It's Murder, My Son (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (18 page)

“You’re very perceptive,” Betsy said. “It’s better for Travis’s career if he’s seen with the in-crowd. The A-list don’t hang out at tourist spots, which is what Turner’s has turned into. That’s why he’s been casing the Inn.”

“Casing?”

Archie’s mind raced. The Spencer Inn was as much a part of her life as Robin Spencer had been. Mac had confessed that owning such a prestigious place overwhelmed him. If Travis offered to take it off his hands, he might accept. For Archie, it would be like losing Robin all over again.

“A couple of months ago, Travis bought seventy acres on the south end of the lake from Chad Singleton. He’s planning to move Turners there, and build a hotel and bungalows. He’s going to call it Turner Village.”

“I didn’t know the Singletons owned seventy acres on the south end of the lake.”

“Katrina’s first husband bought it before he died. He organized this group of investors. They called themselves the Eagle Group. Their goal was to get rich developing everything that could be developed on Deep Creek Lake.”

“Really?” Archie asked. “And they continued after he died?”

“Was killed.” Betsy glanced out the window at the view of the lake. “Have you ever met a true femme fatale? A real live one, I mean?”

“A couple. Have you?”

“Yes,” Betsy said. “They make such a big deal about prejudice in this country. Equal rights for blacks and women. What about equality for the fat and ugly? If you’re beautiful, not only can you get away with murder, but the chief of police will take you out for dinner. People like me haven’t got a chance.”

Archie challenged her. “Have you tried?”

“Yes,” she spat out. “I sent my books to everyone. No one would even read them. But then Travis sends a book to Robin Spencer and within a year he’s got a feature in Publisher’s Weekly.”

Archie told herself that it had to be difficult for Betsy to take orders from the likes of Sophia Hainsworth-Turner. “I admit, Robin read Travis’s book because she’s known him since he was a child and it’s easier if you know people. It’s unfortunate, but that’s the way the world is. Very often, it’s not how talented you are, but who you know. But her reading Travis’s book and it ending up on the bestsellers list had nothing to do with how good-looking Travis is. Robin would never endorse a book that she didn’t love. If she didn’t like his book, she would have told him. But she loved it. Robin said his first book was the best mystery written by an unpublished writer that she had ever read.”

Betsy’s face turned pale.

“Are you okay?” Archie asked her after a long moment of silence. “What femme fatale are you talking about? Is it Sophia?”

“Did you know that Travis’s stepmother was murdered?”

Archie reacted with surprise. She would have thought Robin would have told her about that, or at least David.

“She was young—skinny and gorgeous, of course.” Betsy recounted, “She sold real estate. One morning, she went to her office and there was a fire. They found her body after they had put it out. She had been shot in the head.”

“Did they catch whoever killed her?”

“No.”

“Does Travis have any ideas about who killed his stepmother?”

Betsy’s eyes met hers. She whispered, “His father.”

“Why? Was she cheating on him?”

“Yes…with Travis. She was his first love. He said it broke his heart.”

When she found her voice, Archie asked, “Did Travis ever tell anyone back then about his suspicions? He could have told his friend David or maybe Katrina.”

“Katrina wasn’t his friend. She wasn’t anybody’s friend. She pretended to be my friend, but she wasn’t.”

“I didn’t know that you knew Katrina,” Archie said.

Betsy replied, “I interviewed her about her husband’s murder for a project I had been working on. She thought I was going to make her famous. That’s the only reason she even spoke to me.”

“Did you interview her before or after Pay Back came to town?”

“Before.” Betsy frowned when she took a sip from her milk shake and found the glass empty. “Wasn’t that the name on the jacket of the body they found in the mine?”

“Yes,” Archie said. “They positively identified the victim as Lee Dorcas, but his DNA doesn’t match that found at Katrina’s murder scene. So he didn’t kill Katrina. Do you know why someone would go to so much trouble to kill her?” She grinned at her. “Come on. You edit mysteries. You have to love them yourself. Don’t tell me that you haven’t been thinking about who killed her.”

“You should be asking Travis,” Betsy said. “He’s been researching Katrina’s murder for his next book.”

“And you were researching Niles Holt’s murder.”

“I abandoned that project.”

“Why?”

Betsy shrugged. “I didn’t have time to finish it.”

Archie could see that she didn’t want to talk about it any further. “Do you know what Travis has found out in his research? What has he written so far about her?”

In silence, the famous author’s assistant gazed out across the landscape.

“Betsy?”

She blinked. “You’ll know when everyone else does.” Announcing that she had to go, Betsy picked up her handbag. “Sophia needs her dress to wear to her next fancy party with

Travis.” She leaned over to whisper to Archie. “He really hates these parties. He only goes because she makes him.”

What a strange girl,
Archie told herself after Betsy left. She was the outcast, but seemed to be a wealth of information.
Is it because nobody notices her lurking?
Archie dismissed that thought. From what she had observed, Travis Turner lived for the party scene. She couldn’t see him being made to go to any party where he could rub elbows with high society.

 “Archie!”

She heard her name called out so sharply that she almost spilt the last drop of wine on her way to the bar.

“Is that you?” Francine Taylor rushed across the lounge in her direction. “I thought it was.” Inquiring if she had come for a local women’s group luncheon, Ira’s wife plopped down in the seat Betsy had vacated. “Want some company?” Francine explained that she would prefer to have a last cocktail before going home to the chore of cleaning her husband’s morning catch.

After ordering a second glass of wine and one for her guest, Archie gave Francine an update on the Singleton case. “Evidence proves Lee Dorcas, Katrina’s disgruntled client, didn’t kill her. So it had to be someone else. Can you think of who that someone would be?”

Francine thought over the question in silence. After the server arrived with her glass of wine, she answered, “Maybe Roy Phillips. Katrina played him for a fool.”

“The police chief? How?”

“Roy made a play for her before Niles’s body was even cold. It was quite laughable. Phillips is a dolt. You do know that he had served in the army with Mayor Mason, don’t you? That’s the only reason he got the job of police chief.”

“Did he just make a play for her, or did they actually become lovers?” Archie asked in a breathy voice. She couldn’t envision a beautiful woman like Katrina with the unattractive police chief.

“It was over before it began,” Francine said with a wave of her hand. “Katrina played him along, got him completely hooked, and then ran off to Washington in the dead of night. It had to be humiliating for him.”

“Humiliating enough for him to want her dead?”

As if struck with a sudden thought, Francine announced, “If anyone hated Katrina enough to want to kill her that would be Pete Mason.”

“The mayor?” asked Archie in disbelief.

“He always swore Katrina cheated him,” Francine told her, “and no one cheats Mayor Mason and gets away with it.”

“How did Katrina cheat him? The same way she cheated Lee Dorcas?”

“Pretty much. Katrina was his financial advisor until she lost him a bundle. It isn’t like he lost his lunch money. He comes from money. But all the same, you don’t cheat Pete Mason. He blacklisted her. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons she went back to Washington. No one who mattered in Deep Creek would have anything to do with her.”

“If she lost so much of his money, why didn’t he sue her?”

“Maybe because he got more pleasure out of making her wish she was dead.”

*   *   *   *

“Pull!” Mac shouted.

Two clay pigeons simultaneously took to the air. He aimed his shotgun and fired two shots that took them both out. The group of men behind him applauded.

Mayor Pete Mason slapped a hundred dollar bill into Mac’s palm. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“In my line of work, being able to shoot was a job requirement.” Mac handed the shotgun back to the attendant and pocketed the bet. Their session was over and he had shot a perfect score.

Ben Fleming and Mac fell in step behind the group of men on their way to the lounge for a round of drinks. “I find it interesting that you showed up here looking for me the day after David O’Callaghan is suspended from duty and becomes a suspect in two murders. Is that a coincidence, or does it have something to do with your mother’s relationship with his late father?”

“I’m interested in knowing what you’re going to do about the case.”

“Order me a drink and we’ll talk about it.”

When Mac and Ben went into the lounge, Archie looked up from where she and a silver-haired woman sat at a table in the corner. Both women had a glass of white wine set before them. Mac winked at Archie before following Ben Fleming to the opposite end of the bar where he ordered two beers.

“David O’Callaghan is in deep trouble,” Ben said.

“How deep?” Mac felt his first gulp of beer go down his throat and cool his churning innards.

“According to evidence he gave Phillips—”

“Which Phillips failed to find himself.”

“Phillips found it, but David became the prime suspect. Phillips made the bad decision to save the police department scandal since one of their own was the only suspect who could have done it.”

“What’s David’s motive for killing Katrina Singleton?”

“She dumped him for another guy when they were in school. She comes back to town and seduces him into an affair. He thinks this time they’ll make it, but she dumps him again.” Ben took a sip of his drink. “Screw me once, shame on me. Screw me twice, shame on you.”

“Let’s say David slept with Katrina,” Mac suggested. “Let’s say she dumped him a second time. Is there any real evidence to prove David killed her and Dorcas? Do they have anyone to put him at the scene? Do they have any evidence to prove he crushed her throat? Do they have the murder weapon with his fingerprints on it? Do they have any evidence that he shot Dorcas in the head and dumped his body in the mine? Has anyone bothered asking David for his DNA to compare with what forensics got off Gnarly?”

“Why was the one cop who happened to be sleeping with the victim the first one on the scene?”

“David didn’t do it.” Mac asked the question that had brought him to the Inn that afternoon. “What do you intend to do about him?”

Ben shrugged. “Mac, I have a certain loyalty toward David, his father, and your mother. They have all saved my reputation more than once.”

“Then you owe him.”

“I know,” the lawyer said in a low voice, “but I can’t turn my back on a killer.”