Shades of Murder (The Mac Faraday Mysteries) Page 9

  He pulled back. “Before you go packing, let me do something in this case.”

  “Besides looking handsome.”

  His cheeks felt warm. “I’ll look into the Ilysa Ramsay murder.”

  “You’ve already done that. I gave you a bootleg copy of the case file.”

  “I’m talking about the second Ilysa Ramsay murder,” he told her. “I’ll search the Internet for details about that murder. Maybe there are similarities—”

  “Other than the victims being the same person,” she giggled.

  “I’m glad you have a sense of humor.”

  She sat back down on the desktop. “Most people say I’m crazy.”

  “Are you sure they’re not talking about your cat?” Joshua closed the laptop. “I’ll take up the case now. I’ll do the background work on the murder in Deep Creek Lake. Then, we’ll get together and call the investigator there to compare notes. That way, we can talk intelligently to him about the case, instead of sounding like a couple of ninnies.”

  She blinked up at him with a mocking expression on her face. “Do I look like a ninny to you?”

  Joshua wanted to call her adorable, but instead he took advantage of her being so close to him. He took her face into his hands and kissed her. As if she feared the kiss would end before she wanted, she placed her hands on his. When he started to pull away, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him back.

  “The pizza—” he tried to remind her before she pushed him back down into the chair.

  “Irving and Admiral will take care of it for us.”

  With five teenagers at home, Joshua had managed to keep order in his home with the rule of no sleepover guests of the opposite sex. Since he did little to no dating, he had never had to deal with the issue of wanting his own friend to stay the night.

  It was as if Cameron had read his mind before he could issue the invitation. They were eating ice cream on the back porch when she announced, “I need to be getting home.” There was a tinge of regret in her voice.

  Irving and Admiral had become good buddies. While the huge dog was stretched out to sleep on the porch, Irving had curled up in the crook of his neck to catch a snooze.

  “Are…you…sure…you…want…to do…that?” he asked between kisses that started on her forehead, moved to her nose, then each cheek, and ended on her mouth.

  With a moan, she paused before saying, “No, Irving and I have to go. We have a stakeout tomorrow morning.” As if she feared changing her mind, she jumped up to her feet. “Come on, Irving. Time for us to go home. Say good night to Admiral.”

  Instantly, Irving was up. Meowing, he fell in step behind her.

  That cat does act like a dog.

  Joshua escorted her around the wraparound porch to the front of the house and down the steps to her SUV.

  After strapping a pet seatbelt around Irving in the back seat and closing the door, Cameron turned around. “I wish I could stay the night.”

  “So do I,” Joshua said. “My son comes back home in less than two weeks. I can’t invite you to stay the night then.”

  “I understand.” She took his arms and wrapped them around her waist. “Raincheck? Maybe we’ll get lucky at that little place you told me about in Deep Creek Lake.”

  He held her close. “The Spencer Inn is not little.” Together, they leaned against the fender for a long kiss good night.

  The quiet little town along the Ohio River was a far cry from the world that Cameron lived and worked in. The sounds of traffic and people racing to and fro were replaced by birds and squirrels squabbling over territory in the trees up and down the block.

  He was starting to consider following her home to her bed when he decided to pull back. “I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I find out anything.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” While maneuvering the circular drive to leave, she yelled out the window, “Maybe next time you can come to my place. Bring Admiral. Irving loves having friends for sleepovers.”

  Joshua watched her turn the corner to Fifth Street and roll down the hill to Carolina Avenue, where she would catch Route 30 to take her across the state line and back to Pennsylvania.

  His joy at what he could see as the start of an exciting new relationship turned to fear when he saw an unfamiliar black SUV parked across the road. Another advantage to small town living, besides the quiet, is that you know everyone and theircars. He did not recognize this vehicle as belonging on Rock Spring Boulevard.

  The headlights turned on. Before Cameron was out of sight, the car pulled out onto Rock Spring Boulevard and followed her down the Fifth Street hill.

  Chapter Six

  The phone’s ringing shattered through Mac’s dreams to wake him out of a fantasy about Archie in a shimmery baby blue negligee.

  “What in the world—” Mac sprang up in his bed to find the comforter had become wrapped around his legs and waist during the night. The phone’s ring resembled an attacking bird’s caw while he thrashed about like a butterfly bursting forth from its cocoon.

  The phone also disturbed Gnarly, who banged his head twice on the underside of the box springs while trying to crawl out from under the bed where he had made his den.

  “What?” Mac snapped into the phone when he was finally able to reach it on the night stand.

  The voice on the other end of the line was equally harsh. “Mac, what’s going on out there?”

  In search of a way to get outside to start his day, Gnarly seemed to join in the conversation with his barks while running from the bedroom door to the windows. With no escape, he jumped up onto the bed to trample his master into releasing him.

  “Man alive!” Mac fell out of bed while trying to free himself from the comforter and the dog. “Get out!” Holding the phone to his ear, he ran down the stairs in his bare feet. Gnarly galloped ahead to lead the way. As soon as Mac threw open the door, Gnarly charged out to launch his attack on the ducks at the dock.

  “And stay out!” The feeling of the dog’s paws fresh on his chest, Mac slammed the door shut.

  From the phone in Mac’s hand, the caller was still demanding to know, “What’s going on?”

  Now fully awake, Mac recognized the voice as Ed Willingham, the senior partner of the law firm that his late mother had kept on retainer to handle her estate’s legal affairs. “Ed? What’s up?” He went into the kitchen to press the button to start his coffee.

  “That’s what I’m calling to ask you? I just got riled out of bed by a journalist from the Associated Press. What’s this about you finding Ilysa Ramsay’s lost painting?”

  “How does the Associated Press know about that?”

  “He got an email from an anonymous source. Is it true? Do you have Ilysa Ramsay’s lost painting?”

  “Yeah.” Mac was surprised by the awe in Ed’s tone.

  The Massachusetts blue blood that had grown up playing football with the cream of high society—some of the richest andmost famous in the country—wasn’t easy to impress. “Do you have any idea how much that painting is worth?”

  “No, Ed. Do you?”

  “Well …” Stuck for an answer, Ed paused. “I’ll make some phone calls to find out. How did you get it?” After Mac had told him about the collector willing it to Robin, the lawyer said, “Then you own it. That’s unbelievable.”

  “It was stolen, Ed.”

  “The statute of limitations on art theft is seven years. Ilysa Ramsay’s painting was stolen eight years ago. Legally, it’s yours.”

  “Legally, but not ethically,” Mac said. “I’m giving it to her husband. I’m telling Neal Hathaway today.”

  “When you say you’re giving it to him, you’re not really giving it to him as in not wanting anything back in return—like a finder’s fee?”

  “I didn’t find it. It was given to me by a less than ethical millionaire, who got his jollies out of hording stolen masterpieces of art simply because he could. Ilysa Ramsay didn’t do that painting to be hidden away on a mountain.
She painted it for people to enjoy.” His coffee brewed and his blood pumping, Mac was now ready to start his day.

  “Tell me how you really feel, Mac,” Ed said with sarcasm in his voice. “Oh, you are so much like your mother—always doing the right thing and making me feel like a jackass for thinking otherwise.”

  Mac heard the clink of what sounded like a coffee mug colliding with the receiver on the other end of the line. The clink was followed by a slurp.

  Ed asked, “What do you want me to tell the media when they call asking about the painting? This is big news. Whoever leaked this to the media has sent shockwaves throughout the art world. This guy that woke me up asked if you’re going to find out who killed Ilysa Ramsay? I assume you’re looking into it. I can’t see you ignoring a juicy murder case like hers. What do you want me to say?”

  Mac poured the coffee into his mug. The perimeter now cleared of ducks, Gnarly scratched at the door. He was ready for his morning biscuit. Mac opened the door and Gnarly led the way to the biscuit jar on the counter.

  “Tell them Gnarly and I will be on the case as soon as we’re done with our breakfast.”

  Cameron needed a shower. After chasing a burglary suspect two-and-a-half blocks through a suburban subdivision in eighty-three degree heat and eighty percent humidity, she was coated with a slick layer of sweat. She felt like her utility belt was going to slip down over her hips and take her slacks with it.

  Weeks of stakeout had paid off. The upscale neighborhood had been having problems with a rash of break-ins. All of them occurred during the day while the homeowners were at work. Residents suspected who the culprit was. Detectives from burglary had even questioned the nineteen-year-old troublemaker, who had denied the charges.

  Then the burglar escalated things with a home invasion on the widow of a recent murder victim. First, this woman lost her husband to a carjacker, and then her home is violated by a punk, who knew the woman was now alone.

  Cameron Gates, the detective working the homicide, ended up on the case whether the detective handling the burglary wanted her or not. No one messes with the family of murder victims whose cases she’s investigating.

  Cameron was staking out one of the homes in the neighborhood. Every morning, after the owners went to work, she moved in.

  When the burglar struck, she was waiting. The right cross he delivered to what he thought was a helpless woman proved to be his downfall.

  Now, Cameron was seriously mad.

  The perp was running for his life when he went over the back hedge and down the street with Cameron at his heels. When he tripped over a bicycle, she hurtled it without missing a beat.

  The chased ended with her tackling him in a freshly mowed front yard. Before cuffing him, she rubbed his face in the cut grass until he looked like the Grinch from Dr. Seuss. It could have been worse. He was lucky she didn’t make him eat it, too.

  The perp ended up being the very suspect the burglary detectives had questioned.

  Filled with the thrill of success, Cameron sashayed across the police parking lot covered in fresh cut lawn clippings, grass stains on her knees and elbows, and sweat from head to toe.

  “How does the other guy look?” One of the employees hanging out in the smoking area called out to her.

  “Not as good as me,” she replied. “I’m not wearing bracelets.”

  Cameron noticed that a member of the regular crowd was missing. Lieutenant Sherry Bixby spent half of her day in the corner of the parking lot. She claimed she was conductingbusiness with the other smokers; therefore, technically, she wasn’t taking breaks.

  The detective slowed her pace when she saw Priscilla Garrett turn away. Ironically, she wouldn’t have suspected anything if the technician hadn’t moved to avoid eye contact so quickly.

  Something’s up.

  Cameron stepped over to the group. “What’s up?” she asked them with a chipper tone of voice. She cocked an eyebrow at Priscilla, who kept her head turned away.

  “Too bad Irving flunked out of police training,” a clerk from human resources chuckled. Smittened with Priscilla, the non-smoker would watch out his office window for when the forensics technician would take her cigarette break to rush outside to the parking lot.

  “Only because he intimidated all the canines.” Cameron joined in the joke. “While I was out earning money to buy him catnip, he was sound asleep under my desk here at the prestinct.”

  “It’s a cat’s life,” the smoker that had called her over said.

  The men wanted all the details about the detective’s chase of the burglary suspect, which she gave them in great detail. A talented story-teller, Cameron never failed to entertain them when they asked for the low down on one of her busts. Her audience, consisting of desk-bound support staff, loved to hear about the action from out in the field.

  While Cameron told the story, Priscilla quietly puffed away on her cigarette. As soon as she finished, she tossed the butt into the bucket of sand that acted as the community ash tray, gave a short, “Later,” and hurried for the door.

  “You sold me out,” Cameron said in a low voice when she caught up with her. She didn’t say it as an emotional accusation, but rather a statement of fact.

  Priscilla shot over her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Cameron grabbed her by the elbow to whirl her around. “It’s all in the eye contact, sweetheart. You may be able to charm everyone here at the station with your soft voice and regal baring, which was what got you promoted to the senior tech; but I’ve learned how to look beyond to glitz to see what drives someone’s heart. That’s right, baby. I’ve known what you really are from day one. You’re a manipulative narcissist that couldn’t see beyond your own agenda even if your life depended on it.”

  Priscilla’s eyes narrowed to slits. Through clinched jaws, she asked, “If you really believed that, then why did you ask me to run Jane Doe’s fingerprints on the sly?”

  “Because I needed them run,” Cameron said. “I hoped you wouldn’t rat me out, but actually I expected you to do it. It’s the same way with Irving. Whenever I forget to take out the garbage before going to bed, I hope Irving won’t get into it; but I’m not surprised when he does.” She let out a laugh. “You and Irving are very much alike. You’re both sneaky and focused only on what’s going to serve you the best. Only Irving is charming about it.”

  “I don’t need to take this.” Priscilla tried to turn away, but Cameron had her by the wrist.

  “What was Sherry’s reaction?”

  Priscilla smirked. “Surprisingly delighted.”

  “Delighted?”

  “Giddy even,” Priscilla said. “She asked me if I knew how much money Neal Hathaway had. I could see the wheels turning in her head. By the time she was done with her cigarette, she was almost at a run when she went back inside.” Her voice softened when she offered up a consolation. “She’s not waiting for you, though. So, you’re safe ... for now.”

  “Where is she?” Cameron asked.

  “Gone,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders while tucking the pack of cigarettes down into the case and zipping it shut. “She left about twenty minutes ago when I came out for a smoke.”

  Cameron was torn between relief that she didn’t need to face Sherry and concern that she wasn’t there. Sherry Bixby always brought her lunch. She never went out except for office events. Sometimes, she would work through her noon break so that she could leave an hour early for happy hour at one of the bars.

  Something’s definitely up. I can feel it.

  Cameron was still in deep thought when Priscilla jerked her arm out of her grasp. “If you will excuse me, I have to go back into work. Next time you need a favor, don’t ask.” She shot over her shoulder back at the detective. “Take a shower. You smell like plant fertilizer.”

  Cameron was playing all the possible scenarios in her head when Priscilla and her smoking companions went inside. A new shift of smokers came out and pass
ed her on their way to the corner.

  She’s going to muscle her way into my case. She’s probably over at Hathaway’s place right now interrogating him.

  “You’re not going to eat the last bite of that sandwich, are you?” Archie’s tone was as accusatory as the glint in Gnarly’s eyes staring at the end of the Italian sausage sandwich making its way to Mac’s mouth.

  Today, a sailing class from the yacht club, located on the next inlet over, was bouncing on the water at the end of Spencer Point. While dining in the shade of the deck umbrella, they watched the students drift along in their brightly colored vessels.

  Mac lowered the sandwich. “I was planning to. Why? Did you slip something in it?”

  Gnarly uttered a whine mixed with a groan. Archie glanced from Mac to the German Shepherd who inched in closer. The expression in his brown eyes wasn’t pleading as much as it was expectation.

  “That’s why he acts up,” Mac said, “because he gets what he wants. If we didn’t give in to him—ever—then he’d stop hounding us.”

  Whining, Gnarly hung his head.

  “Mac, how could you?” She slipped her hand onto his wrist when he moved to finish his lunch. “It’s only one bite and he’s been so good lately. The Belkins had a cookout last night. They served lobster and Gnarly didn’t steal even one.”

  Gnarly uttered a long whine that ended in a high pitched bark. He reached up to paw at Mac’s knee.

  With her on one side and the shepherd on the other, Mac was surrounded. He tossed the last bite of Italian sausage for Gnarly to catch in mid-air.

  “Faraday!” Neal Hathaway’s voice was heard to call out from around the corner of the deck.

  Unable to believe the influential gentleman was at his home, Mac rose up from the table. “Hathaway?”

  Neal jogged around the corner of the house. “Faraday? Are you back here?”

  Finished with his sandwich, Gnarly’s mouth was empty to allow him to sound off a bark to announce the guest.

  “There you are.” Seemingly unconcerned about the large dog between him and Mac, Neal hurried across the deck to join them. “Am I glad I found you.” He gasped like he had jogged from Pelican Court to Mac’s home, which was over a mile away.