Crimes Past Page 15

  “A witness told me that you didn’t ride in the limo because you and Brie had a fight,” Mac said.

  Kassandra laughed. “Because I was supposed to ride with the wedding party. Suddenly out of the blue, she ordered me to take a cab to the hotel to check on the wedding cake or something stupid like that.”

  “What did you see when you got to the hotel?” Mac asked.

  “It was after Brie and Trevor went upstairs to change his shirt—”

  “Because Gannon spilled his drink on Trevor,” Mac told David.

  “Actually, it was Harrington,” Kassandra said.

  “Will Harrington?” Mac asked.

  “I guess someone bumped into Harrington from behind and he fell into Gannon, who spilt his drink down the front of Trevor’s shirt,” she said. “I was right there. I felt terrible for Gannon. It was so embarrassing.”

  “It was Harrington,” Mac murmured. “Gannon was convinced he’d pushed him on purpose.”

  “Of course, he would,” she said. “And he got arrested for obstructing justice and tampering with evidence because Dani was out to steal his job.”

  “Speaking of Derringer,” Mac said, “Finish telling me about her and Troy Underwood.”

  “They were hooking up in the liquor closet behind the bar while my sister and her new husband were being killed.”

  “Are you sure about that?” David asked.

  “I was going from table to table greeting the guests, stalling while Trevor and Brie were upstairs when I saw Troy and Dani go around the bar. I saw Troy slip some money to the bartender and he and Dani went inside. Sanchez—always the dutiful partner—then stood in front of the door with his arms crossed.”

  “He was on lookout,” David said.

  “I was mortified,” Kassandra said. “Joan was there. Sanchez’s wife, Clarissa, too. Where they were while this was going down, I have no idea. But I was scared to death that Joan was going to walk into the banquet room and see what was happening. It would have been ugly.”

  “I thought Troy Underwood had a fling with Brie,” Mac said.

  “That was before he hooked up with Dani.”

  “Was their affair going on before Brie and Trevor got married?” Mac asked.

  “That I don’t know. I do know that they have been seeing each other off and on for years,” Kassandra said. “It’s not a love affair. They just get together for sex—no strings attached. It’s a vicious cycle that I’d never put up with. Joan will find out about them and he’ll end things with Dani. Then he’ll get sick of Joan punishing him and he’ll go back to Dani for bootie calls.”

  Mac turned to David. “That’s why Joan doesn’t trust Troy.”

  “That’s the problem with former undercover detectives,” she said. “I’ve made it a rule to stay away from undercover types. Their lives revolve around deception. Failure to be a good liar can get you killed. The danger can be like a drug for some people. Troy loves Joan, but to him, cheating comes naturally. He tried to be faithful, but Brie gave him a taste of cheating, and he got hooked on the thrill.”

  “And being a good partner, Sanchez covered for him,” Mac said.

  “Joan blamed Rico,” she said. “That’s why she nagged Troy into joining the Secret Service. She can’t admit that she’s married to a cheat and her marriage is a sham.”

  “That’s the problem,” Mac said. “We can’t solve these murders until we get to the truth, but people who should know better keep hiding it from us.”

  Inside the hotel, Mac turned and glanced across the lobby before pushing through the double doors to the Inn’s business wing.

  The clerk with thick glasses stood next to the fireplace. A smile crossed his face—revealing a mouth filled with crooked teeth.

  “That’s him.” Mac struck David in the shoulder to grab his attention.

  The crooked-toothed man reached into the inside-breast pocket of his jacket.

  Mac saw the butt of the gun as he extracted it. “Gun!” He grabbed David by the arm and shoulder and shoved him to the floor behind the reception desk.

  Three shots hit the ceiling. Hysterical guests dropped to the floor.

  David pulled his weapon and rose up to peer across the lobby in time to see the shooter escape through the rear doors. “He just went out through the cafe.”

  Weapons in hand, they followed him while David snapped orders into his radio to emergency dispatch. “We have an active shooter! Police are on the scene! Block all roads leading away from the Spencer Inn ASAP! No one leaves!”

  Aiming their guns to the floor, David and Mac separated at the doorway leading onto the deck. Wide-eyed lunch patrons huddled under the tables. “Get everyone inside and close the doors,” Mac told a server crouching behind a cart. “Don’t let anyone near the windows.” While Mac and David covered them, the server ushered everyone into the Inn.

  David looked over the railing to the patio below and saw the shooter sprint across the grounds into the floral maze. He gestured for Mac to continue down the steps while he covered him.

  “Chief, have you got a description?” Bogie’s voice crackled across the David’s radio. “Have you got eyes on him?”

  “He’s wearing a Spencer Inn room clerk’s blazer,” David said into the radio while following Mac into the maze. “Dark hair. He’s got a gun.”

  “Crooked teeth,” Mac yelled over his shoulder before taking the left side of the maze. David went in the opposite direction.

  “I’m supposed to check every clerk’s teeth?” Bogie asked.

  “Only the armed ones,” David replied.

  “Brewster and I are coming around to block his escape to the parking garage.”

  Mac’s breath quickened. Of all places, the twisting, turning floral maze was a nightmare setting for pursuing the assassin. He had no doubt that was the reason the shooter had chosen it. While the ten-foot tall rose bushes provided cover, they were not bullet proof. A killer intent on escape could cut them down by firing through the bushes. Worst yet, one wrong calculation and either Mac or David could die as the result of friendly fire.

  On the other hand, Mac and David had familiarity at their advantage. They knew the maze forward and backwards. Odds were the shooter did not.

  Keeping low, Mac narrowed his eyes to peer as best he could through the branches. David had gone to the opposite side of the maze. He prayed David was still there. The last thing Mac wanted to do was to call out and give his location away to the killer.

  There was the rustle of branches behind him.

  His finger on the trigger of his gun, Mac froze.

  “Your senses have gotten weak over the years, Mr. Faraday.”

  Mac spun around and took aim at him.

  The killer’s bullet tore through the bushes above Mac’s head. Twigs and leaves rained down on him. He caught sight of their quarry running toward the path leading out of the maze.

  Mac heard David shout, “Bogie, he’s coming your way!”

  David’s warning was a split second too late. A gun fight erupted at the maze’s entrance.

  “Bogie!” Brewster cried out. “Officer down! Officer down!”

  When Mac broke out of the maze, he found David kneeling beside his deputy chief—his godfather. There was a sob in his voice as he clutched at Bogie’s leg. His thigh was drenched in blood.

  “Go get that bastard!” Bogie gestured at them. “He’s heading for the parking garage!”

  “You’re bleeding out.” David took off his belt and wrapped it around Bogie’s leg, up near his hip.

  “Where’s he heading?” Hector asked upon reaching them with three armed security guards.

  “Parking garage!” Brewster took off with Hector and the guards.

  “Get him, Mac,” David said in a low voice. “Don’t let him walk away from this.”

  With a no
d of his head, Mac raced toward the parking garage.

  Mac ordered Officer Brewster and two of the guards to watch the exits while he and Hector searched each level going to the top floor.

  “Are you going to kill him?” Hector asked. “I recognized that look in David’s eye. I know it all too well. I’ve seen way too many good men die during my time in special ops.”

  “We need him alive. If he’s a hired gun, he’s our only connection to whoever is behind this.”

  “He shot Bogie,” Brewster said with a curse.

  “There’s a fine line between the good and bad guys,” Hector said. “Bad guys seek vigilante justice. Good guys seek justice.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. I know,” Brewster said with a frown. “Chapter twelve in Gnarly’s book. He’s right, but it still makes me mad.”

  “Anger doesn’t solve anything,” Hector said.

  “Is that another piece of wisdom from Gnarly?” Mac asked.

  “No, Grace Kelly.”

  “Get up to the top level, Hector, and flush that bastard down here,” Mac said.

  Watching for any sign of movement, keenly aware of every dark corner where the shooter could be lurking, Mac made his way, row by row up to the second level of the parking garage. He had just turned the corner when a Mercedes shot back out of its space and spun around to face him.

  It’s engine racing, the car stopped.

  Mac aimed his gun at the driver. “Police! Get out of the car! Hands first!”

  His eyes met those of the dark-haired clerk.

  Once again, the clerk grinned before hitting the gas pedal. The Mercedes sped straight toward him. Mac fired off a series of gunshots. The windshield shattered. The luxury car continued on its path. Mac dove out of the way of the speeding car. The Mercedes hit the wall behind him, bounced, spun, and then flew down the ramp to the ground level.

  “Brewster! He’s coming your way!”

  Mac heard a barrage of gun shots as he ran down the ramp to the ground level. Brewster and the security officers had to have unloaded their guns in trying to block the shooter’s escape. By the time Mac and Hector had made it to the ground floor, it was over.

  Officer Brewster and the security guards stood in the exit of the parking garage. Broken glass and spent gun cartridges littered the ground.

  The Mercedes was nowhere in sight.

  “What happened?” Hector asked.

  “He got away,” Officer Brewster said in a tone filled with shock. “I’ve unloaded my weapon.” He looked down at the empty gun in his hand. “He just kept on coming and drove away.” He radioed for local, county, and state officers to be on the lookout for the shot-up Mercedes.

  “What about you, Mac?” Hector asked. “I heard you order him to give himself up.”

  “Same thing,” Mac said. “I unloaded my gun. He ducked down below the dashboard and floored it. This guy is not your average killer.”

  “Yeah,” Hector muttered under his breath while holstering his gun.

  “What did you say?” Mac asked.

  “I said …” he mumbled again.

  “What? Out with it, Hector!”

  “I said Gnarly would’ve gotten him!”

  His eyes narrowed to slits, Mac cocked his head at Hector. His mouth dropped open.

  “He’s right, Mac.” Officer Brewster hung his head in shame. “If Gnarly had been here …”

  Chapter Eleven

  “How much of a background check did Harlan’s lawyer do into Constance Kleinfeld?” Archie asked Tonya.

  While waiting for Officer Fletcher to travel down the mountain to Spencer Manor, Archie was doing a quick background check of their suspect on her laptop at the dining room table. Gnarly was eating his lunch in the kitchen with his short-legged entourage milling around his bowl—determined to catch any escaping pellets.

  “Edward Kleinfeld was the heir,” Tonya pointed out. “The lawyer didn’t check out Constance. He didn’t have to. I found in my background check that they got married a couple of years ago.”

  “Did you know that she died in Florida four and a half years ago?”

  Tonya sat up at that news.

  “I take it that you didn’t,” Archie said. “That was roughly a year before she started working at a nursing home in Pennsylvania three and a half years ago?”

  A roar in the kitchen sent the four corgis scurrying from the kitchen. They crowded around Tonya’s feet.

  “They obviously got too close to Gnarly’s bowl,” Archie said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Hearing the approach of the police cruiser, Gnarly shot out of the kitchen for the foyer. Immediately, Foxy, Moxy, Loxy, and Roxy scampered back to descend onto the dog bowl.

  Tonya opened the door to find the lanky young officer in the throes of a coughing fit. He held himself up by the porch railing.

  “Officer Fletcher, I guess it’s official,” Tonya said. “Fall is here, complete with moldy leaves.”

  “I hate fall.” Fletcher sniffed and cleared his throat. “Bogie said you wanted to see me.”

  Tonya invited him inside. “You hate spring, too. Let me get you some lozenges for that sore throat.” She hurried into the dining room to fetch her purse.

  “Winter is cold season.” He patted Gnarly on the head. “If I’m lucky, I get six weeks of pleasant weather a year.” He stopped when he spotted four little dogs lined up behind the German shepherd. “Are these Gnarly’s groupies?”

  Archie trotted in from the dining room. “We have a job for you.”

  The officer’s eyes widened with fear. “Have you cleared that through the chief?” His voice cracked. “After the last time, he told me to not do anything for you without first clearing it through him.”

  “Calm down, Fletcher. This is nothing like before.” Tonya placed a half-dozen wrapped cough drops into his hand. “We need you to gather some information.”

  “What type of information?” he asked around a cough. He fumbled with the wrapper of one of the lozenges.

  “Tonya and I think our neighbor next door killed her husband.”

  Fletcher froze in mid-unwrap. “Shouldn’t you be calling the chief for that? I mean, that’s what he does.”

  “We can’t prove there’s been a murder,” Tonya said. “We haven’t seen her husband around and his Mercedes isn’t in the garage.”

  “And the wife is painting their master bedroom as we speak. She’s getting rid of the evidence. We need you to go scope the place out.” Archie pinned a small United States flag to the breast pocket of his jacket. “This is a spy camera. While you’re checking her out, we will be doing the same. The video will be streaming to my laptop.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable doing that.” Fletcher peered down at the camera she had pinned to his chest.

  “Don’t you want to be a detective?” Tonya asked. “Don’t you want to move up from writing speeding tickets and directing traffic?”

  “Not really,” Fletcher said. “I like writing speeding tickets and directing traffic.”

  Tonya stepped close to him. Her face was firm. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared up at the officer who stood several inches taller than she. “Well, like it or not, officer, you’re investigating this murder.”

  “Can I check with chief—”

  “No!” Tonya and Archie said in unison.

  Fletcher gazed at Gnarly as if to seek the German shepherd’s help. Gnarly arched one eyebrow and cocked his head at him. The dog’s eyes narrowed as if to ask if the officer was a man or coward.

  “All we need for you to do is collect Constance Kleinfeld’s fingerprints,” Archie said. “It’s easy peasy. You go up to her house and knock on the door. Tell her that you’re answering a call of suspicious activity at the house across the inlet.”

  “The Schweitzer place,” Tonya said. “They wi
nter in Florida, so the house is empty.”

  “After she says she’s seen nothing,” Archie said, “you ask if you can talk to her husband.”

  “At which point we’ll find out either that he’s there or she’ll give an excuse for why he isn’t,” Tonya said. “If he isn’t there, ask her where he is?”

  “If I’m there to investigate suspicious activity across the inlet, why would I care where her husband is?” Fletcher asked. “Won’t she get suspicious about me asking that?”

  “Not if you ask in a casual manner,” Archie said. “That’s the key.” She swung her hips and shoulders in a little dance. “Be casual.”

  Agreeing, Tonya joined in the dance. “You have to be casual.”

  “During your interview, you drop your cell phone,” Archie said, “and give her a chance to pick it up. When she does, you’ll get her fingerprints. You bring it back to us, and then I’ll run them through the database.”

  They waited in silence while Fletcher appeared to weigh his options. “That’s all?” Once again, his voice cracked.

  “That’s it.” Archie handed her cell phone to him. “I’ll even give you mine to drop. Then, as soon as you get her fingerprints on it, all you have to do is give it back to me and then be on your way.”

  “This will be the easiest thing you’ll be asked to do this whole weekend,” Tonya said.

  Archie ticked off on her fingers, “Remember, ask about seeing anything suspicious, casually ask about her husband, drop the cell phone, get her fingerprints, and bring them back to me.” She added, “And have fun with it.”

  “Be casual, ask about husband, get fingerprints, bring them back, and have fun,” Fletcher choked out. He went out the door and trotted down the porch steps.

  With a girlish squeal of delight, Archie and Tonya raced to the laptop to watch the interview.

  “Be casual, ask about husband, get fingerprints, bring them back, and have fun. Be casual, get fingerprints, bring them back, and have fun. Be casual, get fingerprints, bring them back, and have fun,” Fletcher muttered on his way down the driveway to the end of Spencer Court.