Crimes Past Read online

  After securing the water bottle and tossing the used napkins on the floor in the passenger seat, Mac put the car back in gear. “As mayor, Gnarly, I think you need to propose a law against feral cats running loose in Spencer.”

  Gnarly’s ears perked up at that suggestion.

  “But first, we have to get you to Spencer Inn for your book launch party.”

  The tires of Mac’s red Viper spit gravel as it sped back onto the road.

  Mac was still trying to wrap his head around owning a resort that he couldn’t have afforded to visit back when he had been a homicide detective.

  Six years earlier, Mac had inherited a vast fortune from Robin Spencer. The world-famous mystery writer’s sudden death from a brain aneurism had revealed a family secret. As a teenager, she had given birth to a baby who had been put up for adoption. Her son grew up to become a homicide detective named Mac Faraday.

  By the time Robin Spencer had returned from college to her ancestral home, the love of her life, Patrick O’Callaghan, had married and had a son.

  Upon learning of his inheritance, Mac Faraday moved into the stone and cedar mansion that had been home to his late birth mother. He also became fast friends with his half-brother David O’Callaghan. It was due to their close relationship that Mac trusted his brother to cover up Mayor Gnarly’s fatal attack on the feral feline after it had attached itself to his head.

  The hundred-year-old Spencer Inn rested on a mountaintop. The front of the stone and cedar main lodge offered a view of the lake below and the mountains off in the distance. While resting between boating, golf, skiing, mountain biking, hiking, or any of the other host of activities, guests could enjoy the view in cane rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch. An outdoor café offered refreshments on a multi-level deck overlooking a floral garden and elaborate living maze. For more formal eating, guests could dine at the Inn’s five-star restaurant, which had been featured in numerous gourmet magazines around the world.

  “I don’t believe it,” Mac Faraday said as he slowed the Viper down to drive past several tourists gathered around an eight-foot-high statue of a German shepherd. Actually, he was six-foot-high on top of a two-foot pedestal. The statue gave new meaning to “larger than life.”

  In the passenger seat, Gnarly uttered a low bark as if to warn the six-foot-tall German shepherd that the Spencer Inn was his domain.

  “How many times do I have to remind you, Gnarly? That’s you. You’re barking at yourself.” Mac spun the steering wheel to turn the sports car into his reserved parking space.

  Since the German shepherd had been elected mayor of Spencer, Maryland, the Inn’s management had changed the sign from “Reserved for Inn’s Owner” to “Reserved for Mayor Gnarly.”

  “Where have you been?” Mac’s wife, Archie Monday trotted down the steps to yank open the passenger door and extract Gnarly. She was clad in a magenta dress with matching high heels and jewelry. “We have close to a hundred people in line waiting for Gnarly’s book launch party.”

  “You mean your book launch party.” Mac detached his seat belt. “Surely these people don’t believe Gnarly wrote a self-help book about life.”

  A child screamed.

  “Honey, look! It’s Gnarly!” Her cell phone poised, a woman rushed forward to record the canine next to Archie for prosperity. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  The crowd surrounding the statue migrated to where Archie and Gnarly were trying to climb the steps to the main entrance. It always took Gnarly a while to shake paws and pose for pictures with his adoring fans.

  Watching his lovely wife, Mac groaned at the sea of change that he had experienced in a short time. Fresh from a bruising divorce, in which his wife of twenty years had left him for another man, he’d lost everything. Six years later, he was married to his birth mother’s stunning assistant and his dog was a popular politician.

  At that moment, the kleptomaniac canine was stealing a cell phone from the purse of a woman who was spelling out her name for Archie to sign Gnarly’s debut self-help book entitled The World According to Gnarly. Spotting the theft in process, the victim’s son tapped his mother on the arm. She turned around and shouted at her husband. “Doug!”

  “I’m getting it.” The husband was recording the crime with his camera.

  A group gathered around to watch as the German shepherd trotted toward the gift shop exit with the cell phone in his jaws. At the door, the store manager stepped in front of Gnarly and held out his hand.

  Gnarly stopped, sat, and dropped the cell phone into the manager’s hand. The manager handed the phone to the victim and Gnarly returned to take his seat next to Archie, who continued to sign books with her signature and stamp the front page with a paw print.

  “Did you get that, Doug?” the victim asked while wiping the dog drool off her phone. “Did you get it all?”

  “I’m uploading it to social media now.”

  “Wait until Grandma sees that your cell phone actually got stolen by Gnarly!” The little boy was jumping up and down with excitement.

  Imagine that. You could go to Scotland and hope to see the Loch Ness monster or Spencer to have your pocket picked by its mayor.

  “Uncle Mac!” A young woman with her auburn hair cut into a short crop bound from the reception desk with her arms spread wide.

  A wide grin crossed Mac’s face. “Gina! I wasn’t expecting you until later!” He took her into a warm hug.

  “I couldn’t wait,” she breathed into his ear. She gestured at the elegance around her. “This is sooo lovely. More beautiful than I ever imagined.” She let out a squeal. “And I’m getting married here. Whoever would have imagined?”

  “It’s my wedding present to you and Seth. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve left orders for you two to be treated like royalty.”

  Kassandra Johansson and her daughter, Morgan, approached them from the reception desk.

  Florence, the Inn’s event coordinator, had already greeted the bride, her maid of honor, and her aunt. On Mac’s orders, Florence was personally checking them in to ensure that everything would be perfect for their special guests.

  “Where is Seth by the way?” Mac asked.

  “He worked the evening shift last night,” Gina said. “He’s catching up on some sleep. The groomsmen will be bringing him out later.”

  “He needs to rest up for his bachelor party,” Morgan said with a salacious grin.

  “I don’t know how wicked the bachelor party can be with the bride and bridesmaids attending,” Kassandra said.

  “It isn’t like they’re planning any strippers,” Gina said.

  “I was hoping,” Morgan said.

  “No,” Gina said in a firm tone.

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on the weather.” Kassandra looked out the windows at the clear blue sky. “They couldn’t have asked for a better weekend for an outdoor wedding.”

  “And the leaves are at their height,” Florence said. “The gardens are glorious right now. Our florists are working overtime to ensure that everything will be perfect.” She held up her hand with her fingertips held together in a motion of precision.

  “As long as Seth and I are together, celebrating our vows to spend the rest of our lives together, that is all the perfection that will be necessary.” Gina reached up to give Mac a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for this glorious wedding gift. It’s going to make our special day even more memorable than ever.”

  With an offer to show them the gardens where the ceremony would take place, Florence led the women through the glass doors to the outdoor café.

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty, Mac.”

  Recognizing the voice, spoken with a thick Australian accent, Mac didn’t need to turn around. Instead, he focused on the server, carrying a silver tray containing a crystal bowl and saucer, passing by on his way into the gift sho
p. “Guilty for what?”

  “For not solving her mother’s murder. That’s why you’re doing this.” Hector Langford, the Inn’s security manager, gestured at the glamorous hotel around them. “You promised to catch her mother and stepfather’s killer and you failed. So, you’re attempting to make up for it by giving her a huge wedding in your five-star hotel that other brides can only dream of.”

  “You’re wrong, Hector.” Mac watched as the server stepped over to where Gnarly was seated in the chair at the signing table. With a bow, he presented the saucer containing a dog biscuit to Gnarly who inhaled it in one gulp. Next to him, Archie continued signing books and stamping them with the dog paw stamp while smiling brightly at the customers. The server then held the bowl for Gnarly who took a long sloppy drink.

  “I don’t believe it,” Mac muttered.

  Even as he flicked his eyes around at different points in the hotel, always in search of any potential threat, Hector managed to arch an eyebrow in Mac’s direction. “Guilt is a useless emotion. It’s nothing more than a crutch called rationalization.”

  “That’s a good point, Hector, but—”

  “That’s why dogs don’t feel guilty.”

  Mac blinked. “Dogs?”

  “Because guilt is a wasted emotion,” Hector said. “Gnarly talks all about it in the fifth chapter of his book.”

  Upon seeing the server dab Gnarly’s lips with a white linen napkin, Mac uttered a groan. “The world has gone mad.”

  “You did read Gnarly’s book, didn’t you, Mac?” Hector asked.

  “Have you looked over the background checks I’ve given you on each of the guests?”

  Hector held up the electronic tablet for Mac to see. “Complete with pictures of our suspects. I’ve got alerts tied in with their reservations. I’ll get a notification on my phone when each suspect checks in. Someone from my team will have eyes on everyone this entire weekend. I’ve got one question for you, Chief.”

  “What if our killer decides not to come to the wedding?”

  “That’s the question.”

  “Four days, all expenses paid at a five-star hotel?” Mac said with a smirk. “Plus, the opportunity to rub my nose in getting away with murder? No killer could resist that.”

  “Not all killers have big egos.”

  “He or she killed two detectives on their wedding night in a hotel filled with cops,” Mac said. “Don’t tell me the killer didn’t plan that simply for the challenge of getting away with it. He or she has a huge ego and won’t be able to resist facing me.”

  Gnarly and Archie were posing for a picture with a family. The children were holding up a signed copy of Gnarly’s book – The World According to Gnarly.

  “I don’t believe it.” Mac spun around to come face to face with Gwen, the president of the town council.

  “Mr. Faraday, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your two o’clock is waiting and we’ve got sixty-eight pictures of that ditch to examine. After that, you have a four o’clock meeting with a parents’ committee wanting Gnarly to outlaw hide-and-seek within town limits.”

  “Hide-and-seek?”

  Hector leaned in to whisper. “That’s the game where you hide, and your opponent seeks you.”

  “I know what hide-and-seek is,” Mac said. “I like that game. Gwen and I play it all the time, don’t we, Gwen?”

  She shoved her glasses up on her nose. “I don’t play games.”

  Hector covered his mouth to suppress a chuckle.

  “Why would anyone want to outlaw hide-and-seek?” Mac asked.

  “It teaches stalking,” Gwen said.

  “Who says it teaches stalking?”

  “They say.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Experts,” Gwen said with a sigh, filled with annoyance. “Hide-and-seek teaches children how to hunt their prey and then they grow up to become stalkers.”

  “Or they grow up to become detectives stalking killers.”

  “Are you sure Gnarly killed that cat?” Bogie smacked his hand flat against the side of his neck and wiped the crushed spider carcass off on his pant leg. Finding no sign of the dead body in the floral bushes that encompassed the center of Spencer Manor’s circular driveway, he made his way back onto the pavement.

  “Mac seemed pretty certain to me.” Fearful of disturbing any snakes lurking among the shrubbery, David poked a stick into the hedge bordering the wrap-around porch and peered through the branches. “He says he saw Gnarly grab it in the air after bucking it off his head and then snap his neck. It didn’t move after it hit the ground.”

  “But Mac didn’t examine it to see if it was still alive?”

  “Mac did what any good political advisor would do in that situation,” David said with a sigh. “He grabbed the mayor, threw him in the car, and got the hell out of here.”

  “Then called us to cover it up for him.”

  “May I ask what the hell you’re doing?” The crackling, deep throated voice snapped from the end of the driveway.

  Like a couple of burglars caught in the act of doing something wrong, both men jumped at the abrupt demand for information.

  Spencer Manor rested at the end of the most expensive piece of real estate on Deep Creek Lake—Spencer Point, also known by locals as The Point. The peninsula housed a half-dozen lake houses that grew in grandeur. The road ended at the stone pillars marking the multi-million-dollar estate.

  Mac Faraday’s neighbor, Constance Kleinfeld leaned on her cane between those two pillars. A cigarette hung from between her lips as she scowled at the police chief and deputy chief searching the grounds.

  Taking note of two cats twirling around Constance’s legs, David tried to think of a way to ask if she was missing any of the numerous cats she had moved next door to Spencer Manor.

  “Mr. Faraday’s security system notified us of a break in,” Bogie answered her question. “We’re checking it out.”

  She took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew a stream of smoke in their direction. “And you think the burglar could be hiding in Faraday’s bushes?”

  “We’ve already determined that the break-in was a false alarm,” Bogie said. “We thought we saw an animal moving around in the bushes and wanted to see if it was all right.”

  “Most likely it was that strange dog of his. Gnarly.” She spat out the name. “Vicious-vicious dog.”

  “Gnarly is not vicious,” David said.

  “He’s aggressive and weird! You people think it’s okay for him to be strolling around wherever he wants just because the morons in this town elected him for mayor.”

  “You surely don’t,” David said. “You call us out here every time he so much as sneezes too loud.”

  “There are laws—county laws about barking after dark!” she said with a hiss. “There’s also leash laws which Mr. Faraday seems to think his dog is above.” With a broad smirk, she wagged her head to and fro. “How many tickets does that make for letting his dog run loose?”

  “You really have no concept about what it takes to be a good neighbor,” David said. “Number one is tolerance. Dogs chase cats—especially when they’re attacking the dog in his own territory.”

  “There’s no leash laws for cats.” She smirked. “But there are for dogs.”

  “I’d watch whose bad side I’d get on if I were you,” Bogie said. “Our town is very proud of Gnarly. He’s a genuine hero. Saved his unit while serving his country overseas. He’s also served side by side with our local law enforcement. Before that, he saved a hundred and one kittens from a burning building—not counting their mother.”

  The cigarette in her mouth bobbed up and down when she said, “If you ask me, he’s nuts.”

  “Because he chases cats and squirrels?” David asked. “Are you kidding me?”

  “That dog has been stalking me!” S
he pounded the bottom of her cane on the ground. “He sits on top of that stone wall and stares at me. I swear he doesn’t blink. How does he get up on top of that wall anyway?” She pointed with her cane at the stone boundary between Spencer Manor and the Kleinfeld home.

  “Most likely he’s watching your cats.” David gestured at the two cats at her feet. He noticed a third one lurking on the other side of one of the stone pillars.

  “I don’t own any cats.” The corner of her thick lips curled up into a snarl. She raised her chin up and glared at David through the lower half of her thick eyeglasses.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Klein—”

  “Constance, there’s a call for you on your phone.” An exceedingly slim man waved a cell phone while shuffling to the end of driveway.

  “Can’t you see that I’m busy?” She snapped at him from over her shoulder.

  “Sorry, dear.” Hanging his head, he stared at the phone while lingering nearby.

  She took another deep drag on her cigarette before turning her attention back to David and Bogie. “You tell Mr. Faraday that he’s on notice. There are leash laws in this county. Every time I see Gnarly wondering around loose, I’m calling it in. Not only that, but I’m within my right to protect myself if I feel threatened. I’ll shoot that dog if he so much as sets foot on my property. You tell Mr. Faraday that.”

  She tossed the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with her toe.

  “Constance,” Edward called to her again, “there’s an insurance agent waiting for you on the phone. He says he’s returning your call.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Seemingly no longer in need of the cane she was leaning on, she hurried up the driveway. “Come along, darlings,” she cooed at the three cats before snatching the phone from her husband.

  “Looks like we have another divide among the people,” Bogie said while climbing into the passenger seat of David’s cruiser. “Cat and dog lovers.”