Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (2 page)

Chapter One

Spencer Manor, Spencer, Maryland: Present Day

Mac was up to his eyeballs in a shootout. He wasn’t wearing a bullet-proof vest and his gun was tucked away in the top drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed, but his heart was still pounding. Anxious to see how Mickey Forsythe and his faithful canine partner Diablo were going to get out of this one, he hit the forward arrow on his e-reader to take him to the next page.

The bathroom door swung open.

He sensed rather than saw his lovely bride, Archie Monday, step into the doorway to strike a pose with her arm up above her head on the doorframe. She hitched her slender hip to the side. “Notice something different?” she asked in a sultry tone.

With effort, Mac tore his eyes from the e-reader to evaluate the situation. He did not want to give the wrong answer.

She was clad in the rose-colored negligee that he had given her for Valentine’s Day. It was see-through. Underneath, she wore a rose-colored lacy bra and thong.

Mac swallowed. “Your nose has stopped running?”

With a wicked grin, she nodded her head. Her emerald eyes twinkled. “Mom’s chicken soup really helped.” To further illustrate her recovery from the nasty spring cold, she raced across the room and jumped onto the bed.

Forgetting about Mickey and Diablo, Mac tossed the e-reader aside.

Straddling him, she pinned him down onto the bed. Before he could object, which was the last thing he wanted to do, she covered his mouth with hers.

“Remind me to send her a thank-you note,” he gasped out when she let him up for air. He rolled her over and clasped her face in his hands. “We have a whole week of celibacy to make up for.”

Giggling, she tore at the waistband of his lounging pants. “I’m up for it if you are, big boy.”

He kissed her hard and passionately.

The sound of a loud whine came to their ears.

They stopped.

The German shepherd uttered a sound that resembled the clearing of his throat. Mac and Archie looked over at Gnarly, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. He seemed to almost arch an eyebrow at them.

“Seriously?” Mac asked him. “We’re married. Go lay down.”

Without moving, Gnarly glanced over at the clock on the night stand. His message: It was past his bedtime. He wanted to turn in for the night and his den was under their bed. If they continued, they were going to keep him awake.

“You don’t need to go to bed at ten o’clock every night,” Mac argued. “Go watch television or let yourself out and find your own date. Leave us alone.”

Gnarly narrowed his eyes. After a long stare down, Mac won. Gnarly stood up, turned around, and strolled out the bedroom door.

With a sigh, Mac turned back to Archie who was giggling.

“Poor Gnarly,” she said.

“Poor Gnarly? Poor me.” He stroked her short blonde locks and peered into her green eyes. He was so blessed to be married to such a woman. “Oh, man, I love you so much,” he breathed before kissing her with all of the pent up passion he had bottled during her week-long headache.

“I love you more.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and thrust his pants down beneath his hips.

Mac slipped his hands up under the overwrap of her negligee.

The cell phone on the night table rang.

Their hands, filled with clothing, froze. They stared at each other to wordlessly ask if it was their imagination.

The phone rang a second time.

In the hallway, Gnarly barked as if to answer their question.
Someone answer that, will you?

“No,” Archie said with a plea in her tone. “Don’t answer that.”

The phone rang again.

Gnarly raced into the bedroom and jumped up onto the bed. Using his nose for a plow, he wedged them apart.

“It might be David with a case.” With an apology in his voice, Mac reached for the phone. The caller ID read “private number.” “It’s not David,” he sighed with relief while pressing the button to accept the call.

Gnarly plopped down between them.

Mac groaned when he said, “Hello…”

“Robin?” a timid female voice came from the speaker.

It took a moment for Mac to piece together who Robin was.

Robin Spencer. The American Queen of mystery novels until her death four years before, at which time she had left her vast fortune to the underpaid homicide detective she had given up for adoption when she was an unwed teenager.

“No,” Mac replied to her query, “Mac. I’m—”

“It’s Ashton,” she interrupted. “Robin, it’s me, Ashton.”

Click!

Puzzled, Mac looked at the phone in his hand.

“Who was that?” Archie asked.

“Ashton.”

“Who’s Ashton?” She rose up onto her elbows to ask him over Gnarly’s body.

“Don’t know,” he said. “She asked for Robin.”

“Obviously a wrong number.” She shooed Gnarly up and down to the foot of the bed.

“Obviously.” After tossing the phone onto the night stand, Mac rolled over to take her into his arms. “Now, where were we?”

With a whine, Gnarly pawed at his leg.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He shoved the dog off the bed. With a “humph” Gnarly went back out into the hallway.

“We were discussing who loves who more.” Archie stroked his bare chest.

“Well, let’s just see who’s right.”

She rolled him over onto his back and straddled him. While massaging his shoulders, she kissed him on the lips and worked her way down his neck to his chest.

Even as Mac felt his heart racing with the touch of her lips, his attention wondered to the phone resting on the night stand. “I wonder where she got my cell phone number. And why is she asking for Robin?”

Archie dropped down onto his chest, then turned to pull her cotton pajamas out of her nightstand.

Next Morning

“That didn’t take long,” Lindsey York told Kassandra Van Dyke when the black SUV police cruiser fell in behind them and turned on its lights.

Tossing her long red curls into the wind whipping by them as they raced along in the bright red Lamborghini, Lindsey squealed with delight. “This ought to be good.”

With a grimace, Kassandra gripped her seat. “You’re only going twenty miles over the speed limit and almost ran that Mercedes into the lake.”

Lindsey pulled the sports car over to the side of the road. The police cruiser followed suit.

Inside the cruiser, Police Chief David O’Callaghan noticed in his rear view mirror that a white van had also pulled over to the side of road that marked the outline of Deep Creek Lake.

“Tonya, I’ve got a late model Lamborghini, red, pulled over for speeding and reckless driving,” David called into the radio. “Request a ten twenty-eight license plate Maryland number Lincoln Ida Nora David Sam Edward Young.”

Out of the corner of his eye, David saw the van doors open and two men jump out. He could see that they were carrying something. Without time to determine what they each carried, he dropped the radio’s mike with one hand, grabbed the gun on his hip with the other, and whirled around to aim it out the window at the men approaching the side of his cruiser.

“Hold it right there!” he shouted.

“Holy—” The man coming up on the driver’s side dropped the movie camera he was carrying and held up both of his hands. The equipment crashed when it hit the pavement.

Behind him, David could hear a woman in the sports car erupt with a peal of laughter while another shrieked, “He almost shot him!”

The man on the passenger side of the cruiser froze. “Don’t shoot! We’re just shooting some footage, man!”

“Put down the camera and keep up your hands where I can see them!” David ordered while easing out of the cruiser.

“Ah, this is great!” Lindsey screamed from the front seat of the sports car while the terrified camera operators followed the police officer’s instructions to the letter.

“Chief!” Tonya called out from the radio. “What’s your status? Do you need assistance?”

David tapped the button on the radio on his shoulder. “Ten-twenty-three, Tonya.”

“Roger that, Chief.”

After confirming that he was not in danger, he returned his gun to its holster. “Do you realize exactly how stupid it is to sneak up on an armed police officer?”

“We weren’t sneaking,” the first camera man said. “We were just trying to stay out of the way to catch some candid action.” Keeping his focus on David, he slowly knelt down to check the condition of the recorder he had dropped.

An older man climbed out of the van. Unlike his young cohorts, who were dressed in jeans and pull over shirts, he wore a sports jacket in an attempt to conceal his stomach which extended over the waistband of his slacks. His broad chest combined with his tubby midsection gave him a barrel shape. His dark wavy hair had silver streaks through it. He chuckled while sauntering over to David. “Sorry, officer, but you have to excuse my camera operators. You see, it can be hard sometimes to appear unobtrusive while filming a show.”

“Show? What show are you talking about?”

He stuck out his hand. “Vincent Van Dyke. You may remember me from
Hawaii Night Watch
. I was the star—”

“No, I don’t,” David interjected with no attempt to conceal his annoyance. He realized that the car speeding through his jurisdiction was nothing more than a ploy to get some good television footage. Technically, they were obstructing justice with their staged traffic violation. While he was dealing with them, he could be preventing a real crime.

The camera operator whose equipment still worked moved on to the sports car to film the two women. Grumbling, the other operator returned to the van to check the damage to his equipment.

Decades earlier, Vincent Van Dyke’s square jaw and muscular build would have been eye candy to the feminine sex. As was so often the case, a lifestyle of excessive booze and drugs extinguished the sparks in his blue eyes. His once firm body gave way to fat. Beneath the surface of Van Dykes’ leathering skin, David could make out broken blood vessels that could be evidence of heavy drinking.

Vincent read David’s name tag. “O’Callaghan? I knew a Chief O’Callaghan back when my late wife and I used to summer here. We still have a place—is he your father?”

“He’s passed away,” David said. “Now I’m chief of police and I have work to do. I would appreciate it if you and your crew got out of my way.”

He went over to the driver’s side of the Lamborghini and spoke to the redhead behind the wheel. “Welcome back to Spencer, Lindsey. It’s been a while. I see you still have a lead foot.”

Lindsey had her driver’s license and registration ready.

Instead of looking at her license, he was observing the lack of focus in her bloodshot blue eyes and the stench of gin. “How many martinis have you had to drink today, Lindsey?”

“I lost count, Davey.” She giggled. “Why don’t you break out that magic toy you have and tell me?”

With a sigh, David opened the car door. “Step out of the car, Lindsey.”

“What are you doing?” Vincent Van Dyke rushed forward to ask.

“Giving her a breathalyzer test and then most likely taking her into the station to book her for DUI.” David held her arm to help the young woman, unsteady in her high heels, back to the cruiser.

The blonde in the passenger seat threw open the door and jumped out. “What’s happening?”

Her sudden movement caused Davie to whirl around with his hand on his weapon. “Stay in the car!” He had seen and heard of too many routine stops go bad when a seemingly innocent passenger would leap out of the car and blow away the officer focused on the driver.

Startled by his tone, Kassandra dropped back into her seat and slammed the door shut.

“It’s okay, baby.” Vincent gestured for the camera operators to continue recording David and the driver.

The second camera operator had retrieved a backup recorder to join in capturing the scene.

David opened the rear door to the cruiser and eased Lindsey into the back seat. Instead of being appalled or embarrassed, she was giggling. To her, this arrest was simply one more tick next to the items on her growing list of notorious activities. The seriousness of what harm could come from her driving while drunk or high was completely lost on her.

“Listen,” Vincent told him, “we’re trying to record a pilot episode for a television show to sell a series.” He pointed over at the blonde who was sitting motionless in the front seat of the Lamborghini. “She’s my daughter. Kassandra Van Dyke.” In search of a sign of recognition to the name, he turned to see David inputting information into the breathalyzer that he was using to measure the redhead’s blood alcohol contents. There was no recognition on the police chief’s face.

“How much do you weigh now, Lindsey?” he asked the young woman in the back seat of his cruiser.

She sat up straight to show off her body encased in a form fitting pink dress that ended high up on her thighs. “Take a guess.”

“One hundred and twenty-five pounds,” David said without humor.

“One hundred and ten,” she objected.

“No, you put on weight since the last time you blew through town.”

“Did not!”

“That was at least five years ago,” David said. “You’ve grown up and filled out. We all do.”

“You haven’t,” she purred. “Hey, that offer I made the first time you grabbed me still stands.”

“I’m taken.”

“Since when does that have anything to do with it?”

“In your dreams, Lindsey,” David replied without looking up from the device he was programming.

Pouting, she dropped back into her seat and crossed her arms.

“Kassandra was Playboy’s Playmate of the Year last year,” Vincent said.

“You must be a very proud father.” There was a note of sarcasm in David’s tone. He held out the tube to Lindsey. “Open up.”

Like a child, Lindsey opened her mouth and David stuck the tube in. She snapped her lips shut over it.

“Now blow.”

Looking the well-built police chief, with his blue eyes and blond hair, up and down, she said in a naughty tone, “maybe when I’m through blowing on this—”

“Give it a rest, Lindsey,” David said. “I’m
still
not interested.”

“Hugh Hefner said my Kassandra was a natural,” Vincent Van Dyke huffed at David’s elbow.

“I’m only interested in the drunk driving like a bat out of hell into my town.” David took the monitor from Lindsey and studied the reading. “Congratulations, Lindsey. You blew point-one-four.”

“If you hadn’t have stopped me, I could have blown higher in another hour.” She took his hand to help her out of the back of the cruiser.

With no direction from him, she turned her back to him, spread her feet apart, and bent over with her hands behind her back. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment since I booked my flight back here. Only, Davey, in my fantasy, we were alone … and naked.”

“Welcome back to Spencer, Lindsey.” David slapped his cuffs on her.