by Carr, Lauren
Mac took a sip. Admitting that he didn’t know a lot about champagne, he guessed it was one of the best he had ever tasted.
“Should. It costs five hundred dollars a bottle. ” She grinned. “It isn’t like they’re going to hand you the check after we’re done eating.”
Carefully setting down the glass for fear of spilling one expensive drop, he asked her, “Why does everyone think I’m Mickey Forsythe?”
“Robin Spencer wrote over sixty books about Mickey. She described him as tall, slender, dark haired, blue eyed, and with a fair complexion. He was a cop who had inherited a fortune and now spends his time as a private eye helping people.” Archie looked at him. “Don’t you get it? You saw her portrait. Robin described you.”
“The fact that I look like Mickey is nothing more than a coincidence. I’m nothing like him.”
Across the dining room, David followed Antonio, who was pushing a wheelchair carrying a white-haired, frail looking woman clutching a wooden cane. When Mac stood to remove a chair from their table to make room for the wheelchair, two busboys appeared to direct him back to his seat.
“So you’re Robin’s bastard boy,” the elderly woman cackled when David introduced him. “Proves I was right about her.” With a wicked grin, she added in a low voice, “Tramp.”
“Mom, behave,” David ordered. “Mac invited us here as his guests.”
“He may be a bastard, but now he’s a rich bastard.” Amused by her own wit, she cackled again. When their server arrived with menus, she ordered a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred. “And don’t forget the olive.”
David leaned over to whisper to Mac, “Now you see why I don’t go out much.”
After the server went to fetch their cocktails, Mac cleared his throat. “David, I was wondering, why would Lee Dorcas shoot himself?”
“We still don’t know that the body is Dorcas,” he answered. “The only possible motive is insanity. I questioned him once. He was angry with Katrina, but sane. Not only was he sane, but he had strong alibis.”
“Which eliminated him as a suspect.”
“But Dorcas disappeared the week of Katrina’s murder,” David reminded him. “His band said he was meeting a big-time promoter. No one has seen him since, nor do they have any information about this promoter.”
Archie said, “Sounds like a set up to me.”
David agreed. “I thought the petty thefts were connected to this case. But if that was Dorcas’s body in that cave, then I was wrong. That body has been dead longer than a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe the petty thief is the same perp that shot him in the head and took his wallet,” Mac suggested.
“You’re not buying the suicide scenario,” said David.
“Katrina’s murderer beat Gnarly halfway to death,” Mac said. “Assuming that Lee Dorcas is Pay Back, and he beat Gnarly in self-defense, why’d he go all the way up to the Spencer Mine to blow his brains out? Why not just let Gnarly rip his throat out if he wanted to die?”
With a raised eyebrow, Archie suggested, “Because a bullet through the brain would be less painful than having your throat ripped out.”
“The body in that mine wasn’t wearing that jacket when Gnarly attacked it,” David said.
Mac smirked. “You saw that, too.”
“Saw what?” Archie asked.
David explained, “Except for decomposition and attacks by scavengers, the clothes underneath the jacket were intact.”
Mac said, “If Gnarly attacked that body, it would have had defense wounds. The clothes under the jacket would have been bloody and shredded. Someone else wore that army jacket when Gnarly attacked it. Who?”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since I saw that body,” David said.
“Besides the army fatigue jacket, did our victim look like Pay Back?”
Archie answered, “No one except Katrina got close to him.”
David shrugged his shoulders while shaking his head. “Same approximate height and weight. His hair had the long dreadlocks. The jacket and the writing on the label read ‘Pay Back’ like Katrina stated in her complaints.”
Violet craned her neck to look around the dining room. “Where is that waiter with our drinks?”
“We’re in no hurry.” Discreetly, Archie signaled to a passing server.
In the lounge, she spied a woman sitting at the bar. A glass of wine rested next to her writing tablet. In an establishment that catered to the rich and beautiful of Deep Creek Lake, she stood out in shabby clothes that lacked both color and style, worn to conceal herself and her obesity. Between scribbles in the notepad, she brushed her untamed mane out of her face.
“Betsy’s here,” Archie announced.
“Who’s Betsy?” Mac turned around in his chair to peer into the lounge.
“Travis Turner’s assistant,” she explained. “Betsy Weaver. Robin used to keep me busy, but not as busy as Travis keeps her. I think she enjoys it though. Look at that. She has the evening off, but she’s working away there in that notebook of hers. She’s probably editing Travis’s latest book. He puts out one a year.”
Violet, who had been searching for their server, snapped at Mac, “If you’re the owner, then I guess it’s you that I complain to about getting some service.”
“Mom!” David hissed. “Settle!”
Violet’s face brightened when their drinks arrived. “Can I get you anything else?” the waiter inquired before leaving with their dinner orders.
“How about some service?” Violet snapped at him.
David ordered, “Stop it, Mother. You’re not going to ruin our evening.”
Clutching her drink, she sank into her chair in a pout.
Mac suggested, “You know, if that body was a decoy to make the police close Katrina’s case because they believed the killer was already dead—”
“Which is exactly what Phillips intends to do,” David said.
“—then the killer might not be a disgruntled client.”
“Whoever he is we have his DNA.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Cost me a written reprimand and three days’ pay, but we got it.” David smiled. “When I left the crime scene to take Gnarly to the vet, I had a state crime scene investigator meet me at the animal hospital to take samples of the blood that had frozen onto his fur. I was right. Not all of the blood on Gnarly was his. His fur had human blood and tissue on it, and it didn’t belong to Katrina. They got enough to get the killer’s DNA.”
Mac wanted to know, “If you got the perp’s DNA, why’d you get a written reprimand and docked three days’ pay?”
“Because I left the crime scene. I left one of my patrolmen there, but Phillips claimed I was negligent to leave it to save a dog, even if he was evidence and a potential witness.” David muttered, “Doesn’t matter. We have his DNA. Now all we need is someone to compare it to.”
“We do have someone to compare it to,” Mac said. “That body in the mine. If it doesn’t match with what you collected from Gnarly, then that will be enough to force Phillips to reopen the case.”
“Ben, have you met Mickey Forsythe yet?”
Mac was so enthralled in their conversation that he jumped in his seat when he heard Travis Turner’s voice behind his back.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” A hand slipped in between Mac and Archie to request a shake. “Mr. Forsythe?” Mac turned around in his chair.
An attractive blond couple dressed in matching tennis togs peered at Mac with curiosity. “It’s him,” the woman breathed with excitement in her tone. “It’s Robin’s son.”
“Mic—”
“Mac,” Mac interrupted before grasping the hand offered by the male half of the pair. “Mac Faraday. Mickey was a fictional character in my mother’s books.”
“Pardon me,” Travis apologized. “We were having some drinks before dinner and ran into the Flemings.” He wore the same white slacks and red sweater that he had been wearing earlier.
Up close, Mac recognized his wife, Sophia Hainsworth-Turner. He had seen her in a series of commercials promoting beauty products. She wore her long straight black hair down to her waist. Her flawless golden skin suggested that she spent most of her time in the sun or tanning booth. She displayed her taut slender figure in a black sleeveless and backless dress.
“I saw you on Larry King,” Sophia said to him through thick lips dressed in dark red lipstick. “Welcome to Spencer.” She released Travis’s elbow to grasp Mac’s palm. The enormous diamond she wore on her wedding finger made for a clumsy handshake. As soon as he released them, she placed her fingers back on Travis’s elbow as if he’d get away.
In the lounge beyond them, Mac saw Betsy pause to divert her attention from her notebook to them. When she brushed her unruly hair out of her face, he saw that she wore glasses with lenses so thick that her eyeballs seemed to bulge from their sockets behind them.
“You look just like I imagined,” the blond-haired woman gushed at meeting Robin Spencer’s son.
Her husband introduced himself. “I’m Ben Fleming, Garrett County’s prosecuting attorney. I knew your mother. This is my wife, Catherine.” He acknowledged Mac’s companions. “Nice to see you again, Archie, David, and Violet.”
“I’ve read all of your mother’s books,” Catherine interjected while reaching out to caress Mac’s fingers as if his touch beheld a magical element for her to treasure. “She was my favorite writer.” In her excitement, she failed to notice her insult to the famed author in their midst.
Mac asked Travis, “Did anything you saw this afternoon inspire you?”
“Inspire?”
“For the book you’re working on?”
“Oh, that.” Travis chuckled while caressing his wife’s shoulder. “I’m sure the head the dog dragged in will get quite a reaction from my publisher, especially when it turns out to be the killer’s head.”
“I wouldn’t write that chapter yet,” Mac said. “David and I found the rest of the body.”
Travis’s brilliant grin dropped. “What? No one told me that.”
Ben interrupted, “What are you talking about? What head? What dog? What body? What happened?”
“Gnarly brought home some dead guy’s head,” Archie explained.
“It’s got to be Lee Dorcas,” Travis said. “He lost his marbles, killed Katrina, and then offed himself.”
“When did you find his body? Where was it?” Ben demanded to know. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“Because Mac and I only found the body in the Spencer Mine a few hours ago,” David said.
“It’s hard to arrest a dead body,” Travis chuckled. “Dorcas was crazy.”
“Was it Lee Dorcas?” Ben asked David. “I thought his lawyer and the police in DC cleared him of any wrongdoing.”
“We don’t have an ID on the body yet.”
“When you get it call me.” Ben took his wife’s arm.
Catherine said, “Oh, this is just like old times when Robin was alive.” After another round of assertions that Mac looked exactly like he did in his mother’s books, the couple made their way to the lobby.
Travis peered down at David. “Don’t you think you’re making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be?”
“When did you graduate from the police academy?”
“Every single one of my books has made all of the bestsellers’ lists because I’ve researched hundreds of murder cases,” Travis said. “It’s simple, especially when the murder victim tells us herself. Katrina told you, and me, and Sophia—last year right over there in the lounge—a crazy ex-client named Lee Dorcas was harassing her. He killed her husband right in front of her and got away with it. The police couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do anything to help her. He’d been terrorizing her for over a year and she knew that it was only a matter of time before he’d kill her. Don’t you remember that?”
David argued, “The evidence says differently.”
“And the evidence never lies,” Mac finished.
Travis turned to him. “You don’t know how things work around here.”
“Tell me,” replied Mac.
“Chief Roy Phillips is looking for a reason to fire David. Lee Dorcas told her that he was going to kill her. Now she’s dead. We have a murder victim—”
“Two,” Mac corrected him.
Travis glared at him.
“Are you forgetting Niles Holt?”
“Two,” Travis said.
“Maybe three,” Mac pointed out.
Travis’s dark eyes narrowed.
Mac said, “There was a bullet hole in that head. That makes it a homicide. The death needs to be investigated to determine if the gunshot was self-inflicted or not. That’s SOP.”
“SOP?”
“Standard operating procedure,” David said.
“It seems to me,” Mac said, “David is not making this more difficult than it needs to be. Chief Roy Phillips is making it much easier than it really is.”
“Very well.” Travis stood up tall. “Take my advice, Dave. Keep your nose out of this case. Write your speeding tickets, stay out of Phillips’s way, and pick up your pay check.”
“Let’s go, Travis.” Sophia’s dark brown eyes had glazed over during their conversation. She was there to be seen and that wasn’t happening to her satisfaction.
Travis hissed at David, “Think about it, bud.”
Sophia tugged on her husband’s arm until he led her outside to the deck where they disappeared down the steps in the direction of the garden.
Neither of them noticed Travis’s secretary’s eyes following them when they left. Once they were out of sight, Betsy gestured to the bartender for another glass of wine before making another note in her scratchpad.
Chapter Four
Mac hadn’t noticed that his mother’s office equipment consisted only of an old laptop and printer until after he received a copy of Katrina Singleton’s case file from prosecutor Ben Fleming.
So, he went in search of Robin’s assistant.
The guest cottage was a cozy cabin with a great room that featured an enormous stone fireplace and a writer’s loft. French doors opened on to a patio with a picture view of the lake. Built-in bookcases crammed with books, including every one of Robin Spencer’s books, took up one whole wall.
Robin Spencer’s books weren’t the only signed first editions Archie owned. During her years of working as the mystery writer’s assistant, she had become friends with some of the most famous authors in the country. Another wall was a who’s who photo gallery of novelists and other celebrities.
With every inch of bookshelf space filled, Archie stacked other books on the hardwood floor. The rest of the flat surfaces in the cottage held research files. The editor had converted the larger of the two bedrooms into an office with a desktop computer, laptop, printer, scanner, fax, and a wide assortment of other equipment, including cameras, recorders, and every technical toy a girl could want.
After scanning the photographs in the case file, Archie pulled up a chair to study the pictures on Mac’s laptop. He could feel her breath on his neck. “What do you see?” She rested her chin on his shoulder to peer at the image on the screen.
Katrina wore a ruby red, floor-length robe. Her dark hair was fanned out behind her. Its shine matched the silkiness of her garment. A dark line marked the width of her throat. Her legs rested to the side, bent at the knees as if she had been practicing sit-ups before taking a break. Her arms lay askew where they had fallen after her last failed attempt to push away the object crushing her larynx.
“It’s what I don’t see.” Mac zoomed in on Katrina’s naked fingers. “Where’s her wedding ring?”
“Phillips will claim she took it off,” she said. “Her husband did have a mistress.”
“Either that or her killer took it as a souvenir.” He zoomed out on the picture to study the room. The only sign of a struggle was an overturned recliner. “Was there any sign of fo
rced entry?”
“None,” Archie answered. “There wasn’t in any of the attacks. The security system was on when David found the body. This guy was like a magician, popping in and out of nowhere.”
“The woman was being terrorized but she remained here alone.” He shook his head. “This case is a mess of contradictions.” He moved the mouse in a circle to make the curser rotate around the picture. “If she took off her wedding ring, it would have been in her personal effects.”
“It was three carats.”
“Sounds like a three-carat motive for murder.”
“In all your years in homicide, did you ever see a case where a thief terrorized his victim for months before robbing and killing them?”
“No,” Mac said. “I’ve never seen a case like this one.”
* * * *
“Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” Travis Turner startled David out of his thoughts about Katrina’s murder.
The officer had stopped at the coffee shop in McHenry for an egg sandwich before reporting for duty. He had become so absorbed in mentally replaying the months of incident reports in search of a missed clue that his sandwich had grown cold in the meantime.
Travis snapped him back to the present. “You looked like you were a thousand miles away,” he laughed while filling his coffee mug with a special blend.
“Kind of.” David sipped his lukewarm coffee.
“Hey, did the autopsy report for Pay Back come back from the ME yet?” Travis sat in a vacant chair across from him at the small bistro table.
“Should be on Phillips’s desk this morning.” David rose from his seat to warm his coffee with some fresh brew. “Why?”
“I’m wondering what he found.”
Before David could respond, a woman at a corner table gestured for Travis’s attention. Excitedly, she held forth a hardcover book with Travis’s image filling the back cover. “Are you really him?”
Travis’s face broke into a wide grin. “Yes, I am.”
While digging through her handbag, she hurried out of her seat. “Could you please autograph your book for me?” She extracted a pen from her bag and handed it to him.
David returned to his seat to finish his hot coffee and cold egg sandwich while the woman gushed over meeting a star while eating a muffin in little ol’ McHenry, Maryland. He saw that Travis seemed to have the ability to make his usually bright smile even more charming in the presence of his admiring public. By the time the fan left with the now valuable book clutched to her breast, the officer had finished his sandwich and was rolling up the wrapper.
