5 The Murders at Astaire Castle Page 9

  As Mac expected, Gnarly was eating his second donut. Tonya had sent most of the officers out on patrol. Hanging up the phone, she held a message sheet out for Mac to see. “The wolf man’s sister, Chelsea Adams, called and left a message for the chief.”

  Setting down his coffee cup, Mac took the message sheet to read while she reported, “She’ll be leaving this morning and expects to be here later on this afternoon. She’s coming to the station and would like to meet with the chief to discuss her brother’s case.”

  “Why doesn’t she go to the hospital to see her brother?” Mac asked.

  “Because the news has been reporting that Damian Wagner’s body was found, and that a crazed wolf man was captured there,” Tonya said. “I saw it on the news this morning. They’re already speculating that this crazy wolf man, a deranged obsessed fan, killed the king of horror fiction, which included a lot of werewolves, his daughter, and his editor.”

  “And was sane enough to hide Damian Wagner’s body so everyone would think he did it?” Mac asked with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so. Who’s the leak?”

  “No one here,” Tonya said with an air of insult at the suggestion. “Most likely the hospital. It isn’t every day they get a real wolf man. I feel sorry for this Chelsea. She sounded stressed out. Here she’s been thinking her brother was dead—I remember when that happened. Their mother died of a broken heart. David felt responsible. And now poor Riley gets found, and they’re calling him a man-eating wolf man.”

  As if in response to her assertion, the phone rang. She read the caller ID. “That’s the newspaper,” she groaned.

  “Riley Adams didn’t kill those people,” Mac said.

  “Tell them that.” She nodded to the ringing phone.

  Leaving her to the tough job of handling the media, Mac refilled their cups with hot coffee and went downstairs, where he found that David had finished his phone call and returned to leafing through the case file for Bill Jansen’s murder.

  After murmuring a thanks for the coffee, David said, “I compared the ME reports for Jansen and Genie. His body showed signs of being in the fire longer than hers. The burns were more extensive.” He closed the folder. “He was killed first, dismembered, and then put into the fire. Genie was killed at a later time, dismembered with the ax, and put into the fire pit. The killer then left shortly before Rafaela arrived to discover the murders.”

  Mac sat back in his chair to enjoy his coffee while envisioning the scenario. “When was Damian Wagner killed?”

  “That’s going to be hard to determine,” David said. “Rafaela Diaz, the housekeeper, stated that she saw no sign of him when she arrived or while she was there. The question would be, was he killed before Jansen and Genie were killed, between those two murders, or afterwards?”

  “Maybe they were killed to cover up his murder and not the other way around,” Mac said. “Think about it. If he was alive, what would he have been doing while people were being poisoned and stabbed and hacked up and set on fire? He had to have been dead already.”

  “That’s a thought.” David sat back to drink his coffee.

  In silence, Mac watched him sip his coffee.

  Finally, David cleared his throat. “What I predicted would happen, happened.”

  “What?” Mac asked.

  “Long distance relationships don’t work,” David said.

  “She’s only been gone one day.”

  “Last night, Randi went to a diner next to the complex where she’s leasing her apartment,” David said. “You’d never guess who she ran into.”

  “Who?”

  “Butch.”

  “Who’s Butch?”

  With a chuckle, David looked up from his coffee cup. “Randi’s ex-husband.”

  “I thought he was in Alaska.”

  “Was,” David said. “He’s in training in Quantico. They ate dinner together. One thing led to another and she ended up at his place. By morning, they decided to give reconciliation a try.”

  Mac searched for the words to make David feel better. He wanted to say Randi was in the wrong, but in his heart, he felt that marriage was a sacred institution. He was never crazy about how David and Randi had plunged into their relationship so soon after her marriage had ended. If there was a chance for her to save her marriage, she should at least try.

  Yet, David was his brother and friend. He didn’t like to see him hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” was all Mac could think of to say. “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” David sat up and opened the folder. “I think we need to find Rafaela Diaz. Unfortunately, she’s not still in the area. According to Dad’s notes, she had requested to return to Brazil shortly after the murders. They let her go.”

  “There has to be an address in the file.” Mac craned his neck to see the folder across from him. “They wouldn’t let her go without insisting on contact information for where she was going.”

  “There is.” David made note of the address. “I’ll try contacting her.”

  “Maybe over the years,” Mac said, “she’ll remember something that she didn’t mention before.”

  “Like a wolf man being on the scene?” Bogie asked from where he was coming down the stairs. “Because you’ll see in her statement that she swears she saw the wolf man leaving the scene. She’d seen him more than once at Astaire Castle.”

  Mac leafed through his case file in search of the housekeeper’s statement.

  “At the time,” the deputy chief continued, “we didn’t take her too seriously because she didn’t seem to be too credible. She was from a small village in Brazil—practiced voodoo—very superstitious—believed in zombies and werewolves and all types of creatures. Heck, she was a creature herself with hair all over the place—all these medallions and tattoos all over her. She swore Astaire Castle was cursed and couldn’t wait to get back to her high priestess in Brazil to purify her of all the evil that she’d picked up there.” He concluded with, “Good luck finding her. I told your father when he gave her permission to leave that we’d never get her back in this country again, unless we hog tied her and threw her into the trunk of a car.”

  Mac wanted to continue the conversation, but the cell phone on his hip was buzzing. When he checked the ID, he saw that it was Hector, who was not one to call Mac for idle conversation.

  “You’ll never guess who just checked in here at the Spencer Inn,” Hector said by way of greeting.

  “The President.”

  “Be serious,” Hector laughed.

  “I was. The Spencer Inn is a five-star inn that has been frequented by celebrities from all walks of life. Why wouldn’t the President visit?”

  “Because Gnarly can’t get cleared by the Secret Service,” Hector chuckled. “I’m talking about Raymond Hollister.”

  “Raymond Hollister?” Mac stood up. In response to David and Bogie’s questioning looks, he asked Hector, “He’s at the Spencer Inn right now?”

  “Just checked in without a reservation and made a fuss when the desk clerk told him that no suites were available—only regular rooms. He’s in the spa now getting a massage from Laynie.”

  “I want to talk to him.” David stacked up the files and returned them to the case boxes.

  “We’re on our way,” Mac told Hector.

  When she saw David heading across the squad room, Tonya threw up her hand and waved a message at him. “Before you go, Chief. Chelsea Adams will be here later on this afternoon and she wants to meet with you.”

  David halted so fast that Mac, who was gesturing for Gnarly to come, collided into his back. “Why is she coming here? I told her that Riley was in Oakland.”

  “She wants to see you,” Tonya said. “I told Mac all about it.”

  Snatching the message out of her hand, David tu
rned to Mac with yet another angry glare in his eyes.

  “I forgot and I’m not your secretary,” Mac said.

  “There’s nothing more I can tell her that the hospital won’t.”

  “It’s easier hearing it from a friend,” Mac said. “You did grow up with her.”

  “Who told you that?” David asked.

  “You grew up with Riley,” Mac said. “Chelsea is his sister. Is it that big a jump to say you grew up with her, too?”

  “Spoken like a detective.” Tonya smiled.

  “This day just keeps getting better and better,” David said with a groan before opening the door and rushing out.

  With Gnarly in the back, David hit the accelerator to make the cruiser fishtail before shooting out into the road and heading up the mountain to the Spencer Inn.

  “Care to talk about it?” Mac grabbed the armrest to brace himself.

  “I’m having a bad week.” David glared out the windshield.

  “I can tell,” Mac said. “What is it about Chelsea?”

  “Nothing.”

  “David, I’ve met you. I can now tell when something is bothering you. What bothers you about Chelsea Adams?”

  The clenching of David’s teeth and his silence gave Mac his answer.

  “Seriously?” Mac gasped. “Who have you not slept with?”

  “It’s not the way you think.”

  “What do I think?”

  “Chelsea was different.”

  “How is she different from all the other women you’ve been with?” Mac asked forcibly. “Katrina. Yvonne. Randi.—”

  “Chelsea was my first—that’s how she’s different.”

  To this, Mac had no response.

  Even Gnarly seemed to be staring at David with a hint of sympathy.

  David pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “She was my first and I screwed things up royally. That’s why I don’t want to see her. I didn’t realize at the time what a big mistake I’d made. Now I know, but it’s too late.”

  “So she’s the one you were talking about yesterday … who you’re too ashamed to face,” Mac said. “How did you screw it up?”

  “I was seventeen years old.” David glanced over at Mac. “You know how it is. Think back to when you were seventeen?”

  “Seventeen was a long time ago for me,” Mac said. “What happened with Chelsea?”

  “My hormones were raging,” David said. “Chelsea was my first serious girlfriend. We were in love. Maybe it was more lust on my part, but she was in love at least.” He fell silent.

  Sympathetic to the pain of past mistakes coming back to the forefront, Mac asked, “What went wrong?”

  “Katrina went wrong,” David said. “Chelsea was a nice girl. Katrina wasn’t. Katrina had breasts. Chelsea didn’t. Use your imagination.” He shook his head. “By the time I grew up and realized what a good thing I’d thrown away, Chelsea was long gone.” He swallowed. “The last thing she said to me was, ‘Thank you for ruining my life, David.’”

  They were coming up over the rise. The overlook provided a sweeping view of Deep Creek Lake and the valley far below. As always when he saw it, Mac was amazed by the beauty before him.

  Turning his concentration back to David’s dilemma, he asked, “How did she sound when you called her last night?”

  “Polite,” David said. “What happened was years ago. Of course, we didn’t talk about it. But I didn’t expect us to spend that much time together. I expected her to come see Riley, have him committed and be gone. I didn’t expect to—”

  “Face her?”

  “Not really.”

  “You know,” Mac said, “my mother, my adopted mother, used to say that things happen for a reason. Maybe Randi’s ex coming back, her dumping you, and us finding Riley to bring Chelsea back now, is to give you a second chance to make things right with her.”

  “Or maybe it’s her chance to slap me alongside the head,” David said.

  “Opportunities are what you make of them,” Mac said with a shrug of his shoulders. “You’d be surprised how much mileage you can get out of the two little words ‘I’m sorry,’ especially when you mean it—and I think you do.”

  Chapter Nine

  When David pulled his cruiser up to park in front of the Spencer Inn, they found what resembled a royal procession entering through the main entrance. A full stretch limousine took up much of the curb at the end of the red carpet leading up to the front doors. A crowd, including paparazzi and men in suits with ear pieces, buzzed along the carpet like bees entering a hive.

  “Who’s that?” David asked. “Is it the senator?”

  “Stan Gould,” Mac said, when he saw the short slender man in a gray suit step out of the back of the limousine. “He wants to buy Astaire Castle.” He was surprised that such a powerful man could be so short. He was a full head shorter than every member of his entourage.

  David’s head jerked around to look at Mac. “You’re not going to sell it to him, are you? Robin said it was never to be sold or occupied again.”

  “I said no,” Mac replied, “but Stan Gould is the type of man who insists on getting what he wants.”

  “There’s a saying. ‘Look out for what you wish for.’” David threw open his driver’s side door. “‘You might just get it.’”

  One of Gould’s entourage reached inside the back of the limousine and helped out a statuesque redhead.

  Keeping Gnarly tightly leashed, Mac and David slipped into the lobby ahead of the entourage, where Hector Langford was waiting with three members of his team. As always when VIPs were on the premises, they were wearing their communication ear pieces.

  Hector told Mac, “Gould’s people made their reservations at midnight last night, when he decided at the last minute to fly in from Italy, where he and his wife were honeymooning. He wasn’t happy about not getting to reserve the castle and having to settle for one of the Inn’s luxury vacation rentals. It only has three master suites, a private swimming pool, spa, and tennis court.”

  “I don’t care,” Mac said.

  They took note of the horde surrounding and following the slightly built man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses across the lobby. He had a baby face that looked like it was incapable of growing any hair. By his side, the redhead stood a full head taller than him in her stiletto heels.

  Stan Gould made a beeline for Mac and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Faraday. Stan Gould. I’m glad to see that you saw fit to personally welcome me.”

  With a curl of his lip, Mac refrained from telling him that it was a coincidence that he happened to be there when the business mogul arrived. He saw the redhead licking her lips while giving David an up and down look. Her fingers were curled around the crook of her husband’s arm.

  “I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Lacey.” Stan wrapped his arm around her waist. “Just Lacey. No last name.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lacey No-Last-Name.” Mac shook her hand, which she offered in a limp grip. “This is David O’Callaghan. He’s the chief of police here in Spencer.” He went on to introduce Hector Langford, the chief of security and his team.

  David paused when Lacey offered her hand to him. “Excuse me for staring … but I could have sworn we met—”

  She shot him a seductive grin.

  “That happens a lot,” Stan Gould interrupted her answer. A smile of pride crossed his face. “Lacey is a famous lingerie model from France. I’m afraid men all over the world have seen my wife in her underwear—and lusted over her.”

  “Must be,” David said before turning to Mac. “While you take care of business here, I’m going to go locate Raymond Hollister.”

  Leaving Mac trapped with Stan Gould, David rushed off to find and interrogate a murder suspect. As the wealthy owner of the Asta
ire Castle, Mac’s duty was to conduct business with the world-famous billionaire. Sometimes life can be so unfair, he thought while watching David jog over to the reception desk.

  Even Gnarly, who had parked himself between his master and Gould’s entourage, peered around Mac to watch David leave them.

  “I assume you’re here to discuss the offer that I told my people to put forward to yours.” Stan captured Mac’s attention. “I’m afraid there was some sort of miscommunication. My people told me that yours declined my offer. Of course, that can’t be right. So I came out here to see the castle in person and close the deal.”

  “I’m sorry you made the flight from Italy for nothing,” Mac replied. “The castle isn’t for sale.”

  Stan blinked his small eyes. “Excuse me?” he said in a tone similar to that of a parent to a child who has disobeyed them out of nothing more than spite.

  The attitude alone made Mac want to decline the offer, even if it was for ten million. He had no desire to have this man so close to his Inn’s employees and guests. Over Stan’s shoulder, he could see Hector smirk. The Australian loved nothing more than seeing his boss put arrogant guests in their place.

  “One,” Mac said, “right now, Astaire Castle is a crime scene. A decomposed body identified as Damian Wagner was found there yesterday and the police are investigating. Now is not a good time to sell it.”

  “That’s not acceptable,” Stan replied.

  “It is to me,” Mac replied. “It’s my castle and I have no problem with the police taking their time to find out who killed this man.”

  Stan Gould’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Faraday?”

  “Yes, I do, Mr. Gould. Your problem is that I don’t care.”

  Seemingly too enthralled with his accomplishments to have noticed Mac’s lack of interest, Gould said, “I own the most successful company in America. I have estates in four countries, two yachts, both of which have swimming pools on them, two private jets, and I’m making millions of dollars a day!”

  The mogul’s nostrils flared in tune with his temper. He went on to list more of his holdings. Before Mac’s eyes, Stan Gould morphed from a respected and feared businessman into a spoiled child outraged by the less privileged child who had the bike he wanted.