5 The Murders at Astaire Castle Read online

  “For at least a decade,” David told her. “You’ve seen him.”

  “Judging by the way he smells, I’d believe it,” she said.

  “Not too long ago,” Mac said, “I heard of authorities arresting a guy for breaking and entering who’d been living in the wilderness with no human interaction for thirty years. He had set up a tent that was green, so it blended into the wood surroundings. He lived off of food that he stole from campers during the night and homes near the woods where he lived.”

  “Did he think he was a wolf?” the nurse asked Mac.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Then this case takes the prize,” she said.

  “What’s going to happen to Riley?” David asked her.

  “We’ll only keep him here long enough to determine if he has a physical ailment that needs to be addressed,” she said. “Once we determine that he’s fine physically, he’ll be shipped off to a psychiatric facility. Hopefully, he has family who can make arrangements for him at one of the better hospitals where he’ll get treatment. If he ends up on the government dime, all they’ll do is keep him drugged and locked up.”

  “I’ll find his sister,” David said. “Hopefully, she can afford to take care of him.”

  “If she can’t, I will.” Mac was as surprised by his offer as David and the nurse.

  “Mac, you don’t—” David objected.

  “He’s your friend,” Mac said. “That makes him my friend. The Forsythe Foundation is set up to do this type of thing.”

  “Forsythe Foundation?” the nurse asked. “Is that a government agency?”

  “No, it’s a private foundation and I’m the chair.” Mac dug a business card out of his wallet. “It’s named after Mickey Forsythe, a fictional multi-millionaire who helped people by solving murder cases. But this is a real foundation set up by Robin Spencer. We provide legal representation for those who need it, but can’t afford it; we pay for medical care; we provide investigative services; and we’ve even awarded a full scholarship to send a young man to college whose father was a police officer killed in the line of duty.” He tapped the card in her hand. “Give that to your business office to put in Riley Adam’s file. You’ll get a call from Ed Willingham to arrange payment for his treatment.”

  For the first time since the start of the conversation, a smile came to the nurse’s lips. “Anything you say, Mr. Faraday.”

  When she walked away, David turned to Mac. “Mr. Faraday,” he muttered in a mocking tone.

  “That’s my name,” Mac said. “Don’t wear it out.”

  Slyly, David said in a low voice, “Thank you, Mac. I do appreciate you helping Riley.”

  Embarrassed by the expressed gratitude, Mac shrugged. “It’s the least I could do after trying to shoot him.”

  Chapter Seven

  They rode back to Spencer in silence. Mac usually didn’t mind silence, except in this case, he could see that David had something weighing heavy on his mind. He had assumed that it was guilt or concern for Riley until David broke the silence at the red light where Garrett Highway intersected with Route 495.

  “Can I ask you a question?” David peered into the rear view mirror at the car behind them to avoid looking directly at Mac. The casualness in his tone was forced.

  “Sure.”

  The light turned green. David eased the cruiser forward and turned right to cross the bridge. “Do you know anyone …” His voice trailed off.

  Mac had begun to think that David had changed his mind about asking him whatever it was he was going to ask when he turned onto Spencer Drive to take then along the lakeshore toward Spencer Point.

  David waited until after making the turn before starting again. “Is there anyone in your past … someone who you have hurt so badly that you’re afraid—too ashamed to see them?”

  “By hurt, I’m assuming you’re not talking about shooting them,” Mac replied.

  “No.” David failed to smile at his attempt at humor.

  “Is this Riley you’re referring to?”

  Instead of answering, David glanced over at Mac while checking the traffic before turning left onto Spencer Point. “Is there?”

  “David,” he replied, “I think anyone who has ever gone through their teens and high school has something or someone in their past that they’re ashamed of.”

  David drove through the stone pillars marking the entrance to Spencer Manor. In silence, he rolled the cruiser into its stall in the garage and turned off the engine. Without a word, he unclipped his seat belt.

  “Want to talk about it?” Mac asked.

  “Not really,” David said in a quiet tone. “I’m tired. I’ll probably feel better about everything after a good night’s sleep.” He opened the door before turning back to Mac. “Thanks.” Without further explanation, he went straight to his guest cottage.

  Mac got a good laugh when he stepped through the front door to see a white plastic cone sticking up above the top of the loveseat, which was positioned with its back to the front door. It resembled an upside down dunce cap.

  In spite of Mac’s efforts to keep him off the furniture, Gnarly had taken possession of the living room loveseat. Gnarly marked the sofa as his with three of his toys: a stuffed green gecko, a yellow rubber duck and a bone filled with peanut butter. It was the one piece of furniture that he was able to climb up on in Mac’s presence without provoking a stern glare. Though he couldn’t prove it, Mac suspected Gnarly of climbing up onto other pieces of furniture when he wasn’t around to police him—and that he did so with Archie’s approval.

  Like a child having a bad day, Gnarly hugged the gecko between his two front paws, rested his head on it, and watched his parents discuss his latest misadventure.

  Seeing the white cone, Mac came around the loveseat to find Gnarly staring straight ahead as if he was unsure of what to do. “So they put the white cone of shame on you, huh?” he said as if Gnarly could respond to tell him the whole story.

  “Don’t make fun of him.” Carrying two wine glasses, Archie came out of the kitchen and climbed up the steps from the drop down dining room. She handed one of the drinks to him.

  “It was only a bite,” Mac said. “Why the cone?”

  “They had to lance the bite and clean the wound,” she said. “There’s no telling what that wolf man was carrying.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the cone.”

  Gnarly hung his head. He was such a proud dog. Big and strong, he ruled everywhere he roamed—including the general store across the bridge where Mac had an account to cover the dog toys and treats that he regularly went in and lifted.

  “After cleaning his wound, they stitched it up and had to put on the cone to keep him from tearing the stitches,” Archie said.

  “It was only one bite,” Mac argued. “I’ve been more seriously hurt doing some of that stupid gardening that you drag me into every spring and I’ve never had to wear a cone on my head.”

  Gnarly let out a bark as if to voice his agreement.

  “It broke the skin,” she said. “This man that attacked Gnarly has been living in the wild—Probably the last time he bathed was a decade ago—”

  “True,” Mac agreed.

  “Not to mention brushing his teeth,” she continued. “I’m sure he hasn’t been brushing his teeth—It’s surprising he even had any teeth to bite Gnarly. Did you know that a couple hundred years ago the number one cause of death was tooth decay?”

  “I knew that,” he said.

  “Well, it isn’t Gnarly turning into a werewolf or whatever it is dogs who get bit by wolf men turn into,” she said. “It’s lime disease or rabies or any number of germs and bacteria that this man was carrying in his mouth when he bit Gnarly. Dr. Lee said that the best thing they could do was to clean out the bite wound really good and
hopefully the get rid of the germs so he doesn’t get sick and possibly die.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Mac cocked his head. “I think Dr. Lee saw you and Gnarly coming and decided to gouge you—me—to help pay for that fancy addition he built onto his animal hospital.”

  “Why are you so suspicious?”

  “Because I’m usually right.”

  Gnarly interrupted with a bark. Whining, he pawed at the cone.

  “Not only am I out however many hundreds of dollars this is costing,” Mac said, “but Gnarly is being humiliated in the process.” He let out a breath filled with disgust. “I hope Elvis didn’t see him.”

  “Since when do you care about what the Schweitzer’s little Chihuahua thinks about Gnarly?”

  “Since he looks so pathetic.”

  Unable to remove the cone, Gnarly hung his head with a long mournful whine.

  Beaten by Gnarly’s depressed state and Mac’s feeling of being taken, Archie took a sip of her wine. “Does this mean I’m not going to get makeup sex?”

  “After seeing what you did to my dog, I think I’m the one deserving of makeup sex.” Unable to look at his dog anymore, Mac went into the kitchen for a stronger drink.

  “There’s no sex like makeup sex.” With a contented sigh, Archie brushed her fingertips down the length of Mac’s lower arm. When she came to his hand, she entwined her fingers with his and bought his hand to her lips to kiss.

  Mac kissed the top of her head. “We need to fight more often.”

  “Just try to keep me at home next time you go to Astaire Castle and find wolf men,” she said, “and dead bodies of famous horror authors.”

  “If this is what I get for leaving you home, there’s no way I’m taking you with me.”

  Holding her against him, the feel of her warm back perfectly fitting against his chest and stomach, Mac marveled at how in sync they were. It felt as if his mother, sensing how perfect Archie would be for him, had this moment in mind when she had dictated in her will that she was to be allowed to live in the guest cottage. It was like she knew that they belonged together.

  He pulled her in closer to smell her hair. The floral scent made him want to kiss her again. Pressing his lips against the nape of her neck, he mouthed her flesh until the sound of the phone made her jolt away from him. “Ignore it.” He wrapped his arms around her.

  “It might be David with more news about the wolf man or Damian Wagner’s murder.” Clutching the covers against her naked chest, as if he had never seen her breasts before, she checked the caller ID on the phone. “It’s Ed Willingham.” Before Mac could stop her, she pressed the button for the connection. “Hello, Ed.”

  While she continued to make small talk with his attorney, the senior partner of one of the most prestigious law firms on the east coast, Mac dropped back down onto the pillows in the king-sized bed.

  The moment was gone.

  This assessment was cemented when Gnarly managed to open the door and come in with his teddy bear, stolen from some unknown place. Somehow, Gnarly had gotten the cone off. Mac had wanted to remove it earlier, but Archie insisted that Dr. Lee had said no. While they were in bed, the shepherd had taken matters into his own paws.

  A dog’s got to have some pride. If Elvis, that cocky little pipsqueak at the other end of the Point, ever sees Gnarly wearing that cone, he’ll never let Gnarly live it down.

  It must have been nine o’clock and time for Gnarly to go to bed. He had a mental clock that refused to be changed. Nine o’clock to bed. Six o’clock in the morning was his time to rise and check the perimeters around Spencer Point for any invaders—mainly squirrels, low-flying birds, and aircraft. A big fat squirrel, whom Archie had named Otis, was notorious for invading Gnarly’s territory. Now that it was fall, Otis had been particularly bothersome to the dog while gathering nuts for winter.

  With his teddy bear clutched in his jaws, Gnarly crawled on his belly under the bed where he kept his den.

  “Sure, Ed, he’s right here.”

  Archie held out the phone to Mac, who pulled the covers up to his chest. Even though the high-priced lawyer was on the phone and couldn’t see them, Mac felt odd taking the phone to talk business while naked in bed with Archie next to him. Somehow, it felt sordid. “Yeah, Ed,” he finally said on the phone.

  “Are you okay?” Ed came back.

  “Sure, why do you ask?”

  “You sound strange.”

  Mac sniffed. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.” Ignoring Archie’s raised eyebrow, he asked, “What’s up?”

  “Well, I just got off the phone with a lawyer in New York who had an offer that you would never believe,” Ed said. “I couldn’t wait to call to tell you because it’s so unbelievable.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, I never went into this when going over your estate with you, but have you ever heard of Astaire Castle?”

  Mac glanced over at Archie, who had lain back down on her side next to him. She draped one of her legs across his thigh. “Yeah,” he said. “Up on top of Spencer Mountain. It falls under the property of the Spencer Inn, vacation rental, but they never rent it.”

  Ed sounded surprised when he responded, “So you heard.”

  “Kind of. What about it, Ed?”

  “Billionaire Stan Gould wants to buy it,” Ed said. “He’s willing to pay ten million dollars— electronic transfer—to acquire it.”

  Mac sat up. “Ten million dollars! Does he know that place is supposed to be haunted?”

  Ed laughed. “I think that’s one of the reasons he wants it. He’s really into the paranormal—obsessed with it. His lawyer says he wants to buy it as a wedding present for his new wife. He got married a few weeks ago. They saw some item on television about Astaire Castle, so he got his people looking to find out who owns it—saw that it was you—so his people called me. What do you say?”

  “What item on television?” Mac asked.

  “Something today,” Ed said. “I think you should accept this offer, Mac.”

  “Do you ever watch the news?”

  Ed sighed. “Not really. I’m always afraid of seeing one of my clients on it. What did Gnarly do now?”

  “He got bitten by a wolf man ... up at Astaire Castle.”

  “What was he doing up at Astaire Castle?” Ed’s smooth cultured voice went up an octave. “The rattlesnakes avoid that place.”

  “Maybe because of the wolf man,” Mac said. “Look, I found out about it and I wanted to see it.”

  “Who told you about it?” Ed gasped. “Hector. I bet it was Hector.” The lawyer went into full paternal mode. “So you took Gnarly up there? I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you took Archie along with you.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “That’s good,” Ed said. “So what’s this you said? Gnarly got bitten by a wolf man? What wolf man?”

  “Is there more than one?” Mac asked.

  “You know what happens to dogs when they get bitten by wolf men, don’t you?” Ed asked.

  “They turn into men,” Mac said with chuckle.

  Ed didn’t get his joke. “Werewolves. They turn into werewolves.”

  “Ed, do you really believe that stuff?’

  “I didn’t until your mother decided to buy that castle … the crazy things we heard from people coming out of there …” The silence from the other end of the line seemed to indicate that Ed had paused to reflect on the stories he had heard. “But I never heard of a Wolf Man up there. That’s new. And he bit Gnarly? What does happen to dogs that get bitten by a werewolf?”

  “Wolf man,” Mac corrected him.

  “Whatever.”

  “If a wolf man bites a human, they turn into a wolf man,” Mac said. “Gnarly isn’t a human, he’s a dog—” Catc
hing himself, Mac drew in a deep breath. “Why am I talking about this like it’s real? There’s no such thing as werewolves and ghosts. Gnarly was bitten by a man who is psychologically ill. He thinks he’s a wolf and he bit Gnarly because Gnarly had invaded what he considered to be his territory, which is Astaire Castle.”

  “I guess Gould saw this wolf man bites dog story on the news,” Ed said, “and that was what got him interested in the castle.”

  “More than likely they saw the story about us finding Damian Wagner’s body,” Mac said.

  “Damian Wagner?” Ed’s voice went back to high-pitch. “Are you sure?”

  “The ME needs to check the dental records,” Mac said, “but we found him in an abandoned turret and he had an ax sticking out of the back of his head.”

  “Robin was convinced he was murdered and his body hidden,” Ed said.

  “Did she have any suspects in mind?” Mac asked.

  “Yes,” Ed said without hesitation. “Raymond Hollister, Damian Wagner’s literary agent. He’s a snake in the grass. Damian Wagner called him a thief. The only reason he stuck with him was because he was one of the best literary agents in the business. Robin left him as soon as her contract with him expired. Damian Wagner’s contract was due to expire at the end of the year and Robin told me that he was planning to fire Hollister.”

  “Well,” Mac said, “I’ve never seen a suicide where someone hit themselves in the back of the head with an ax. So the legend of this being a murder and Damian Wagner disappearing has been broken. It’s a multiple murder with not only Damian Wagner being murdered but his daughter and editor. Until we can examine all the evidence, I can’t sell the castle to Stan Gould.”

  Mac was surprised by his own relief. Who said it? David, or was it Jeff? Robin Spencer refused to sell the castle or even rent it out to protect people. As long as she owned it, it could be controlled. What if I sell it and Stan Gould and his new wife got hurt or murdered? I’ll feel responsible for having sold it to them—like David when he held a party there and his friend turned into a wolf man—like Robin did when Damian Wagner’s daughter was murdered.