It's Murder, My Son (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (4 page)

My darling son – What was supposed to be a quiet weekend on the Point after Mother Nature dumped two feet of snow on us turned into a circus. David found Katrina’s body today. Everyone is assuming the psycho stalking her finally did her in. In theory, it makes sense. We’ve all seen him scaring Katrina to death. It doesn’t make sense to me. I was so certain about the Holt case. The necklace proved the worst possible solution. Maybe I’m too old to be doing this anymore. This whole thing has given me a headache. How could I have been so wrong? My doing nothing got that poor girl killed. If David finds out, can he ever forgive me?

Chapter Two

Mac Faraday’s first mystery at Spencer Manor was the case of the missing butter.

Before his arrival, Archie had bought staples for the kitchen so that he wouldn’t have to rush out to the grocery store. He found his refrigerator stocked with unopened eggs, bacon, butter, milk, and other items that most people needed to get by.

His first morning, Archie took him to McHenry to complete his shopping. When they returned, Mac discovered both the butter and bacon missing from the fridge.

“Maybe you had them for breakfast,” she suggested while loading the meat into the freezer.

“A whole pound of butter and bacon for one breakfast?” Mac checked the door leading out onto the back deck. As he had thought, it was locked.

She laughed. “Who breaks into a house like this and steals butter and bacon? I’d take the Monet in the study. You do know that painting is the real thing, don’t you?”

As if he thought the butter and bacon would reappear, he opened the refrigerator again to look inside. “It was there when I made my list this morning. Now it’s gone. I can’t cook without butter. What am I saying? I can’t cook with it, either.”

Archie offered to lend him some of hers. Still, he wondered who would break into a house loaded with antiques and artwork from all over the world only to steal butter and bacon. He suspected the stalker wanted for killing his neighbor.

Two days later, Mac was still puzzling over the missing food when Archie helped him interview prospective housekeepers and cooks.

One applicant in a form-fitting dress indicated to Mac that she was more interested in a position as his trophy wife than his housekeeper. Archie crossed her name off their list before she sashayed out the door. Another was polite enough, but her satanic tattoos, body piercings, and probing questions about dead bodies the former detective had seen in the line of duty made Mac nervous. Another applicant discovered that she was allergic to dogs. Minutes into the interview, she ran from the house with red, swollen eyes, a runny nose, and hives. The other two applicants were inexperienced in either cooking or housekeeping.

The last applicant was scheduled for mid-afternoon. With the break between interviews, Archie prepared chicken sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea, which they ate on the lower deck by the water’s edge. In the warm days leading into summer, their neighbors were enjoying a variety of water sports in the cove.

Archie referred to her notes after swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. “Cathy Miller comes very highly recommended. She’s in her fifties. She had both cooked and cleaned for the Steinbecks for fifteen years. Robin used to know them. They have a big horse farm in Fairmont.”

“Why doesn’t she work for them now?” Mac refilled their glasses with iced tea.

“She had to quit when her father became ill. By the time he died, the Steinbecks had already replaced her.”

“Where’s Gnarly?” Mac realized he hadn’t seen his dog since breakfast when he’d stolen Mac’s frozen waffles. Recalling that his new dog had been the cause of a civil suit against Katrina Singleton, he wondered what antics Gnarly pulled when he wasn’t home.

“He’s probably casing a cookout.” Archie stacked their paper plates. “Would you believe Easter weekend he came home with a T-bone steak? He stole it off the Taylors’ grill.”

Spencer Court ran the length of the peninsula before curving onto a bridge that crossed the cove to intersect with Spencer Road, which zigzagged to the top of the mountain. A handful of luxury homes resided on the lakeshore across the cove.

A stone and log showplace rested directly across from Spencer Manor. Across the water between them, Mac spied an in-ground pool, in addition to tennis courts and an elaborate garden. A woman with long dark hair sunned herself by the pool. In spite of the distance, he could see that she had a perfect figure.

“That’s Sophia Hainsworth,” Archie said when she saw him peering across the cove.

Mac felt like he should recognize the name.

“Her married name is Sophia Hainsworth-Turner. She’s been in a lot of televisions shows and a half-dozen movies—a couple of them halfway good. She’s married to Travis Turner.”

“Now that name is familiar,” Mac said. “I’ve read a couple of his novels. They’re mysteries, too.”

“Robin discovered him,” Archie said. “He was born and raised here in Spencer. He went off to Hollywood to be a movie star. A few years later, he called Robin and told her that he had decided to try his hand at writing and asked if she’d read his book. It was excellent. The only thing she suggested was changing the outcome for one of the characters and the title. She introduced him to her agent and Travis Turner became a household name.”

“His books aren’t as good as Robin’s.”

“Spoken like a loyal son.”

Mac asked, “Why’s a famous novelist bringing his movie star wife here for the season instead of the Hamptons? Deep Creek isn’t particularly known for being the in place for the Hollywood set.”

“Usually they do travel with the Hollywood A-list, but Travis is basing his next book on Katrina’s murder.”

Beyond the Turner home and up toward the mountaintop, the Spencer Inn was a part of Mac’s inheritance that he had yet to investigate. The manager, Jeff Ingle, had invited him to inspect the hotel. Frankly, the notion of owning a five-star hotel and restaurant intimidated him.

Two docks up the cove, Mac spied a couple he had identified as the Hardwicks. They eyed him and Archie through thick black cat-eyed glasses while sipping wine under a deck umbrella. Equally short and round in shape, they were dressed in identical black trousers and white button-down shirts.

Archie whispered, “Do you see them?”

“David told me that they had filed a paternity suit against the Singletons on behalf of their poodle.”

“They’ve complained to the police more than once about Gnarly’s barking. If it weren’t for David we’d be having a lot more trouble with them than we do.” She shook her head slightly. “It’s only a matter of time before you get a call from Ed saying that you’re being sued for some cockamamie mental stress over Gnarly.”

“And I thought that life would be a breeze if I was rich.”

“Welcome to the world of the rich and famous, Mr. Faraday. One day about three years ago, the Hardwicks were a couple of middle class nit-picks having lunch at a five-star DC restaurant when the server tripped over a briefcase left out in the aisle. She spilled Gordon Hardwick’s coffee in his lap. He got burnt, and—Wham! A jury gave them the ticket to the Point. Not only did they win one, but two lawsuits. Prissy Hardwick filed a separate one claiming that, due to the burn to her husband’s family jewels, she suffered mental distress because he was unable to perform his husbandly duty.” She leaned over to tell him, “Guess who the idiot—or maybe he wasn’t such an idiot—was who left the briefcase out where the server could trip over it.”

“Gordon Hardwick,” Mac concluded.

Archie nodded her head. “That coffee stunt got them their early retirement. But two point five million only lasts so long when you have money going out and not much coming in. They’ve been looking for another million-dollar award to keep them in the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. Watch your step around them.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Mac checked his watch. The next applicant wasn’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes.

From their table at the water’s edge, he could see over the stone wall up to the Singleton home, where three months earlier its resident had been murdered. “I read about Katrina’s murder in Robin’s journal.” Mac asked, “Can you tell me what happened, from your point of view?”

Archie smiled. “David and I made a bet about how long it would take you to ask for specific details about the case. I bet within one day. He said you’d play it cool and wait.” She flashed him a mock frown. “I lose. Katrina was thirty when she married Niles Holt. They moved in two years ago this month. They had lived out here less than three months when Niles Holt was murdered. Katrina went back to the city after Labor Day, and returned in June with a new husband. Eight months later, she’s dead.”

After pausing to allow Mac to store away that information, she added, “Chad Singleton stayed only a couple weeks before he went back to the city. Within a week or so after he left, we started seeing this bizarre character following her around. Katrina told David that he was a disgruntled client who started his terror campaign in the city before she moved here.”

“Where was husband number two while all this was going on?”

“We saw more of her stalker than we saw of him,” Archie answered. “It was weird considering that they were newlyweds. Katrina had long dark hair down to her waist and a body that wouldn’t quit. She had these exotic green eyes. After the snow storm, Chad called the police because she wouldn’t answer the phone. David went to check on her and found her body. Gnarly was behind a flower pot on the patio. He didn’t get buried under the two feet of snow. Otherwise, he would have suffocated or frozen to death. David threw him in the back of his cruiser and took him to the vet.”

“Did the police try putting the Singleton place under surveillance to catch her stalker before he killed her?”

“Sure, but nothing happened. When they would quit, Pay Back would show up again.” She said, “I suspected husband number two. Chad would have known when she was under surveillance. Did you ever see
Gaslight
? The husband was trying to drive his wife crazy for her money. Chad certainly didn’t waste any time quitting his job and remarrying after Katrina died.”

Mac agreed. “That is suspicious.”

“Are you going to continue investigating this case?”

“I’m retired,” Mac reminded her. “I now have a career as a millionaire playboy.”

Archie grinned. “I can’t see you spending your days playing golf and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous any more than your mother.”

“Mr. Faraday?” A woman with long straight salt-and-pepper hair tied into a ponytail at the back of her neck waved to them from the corner of the upper deck.

Archie checked the name in her notes before replying. “Mrs. Miller?”

“That would be me.” The chunky older woman began a slow descent down the steps to the lower deck.

Seeing the job applicant hobbling toward them, Mac stood up. “No, don’t bother coming down. We’re coming up.” He whispered to Archie, who was gathering the plates and glasses. “Do you have the list of questions for us to ask her?”

After assuring him that she did, she noted, “I don’t see any body piercings and I doubt if she’s applying to be your trophy wife.”

“So far, so good.”

The interview went close to an hour, but within fifteen minutes Mac glanced at Archie. Cathy Miller met all of his requirements. She was experienced in everything he needed to run the big house. He saw agreement in Archie’s eyes.

“By the way,” Archie said to Mrs. Miller, “Mr. Faraday has a dog. He’s a big German shepherd.”

Mac interjected, “He’s very mischievous.”

“Oh, I love dogs.” The housekeeper went on to tell one long, drawn out story after another about the various dogs she had encountered in her life, from the dog that had been run over by a school bus when she was a young girl to the dog that she raised from a pup for the Steinbeck family, but had to leave behind when her father became ill. When she began her fifth story, Archie interrupted her in mid-sentence with the suggestion that they show her the house.