by Rick Murcer
Chapter-4
The new guest, the American, made her nervous. Haley Rose Franson wasn’t all that sure why. He was tall, good-looking, polite, and very bright. She was forty-nine but not dead, and she could still appreciate a man. His broad shoulders invited her to steal those hidden looks that folks lie about.
Still. She didn’t trust him. Nothing she could put her finger on, but there was something now, wasn’t there?
She’d been around the block a few times, especially since her husband Darren had run off with that tart from Dublin, leaving her and her niece Meav to run the Bayside Bed & Breakfast. Darren hadn’t fooled her with his last affair, and she had the same feeling about this American. He was hiding something. She sighed. Then again, weren’t most people?
She sipped her hot tea and pulled the black, thick, wool sweater even tighter around her neck, hoping to ward off the ever-present wind whistling from the ocean. It raced through Galway Bay like some damned banshee and blew directly to her chair inside the oceanfront gazebo near the beach.
Haley Rose smiled. Even in late August, there was no expectation of warm weather on her beloved island, but that was part of the charm, the uniqueness of Ireland, and she loved it with all her heart . . . especially on nights like this. The wind was strong, to be sure, but the night sky was amazingly clear, revealing a billion stars shining like precious gems. The divine view was capped off by the twinkling lights of the villages on the Aran Islands guarding the mouth of Galway Bay, some fifty kilometers across the water.
People, her guests mostly, talked about fancy places in the world like the Caribbean or Hawaii, and she’d heard them prattle on like school children, don’t you know, but one glimpse of her Heaven on Earth and they forgot all about those other places. Most of ‘em just stood there with their mouths open. Even her daughter Chloe, Miss Smarty Pants Special FBI Agent, came home twice a year to shake the demons of her job and bask in the beauty of God’s favorite place.
The wind abruptly stopped, at least for a moment, like it was prone to do. She leaned over the edge of the gazebo, closed her eyes, and took in a long, deep breath of fresh ocean air. The only thing better would be to have a man holding her, kissing her, touching her. Getting her ready for what was next. And she hadn’t had “next” in an age or two.
“What a wonderful view.”
Haley Rose jumped, tossing her tea cup into the air, and slapped her strong hand to her ample bosom, all in a nanosecond.
“Oh my. I’m so sorry. Did I frighten you?”
She turned to face the source of the voice she’d learned to welcome. “Why no. I often throw a perfectly good cup of tea far into the air in a fit of joy. You’ve caught me in the act, I’m afraid.”
The American grinned. Even in the half-light of the night, she could see his charm.
“You Irish have such odd customs.”
“Aye, we might be a bit different, but we’re special, we are.”
“I do apologize for the scare. Let me make it up to you. I’m going to visit Dunguaire Castle in the morning. I’ve been anticipating getting a good look at Kinvara Bay from that vantage point. Would you be able to tear yourself away and accompany me as a guide? I’d be so appreciative and certainly would take you to lunch in return.”
Haley Rose’s pulse rate climbed a notch or two as she pushed back her long, red hair. She felt something amiss with him, to be sure, but most women fantasized about the whole bad boy thing, didn’t they? This American had that stamp all over him . . . and the mystery was fascinating. And what did he have in mind after lunch? She felt herself grow warmer. “Are you asking me on a date?”
He moved closer and took her hand. A sudden, totally unexpected jolt of electricity shot up her arm straight to her heart. It was brilliant.
“If I might be so bold,” he said. “For the last week, I’ve seen your side glances, and I’ve prayed you haven’t noticed the awkwardness of my own. You’re simply too beautiful to ignore. You are a charming woman, and I never could resist green eyes such as yours. So please don’t disappoint me.”
She barely managed to keep her hand from shaking as she pulled it away. Haley Rose took a deep breath and released it slowly. “It is against my better judgment to go on a date with one of my guests, but it’d be rude not to show some old-fashioned Irish hospitality. And to be sure, I don’t want to be leaving you disappointed. Dr. Fredrick Argyle, I’d love to accompany you on your tour.”
Chapter-5
“What the hell do you mean he contacted you three days ago?” Alex shook his head and wiped perspiration from his lip that wasn’t there a minute before.
“Just what I said. He contacted me three different ways, all within a minute of each other.”
Sophie frowned, turning her pretty features into a look of confusion and apprehension that was different from her normal, care-free expression. “So how did he do it? And don’t give me any crap about how you can handle it.”
Manny raised his eyebrows. “Hey, I told you two, so I’m not trying to be the Lone Ranger here . . . and keep it down. The last thing I want is for Jen to know about the messages, got it?”
“We got it,” said Sophie. “Sorry. It’s just that you’ve been out of the groove for a few months, and I’m not sure where your head’s at.”
Manny looked from Alex back to Sophie and recognized a feeling that he hadn’t experienced since the night Louise died. That indefinable tingle that signaled a cryptic, but understood, excitement that preceded the battle, the chase, and the ensuing victory of putting someone behind bars. His version of a God-given purpose.
Sophie’s eyes moistened, and then she jumped up, arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely.
“What’s this for?” choked Manny, already knowing.
A few seconds later, she stepped back, gave him a half-smile . . . then rolled her eyes. “You asshole. You know what it’s for. I thought I’d never see that brain of yours work like that again.”
“I wasn’t sure I wanted it to. Still don’t. But Argyle poked the dragon, and he should have let me sleep.”
Alex clapped his hands together. “Okay. Hunky dory stuff. And I’m glad to see you thinking that way too, but let’s get down to it.”
Manny ran his hand through his hair, an old nervous habit from his teen years. “About 11:00 on Wednesday night, I get this call on my cell. I had the ringer off, but the vibrate got my attention. I looked at the ID and didn’t recognize the number, but had one of those feelings, so I answered. I heard breathing, but no response. I figured I was wrong and was about to hang up, then he spoke.”
“What’d he say?” asked Sophie, her eyes narrowing.
“He gave me that ‘nice to hear your voice’ shit, then he went weird, even for him. He said that the heart wants what it wants, and I’d never be able to stop what his heart had in store for me. Then he hung up. After that, I got one e-mail on my private account and another from my LPD account, saying the identical thing.”
“I don’t get why that’s different,” said Alex, “That sounds like him.”
Manny shook his head. “He used the word heart, twice. That’s not in his vocabulary. Heart is a term people use for endearment or to express emotional attachment to something or someone. He is narcissistic in every sense of the word, but using that term . . . well, it doesn’t quite fit.”
“You’re the expert on that stuff, but he could be messing with you again,” shrugged Sophie.
“He could be, but he didn’t threaten the people around me, like he has every other time he does his terrorism-type junk.”
“So what does it mean?” asked Alex.
Manny raised his hands. “I don’t know. Sophie’s probably right. He’s a psychologist and he knows I would have picked up on that word usage. He’s probably just dicking with me.”
“So we can trace the e-mails?” asked Sophie.
“I’m betting no,” said Alex. “He probably used proxy servers and has figured out how to bounce them all ove
r the world at quick intervals. That would protect his true location, and we’d never be able to trace them. But it wouldn’t hurt to let Buzzy Dancer take a look at them in the lab. She dresses a bit strange, but she’s good.”
“Yeah. You’re right on both accounts. I tried to do some tracing, but came up with nothing. I was surprised the second e-mail got through the office’s firewall . . . and Buzzy is good. Pink wardrobe and all.”
The horn sounded twice as Jennifer’s impatience echoed throughout the neighborhood.
“Better get our butts in motion before she comes in to drag us out and strap us in,” grinned Manny.
“So you’re ready for this? I mean, for real?” questioned Alex.
“Listen, both of you. I’ll never get over losing her, but I need to keep moving toward the healing side of this thing, for Jen and for me. Besides, she’d kick my ass for taking this long to get it together, if she could. Hell, maybe, in some way, she did.”
“I think you’re right; she would kick your ass,” said Sophie.
Just then, Manny’s cell rang. “It’s Josh Corner.”
“Oooo. Let me talk to him. It’s been, like, two months,” said Sophie, reaching for his phone. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t return my four texts a day.”
“I don’t think so. He’s going to put a restraining order out on you.”
“Do you think he’ll try to cuff me? Oh, man. I really need to talk to him now.”
Manny walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Josh. We’re just on our way to the airport.”
“Good to know, Manny. That’ll put you in Miami in a couple hours,” Josh said, then he grew silent.
Manny’s feeling of giddiness was replaced with uneasiness, one he’d grown far too familiar with over the years. “You didn’t call just to tell me happy flying. What else is going on?”
Special Agent Josh Corner cleared his throat. “Shit. Okay. Chief Craig Richardson didn’t report for work this morning. He had a couple of meetings with Miami Homicide and Carousel’s head of security.”
Manny felt his pulse begin to race. “So they sent a crew out to his house?”
“Yeah. They did. Manny, he’s dead. And not just dead. He was shot between the eyes and skinned from head to toe.”
“My God,” he whispered.
“That’s not all. I want Alex to get together with Max Tucker from our team and recheck the reports and their work, but the CSI from Miami PD thinks it . . . damn, this is harder than I thought . . . it was antemortem. The killer shot Richardson after he peeled him alive.”
Chapter-6
Dr. Fredrick Argyle peered through the four-paned window of the downstairs bedroom. The night sky overlooked the brilliance of the ocean waves making shore from Galway Bay. The scene reminded him of himself. Relentless. Certain. Beautiful. Although he guessed that others wouldn’t think his philosophy of life—and death—beautiful, he didn’t care. People like Manny Williams and FBI Agent Josh Corner wanted him put away, or buried, for his truth. They chose to live their lives based on the rules meant for the masses, but he, Dr. Fredrick Argyle, was anything but “for the masses.” He was for . . . him. The way it should be.
Williams. What a pathetic mess he’d become since the death of his wife. He would, however, have to get back in the saddle, or watch his friend, his daughter, and then himself die in ways the detective hadn’t ever imagined, not even in his worst nightmares.
Argyle grinned again. “I think that I shall see you once again, Detective Williams. Just in time to watch you lose your clever mind,” he whispered.
The subtle noise muffled behind him obliged him to glance back to the bed ever so briefly. After a few seconds, he turned back to the beauty of the Irish night. The full lunar glow gave the lush, hilly landscape an eerie resonance. The moon reflected the subdued green it had captured. Emerald moons were rare, he suspected.
There was another stifled sound from the bed. He took in more of the night, and finally, he moved from the window to sit on the edge of the bed. Kathryn O’Malley, her brown eyes the size of platters, watched his every move so intently he thought he might laugh out loud.
He tested the steel-gray duct tape wrapped around her ankles and wrists, which made moving impossible. The strip covering her mouth made screaming a mere fantasy.
“Are you ready, my lovely young friend? And, Kathryn O’Malley, you are lovely.” He ran his hand over her knee and slowly up her thigh. He felt her body stiffen as a fresh wave of tears coursed over her high cheeks and down her face.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t care for my company. That would make me sad. You don’t want to make me sad, do you?”
She shook her head with honest enthusiasm.
“Good choice. Smart woman. Being unhappy is such a bore, don’t you agree?”
She started to nod, but his hand grabbed her throat in one fast, powerful motion, holding her head still. Argyle bent closer. His captive’s body reeked with primordial fear, a fear he’d grown to more than appreciate. His heart beat faster.
Nothing was better than this.
“I have a message for the local Gardaí, and I want you to deliver it. I want them to know who I am. What I was born to be. Do you think you can handle that? Will you tell them for me?”
He released his grip on her throat and slid his hand down to just above her breasts. It rested on the golden Celtic cross hanging from her neck.
Kathryn blinked more tears and nodded, successfully this time. He watched her eyes as pent-up anguish morphed to relief. Her thoughts must have turned to her future. Maybe even to the man with whom she’d spend the rest of her life. Kathryn, perhaps, even made a promise or two to go to church that would go unfulfilled as lucid memories of her ordeal faded.
He stroked her long, auburn hair and smiled. “Okay then. That’s what I like to see. Here’s the message.”
With movement almost gentle for a man of his size, he put one hand on each side of her face, raised her from the bed, kissed her lips, then twisted violently. The sound of snapping bones reverberated through the room as silence became the most notable sound.
He laid her gently on the bed and slowly began to unbutton his shirt.
Chapter-7
“I wonder what they—my bosses, that is—would think about my ‘second job,’ my moonlighting career?” she asked her attentive husband.
“Baby. I think the look on their faces would be worth more than one of our gigs,” he laughed. “I bet we could put it on YouTube and watch it go viral.”
She slipped her black bra straps over her shoulders, finished brushing her hair, and threw on the rest of her work clothes. “If I didn’t have those out-of-towners coming in this morning, I’d take the day off.”
He set his coffee on the dresser and pulled her close. “It was a bit of a long night, wasn’t it? Fun is fun, but Richardson took entirely too long to die. After a few strips of skin, most people simply pass out. I give him kudos for having that kind of resolve. I hated wasting that bullet.”
She nuzzled his strong neck. “Mmmm. You smell so good,” she purred. “Yes, he did take a long time. I even considered ending his misery early, especially after that crying and begging session, but we had a job to do. And you know how I get when we do our job to the letter.”
“Oh yeah. I know how we both get. Glad the neighbors don’t live too close.”
He kissed her, and she felt that heat, his heat, again. Damn, he was good at that.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to call in and then go shopping,” he said. “When you get home, you’ll be treated to the best Beef Wellington, scalloped potatoes, fresh green beans, and the most remarkable crème brûlée you’ve ever tasted. You remember, don’t you? The kind that simply melts in your mouth . . . and all of it under the glow of soft candlelight.”
“That sounds amazing. What would I do without you?”
“I hope we never find out,” he laughed out loud. Turning to her, he took both of her hands. �
�You know that I’d do anything for you. I know it’s going to be a long day.”
She moved closer and slid her hand into his tight underwear and squeezed.
He gasped.
“That’s just a sample of how grateful I’ll be.”
“I can hardly wait,” he breathed.
She reached to the nightstand and picked up her holster and ID, then walked to the front door, blowing him a kiss as she stepped into the hot, muggy Miami morning.
As she started the engine of her new, lime-green SS Camaro, she once again thought about her guests. Fooling the locals was one thing, but with the FBI being brought in, she had to be on her game. They’d even brought in a few people from Michigan who Richardson had worked with before. No problem. She only had to keep it together for a few more weeks, and then she and her man would disappear forever.
Rolling down the window, she laughed.
Who said crime doesn’t pay?
Chapter-8
FBI Special Agent Chloe Franson stood nervously in front of the airport window, waiting for any sign of Josh Corner and CSI Max Tucker. They usually all traveled together, and they were five minutes late for the one-hour flight to Miami. She shifted her weight and readjusted her shoulder bag. But that’s not why she was nervous, was it? In less than two hours, she’d see Manny Williams again. That thought made her a living example of a dichotomy. In fact, her picture was probably beside the word in Wikipedia.
On one hand, seeing him was all she’d thought of for the last eleven months and five days, (but who was counting?). On the other hand, to catch sight of Manny Williams again just might scatter her heart into so many pieces. She peered closer at her reflection in the window, and wiped away a small speck below her right eye.
Her mom, bless her full-blooded Irish heart, had often quoted to her from the wisdom of Ireland’s treasure chest of proverbs. But the one she remembered the most seemed to haunt her as she contemplated Manny.
