5 The Murders at Astaire Castle Page 23

  “Where is that dog anyway?” Mac asked.

  “He’s wherever Molly is.”

  “Ah, young puppy love.” Mac peered into the secret side drawer to find that it was empty. “It’s not here.”

  “Are you sure?” Archie rushed around the desk and knelt down to reach her hand inside and slap the sides. “But according to her book …”

  “Why did Damian Wagner give Robin that desk?” He pulled himself up and sat in the chair behind the desk.

  From where she was sitting on the floor, Archie gazed up at him. “Because …” she shrugged when she didn’t have an answer. “He wanted her to have his last book. He didn’t want Hollister to get his hands on it.”

  “Why give her the desk?” Mac asked again. “Why not hand over the book to her and ask her to keep it safe for him?” He gestured at the safe hidden behind the portrait behind him. “There are no less than a half a dozen places in this mansion that Robin could have hidden it for him, and she would have.”

  Seeing the book on the desk’s top, he picked it up and read the copyright page: 2005. “Wagner was killed in 2002. This book came out years later.” He shook the book at her. “Here’s what I think. Robin didn’t find the book in the hidden compartment until later. When she found it, she knew why Wagner had slipped it to her.”

  “They were friends,” Archie said. “Wagner knew Robin had dumped Hollister eons before. So she knew what a snake he was.” She asked, “But why not tell her?”

  “Plausible deniability,” Mac said. “He didn’t want her in the middle. Legally, the book belonged to Hollister. But if Robin had it and didn’t know she had it, she was safe from any legal action to get it.”

  “You’re starting to think like a lawyer,” she said.

  “What have I ever done to you?” Mac joked. “Remember, until a few days ago, everyone thought Wagner had run off. So maybe the book was Robin’s message to Wagner. If he was alive, she was trying to tell him that she had his book and was keeping it safe for him.”

  “But where?” Archie turned in a circle to examine all the walls in the study. “If Robin had found the manuscript, she would have moved it to make sure it stayed safe.”

  “But why not tell someone so that if anything happened, like her death, it would have been located?” Mac turned around to scour the thousands of books on the bookcases that lined the wall. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  “It wouldn’t have been bound,” Archie said. “It probably would have been loose leaf.”

  “The Purloin Letter,” Mac said. “She would have put it with other manuscripts.”

  “Her manuscripts!” Archie ran to a cedar chest on top of which rested stacks of books. Without any attempt at organization, she tossed the books to the floor and threw open the lid. “This is where Robin kept her original manuscripts, prior to editing, going all the way back to the beginning.” She dug through the books that were bound with clips and rubber bands. “Of course, most of these are collector’s items.”

  She handed Mac an arm-load. “You look through these.”

  While they were searching, Archie would pause on one title after another, rekindling memories of great books she had read. More than once she declared that she had to go back to read that title again.

  Mac was about to give up when she reached in to take out the last arm-load and handed it to him. On a whim, he started at the bottom, with the manuscript that would have been at the very bottom of the chest.

  Damian Wagner’s name leapt off the front cover at him. The title did next: Alpha Force

  “Got it!” Mac yelled.

  Archie sprang forward.

  Mac opened up the page to the dedication:

  To Riley Adams and Nigel—The True Authors of This Book—May They—As One— Forever Answer the Call to Maintain Nature’s Alpha Force.

  “Are you sure he’s up here?” Chelsea asked David.

  David braced himself against a deep rut that Mac eased his SUV through on their way across the mountaintop. “This is where we found him.”

  “It’s also where Damian Wagner found him,” Mac called back from the driver’s seat. “He considered Astaire Castle his home—his territory.” Watching Gnarly and Molly bouncing around in the rear compartment, he made a mental note to check into purchasing a much larger vehicle if they are all going to be traveling together.

  Still weak from his gunshot wound, David was little help to Mac with pushing open the wooden gate to drive through into the castle grounds.

  They had forgotten that Chelsea had never been to the castle until she uttered an audible gasp upon seeing the turrets and the burnt out stone structure. “Wow,” she said, “I can imagine what this was like back in its heyday.”

  “Before all the suicides, murders, disappearances, and fire.” David opened the back to allow the dogs out.

  “Riley!” Chelsea called out. “It’s me! Chelsea! Are you here?” She made her way through the overgrown weeds and brush to search the garage where David had told her they found evidence of her brother living.

  “Oh, Mac …” Archie fought a sob in her voice while gazing at the burnt out structure. She took his hand.

  Gnarly rushed over to press against Mac’s leg. His tail was between his legs. His ears lay back flat against his head.

  “He does have a long memory.” Mac tried to maneuver around Gnarly’s large furry body to climb the steps up to the front door to look inside.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Archie asked him. “It’s going to be expensive to repair all the fire damage.”

  With her clinging to his hand and Gnarly pressed against the other side of his body, Mac gave up on going inside. He gazed up at the turret at the top of which they had found Damian Wagner’s body.

  “I’m not going to fix it,” Mac said. “I’m going to have the whole place locked up—like Robin had done.”

  Archie saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Do you think it’s evil?”

  “I don’t know,” Mac said. “Maybe cursed? The only one who found happiness here was Riley. Everyone else ended in disaster. It’s too much of a pattern to ignore.”

  He fought to remain on his feet when Gnarly jumped up onto his back and cried into his ear as if to beg him to leave. Wiping the dog off his shoulders, he eased him down onto all fours. “Even Gnarly doesn’t like it here.”

  “So sad,” Archie said.

  David led Chelsea out onto the back patio which looked out across the valley.

  “Awesome,” she said, “I’ve never seen a place that was so magnificent and creepy both at the same time.”

  “You should have seen it that Halloween night,” David said. “It was like something out of a horror movie. It made for one wild--” Remembering her brother disappearing that same night, he stopped. “I’m sorry, Chelsea.”

  “Will you stop apologizing?” She shrugged. “You’re making me feel bad.”

  “I don’t think Riley’s up here.” David offered her his hand. “I’ll keep looking for him and when I find him, I’ll call you. Or, if you think that’s too awkward, I can have Archie—”

  She took his hand. “I’d like for you to call.” She gazed up at him with her clear steel-blue eyes.

  “Okay.” With a squeeze of her hand, he turned to lead her around to the front of the castle.

  “I think I’m going to come back to Spencer,” she blurted out.

  Stunned, David turned back to her. “What about your job?”

  “I never did like that job,” she said. “I thought that maybe I could get a job here—It’s important that I be close—for Riley. I’m coming back for Riley. After all, I’m the only family he has, and I really do love him, and when you love someone, you owe them a shot at having a relationship—even if you don’t really need them—b
ut maybe a relationship with them would be nice to have.”

  Having no idea what she had said, David nodded his head. “You’re moving back for Riley.”

  “For Riley.” She extracted her hand from his grasp. “That’s the only reason I’m moving back here.” She brushed past him to head back to the front of the castle. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

  Looking out across the valley, piecing together the possibilities for the future, a slow grin crossed David’s lips.

  “You coming, David?” she yelled for him.

  “I’m right behind you.” David turned and jogged to catch up with her and Molly. “Are you ready to go to dinner?” David called up to Mac and Archie who were peering through the broken out front window to the castle’s interior.

  “Any luck?” Archie asked them.

  Chelsea shook her head. “That’s okay. In a way, he was still gone even after he was found. He never did recognize or remember me in the hospital.”

  Mac threw open the back of the SUV. “Gnarly! Molly! Get inside!”

  Instead of coming, both dogs whirled around to face the brush next to the garage. Both of their hackles rose up. Molly whined while Gnarly growled.

  They turned to see what had caught the dogs’ attention.

  A white mist rested in front of the garage doors.

  “It looks like the image on the security camera,” Archie said.

  “Riley?” Chelsea asked. The mist moved forward to stop in front of her. It came up to her waist.

  Yelping, Molly ran around and jumped up into the back of the SUV. Gnarly was close behind.

  Hovering in front of her, it floated up to brush against her face before going back down to the ground and disappearing into the woods behind the garage.

  “Be safe, Riley,” Chelsea murmured.

  David wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I have a feeling Nigel will take care of him, sort of how Molly takes care of you.”

  Gnarly let out a bark to remind them that they had forgotten someone.

  “And Gnarly takes care of us,” Archie said.

  “Except when David needs to cover up one of his crimes.” Mac slammed the back to the SUV shut and went around to the driver’s side.

  “You know, Mac,” David stopped him as he passed, “you never did say if all of this has changed your opinion about the supernatural.”

  “Do you mean, do I now believe in ghosts, shape-shifters, and werewolves?” Mac asked. “I always did say I believed Gnarly was a werewolf.”

  David countered, “That’s not an answer.”

  “Yes, it is.” Mac threw open the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “No it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is,” Mac said. “Get in the car and shut up.”

  David climbed into the back seat. “Keep it, Mac, and I’m going to have to shoot you.”

  The End

  The Lady Who Cried Murder--Book Excerpt

  A Mac Faraday Mystery

  Prologue

  Spencer Mountain on Deep Creek Lake, Western Maryland—Three Years Ago

  “Are you ready for this?” Mac Faraday asked David O’Callaghan, Spencer’s young chief of police.

  The two men peered through the window at the fleet of vans and SUVs. Blocking the mountain road, a mob of journalists and their camera operators filled the small front yard of the log A-frame home built into the side of Spencer Mountain.

  “There sure are a lot of them,” David said in a low voice.

  Mac looked over at the handsome young man. The gold police shield pinned to his chest shone. It stood out against his uniform’s white shirt. Somehow, it seemed unfair that the police chief, only in his early thirties, should be baptized by the media with such a horrible case.

  Baptism by fire.

  “You’ll do fine,” Mac said. “Use your officer’s training from the Marines. When you go out there, take command. They’re going to try to take control from you—don’t let them.”

  “You make it sound like I’m going into battle.”

  “You are.” Unable to look at the horde of journalists anymore, Mac turned away.

  David followed him into the front sitting room. “When you were a homicide detective in DC, did you ever have to give a statement to the media?”

  “Are you kidding?” Mac replied. “I’m the last person my superiors wanted speaking to one of those vultures.” Grasping David’s arm, he soften his tone. “You’re going to do fine. We’ve practiced your statement. Remember, no questions because—”

  “It’s an open police investigation,” David finished.

  “It’s okay to be firm with that,” Mac said. “You’re in charge of this investigation. A young woman is missing. Your first objective is bringing her home to her mother safely—not playing up to the cameras.”

  “I almost wish I wasn’t chief of police,” David muttered. “I remember how much Dad despised having to do things like this. They always seemed to take one thing he would say and twist it—”

  “I know.” A smile came to Mac’s lips when he thought about the feelings he and his birth father shared, even though they had never met. There was something to genetics.

  He caught a look in David’s eyes, which were identical to his own. They had both inherited their deep blue eyes from their father, as well as their tall slender build. The only noticeable difference was in David’s blond hair, inherited from his mother. Mac had inherited his birth mother’s dark hair, touched with gray at the temples which had crept in after he had hit his forties.

  As a teenager, Robin Spencer had given birth to Mac out of wedlock. Her parents had immediately whisked him away to be adopted. While Mac’s mother went on to become a world famous murder mystery author; his birth father, Patrick O’Callaghan, had become the police chief of Spencer, a resort town located on the shores of Deep Creek Lake. Eventually, he married and had a son.

  It was only upon Robin Spencer’s death forty-seven years later that Mac Faraday, a homicide detective in Washington, DC, had discovered the truth. She had left him her entire estate, which included a mansion on Deep Creek Lake. She had also left Mac her journal, in which the multi-millionaire learned about his birthright. While his birth parents were deceased, his half-brother was alive.

  “I’m glad you’re here to help me, Mac,” David said.

  Mac shrugged his shoulders. “It’s better than losing another tennis match to Fleming.”

  Arthur Bogart, Spencer’s deputy chief of police, came in from outside. “The natives are getting restless out there, Chief.”

  “I’m ready.” David picked up a clipboard with his notes from the coffee table to go over his statement one more time.

  “I’ll give these to our officers to pass out to them.” Bogie picked up a stack of papers that contained a drawing of their suspect and handed some to Mac.

  “Chief O’Callaghan?”

  They looked up the stairs leading to the upper levels of the home. Florence Everest was making her way down the stairs. Archie Monday, assistant to the late Robin Spencer, was behind her.

  Focusing on the case of Florence’s missing daughter, Mac pushed aside the thought of how lovely Archie was. For the last four days, the petite blonde had been acting as friend and confidante to the distraught mother.

  When Robin Spencer left Mac Faraday her estate worth two-hundred-and-seventy million dollars, she had further increased his good fortune by stipulating that her assistant, Archie Monday, was permitted to live in the guest house for as long as she wanted. Mac Faraday had no desire for the emerald-eyed blonde who loved to go barefoot to leave. It isn’t every man who inherits a house with a live-in nymph.

  Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult to gauge Florence Everest’s age. She was a tall, slender woman with the pres
ence of a movie star from the days of the silver screen or a runway model. Her presence was flawless. An interior decorator, she knew all about style and had used her talents to become successful in business, as well as high society, which was how she had risen up from a single working mother to the cream of Deep Creek Lake society.

  For those on the A-list, Florence Everest was the only interior decorator in town.

  Casting a fearful glance out the window at the crowd that seemed to be closing in while David’s officers pushed them back, she asked, “Do I need to go out there?” Her eyes were puffy from a recent flow of tears.

  “No,” David said. “If you’re out there, they’ll be focused on you. I want them to listen to me and look at our pictures from the sketch artist.”

  A ruckus outside caused them to return to the window. The journalists looked like they were about to mow down the dozens of Spencer and Garrett County officers trying to hold them back when the front door opened.

  A young woman and man rushed inside and slammed the door behind them.

  While the woman rushed to hug Florence, her chubby companion hung back to glare at David and Mac. His penetrating gaze bore through his small dark eyes under his dark eyebrows and flabby cheeks.

  “Ms. Everest, have you heard anything yet?” the woman asked. “I saw on the Internet that the police chief was going to make an announcement. Does that mean they found Khloe?”

  “No, Lily,” Florence said. “We’ve heard nothing yet.”

  “I wish I had insisted on Khloe going home with me.” With a sob, Lily glanced over at the row of pictures that lined the fireplace mantel. “I saw that she had had too much to drink. None of this would have happened—”