The Murders at Astaire Castle (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (22 page)

“Any luck?” Archie asked them.

Chelsea shook her head. “That’s okay. In a way, he was still gone even after he was found. He never did recognize or remember me in the hospital.”

Mac threw open the back of the SUV. “Gnarly! Molly! Get inside!”

Instead of coming, both dogs whirled around to face the brush next to the garage. Both of their hackles rose up. Molly whined while Gnarly growled.

They turned to see what had caught the dogs’ attention.

A white mist rested in front of the garage doors.

“It looks like the image on the security camera,” Archie said.

“Riley?” Chelsea asked. The mist moved forward to stop in front of her. It came up to her waist.

Yelping, Molly ran around and jumped up into the back of the SUV. Gnarly was close behind.

Hovering in front of her, it floated up to brush against her face before going back down to the ground and disappearing into the woods behind the garage.

“Be safe, Riley,” Chelsea murmured.

David wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I have a feeling Nigel will take care of him, sort of how Molly takes care of you.”

Gnarly let out a bark to remind them that they had forgotten someone.

“And Gnarly takes care of us,” Archie said.

“Except when David needs to cover up one of his crimes.” Mac slammed the back to the SUV shut and went around to the driver’s side.

“You know, Mac,” David stopped him as he passed, “you never did say if all of this has changed your opinion about the supernatural.”

“Do you mean, do I now believe in ghosts, shape-shifters, and werewolves?” Mac asked. “I always did say I believed Gnarly was a werewolf.”

David countered, “That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, it is.” Mac threw open the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” Mac said. “Get in the car and shut up.”

David climbed into the back seat. “Keep it, Mac, and I’m going to have to shoot you.”

The End

The Lady Who Cried Murder--Book Excerpt

A Mac Faraday Mystery

Prologue

Spencer Mountain on Deep Creek Lake, Western Maryland—Three Years Ago

“Are you ready for this?” Mac Faraday asked David O’Callaghan, Spencer’s young chief of police.

The two men peered through the window at the fleet of vans and SUVs. Blocking the mountain road, a mob of journalists and their camera operators filled the small front yard of the log A-frame home built into the side of Spencer Mountain.

“There sure are a lot of them,” David said in a low voice.

Mac looked over at the handsome young man. The gold police shield pinned to his chest shone. It stood out against his uniform’s white shirt. Somehow, it seemed unfair that the police chief, only in his early thirties, should be baptized by the media with such a horrible case.

Baptism by fire.

“You’ll do fine,” Mac said. “Use your officer’s training from the Marines. When you go out there, take command. They’re going to try to take control from you—don’t let them.”

“You make it sound like I’m going into battle.”

“You are.” Unable to look at the horde of journalists anymore, Mac turned away.

David followed him into the front sitting room. “When you were a homicide detective in DC, did you ever have to give a statement to the media?”

“Are you kidding?” Mac replied. “I’m the last person my superiors wanted speaking to one of those vultures.” Grasping David’s arm, he soften his tone. “You’re going to do fine. We’ve practiced your statement. Remember, no questions because—”

“It’s an open police investigation,” David finished.

“It’s okay to be firm with that,” Mac said. “You’re in charge of this investigation. A young woman is missing. Your first objective is bringing her home to her mother safely—not playing up to the cameras.”

“I almost wish I wasn’t chief of police,” David muttered. “I remember how much Dad despised having to do things like this. They always seemed to take one thing he would say and twist it—”

“I know.” A smile came to Mac’s lips when he thought about the feelings he and his birth father shared, even though they had never met. There was something to genetics.

He caught a look in David’s eyes, which were identical to his own. They had both inherited their deep blue eyes from their father, as well as their tall slender build. The only noticeable difference was in David’s blond hair, inherited from his mother. Mac had inherited his birth mother’s dark hair, touched with gray at the temples which had crept in after he had hit his forties.

As a teenager, Robin Spencer had given birth to Mac out of wedlock. Her parents had immediately whisked him away to be adopted. While Mac’s mother went on to become a world famous murder mystery author; his birth father, Patrick O’Callaghan, had become the police chief of Spencer, a resort town located on the shores of Deep Creek Lake. Eventually, he married and had a son.

It was only upon Robin Spencer’s death forty-seven years later that Mac Faraday, a homicide detective in Washington, DC, had discovered the truth. She had left him her entire estate, which included a mansion on Deep Creek Lake. She had also left Mac her journal, in which the multi-millionaire learned about his birthright. While his birth parents were deceased, his half-brother was alive.

“I’m glad you’re here to help me, Mac,” David said.

Mac shrugged his shoulders. “It’s better than losing another tennis match to Fleming.”

Arthur Bogart, Spencer’s deputy chief of police, came in from outside. “The natives are getting restless out there, Chief.”

“I’m ready.” David picked up a clipboard with his notes from the coffee table to go over his statement one more time.

“I’ll give these to our officers to pass out to them.” Bogie picked up a stack of papers that contained a drawing of their suspect and handed some to Mac.

“Chief O’Callaghan?”

They looked up the stairs leading to the upper levels of the home. Florence Everest was making her way down the stairs. Archie Monday, assistant to the late Robin Spencer, was behind her.

Focusing on the case of Florence’s missing daughter, Mac pushed aside the thought of how lovely Archie was. For the last four days, the petite blonde had been acting as friend and confidante to the distraught mother.

When Robin Spencer left Mac Faraday her estate worth two-hundred-and-seventy million dollars, she had further increased his good fortune by stipulating that her assistant, Archie Monday, was permitted to live in the guest house for as long as she wanted. Mac Faraday had no desire for the emerald-eyed blonde who loved to go barefoot to leave. It isn’t every man who inherits a house with a live-in nymph.

Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult to gauge Florence Everest’s age. She was a tall, slender woman with the presence of a movie star from the days of the silver screen or a runway model. Her presence was flawless. An interior decorator, she knew all about style and had used her talents to become successful in business, as well as high society, which was how she had risen up from a single working mother to the cream of Deep Creek Lake society.

For those on the A-list, Florence Everest was the only interior decorator in town.

Casting a fearful glance out the window at the crowd that seemed to be closing in while David’s officers pushed them back, she asked, “Do I need to go out there?” Her eyes were puffy from a recent flow of tears.

“No,” David said. “If you’re out there, they’ll be focused on you. I want them to listen to me and look at our pictures from the sketch artist.”

A ruckus outside caused them to return to the window. The journalists looked like they were about to mow down the dozens of Spencer and Garrett County officers trying to hold them back when the front door opened.

A young woman and man rushed inside and slammed the door behind them.

While the woman rushed to hug Florence, her chubby companion hung back to glare at David and Mac. His penetrating gaze bore through his small dark eyes under his dark eyebrows and flabby cheeks.

“Ms. Everest, have you heard anything yet?” the woman asked. “I saw on the Internet that the police chief was going to make an announcement. Does that mean they found Khloe?”

“No, Lily,” Florence said. “We’ve heard nothing yet.”

“I wish I had insisted on Khloe going home with me.” With a sob, Lily glanced over at the row of pictures that lined the fireplace mantel. “I saw that she had had too much to drink. None of this would have happened—”

“It’s not your fault.” Florence draped her arm around Lily’s shoulders.

Everyone’s eyes turned to the mantel, which contained an array of pictures of the dark-haired beauty. Like her mother, she had dark hair that fell in a thick wave pass her shoulders. Her dark eyes stood out against her alabaster skin. Many of the photographs were professional shots displaying her striking features that had won her leading roles in the few local community theater circuit.

“We’re passing out pictures of the man that you saw Khloe talking to down at the lake on Friday night,” David explained. “If we can get it out across the media, maybe someone will recognize him.”

“That’s all?” Lily’s friend exploded. “You’re passing out drawings of this guy? Why aren’t you out there looking? Why aren’t you bringing in suspects to question? She’s been missing for the last three days and all you bunch of boobs have been doing is hanging around looking at the view and contemplating your navels.”

“Now look here, Bevis,” Bogie said, “we’ve been doing everything possible. You don’t know—” The silver-haired deputy chief, possessing the solid build of a wrestler, was more than impressive enough to cause Bevis to back up a step to avoid contact with him.

“I know all about abduction cases.” Bevis tried to avoid the imposing form of the deputy chief. “My father was a sheriff in Frederick County in the 1970s. He worked hundreds of abduction and murder cases before becoming Senator and I know all about how it works. Your handling of this case is totally unacceptable!” As if he threatened to strike David in the chest, he poked a finger in the police chief’s direction. “If you morons would have listened to me three days ago, Khloe would be home now and her kidnapper would be in prison.”

In addition to his nasty disposition, there was something about the smug expression on Bevis’s face that made Mac want to slap it. Sometimes, Mac wondered if it was who Bevis’s father was that rubbed him the wrong way. Senator Harry Palazzi had earned every bit of the reputation of sleazy politician. Every bit his father, Bevis made no bones about planning to take up his father’s torch when his old man decided to retire, which wasn’t likely to happen, and carry it all the way to the White House.

Mac could see by David’s clenched jaw that he had the same effect on him. “Everyone is on edge right now, Bevis. So I’m going to excuse your comments as simply that.”

“Spoken like a man with no balls,” Bevis replied. “How did you get appointed police chief anyway?” He cast a glance in Mac’s direction before scoffing. “I’m sure rubbing elbows with the owner of the Spencer Inn had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s enough, Bevis.” Florence stepped in to cut Bogie off before he was about to grab the young man by the front of his shirt to take him outside for a little talk about respect.

Seeing Bogie coming, Bevis backed up. His legs buckled and he fell backwards to land on his rump and back on the floor.

Without missing a step, Gnarly, another part of Mac’s inheritance, scurried around from where he had moved in to trip Bevis and sat down next to his master. A huge German shepherd with a mind of his own, Gnarly and Mac had a love-hate relationship. When he listened to Mac, or took it upon himself to act in Mac or Archie’s defense, it was love. When he was committing petty larceny, it was hate.

At this moment, it was love. “Watch yourself,” Mac told Bevis, “that first step is a doozy.”

Bevis pointed at the dog whose mouth was hanging open and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth in what appeared to be a laugh. “He tripped me on purpose.”

Lily offered her hand to help him up. “Really, Bevis, he’s a dog. They aren’t capable of doing things on purpose. What is it with you two? You’ve been paranoid about him ever since you met him?”

“I don’t like the way he looks at me.” He smoothed his hair with both of his hands. “I know he stole my phone.”

“Why would he steal your cell phone?” Lily asked.

When Mac cast a glance in Gnarly’s direction, the dog scurried over to hide behind Archie.

“The sooner we get this started, the sooner we get it over with.” David moved to the door with Bogie directly behind him. Mac, Bevis, and Lily fell in behind them. Archie grasped Gnarly’s collar to hold him inside with her and Florence to watch through the window.

As soon as the media saw David step out of the house, a hush fell over the journalists. Cameras were poised to frame him in their shot when the police chief stepped up to the bank of microphones that they had set up on a makeshift podium in the driveway.

Bevis leaned against the porch railing with his arms folded across his chest. Mac wondered if that smirk on his face ever left it. It seemed to be permanently etched there. Behind him, Lily chewed on her pinky finger.

Bogie, Mac, and two of David’s officers positioned themselves behind the police chief in a show of support when he began his statement:

“Four nights ago, on Wednesday night, twenty-one year old Khloe Everest, accompanied by two friends, went out for an evening of clubbing. During the course of the evening, she had become separated from her friends. Khloe Everest did not make it home. Witnesses have told our investigators that they had seen Khloe parked at a boat launch on Deep Creek Lake. She was seen speaking to a young man. On Thursday morning, her mother, Florence Everett, who was out of town on a business trip, received a phone call from her daughter’s cell phone, in which she was screaming and crying for help during what appeared to be an attack. They were abruptly cut off. Ms. Everest immediately contacted our police department. Since that time, we have been searching for Khloe Everest. All of you have received pictures of Ms. Everest. We are still searching for the young man that she was last seen speaking to on the lake. At this time, I would like to distribute composite pictures of the young man based on witness descriptions.”

“Is he a suspect?” a journalist yelled out.

“Right now, we only want to talk to him,” David said. “He is wanted for questioning.”

“Do you think Khloe’s disappearance is in any way connected to the Amber Houston disappearance and murder in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania?” another journalist shouted out. “They are about the same age and disappeared in the same way. Could it be the same killer?”

Another journalist agreed. “Have you checked the dumpsters belonging to motels in the area … like the ones in McHenry?”

“We have examined all possibilities,” David said. “Until we get evidence suggesting otherwise, we’re operating on the assumption that Khloe is alive.”

Over the heads of the journalists, Mac saw a car pull up as far as it could go on the blocked road and turn off to get out of traffic. Squinting, he could see a young dark-haired woman behind the wheel. She fluffed her hair with her hands and checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror before opening the door and sliding out of the driver’s seat.

With a broad grin on her face, she sashayed up the driveway in her high heels and fire engine-red short skirt.

Mac was still trying to find the words to express his surprise when abruptly, Lily screamed, “Khloe!”

It took a full moment for the journalists to react. Cameras followed the line of Lily’s pointing finger to the young woman in the driveway striking a pose for the cameras.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Has someone been killed?”

While the journalists mobbed the subject of the search, David turned to gaze at Mac in stunned disbelief.

Not only was Khloe Everest alive, but, judging by the glee on her face while posing for the cameras, she was doing extremely well.

Find out what happens next in
The Lady Who Cried Murder
Coming Fall 2013!