Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (4 page)

Chapter Three

“As police chief of this burg, what do you intend to do about this?”

Police Chief David O’Callaghan and his officers were paid well to protect Spencer’s citizens and their high-priced properties from anyone wanting to do harm to either. The down-side of his job was catering to the whims of spoiled, self-indulgent individuals. That was when David felt like an overpaid babysitter.

It had started with a call from Jeff Ingles, manager of the Spencer Inn, to report that one of his guests had tried to check in with a concealed weapon without a permit.

Once he got wind of his gun-toting estranged wife’s arrival, the run-away husband wasted no time in ordering an audience with Spencer’s police chief. Rock Sinclair had booked a block of rooms at the hotel for him and an entourage, all of whom flowed in and out of the producer’s suite.

Young enough to be the gray-haired man’s daughter, Jasmine Simpson had shown the police chief into the suite upon his arrival and perched on the arm of the overstuffed chair where Rock Sinclair was seated. She had her long, auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. The still-moist layer of sweat on her arms and midriff told David that she had been to the Inn’s athletic club.

During their meeting, a young man with dark hair and a goatee wordlessly worked away at two laptops and a tablet at the kitchenette counter. Occasionally, David would notice him smirk in their direction, like a boy enjoying the sight of another child getting chewed out by the principal.

Seeing David eying the young man, Jasmine announced in a bored tone, “This is Samuel Nash. He’s our director.”

Clutching his cell phone to his left ear, Samuel sprung off his bar stool to offer his hand to the police chief. “Nice to meet ‘cha, Chief.” With a wide grin, the director winked at him.

“Isn’t there anything you can do about this?” Rock demanded the return of David’s attention.

“We have confiscated your wife’s gun and charged her with carrying a concealed weapon without a permit,” David said.

“What about attempted murder?” Rock demanded to know.

“We have no evidence that she attempted to murder you or that she intended to murder you,” David said.

“She could always get another gun,” Jasmine pointed out.

“That’s true,” David said.

Jasmine Simpson said, “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what she’s doing; she flew out here to kill us.”

The producer of a variety of news programs, Rock Sinclair may not have been surrounded by stars from the big screen, but his arrogant attitude was no different from other Hollywood types whom David had encountered during his career.

Decades before, soon after Robin Spencer had sold her first book to Hollywood, a movie producer had discovered the rustic jewel of Spencer, Maryland, tucked in the mountains along Deep Creek Lake. Since that discovery, producers, screenwriters, and actors in search of authentic rest would visit the town to commune with nature and recharge their batteries.

The resort town wasn’t the place for celebrities wanting to see and be seen. Fame-seekers making that mistake would fly out within an hour after being joined on the back deck by the first black bear of the morning.

“Contrary to Riva’s claim, I am not here having an affair,” the producer said while stroking Jasmine’s thigh.

“I’m his executive assistant.” She drained off the last of the water in her bottle and reached for a second one.

“We’re partners,” Rock went on.

“Partners?” David parroted.

“This is a business trip,” Jasmine said. “Not a romantic getaway like that boob thinks.”

“I told Riva that,” Rock insisted, “but she doesn’t believe me.”

“Have you given her reason not to believe you?” David sensed he knew the answer. After thirty seconds with Rock Sinclair, the police chief didn’t trust him. He didn’t know if it was his smirk or the way he stroked his “business partner’s” almost naked body while claiming he wasn’t cheating on his wife.

“Jasmine and I are working on an investigative news report.”

David sensed the producer had something hiding up his sleeve that he was about to reveal to the police chief—something specifically meant for him.

“As a matter of fact, the case we’re investigating is a cold case in your own town, Chief O’Callaghan,” the producer said. “It’s the Ashton Piedmont disappearance.”

“Ashton was a very dear friend of mine,” Jasmine said with a well-rehearsed choke. “She disappeared five years ago and from what I’ve seen, your police department has done nothing toward trying to find her.”

Rock caressed her hand. “So, when Jasmine came to me with the story of her grief and frustration, I thought it would make an amazing story … our coming back to Spencer, bringing together all of Ashton’s friends … and suspects in her disappearance … to find out the truth about what’d happened.” There was that smirk again. “I’m sure as a man who has dedicated himself to the pursuit of truth and justice, you’ll appreciate our help.”

“In exploiting and sensationalizing a horrible accident and death?” David replied. “I don’t think so.”

“Ashton’s body was never found,” Jasmine said.

“She was last seen skinny-dipping in Deep Creek Lake late at night after downing more than a bottle of wine,” David said.

“Neighbors heard her fighting with Carlisle Green,” Jasmine said. “One tried to break the fight up and Carlisle went ape on him and attacked him.”

“During which he saw Ashton dive back into the lake,” David said. “He saw her alive and swimming naked in the lake—drunk but alive. The case is still open, but it is presumed that she drowned.”

“But without a body, you don’t know that for a fact. Right, Chief?” Rock asked with that cocky grin.

David bit out. “That’s why Lindsey York blew into town today. You’re stirring up the case again by bringing together everyone connected to Ashton Piedmont.”

“We’re shooting some background footage right now,” Jasmine announced. “Interviews with the local residents and things around the lake. We’ll kick off our investigation with the place where the last week of Ashton’s life all started—the beginning of the end—at the Diablo Ball—”

“Diablo Ball?” David seriously doubted if the producers could have received permission to use the Diablo Ball for anything so slimy.

Rock seemed to sense David’s doubt. “Of course we don’t plan on shooting the Diablo Ball. We plan on filming interviews with all of Ashton’s closest friends, who were last seen together at the ball.”

Jasmine’s cool exterior melted slightly in her excitement. “It seems so fitting. After all, the Diablo Ball has always been considered the kick-off of the summer season on Deep Creek Lake. When we got the invitation we knew that this was the right thing to do. It was like the seal of approval on our project.”

David tried to conceal his doubt. “You’ve been invited to the Diablo Ball?”

Both Rock and Jasmine were insulted by his doubt. “Of course,” Rock said. “I may not be Steven Spielberg, but I do have quite a name in Hollywood.”

“Of course,” David apologized. “May I see your invitation?”

“Well, it’s plain to see that someone wants me to look into Ashton Piedmont’s disappearance,” Mac told David after showing him the greeting card that had been left at registration desk and learning the news about Rock Sinclair’s invitation to the Diablo Ball.

As David had thought, Archie had only to take a glance at the copy of the gold invitation that Rock and Jasmine had given the police chief to declare it a phony.

“I’ve never even heard of Rock Sinclair. How can I invite someone I don’t know to a party?” She shoved the copy back at David. “Let alone his tootsie, too?”

David said, “I don’t think these people are your average party crashers. They came all the way from Hollywood to film this cold case profile, which, while it is technically a cold case, isn’t. They’ve gone to a lot of trouble and expense—”

“They’re party crashers.”

David tapped the badge on his chest. “They’re not fools. They were talking to the chief of police, who they know has resources to determine if they weren’t supposed to be here. If they were crashing, they would not be talking so openly about coming to the ball and shooting a whole program around it. I don’t think they know this invitation was a phony. That makes me wonder. How many other phony invitations could be out there?”

“They aren’t on the list,” Archie said. “The fact that they got this before the invitations were even put in the mail proves it’s a fake.”

“Maybe it’s a joke on Rock Sinclair,” Mac suggested from where he was sitting on the love seat next to Gnarly, who was sleeping off an upset stomach brought on by a pork chop he had stolen from the garbage.

Before Archie could voice her agreement, her tablet buzzed to indicate she had received an e-mail.

Perturbed that she interrupted their conversation to answer an e-mail, David rolled his eyes and turned back to Mac, who stroked Gnarly’s tummy. The German shepherd looked up at David with a dreamy expression in his brown eyes.

“Tell me about Ashton Piedmont,” Mac said.

“Nice girl,” David said. “Twenty-two years old. I was involved in investigating her disappearance—presumed drowning. It was after Dad had passed and the town council had hired an acting police chief. Her parents were both doctors who had passed away in a small plane crash while flying across the mountains down in South America. She was raised by her grandfather, who was a professor at the medical school at the University of Maryland. He passed away a couple of years before she drowned.” With a sad shake of his head, he added, “She had just been accepted to medical school at the university. She was planning to be a doctor like everyone else in her family.”

“You say she drowned,” Mac said, “but her body was never found.”

“Now you sound like Sinclair and his strumpet,” David said. “A witness saw her swimming in the lake. He said she and her friend, Carlisle Green, were both drunk and possibly doing other illegal substances. It is assumed she drowned—”

“Why didn’t this witness try to save her?”

“He didn’t
see
her drown.” Exasperated, David sighed and sat down across from Mac. “Do you want me to tell you what happened?”

“That’s what I meant when I asked you to tell me about it.”

With a growl, Archie tossed her tablet back onto the coffee table. “Give me that invitation!”

“Oh, now you have time for me,” David cracked.

Archie whirled around at Mac. “Remember Kassandra Van Dyke?”

Mac told David, “Another social climber trying to get on the A-list.”

“She blew into town with Lindsey York this morning,” David said.

“Who is Lindsey York?” Mac asked.

“A living example of what happens when you get too much before you’re mature enough to handle it,” David said. “I arrested Lindsey for DUI. She was in jail a total of seventy-two minutes before she posted bail and got out. Record time.”

“According to Kassandra, she’s on the list.” Archie told David, “She just e-mailed her RSVP to me. Seems she received an email invitation and her housekeeper says she got a printed one at her home. Amazing postal service considering that Catherine only put the invitations in the mail
today
.”

Mac tried to object. “But—”

Archie was continuing her rant. “Kassandra is thrilled that her invitation had finally gotten to her and she never should have doubted but that she would have been invited to the Diablo Ball because her good friend
Lindsey York
got her invitation more than a week ago.”

“I knew it!” David gasped. “Someone is bringing them all together again.”

Mac interjected, “Exactly who is Lindsey York? Could she have killed Ashton Piedmont?”

“Lindsey York is a trouble maker that Robin Spencer had blackballed permanently from the Diablo Ball the year before she passed,” Archie answered.

“How did she get an invitation?” David asked while Archie snatched the copy of the phony invitation from his grasp.

Planting her hands on her hips, Archie said with a growl, “Has to be Rock Sinclair for his little news program.” Mac’s laughter redirected her disgust. “What’s so funny?”

With a grin, Mac sat back on the love seat and folded his arms behind his head. “Suddenly, I have a feeling that the Diablo Ball isn’t going to be as boring as I had originally thought.”

Chapter Four

“Oh, it was the stuff of bad movies.” Catherine Fleming rolled her eyes at the memory.

“A really bad chick flick.” Ben was helping Mac to set up the DVD in the home theater, located on the ground floor of the manor, across from what had been Robin Spencer’s study where she penned close to a hundred literary masterpieces.

It had been quite some time since Mac and Archie had watched a DVD. For many years, the Diablo Ball had been filmed and DVDs of the event had been given as souvenirs to attendees. As soon as she had learned about the non-invitees, Catherine grabbed her disk of the very last ball. She and her husband rushed as fast as their Mercedes could get them from their estate at the top of Spencer Mountain to the Point at the bottom.

“I still don’t know why she came.” The prosecutor’s wife accepted Archie’s offer of a glass of sherry. “The Diablo Ball was in no way the MTV awards. We were made up of the literary set. Writers, publishers, agents, Washington DC politicians who fancy themselves to be educated and highbrow. After Robin’s books were made into movies more of the Hollywood set—”

“None of the fast crowd.” David handed a bottle of beer to Mac, which he had helped himself to from the kitchen. “I really can’t imagine Lindsey even being remotely interested in attending such a boring event.” In response to the daggers shot to him from both Catherine and Archie while he took a sip of his beer, he swallowed and then cleared his throat. “Not that
I
think it’s boring.”

“You’ve never gone,” Archie pointed out, “even though you were invited.”

“I’ve always had to work.”

“Volunteered to cover that shift to let other officers attend?” Mac whispered.

“What can I say? I’m a nice guy,” David replied.

“Admit it,” Archie ordered, “you arranged to be working for an excuse not to go.”

“Why would you
not
want to go to the Diablo Ball?” Catherine’s tone was wounded.

“You’re coming and bringing Chelsea this year, aren’t you?” Archie asked. “She knows you’re getting an invitation and she’s looking forward to it.”

“It would be good for her career,” Ben said. “One day, I’m going to want to retire and if she knows the right people, she could stand a chance of taking over as county prosecutor.”

“Doesn’t she have to graduate from law school first?” David asked.

“You have to think about her future,” Ben said.

Mac recognized the expression of dread on the police chief’s face. “With this group crashing, I don’t think it’s going to be boring.” He invited David to sit next to him in the home theater’s reclining seats.

Shaking his head, David dropped down into the chair with a groan. “I hate the thought of spending an evening stuck in a room full of Rock Sinclairs and Lindsey Yorks.”

“People like them usually don’t make Spencer their party spot,” Ben said. “We’re too low key for them, which is why it was so odd Lindsey York coming to the ball and causing such a ruckus.”

“Between Lindsey and her friends’ behavior, that last event ended up being a fiasco.” Catherine pointed a finger bearing a long pink fingernail in Archie’s direction. “In twenty years of the Diablo Ball, we had never seen anything like it.”

“How did she get an invitation?” Mac asked.

“Her father is Randolph York,” Ben said. “He owns SuperMart.”

“I know him,” Mac said. “He has a big estate at the top of the mountain and spends a lot of time at the Spencer Inn. During the summer season, he has lunch there every single day.” He noticed Catherine and Archie exchange knowing glances. “What?”

Archie giggled. “Nothing.”

Ben reached over to nudge Mac in the arm. “It’s common knowledge that it’s not the food that brings Randolph York to Spencer and the Spencer Inn every summer.”

Mac furrowed his brow.

Chuckling next to him, David said, “For a first class detective, you can miss some very obvious clues.”

“What does Randolph York come to Spencer for?”

“Only to admire the greatest pair of gams this side of the Mississippi,” Ben said. “Don’t you notice that when Randolph York is at the Spencer Inn, he’s not very far from Betty, the manager at the registration desk?”

Considering that he had failed to notice that one of the Inn’s most important frequent guests was so attracted to one of his employees, Mac didn’t want to confess that he had missed noticing what Ben and David considered to be an exceptional pair of legs. To him, Betty Cosgrove was simply a very pretty and extremely nice woman who many guests raved about.

Now that I think about it, most of those guests raving about Betty are male.

“You never noticed,” David said with a grin.

“That’s because he’s so in love with Archie,” Catherine said.

“Exactly,” Archie said.

“Betty Cosgrove is dating Randolph York?” Mac couldn’t envision his dedicated, hardworking employee, a single mother who had put herself through college while working the night shift at the Inn, in a romantic relationship with someone who had to be one of the top five wealthiest men in the country.

“No,” Archie said, “not dating. He’s clearly attracted to her. Everyone sees it, but as far as I know, he’s never taken her out.”

“Maybe he thinks she’s too low class to be in his league,” Catherine said. “Nice to look at, but not good enough to touch.”

“No,” Mac said with certainty. “Randolph York is very down to earth. If he’s attracted to Betty but hasn’t acted on it, there’s another reason. Maybe he’s scared.”

“He’s a
billionaire
,” David laughed.

“Money doesn’t erase fear of rejection,” Mac said. “The man clearly has some issues. I’ve known him for years. Played golf with him. Had drinks with him. Never once did he mention a daughter to me.”

“As far as Randolph is concerned, he doesn’t have a daughter,” Ben said. “He disowned her. A couple of summers ago, he asked me for advice about how to insure she didn’t get a penny of his money.”

“Lindsey’s mother was Stephanie Williams, an actress who was heavily into sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” Archie said. “She was found drowned in their pool one morning after one of her famous parties down in Cancun. Luckily, Lindsey was with her father at their estate and didn’t see it happen. Lindsey is following right in her mother’s footsteps.”

“He lives right down the road from us,” Catherine said. “He’d come to the Diablo Ball every year and make a huge donation.”

“He’s nothing like his daughter,” David agreed with a nod of his head. “Every time Lindsey would get into trouble here and the police were called, Randolph York would send a big gift basket to the police department as an apology for how his daughter treated us.”

“At that last ball, Lindsey was going to be her father’s date,” Catherine recalled. “At the last minute, he got called away to a meeting in New York. So she came and brought her friend Kassandra Van Dyke. Kassandra’s father knew Lindsey’s mother from their party days in Hollywood.”

While handing the DVD player’s remote to his wife, Ben laughed. “Picture
Girls Gone Wild
meets Harvard’s Book Club.”

Holding the remote like a baton, Catherine stood in front of the big screen to set up the scene for the audience. “It was after the cocktail party, before the dinner. Archie and I had spent a full month working on the seating chart. That’s not easy. By then, Archie knew most everyone and who got along with whom. We tried to place all of the young people together at the same table.”

Archie jumped in. “When Randolph had notified Robin that Lindsey was bringing Kassandra in his place I redid the seating to have them sit with A.J. Wagner and his party. He had just graduated from University of Maryland in pre-med. His father, Dr. Howard Wagner, the university president, had died only the year before. A.J. was with a party of four. His date, Ashton Piedmont. The other two were another couple, his college roommate and Rachel Breckenridge. Her mother is Dr. Elizabeth Breckenridge. She’s now the dean of the School of Medicine at the University of Maryland.”

She rushed on, “I was originally going to have A.J. Wagner’s party sit with Dr. Breckenridge and her date, but then, when I’d found out that Lindsey and Kassandra were coming, I realized I had enough young people to make up one whole table. That worked out well because Dr. Breckenridge’s table was full of medical academic types. She had published a book the year before that was on its way to becoming a huge hit.”

“Something about using a three-D printer to make body parts,” Ben said with a shiver.

“Her book and research has become like a bible at medical schools all across the country,” Archie said. “At the time of this last ball, it had only come out the year before and there were a lot of academic and publishing big-wigs begging to be seated with her.”

“So Dr. Breckenridge was safe from the big event,” Mac clarified. “But her daughter was not. Neither was Ashton Piedmont, who ended up missing and presumed dead.”

Ben said, “Ashton was just a witness to all this, Mac, not an active participant.”

“Mac is right about one thing, Ben,” David said. “A week later, Ashton Piedmont disappeared.”

“Am I the only one who finds that suspicious?” Mac asked.

“It was an accidental drowning,” Ben said.

“I don’t know if Ashton and Wagner had even met Lindsey and Kassandra before that night,” Catherine said. “As a matter of fact, Wagner and his party were not banned from the ball.”

“Lindsey, Kassandra, and Jasmine Simpson were banned,” Archie said. “Robin was specific.”

“What do you know about Jasmine Simpson?” David asked. “She’s Rock Sinclair’s mistress and date this year for the ball. Did she know Ashton before that night? A couple of hours ago, she made it sound like they were BFFs.”

After whipping out her tablet to check the information, Archie held up her finger. “Jasmine Simpson got her degree in communications from the University of Maryland three years ago. That is the same university where Ashton Piedmont attended. Both of their families own property here on the lake in Spencer, and they did summer here regularly.”

“So they most likely, at least, knew of each other,” Mac said. “How was Rock’s mistress involved?” He peered at the picture that Catherine had frozen on the big screen television while she set up the scene. It was a large round dining table in what he recognized to be the main banquet room at the Inn, reserved for weddings and special events. Everyone was in formal dress. Three men wore tuxedos, while their dates were dressed in cocktail dresses. The seating was girl-boy-girl-boy.

“Watch,” Catherine replied. “I’m just showing you the climax.” She pointed the remote and hit the play button. “Dinner was right about to start. Lindsey York was already inebriated when she got there.”

Ben said, “A.J. Wagner is the blond haired man with his arm around his date, Ashton Piedmont.”

A.J. Wagner was a handsome young man with a chiseled jaw. In his early twenties, he still had schoolboy charm. His date sat at his left, the last in the line of the round table. Ashton was dressed in a pale pink dress that flowed over her slender curves. Her hair was cute in a simple cut to the nape of her neck. She was attractive, but not overtly glamorous.

“Ashton,” Mac mouthed with narrowed eyes.

The next man seated at the table contrasted A.J. Wagner’s fair features. He had dark hair that was longer and curved around his face.

The woman sitting next to him was dressed in a blue gown. Her long hair flowed down to her shoulders. Catherine reiterated that the other couple was guests of A.J. Wagner.

“What’s the name of A.J.’s roommate?” Mac asked.

“Corey Haim,” Catherine replied. “He’s from West Virginia. I don’t know much about him except that he and A.J. are real close buds.”

On the opposite side of the table, the next couple was Jasmine Simpson and her date. David noted that Jasmine looked much the same, though the years had made her more sophisticated. In the five year old recording, shot when she was still in college, she had more of a baby-face in her appearance.

When the camera zoomed in for a close-up of the couple, David sprang upright in his seat. “Freeze it right there.”

Juggling with the remote, Catherine hit the pause button to freeze the frame on Jasmine Simpson and her date.

David squinted at the young man sitting next to Rock Sinclair’s now mistress. In the years since, he had trimmed his hair and grown a goatee and mustache. The cocky smirk and wink he was flashing at the lovely server pouring the champagne was unmistakable.

“I met that man today,” David said. “He’s Samuel Nash, the director for Rock Sinclair and Jasmine Simpson’s film project.”

“And now his date from back then is sleeping with another man and they are both his boss?” Ben asked. “Awkward.”

“Very.” Catherine hit the play button.

Two young women joined the group at the table. One was dressed in a red sequin dress that plunged to reveal her ample bosom. The red in her hair matched the hue of the dress. The other’s gown matched the red one, in black. Her platinum mane contrasted the black in her gown.

The redhead staggered to the table. “Hey, there’s table thirteen!” Leading her friend, Lindsey left an empty chair between her and Corey before flopping down at the table.

Her companion introduced herself to the group. “I’m Kassandra Van Dyke. This is Lindsey York.” She offered an awkward wave of her hand. “This is going to be so much fun. It’s such a great cause. I just love Robin’s Pets. Don’t you?”

“Shut up, Kassandra, and put your ass in the chair,” Lindsey said with a sneer. “Have they come to take our drink orders yet?” she asked those at the table.

Glancing around, Ashton asked, “Are you sure you’re at the right table?”

“This is thirteen, ain’t it?” Lindsey picked up an envelope placed under her napkin in the center of her plate.

Ashton responded to her date’s questioning look. “I thought—”

A.J. told her, “There was some last minute seat changes due to cancellations.”

Lindsey laughed. “Shit!”

There was a stunned silence at the table.

“Excuse me?” Jasmine Simpson replied.

“Someone thinks they’re hot shit because they know my secret.” She waved a card like a flag at those at the table and surrounding tables.