up straight. “But that’s the way it is with first love. You have all these cloudy memories about how fabulous it was. Too bad you can’t go back to those naive, idealistic times, huh?”

  “Who says you can’t?”

  “The dew is gone from the rose, Archie,” she said. “There’s no going back.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “David has a very special place in my heart, not just as my first love.” Chelsea sniffed. “For some reason, he was able to understand Riley. As different as the two of them were, most friends would have gone their separate ways. David became popular—as popular as you could be, living in Spencer without money. Riley withdrew from everyone and got all wrapped up in horror books and movies. He read every one of Damian Wagner’s books over and over again, and knew everything there was to know about werewolves.”

  “How ironic that he decided he was a werewolf,” Archie said, “and made his den at the castle where the master in horror and paranormal was working on his last book.”

  “You don’t think Riley killed Damian because he was obsessed with him, do you?”

  “Do you?” Archie asked.

  “I really don’t know.” She hung her head over the cup of coffee. “I couldn’t see even an ounce of the brother I used to know in that creature we saw yesterday.”

  “David and Mac said the MO of the murders doesn’t fit with Riley believing he’s a werewolf.”