The Lady Who Cried Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery)

by Lauren Carr

  “I blew his brains out.”

  The doctor and nurses at West Virginia University Hospital didn’t want to press their luck with keeping the hospital administration from finding out that they were treating a non-human patient. Luckily, the stab wound went through Gnarly’s shoulder. While it punctured the chest cavity, it did not strike any major organs or arteries. As soon as they finished with Gnarly and made sure he was out of danger, they wheeled him, covered completely by a sheet, out to the cruiser and loaded him, IV and all, in the back with instructions to drive him home gently. He was still heavily sedated.

  While each of the nurses fussed over Gnarly, giving him kisses and stroking the drowsy shepherd, Mac shook the doctor’s hand. “I know you took a huge chance treating Gnarly.”

  “I’m a doctor,” he replied. “When I swore to preserve life, I didn’t put any boundaries on species.”

  Mac slipped his business card into his palm. “If there’s ever anything I can do to repay the favor, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  After glancing at it, but not registering Mac’s name or importance, the doctor pocketed the card. “Thank you very much, but you don’t owe me anything. I’m glad to help.” He patted Mac on the shoulder. “I need to join the rest of the team in the examination room. We need to sterilize it before any human patients come in.” He waved a farewell to David, who was waiting in driver’s seat of the cruiser. “Drive safely and take it easy. Don’t bounce him around. We don’t want to tear his stitches.”

  Archie, Chelsea, and Molly came out onto the porch to greet them when they pulled the cruiser through the stone pillars marking the entrance to Spencer Manor. As soon as the door opened, Irving came running out to see if his mistress was there. Seeing that she wasn’t, he whirled around and went inside to have a proper snit in the chair next to the fireplace.

  David took one end of the blanket that Gnarly was on while Mac took the other. Gingerly, they carried him inside and placed him on a dog bed that Archie had set up in front of the fireplace, which had a roaring fire in it. As soon as he was on the floor, Archie knelt down on the floor next to him to pet and caress him. Still out of it from the heavy drugs, all Gnarly could offer was a weak cry.

  Mac carefully adjusted the IVs and covered Gnarly with a blanket to keep him warm.

  Gazing imploringly at him, Molly curled up next to him and rested her head on his hip.

  “Northrop is dead?” Chelsea asked.

  “Yep,” David said.

  “That means he can’t turn on Senator Harry Palazzi and his son, Bevis,” she said.

  “I know that,” David said with a sigh.

  “Did you have to—?” she started to ask.

  “He tried to kill me,” David replied. “He stabbed Gnarly. He left me no choice.”

  Chelsea’s eyes grew big. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know … it was you?”

  “Yes,” David said. “I shot him. I killed him. He wasn’t the first man I’ve killed, and I’d do it again.”

  Unable to find something to say, she stared at him.

  Sensing that this discovery had changed her image of him, David turned away. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” Without giving her a chance to stop him, David went through the dining room to the deck doors, and went out to go to his cottage.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Spencer Manor—Next Morning

  Chelsea let herself into David’s cottage. She half expected David to still be in bed since he had only gotten home two hours before. Archie had offered to drive her and Molly into work at Ben Fleming’s office if he was still in bed, so she let herself into the cottage to check. The sound of the shower running told her that he was awake and would be taking her into work.

  Molly slipped in behind her and went over to a basket of dog toys that David had on hand for his canine guests. After nosing through them, she selected a dog bone. While waiting for her owner, she stretched out on the floor next to the basket to enjoy a good chew.

  David’s coat was slung over the back of a chair at the kitchen table. His utility belt was draped over top of that. When she set her laptop case on the table, Chelsea noticed everything that David carried in his utility belt: baton, flashlight, cell phone, handcuffs, pouch to carry extra gun cartridges, and, of course, his gun.

  All that stuff. Must be heavier than my purse.

  She picked up the belt and weighed it with her hand. It was heavy—just as she had thought. As a wicked thought crossed her mind, she glanced up into the loft. The shower was still going.

  Should I? …Yeah! He’ll never know.

  Her heart beat faster while she shrugged out of her coat and slipped the belt around her waist to let it rest on her hips. Her frame was so tiny that there were no holes in the belt in which to buckle it, so she was forced to hold it in place with her hands. Still, the weight made her wonder at how police officers were able to go around all day wearing something that heavy—let alone run after a fleeing criminal.

  When she set the belt back onto the chair, her hand landed on the gun in the holster. The Beretta, black in its leather holster, resembled a child’s toy beckoning to her.

  A child’s toy that can kill someone—like the man David killed last night. It looks heavy. Something that can take away a man’s life should be heavy—it deserves to be heavy.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she unclasped the case and slipped the gun out of its holster. Reminding herself that this weapon had the power to take away a life, she tightened her grip on it and pointed it across the room. Closing one eye, she held it up to look down the sights.

  “What are you doing?”

  Chelsea jumped. In doing so, she raised the gun while looking up into the loft at where the call had come from.

  Seeing the gun pointed in his direction, David, dressed in his bathrobe, dropped to the floor. “Chelsea! Have you lost your mind?”

  Realizing what a stupid thing she was doing, Chelsea fought to keep hold of the weapon, while at the same time trying to put it down as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry, I…I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Obviously.” David rose up to peer over the railing. “Did you put it down?”

  Holding up both of her hands to show him that she was unarmed, she nodded her head. “I put it back.”

  David hurried down the winding staircase from the loft. “You know better than to play with a gun. What got into you?”

  “It was sitting there…” Even as she said it, Chelsea realized how childish her excuse sounded. “I was thinking about you killing that man last night and I wondered what it was like. I wanted to put myself in your place—understand what had to be going through your mind—see what it was like.”

  “By shooting me?” David felt his heart racing inside his chest. Clutching his chest, he realized that he was still moist from his shower and wearing only his bathrobe.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong. It was childish and stupid of me.”

  “Are you waiting for me to argue that point?” After checking the safety, the round in the chamber, and the magazine, David slipped the gun back into its holster.

  “I just want to understand what you go through when you have to kill someone,” she said. “The way I was raised, you don’t kill people—”

  “I was raised that way, too,” David said. “But there are people who think nothing of that, and it’s my job to protect the rest of us from them. When I signed on for that job, I knew full well that sometimes I would end up in situation where I would have to take a life. It goes with the job.”

  Her eyes fell to the gun in the holster. “Did you use that gun?”

  “No,” David said, “I used an assault rifle. I don’t have that for you to play with because the Pennsylvania State police took it into evidence.”

  “I don’t fault you for what you did.” She rested her hand on his. “I’m trying to understand—”

  “I feel horrible,” David said. “I always feel horrible after killing someone. I run it through my
mind over and over again to see if there was something I missed, something else I could have done to have had a different outcome—but it always comes down to the same thing—I had to do it. There was no other way.”

  “If you didn’t feel horrible, then that would make you as bad as the bad guys,” she said.

  “Exactly.” Seeing her eyeing the gun in the holster, David asked, “Would you like to hold it?”

  She backed up a step. “I don’t know. What if I shoot you by accident?”

  “Now you think about that.” Chuckling, David took the gun out of its holster. He removed the magazine and took the bullet out of the chamber. “This is where most accidents happen,” he said. “They take out the magazine, but forget about the one in the chamber.” He turned on the safety, just in case, and held out the gun with its grip to her.

  Frightened, she gently took the grip into her hand. “It feels a lot lighter,” she noted.

  “No bullets,” he said. “Point it to the floor.”

  With both hands on the grip, she aimed the gun to the floor. “How, in the types of situations that I imagine you and Mac get into where everything is happening at once, you can take this and aim and actually hit anything, I don’t know.”

  “That’s why there’s a lot of training,” David said, “to get us used to it to the point that it becomes second nature. You’re right. We never know what’s going to happen until we get into the middle of it. Then, we have a split second to make a decision and act on it. ” Seeing her trying to look down the sights, he grasped her hand holding the gun. “Let me show you how to hold it and aim.”

  Stepping behind her, he held her against his bare chest and placed both hands on hers and the gun. “Relax.” He jiggled her arms to help her loosen her grip.

  Easy for you to say. Chelsea was aware of the heat from his body pressed against her back. His flesh felt hot. The rapid beating of her heart made it difficult for her to relax her grip.

  Resting his cheek against her head, he helped her to aim at an imaginary target on the lower wall. “Look through the notch and down the barrel to the tip at the end. You line that up with the target, and then you fire,” David said. “This is a condensed version of target practice, but you get the idea.”

  Feeling her back against his body, he tried to ease the quickening of his breath. Her scent was filling his head. He lowered his hands down to her waist. The back of her hips pressed against his body.

  “David?” She was still peering through the sights on the gun. “Did you hear my question?”

  “What?” He was startled out of his fantasy of ripping off his robe, lifting her up into his arms, and taking her upstairs to the loft.

  “What about the kick I always hear about?”

  “What kick?” he replied in a dreamy voice.

  She turned around to ask him, “Isn’t there supposed to be a kick when you fire a gun?”

  “Oh, the kick,” he said. “From the gun. Yes, there is a kick.” Trying to take his mind off his fantasy, he rambled on. “You have to fire a gun a few times to get used to it and know what to expect. That’s why they say when you get a gun, even if it is only for emergencies, you need to take it out to practice, so that you know how it will fire.” With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and busied himself by taking the gun from her hand and reloading it. “A lot of novices, knowing that a gun will have a kick, will press down to fight against the kick while firing the gun. That’s how you end up with a crotch shot.”

  “Crotch shot?” She cocked her head at him.

  “That’s what I call it.” He slipped the gun back into the holster.

  “Is that what it sounds like?” she asked him.

  “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Since the shooter is pulling down on the gun to fight the kickback before he or she fires, the shot goes low. You’re aiming for the perp’s chest, but instead you get him in the crotch.”

  “Have you ever seen that?”

  “It’s not pretty,” David replied.

  “You look flushed,” she said.

  “That’s because the shower was hot.” David tightened up his robe. “I only got a couple of hours sleep and needed to wake up.”

  A slow grin came to her lips when she caught sight of a bulge from his arousal inside his bathrobe. “I guess I woke you up.” She stepped into his arms and wrapped them around him.

  “You certainly have.” He pulled her in tight.

  “I’m sorry I went off on you last night.” She pressed her lips against his jaw.

  “When you apologize like that, how can I not forgive you?”

  She raised up on her toes to reach beneath his robe and wrap her arms around his shoulders. He covered her mouth with his. He took in a deep breath to fill his head with her scent.

  The chiming of the anniversary clock on the mantle jolted her back to her senses. With effort, she pulled out of his embrace. “I have to go to work,” she whispered.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I have to take you to work.”

  She pried her gaze from his eyes and lowered them to his body, visible through the opening of his robe.

  “I don’t think Ben will mind if you’re a little late.” He gently kissed her.

  “It’s a new job,” she argued while reaching up to steal another kiss.

  “He knows you can’t drive.” He took her back into a tight embrace.

  “I don’t want Ben to think I’m privileged just because I’m dating the police chief.”

  David gazed down into her eyes that were the lightest blue he had ever seen. He could stare into them forever. A naughty grin crossed his face. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating? We’ve actually moved out of the friend category to lovers?”

  She uttered a groan while burying her face into his neck. “I hate it when you win.”

  Irving the skunk cat was in a snit. He hadn’t seen Cameron, his mistress, for two days, and that stoolie dog who as good as squealed on them for tearing up the kitchen was getting all the attention. That Gnarly was sentenced to wear the Cone of Shame while recuperating from his daring rescue of the police chief was of little consolation.

  At least Molly knew enough to respect the skunk cat’s authority by staying away from him. Her mistress cared enough to take her everywhere with her. Irving recalled when he used to go to work with his mistress, until she married that man.

  Life was so grand until she met him. Perched on top of the back of love seat, Irving stared out the front window in an effort to will Cameron to come back to him. It finally worked.

  Cameron’s police cruiser came through the stone pillars and around the circle driveway.

  Irving jumped down from the back of the loveseat and raced to the front door. When Archie pulled herself away from where she and Gnarly were staring at each other to answer the door, Irving rejoiced only long enough to notice that Cameron Gates was not alone. She had brought company with her.

  Spotting Joshua Thornton, Irving whirled around, hitched his butt up in the human’s general direction, and raced up the stairs to hide under a bed. Joshua had quickly learned that Irving’s butt hitch was a feline version of giving him the finger.

  “Well, there’s one who’s not happy to see you,” Cameron told Joshua before stepping inside.

  When the tall, slender man, approximately the same age as Mac, followed her inside, Archie wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Pulling back, she admired his blue eyes, framed with laugh lines, and the wavy silver hair that he wore down to the collar of his leather jacket. The prosecuting attorney for Hancock County in West Virginia, Joshua Thornton was not your average legal weenie, as police officers and those on the front lines liked to characterize lawyers. During his long career as an officer in the navy, the JAG lawyer had investigated crimes ranging from espionage to serial murders—and had convicted the perpetrators. He had as much investigative experience as any
detective before moving his family back to his small hometown after his first wife’s sudden death.

  Archie was in awe of how quickly the single father’s romance had taken off. Only twelve months before, Joshua had met the homicide detective who worked across the state line from his jurisdiction. “I knew when you two were here last that it was going to be a short time before you got married. I was right.”

  “Great to see you again, Archie.” Joshua kissed her on the cheek.

  “I only wish you had a wedding and invited us so that we could have met your children,” Archie said while leading him and Cameron over to the fireplace where Joshua knelt across from his wife to examine Gnarly’s injury in the line of duty.

  “Well,” Joshua explained, “with five kids, four of whom are grown and out of the nest, it was just too hard to find a date for all of them to have been there for a wedding. I didn’t want to wait that long.”

  Archie caught Cameron shooting Joshua a look. While she didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth about not wanting to wait, there was something in Cameron’s greenish-brown eyes that told her that it was not the whole truth. Maybe not all of Joshua’s children approved of their new stepmother?

  Joshua shifted the conversation with one question. “Is Mac home?”

  “I hope you aren’t bringing me another case,” Mac asked on his way down the stairs. A few hours of sleep and a shower were enough to refresh him.

  Joshua met him at the bottom of the stairs to clasp his hand. “I was hoping you’d let me in on your case.”

  “Don’t you have enough crime in West-by-God-Virginia that you have to come to Spencer to dip your toe into our murders?” Mac asked.

  “I hate crooked politicians,” Joshua said.

  “Is that because you’re one?” Mac shot back with a grin.

  “I’m not a politician.”

  “Yes, you are,” Cameron and Mac said in unison.

  “You were elected prosecuting attorney,” Cameron said.

  “I want to help you get Palazzi,” Joshua told Mac.