Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (10 page)

“You wouldn’t believe how much money she rakes in for speaking engagements,” Corey said. “She makes more demands than a rock star, and these medical associations and conferences are paying it because they believe she’s a pioneer in medical research.”

“But she’s smart enough to see that the ride is coming to an end,” A.J. said. “Other researchers have been making headway, based on the research she published, while she hasn’t set foot in a lab since. She announced a few months ago that she’s going to retire from medical research and go into academia. The university president who took my father’s place is retiring. Now Breckenridge wants it. If I marry her daughter, and whisper the right words to the right people, she could get the job.”

“Can you help A.J.?” Corey asked.

“Where were you while your friend was being raped?” Mac asked Corey.

“I was down in central West Virginia,” he replied.

“You mean you didn’t take part in Lindsey’s party?” Mac asked while recalling Lindsey claiming that her encounter with A.J. was a threesome that included Corey.

“I wouldn’t touch Lindsey York with a ten foot pole.” Corey laughed. “I was visiting my fiancée back home. She’s a school teacher. I can give you her phone number if you want. Everyone in town saw me there.”

“What do you think, Mac?” David asked.

Mac looked from Corey to A.J. Both young men seemed to be holding their breaths. “Did either of you just break into the Piedmont home a little while ago?”

“We both did,” A.J. confessed without hesitation. “Right before Ashton disappeared, she had found proof positive that Dr. Breckenridge had stolen her grandfather’s research.”

“That’s what she meant in the note that Lindsey intercepted at the Diablo Ball,” Mac said. “The note said she had proof.”

“Exactly,” A.J. said. “Ashton had found an earlier draft of the book. It was dated the year before her grandfather died and had his name on it. I saw it. It was like six inches thick. After Ashton disappeared, it was gone.”

“Dr. Breckenridge must have gotten her hands on it,” Corey said with a growl deep in his throat.

“But it occurred to us that there had to be a digital version of the book,” A.J. said. “Dr. Piedmont and Ashton had been researching 3D printing for over a decade. During that time, they had upgraded their computers and had to transfer their research from one system to another. So what if we could find a backup copy of that book and research on an external hard drive? We figured since we were here that we would take a look around to see if we could find something else to prove that Ashton’s grandfather and Ashton were the real pioneers. I was looking while Corey was acting as my look out.”

All eyes were on Mac for his decision. Without a word, he rose to his feet and went to the window. Parting them with his fingers, Mac peered out at the two women sunning themselves on the deck.

Several conversations replayed in his mind.

Carlisle Green recalled two women fighting. One had a deep voice. Elizabeth Breckenridge had a deep voice—she almost sounded like a man.

Such perfect timing. Lindsey chose that day, and time, to drug A.J. and bed him in order to get him under the Breckinridge’s thumbs, while Ashton Piedmont, a determined young woman, disappears—along with the threat of ruining their scheme to steal her grandfather’s research.

Then, there was Jasmine Simpson, who was using Ashton Piedmont’s murder as a springboard into a journalism career—using whatever means necessary to do so—threatening and blackmailing Carlisle Green and A.J. Wagner.

People using others’ tragedies for their own gain. His thoughts wandered to an observation he had made long ago while investigating murder cases on the streets of Washington, D.C., among street people who worked the system in order to collect disability, welfare, and food stamps so that they wouldn’t have to get a job and work for a living.

The creative ingenuity some of those people displayed.

Now, here on Deep Creek Lake, among the upper crust, at the other end of the social ladder, the same thought came to Mac’s mind.

Theft. Rape. Extortion. Murder. If these women exerted their creative energy in positive directions, think of what they could accomplish.

“I think I’m going to be sick the night of the Diablo Ball,” Mac finally said.

Chapter Ten

“Let the festivities begin.” Archie paused in touching up her lipstick to tell Mac. “Are you ready for this?”

“Nope. I have a really bad feeling about tonight.” Mac pulled his black SUV up to the end of the line of cars waiting for the valet at the Spencer Inn.

A bank of news and network cameras wanting to record the event of the social season got an interesting shot of the SUV with a large German shepherd sticking his head out the rear window. Being the host of the event, Mac Faraday had the privilege of including Gnarly on the guest list. After all, it was the
Diablo
Ball, named after the sidekick of the Mickey Forsythe Mysteries—that being a German shepherd.

Even Gnarly, freshly bathed and blown-dry, was stylish in his own doggie jewels. Archie had located a dog collar with real diamonds. It was only one-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars, which caused Mac to choke on his breakfast when she told him. While Archie thought Gnarly was worthy of real diamonds, Mac did make a good point when predicting that the unruly shepherd would eat the valuable jewels, which would result in a very expensive emergency room visit and surgery to extract them. With Mac winning the argument, Gnarly’s jewels were downgraded to a twenty-five dollar rhinestone collar and leash.

The ballroom was one of the most elegant rooms at the Inn. It had an entrance out onto the patio and gardens. Two grand staircases from the main floor descended
to the floor
below to provide guests the opportunity to make an entrance. In the alcove between the staircases, a pianist had been hired to provide elegant background music on the Inn’s white grand piano, which had once belonged to George Gershwin.

“We have both the police and Hector’s security force swarming all over the resort.” Archie waved her long, elegant hand bejeweled with gold and gemstones in the direction of the mass of people leaning towards their vehicle to identify its occupants. “What could go wrong?”

Mac pulled the SUV up to the end of the red carpet. The valet opened the car door and held it for Mac to step out. On the passenger side, an attendant opened the door and helped Archie out. Gnarly seemed to have heard her instructions before leaving Spencer Manor to pretend to have manners. After climbing over the front seat from his seat in the back, he jumped out onto the carpet and paused to allow Archie to grasp his jewel studded leash.

The party waited for Mac to take his place on the dog’s other side. After pausing for pictures from those lining up the red carpet, Archie led Mac and Gnarly up to the main entrance.

Below the camera line, Archie kept a tight hold on Gnarly’s leash. Instead of red or black, the usual star colors that she expected the other women to wear for the event; Archie had chosen a shimmering gold gown that hung off her shoulders. The shimmer of the gold in her dress matched that of the diamonds she wore around her neck and from her earlobes.

Archie Monday was not a clothes horse. Nor did she go in for a lot of jewelry. But on those rare occasions when she chose to, she never failed to surprise Mac by how she stood out in the crowd.

While to those along the carpet Mac was smiling and saying hello, they did not know that he was studying each of them as closely as they may have been eying him. He noted hands that he could not see. Was anyone holding a weapon? With his arm around Archie’s waist, he ushered her up the carpet, across the Inn’s front steps, and through the doors into the lobby.

The white spots from the camera flashes were still clearing from Mac’s eyes when he heard loud voices coming from the coat room nearby.

“Listen to me, you little twerp! I told Rock how I wanted this show shot and he agreed that we would do it my way! So cut the crap! You got that?”

Mac could hear Jasmine Simpson hissing her threats. Gesturing for Archie to keep quiet, he eased the door open a crack and stepped back out of their line of sight.

Jasmine Simpson was chewing out a young man dressed in black slacks and a black button down shirt. “Have you forgotten that I’m the producer?” She jabbed him in the chest. “You’re the director.
You
work for
me
.”

In contrast to the producer’s fury, the director appeared unimpressed, as evidenced by his smirk—which Mac recognized.

Samuel Nash. Jasmine Simpson’s date at the last Diablo Ball. He was now directing the film project being produced by his former date and her current lover.

“Oh, yes, baby,” Samuel responded in a cool tone, “this is your show all right. All you did was spread your legs for Sinclair. I’m the one who did the real work coming up with the premise and pitch.”

“With your body, Samuel, your pitch wouldn’t have gotten us out of the bus station,” she said.

“Okay, so we’re a team,” Samuel said. “I have the brains and the talent and you have the body.”

“You think I’m just a body,” she replied with a laugh. “Wait until you see my twist on this whole Piedmont murder.”

“What twist?” Samuel asked. “It’s an investigative report. We interview everyone involved and present the most likely killer.”

“You haven’t been paying attention, darling.” She was on the verge of giggling. “We don’t have to prove our case in court. We prove it to the public. And the public loves nothing more than a juicy story, especially with a compelling twist that leaves them breathless and the police looking like fools for not discovering it before us.”

“Have you forgotten the laws against slander, Jasmine?” The amusement slipped from Samuel’s tone. “We can’t just go making things up.”

“We don’t have to make it up, just spin the facts around to make it believable without actually pointing the finger.”

“I didn’t sign up to be on the wrong end of a lawsuit,” Samuel said.

“You signed a contract.” Jasmine’s voice was hard. “Rock agrees with me. If any network is going to pick up our show, there has to be intrigue, drama, and—”

“Murder?” Mac interjected.

Jasmine regarded Mac with annoyance for interrupting her meeting.

“I thought the whole point of this investigative report was to get to the truth about what happened to Ashton Piedmont,” Mac said. “Now that Ashton’s body was found and it has proven to be murder, suddenly you’re more interested in making up the most entertaining story for your audience. Why is that? Are you afraid of what would be found out if you actually did conduct an investigation?”

“Afraid? If I was afraid of anything, I wouldn’t have brought Rock and gotten you and Chief O’Callaghan off the stick to find Ashton’s body.” With a smug grin, Jasmine said,
“This whole investigation
is my baby. I got all of the suspects together, including Carlisle, which was a major coup.”

Mac asked, “Wasn’t Ashton a friend of yours in college?”

“Yes,” she answered, “her death hurt all of us.”

Mac glanced at the director. “Did you know Ashton?”

Jasmine said, “Mac Faraday, this is Samuel Nash, our director.”

“I knew Ashton in college while I was dating Jasmine,” Samuel said with a bored tone while taking his cell phone out of his left pants pocket to check a text. Upon hearing Jasmine scoff, he continued, “Funny how some people deny their baser needs once they get within reach of their goals.”

With a curse, Jasmine whirled on her heels and hurried out of the closet. She was in such a hurry that she almost knocked Archie and Gnarly over.

Chuckling, Samuel Nash brought his cell phone to his ear and sauntered after her.

“What was that about?” Archie whispered to Mac when he joined them outside the closet.

“Looks like our party is off to a rip-roaring start.”

Sophisticated in a floor length, off-the-shoulder, red gown, Catherine Fleming was perched at the entrance at the top of the stairs leading down into the ballroom. With her silky blonde hair falling in a single wave to brush her shoulders, she reminded Mac of Lauren Bacall.

Upon entering, the guests would give their name to Catherine so that she could announce them. The guests would think it was so they could make their entrance down the grand staircase into the banquet room filled with deep pocketed guests dressed in formal fare.

In reality, it was so Chelsea Adams could compare their name to the guest list at the registration table behind the senator. Those not on the list, they would know did not receive their invitation from Archie, but rather Jasmine Simpson and Rock Sinclair for their investigative report.

So quiet that only those looking would notice her, Molly laid at her master’s feet under the table. Upon entering, Gnarly practically knocked over the table charging underneath to greet Molly with a lick on the snout. Startled out of her sleep, the white German shepherd rose up. With shrieks, Chelsea and Catherine dove on top of the table to keep the paperwork in order. A catastrophe was adverted only due to Mac quickly grabbing the table while Archie pulled Gnarly out.

“Why couldn’t my mother have chosen a less difficult charity?” Mac hissed to Archie. “Like disaster relief?”

Chelsea Adams’s wavy platinum blonde hair was swept up into a French twist. She showed off her model thin figure in an ivory cocktail dress with a lacey overlay. In front, the dress looked demure with a high neckline not unlike a turtle neck. But when she turned around to re-take her seat, Mac discovered that the dress was back-less, revealing her sensuous back down to the waist. She contrasted her pale features and dress with sapphire drop earrings and matching stiletto shoes.

Before Mac, Archie, and Gnarly made their way down the stairway, Catherine gave a status report on the attendees. “So far only those guests who we have already identified as not being officially invited have appeared on our crashers’ list.”

Archie sighed with relief.

Catherine was equally pleased. They had visions of dozens of crashers. “Do we have actual proof that the invitations were sent out by Rock Sinclair and Jasmine Simpson?”

“Not yet,” Mac said. “But they have the most to gain by this reunion and they’ve been strong-arming anyone saying no to the invite. That tells me they sent them out.”

“Rock Sinclair and Jasmine Simpson have arrived.” Catherine said. “When they came, they gave her name, Jasmine Simpson. Rock Sinclair is her guest.”

“So the quote-invitation-unquote was sent to her,” Archie said. “I hope you’re not solo tonight, Chelsea.”

The arch of Chelsea’s eyebrow answered their question. “David is here, but don’t be looking for him in a tux. He’s upstairs in the security office with Bogie, some officers, and the security staff.”

Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, Mac said, “I’m sorry about this, Chelsea. It’s our fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Chelsea said. “You didn’t dig up Ashton Piedmont.”

“No, Gnarly did,” Archie said.

Chelsea shook her head. “This is just one of the things that comes with falling in love with a law officer.”

“That’s right,” Mac said.

“And David is going to have to get used to the junk that comes with falling in love with a future county prosecutor.” Catherine pointed a long fingernail dipped in bright red in Chelsea’s direction. “This is going to be a working event for you, young lady. All of the movers and shakers with the power to get you elected prosecutor are here tonight and Ben intends to introduce you around.”

“I didn’t know Ben was planning to retire,” Chelsea said.

“Not tomorrow, but one day he will and it’s never too early for you to start networking.”

Mac patted Chelsea’s hand. “You don’t have to schmooze us. You already have our vote and support.”

“Don’t you think I should graduate from law school and pass the bar first?” Chelsea reminded them.

In the ballroom, Mac snagged two flutes of champagne, with the Spencer Inn logo carved into the crystal, from one of the many servers offering guests refreshments. Dressed in black with knee-length stark white bib aprons marked with the Spencer Inn logo, the servers flitted throughout the ballroom with serving trays filled with drinks and other goodies.

Tucking her clutch bag under one arm, Archie grasped Gnarly’s leash with one hand while taking the offered glass with the other.

Above them, the doors flew open and Lindsey York stepped through with what could only be described as an
entourage
. Her reddish hair fell down her bare back. She showcased her body in bright red with a plunging neckline that threatened to show more than her shapely breasts. The front of her gown was cut so low that any mismanagement of her body threatened to reveal all of at least one naked bosom, something she seemed to be well aware of by the naughty smile on her face.

Her escort sent chills down their spines.

He was a head taller than Lindsey. Falling to his shoulders, his jet black mane came from a bottle. His menacing expression seemed to come from hell, from his dark eyes that lacked any emotion or compassion to his stride to the bulge that Mac noticed under his tuxedo. His bow-tie was untied and the top buttons of his shirt was opened to reveal tattoos coiling around his thick neck.

Noting their names on the uninvited list, Catherine announced the party. “Ms. Lindsey York and her guest Raul Zernbog.”

In a suite of offices in the Inn’s business wing, Police Chief David O’Callaghan whirled around from a security monitor to ask Hector Langford, the Inn’s director of security, “Who’s Raul Zernbog?”

“Who’s Raul Zernbog?” Hector was asking one of his officers who was manning a computer that was already patched into the police database.

A lean, gray-haired Australian, Hector Langford had been with the Inn for over twenty-five years and had been a trusted employee of the late Robin Spencer. Mac had heard unconfirmed rumors that the smooth-talking foreigner had been a spy during the Cold War. Sometimes, the Australian’s expertise in collecting information and slick manner made Mac wonder if the rumors he had heard were simply that.

“Whoever he is, I have a very bad feeling about him,” Mac muttered, knowing that his earpiece, connected to the radio, was picking up everything he said.

“That’s called vibes,” Archie whispered while tightening her grip on Gnarly’s leash. She noticed the dog’s hackles rising on his back. “I get bad vibes from him. It might just be his tats.”

In the security office, David took notice of Raul’s tattoos as well. He instructed Officer Brewster to zoom in on Lindsey’s date from another angle using a different security camera. “Several summers ago, the drug traffic around here practically doubled. DEA came in. The drug connection ended up being Lindsey’s flavor of the season, a drug dealer she had met in Rio during Spring break.”

“Great,” Mac muttered with heavy sarcasm.

“Mr. Faraday.” Mac was startled out of his conversation with David by a barricade made up of two bodies that suddenly appeared between him and the bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone.” Jeff Ingles, the Inn’s manager, continued, “Mac Faraday,—”

“We’ve already met.” Dr. Elizabeth Breckenridge stuck out her hand in a businesslike fashion.

Mac took her hand, which she shook in a firm grasp. “Dr. Breckenridge, pleasure to meet you again.”

Before he could react, the doctor turned to flash a smile for two photographers who swooped in to snap a picture of them.

Across the room, her daughter Rachel was engrossed in a conversation with A.J. and Corey. Her hair fell to her shoulders in brunette waves. She was dressed in a becoming black backless cocktail dress. Mac noted that Rachel did not appear to be totally engaged in the conversation between the two men. Rather, her eyes were narrowed in a piercing glare at something or someone across the room. Mac followed Rachel’s line of sight across the room to where Rock Sinclair and Jasmine Simpson were engaged in a friendly conversation with Lindsey and her date.

I guess A.J. and Corey and Carlisle aren’t the only ones being dragged into this thing.

Elizabeth was telling Mac, “Rachel has just finished medical school. I had promised myself that I would retire from medical research once she was able to take the reins of our family profession. She’s taking off this summer to consider which of the dozen offers she wants to accept. Or, she may open a clinic with A.J. after they get married.”

“In Alaska?” Mac asked.

“Excuse me?” the doctor’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “Alaska?”

“That’s where A.J. was planning to open a clinic with Ashton Piedmont,” Mac said.

“Ashton is dead,” she replied without emotion.

Jeff whispered to Mac, “Rachel and A.J. Wagner have booked this banquet room for Fourth of July weekend for a private party. Keep it under your hat, but they’re planning to announce their engagement.” Seeing a matter that demanded his attention, Jeff hurriedly excused himself and trotted across the room in a flurry leaving Dr. Breckenridge alone with Mac.

Watching Jeff scurrying away, Mac noticed that Rachel Breckenridge was no longer with A.J. and Corey. With a quick glance around the crowded ballroom, he saw her nowhere.

Elizabeth recaptured Mac’s attention with a question. “Speaking of Ashton Piedmont, when are you going to arrest Carlisle Green for her murder?”

“When I determine that she did it and uncover evidence to prove it.” Mac replied. “So far, neither has happened.”

Dr. Breckenridge laughed. “Carlisle Green is a crazed drug addict and was the last one to be seen with Ashton. The fact that Ashton didn’t drown proves what I’ve always believed. Somehow Ashton set Carlisle off and Carlisle killed her.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t tell you how many times I tried to warn Ashton to cut off her friendship with Carlisle, but Ashton was a dear sweet girl who believed that there was something good in everyone.”

“Carlisle Green,” Catherine Fleming announced from the ballroom entrance above.

Hearing the name of the topic of their conversation, Mac and Dr. Breckenridge turned their attention to the top of the stairs.

To look at her, no one would guess that she was the richest woman in the room. She was dressed in a demure blue sleeveless dress that reached down to her knees. Instead of high heels, she wore flat blue shoes. Her hair was neatly combed. She wore plain gold posts in her earlobes and a simple gold necklace. At the bottom of the staircase, she met with Ben Fleming, who introduced her to Chelsea. After a polite greeting, she knelt to pet Molly, who offered her paw.

“Yeah, I can’t see where there is any good in that woman,” Mac said with sarcasm.

“You didn’t see her five years ago,” Dr. Breckenridge said.

“No, I didn’t,” Mac agreed.

“Money doesn’t buy class … or the hunger to succeed.” She gestured across the room to where Corey Haim and A.J. were talking to Samuel Nash, who had an ear mike attached to his head.

Elizabeth was on a roll. “Corey Haim should have been kicked out of pre-med years ago, but Ashton and A.J. believed that he had the heart to be a doctor. He’s a sweet compassionate man, who wants to open a free clinic to treat the poor in the Appalachia where his family has been working in the coal mines that the EPA has been shutting down.” She paused to roll her eyes. “That’s a nice dream, but Corey simply doesn’t have the drive to do what he has to do.”

“Because he’s not cut throat?”

She said, “There’s nothing wrong with being ambitious—doing whatever is necessary to make it to the top.”

“By whatever is necessary, do you mean steal, threaten, and even kill to get there?”

She glared at Mac as if he had thrown down the gauntlet.

Mac flashed her a wide grin. “I’m a retired homicide detective. You’d be surprised how many murderers I’ve arrested who killed all in the name of ambition.”

“We are doctors,” she said. “We’ve taken oaths to save lives, not take them.”

“But you can’t deny that medicine is still a cut-throat game when it comes to getting the most prestigious, high paying jobs,” Mac pointed out. “How much does a university president make nowadays? I heard it was more than the governor. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is.” She cleared her throat. “To get back to what we were talking about, if it wasn’t for A.J. pushing for Corey Haim, probably out of his devotion to Ashton’s wishes, I would have kicked Corey out his first year of medical school. As it is, he only graduated in the middle of his class and he’s been adequate during his residency—not a failure, but no shining star either.”

“Somebody has to be in the middle of their class,” Mac noted, “and at the bottom. But that doesn’t make them a bad doctor. As long as they know their weaknesses and are humble enough to ask for help when going up against them, then they can still succeed. Sometimes, what’s in the heart can make up for what you lack in book knowledge.”

Leveling his gaze on her, he added, “Everyone has weaknesses. It is the great man and woman who are honest enough to not try to take credit for other people’s work and success, who rise to the top.”

With a snort, Dr. Breckenridge dismissed him. “Excuse me, Mr. Faraday. I need to talk to Dr. Wilkins about an important matter concerning DNA going to civil court this week.” Having no further need to talk to him, she and her two photographers hurried across the room in the direction of a robust man with a gray beard.