by Carr, Lauren
“I went to see Mac Faraday. This morning he led me and a state trooper in a high-speed chase.”
Pete suggested, “You can’t blame him for having some fun. He’s just come into a huge fortune and he has that hot car. Who wouldn’t want to make out like a big man on campus?”
Ben brought his point home. “Why did you go chasing after him in the first place?”
“He was speeding.”
The prosecutor chuckled. “Speeding?”
The mayor’s stern expression showed that he failed to see any humor in the situation. “Don’t go messing around with Mickey Forsythe.”
“He isn’t Mickey Forsythe,” Roy Phillips said.
“Even so, Faraday is a direct descendent of this town’s founder and there’re still a lot of people here in Deep Creek who haven’t forgotten the Spencer legacy. With Forsythe’s—”
“Faraday,” Roy corrected the mayor.
“Whatever.” Pete continued, “With his money and lineage, if he decided to make some changes in Spencer, then there won’t be anything any of us can do to stop him.”
The prosecutor added, “Including run for mayor.”
Pete Mason tugged at his shirt collar.
“In other words, Faraday’s got a license to make his own laws here in Spencer,” the police chief said.
“Cut the bull, Roy. You weren’t enforcing the speed limit. You were chasing Faraday because of David O’Callaghan,” Ben said.
“Who happened to be in the car with him.”
Ben lowered his voice. “I’m not going to be made a fool of prosecuting an innocent man. I don’t suppose you compared O’Callaghan’s DNA to that found on the dog?”
“The lab doesn’t have it yet.”
“O’Callaghan went to the lab yesterday to give it to them voluntarily. Why would he do that if he was guilty?”
“He was alone with that dog,” Roy replied. “Who’s to say he didn’t plant someone else’s DNA on the mutt to throw us off the trail?”
Ben argued, “He may be good, but he’s not that good. If he killed the Singleton woman and got attacked by her dog, his DNA would be all over that mutt. Not only that, but O’Callaghan would have bite wounds on him. He’s clean.”
“Maybe the dog didn’t attack the Singleton woman’s killer,” Pete suggested. “Maybe he attacked someone else who happened to be there. The dog wasn’t found until the next day. They could have been two separate incidents that have nothing to do with each other.”
Ben turned to the police chief. “Have you got anything solid to prove O’Callaghan killed the Singleton woman?”
“He slept with the victim and she dumped him,” the police chief declared. “That’s motive.”
“I won’t even be able to get this case beyond a preliminary hearing with that.” The prosecutor ordered, “Move on to other suspects.”
“What about Monday and her dog?”
“In my professional opinion, you should stay away from Archie Monday and leave her alone…and that goes for her little dog, too.”
Chief Phillips resumed chewing the middle finger on his left hand when the county prosecutor walked away.
Mayor Pete Mason snatched Roy’s hand from his mouth. “You idiot! Back off Mac Faraday.”
“Why, Peter? Is he a possible investor?”
“I wish,” the mayor said. “Faraday was one of the best homicide detectives in Washington. Nothing could get past him, or can. Now he’s picked up a scent of something rotten here in Spencer. If that scent leads him to my door, then you’re going to find yourself wishing that dog had ripped your throat out.” Mayor Mason signaled a passing server for a refill of his drink.
“How’s it going, chief?”
Startled, the two men whirled around.
Travis Turner smirked at them. “You look like you’re having a bad day.” He gestured across the room in the direction of the county prosecutor. “I guess Fleming refuses to prosecute David O’Callaghan.”
Chief Phillips said, “He who has the biggest friends with the biggest wallets wins.”
“Too bad.” Travis’s smile broadened. “Did you ever find out where they were going this morning?”
Pete Mason picked up on the satisfied expression. “Out with it, Turner.”
“Lucky for you, O’Callaghan’s mom is friends with my aunt, who happens to be a busybody with a big mouth. They’re in Washington visiting Faraday’s cop friends.”
“What for?” the mayor asked.
“Come on,” Travis said. “Faraday’s a cop, retired or not. Cops may retire, but they don’t quit. I learned that while researching my third book.” He lowered his voice. “They’re checking out Katrina’s old clients to see if she cheated anyone else. Weren’t you one of her clients, Peter?”
“No.”
“I could have sworn one of my sources—”
“Your source is wrong, Turner,” the mayor told him. “I never met Katrina until she moved here.”
“I guess my source meant someone else,” Travis said.
“Must have.”
“Lucky for you. Faraday and O’Callaghan’s suspect list is the last place you’d want to end up.”
The mayor led Roy Phillips away through the crowd. Chuckling, Travis turned around and almost knocked over Archie Monday.
“Excuse me.” Travis grabbed her arm when she turned to return to the bar. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” He brushed her arm with his fingers. “I heard Faraday went back to the city. So happens I’m free this weekend.”
“I’m not,” Archie said. “I have a tight deadline.”
“But we all need a break.” He brought his face close to hers. “How about if we go someplace quiet?”
She backed away. “What about Sophia?”
“She’s in New York.” His expression resembled that of a wolf about to devour its prey. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”
“No, thank you.” She turned away, but he tightened his grip on her arm.
“Maybe you don’t understand.” The usually smooth tone in Travis’s voice roughened.
Archie looked down at his hand on her wrist. She looked back up at him. “I believe I understand fully.” She yanked her arm to free his grip, but he held on. “Move your hand or lose it.”
His tone turned menacing. He peered into her eyes. His grip tightened. “The most beautiful women in the world have begged me to make love to them—and you—some little nobody—you think you can say no to me? I’m—”
Before he could finish, Travis’s legs buckled. Abruptly, he was on his knees with his throat in Archie’s free hand. Her grip made it difficult for him to speak.
“I said no thank you.”
In his struggle to take in a breath through the windpipe held in her grasp, Travis released her arm. Beneath his golden tan, his face reddened from lack of oxygen.
She glared down at him. “When a woman says no, she means it. Remember that.”
When she released her grip, Travis, gasping for breath, slumped to the floor. The surrounding guests applauded the entertaining scene.
As he climbed to his feet, Travis hissed at Archie, “You bitch. I’m going to kill you for this.”
Deciding to leave the Inn before encountering any other conflicts, Archie snatched up her handbag from the bar and headed for the lounge.
At the edge of the crowd, Archie caught sight of someone else who hadn’t dressed for the occasion. She wore cream-colored polyester slacks with food stains on her thick thighs. Instead of sandals, she bore old athletic shoes on her sockless feet. On the warm spring night, while the other female guests broke out sleeveless dresses to show off their tans, Betsy opted for an oversized top that resembled a maternity tunic.
Not being one to spend time in the sun, Betsy’s complexion was pale. But when Archie approached her, she saw that the blood had drained from her face. Tears spilled out from under her thick glasses to flow down her cheeks.
“Betsy,” Archie felt compe
lled to say, “I’m sorry, but Travis brought that on himself. I told him no.” She didn’t know if Betsy heard her. Without saying a word, Betsy ran down the stairs.
Over the railing, Archie saw Betsy run towards the garden. Mayor Pete Mason and Chief Roy Phillips were engaged in a serious conversation when she stumbled into the mayor, which caused him to spill his drink on the police chief. She offered no apology for the collision before disappearing into the garden’s maze. The two men looked at each other before following her.
* * * *
Archie arrived home from the Spencer Inn in time to enjoy the last bits of sunlight spilling across the lake before it set behind the mountains. She sipped her white wine while resting her head on a cushion on the chaise.
After returning from his evening patrol of the Point, Gnarly stretched out at the bottom of the steps within striking distance of any duck that dared to near the dock. His groan of pleasure matched hers.
“Hello? Archie?” She heard called from around the corner of the house.
Francine Taylor turned the corner of the house and waved to her. Every evening after dinner, the older woman would get her exercise by swimming in the cove. She had combed out her wet silver hair and wore a terry cloth bathrobe over her swimsuit. “I guess it’s time for an after dinner drink.”
“Care to join me?” Archie held up her glass.
Francine wasted no time in pouring a glass of wine from the bottle Archie had opened and taking a seat in the chaise next to hers. “I have a case for you. I want you to find a hacker.” She corrected herself. “Maybe you shouldn’t. Because if you do find him, I’ll kill him and end up in jail. But then, considering that he’s a hacker, the jury will probably refuse to convict.”
In a tone that was stating more than asking, Archie replied, “Have you been the victim of a hacker?”
Francine growled before sipping her drink. “He sent me an e-mail with your name on it. It said that it was pictures Robin wanted me to have. I opened one, and the virus swooped in and turned my hard drive into a zombie. Can you take a look at it and see if you can fix it?”
After Francine reported that her computer would turn on, Archie assured her that she would be able to sweep the virus from her hard drive and could recommend a better firewall for her system. “I wonder if your hacker is the same one that’s been trying to get a worm into my system,” Archie observed. “My firewall has been working overtime lately.”
Noting that recently another neighbor’s computer had crashed, Francine declared the mystery a case for Mickey Forsythe. “And when he’s not tracking down hackers and murderers, maybe he can squeeze in identifying the Point’s petty thief.”
“Has our thief struck again?”
“Just now. I went for a dip in the lake and when I came back my robe was gone. It’s at least five years old. Why would someone steal an old bathrobe? I liked that robe. I had it all broken in. Robin would have caught him by now.”
Archie said, “If our petty thief is a kleptomaniac, which I think he is, he’s bound to eventually blow his cover or at least get help.”
“Couldn’t he have gotten help before stealing my robe?” After taking a sip of her wine, Francine asked, “Has Mac tracked down Katrina’s killer yet?”
Archie smiled slyly. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“I have to tell you that I couldn’t believe it when I heard David was a suspect,” Francine said. “The ladies at the Hair Hut asked me if I’d seen him here looking suspicious and I told them no. From what I saw, David was trying to help her. It isn’t like there weren’t enough other people wanting to break her pretty neck.” She refilled her glass. “Oh, Gordon Hardwick and Katrina used to get into terrible screaming matches. They called Gnarly a rapist for knocking up their poodle and accused him of getting into their garbage.” She laughed. “Gnarly didn’t do it. Everyone who lives on Deep Creek knows that the bears like garbage. That’s why we get dumpsters. But the Hardwicks refused to get a dumpster. They decided instead to shell out four times more money for a security camera to catch Gnarly.” She smirked. “What did they get? Tape of two bears getting into their garbage. But did they ever admit they were wrong about Gnarly? No.”
Archie said, “Too bad their camera was broken the night of the murder. They could have recorded Katrina’s killer.”
“They’re lying about that camera being broken,” Francine stated with certainty. “They got the bears on film five weeks ago—after Katrina’s murder. They lied to the police about their camera because they don’t want to do anything to help catch her killer. That would be decent of them and they’d rather burn in hell than do anything decent.”
“Did the ladies at the Hair Hut recall Katrina getting into screaming matches with anyone else besides Gordon Hardwick?” Archie asked.
The beauty shop was a fountain of information about goings-on along the Point. Through Francine, Robin could find out what the ladies at the beauty shop were talking about without setting foot in the shop herself.
“Sophia Hainsworth-Turner, for one.”
“What about?”
“I never found out what it was about.” Francine cocked her head at Archie when she saw that she had missed this piece of information. “One day, I was lying out on the dock and heard a cat fight. Katrina and Miss Calm-Cool-and-Collected herself were screaming at each other. It almost turned physical.”
Recalling the scene she had witnessed at the Inn, Archie said, “Sophia does have a temper.”
“That’s for sure. Sophia isn’t all that she seems to be.” Francine smirked. “Did you know that she had a police record? She was arrested for assault and attempted murder. She copped a plea in exchange for anger management counseling.”
“From what I’ve seen, it’s done a lot of good,” Archie said with a note of sarcasm. “How do you even know this?”
The neighbor answered, “One of the girls had read it in one of those gossip magazines. It came out after Sophia got that big contract with the cosmetic company. They even had a picture of her mug shot. She looks horrible without makeup.” Francine recounted, “Sophia was making a name for herself as a model when her boyfriend—Do you remember that guy who starred in that television series about vampire hunters? The one with the curly blond hair? He took his shirt off at least once in every episode?”
Archie recalled the hunky actor.
Francine continued, “They dated for a while, but then he dumped Sophia for that actress that plays the bitchie lawyer in one of those legal shows. The blond that wears her skirts up to here.” She pointed at her neck. “The new girlfriend started getting threatening phone calls. Her house and car got broken into and trashed.”
“Sounds familiar.” Archie noted that the incidents Francine listed sounded similar to the harassment Katrina had suffered in the months before her murder.
“One night, Sophia broke in and attacked her. The boyfriend saved her.” While clinking her wine glass against her host’s, Francine finished, “And that, Ms. Monday, is the skeleton in Ms. Sophia Hainsworth-Turner’s closet.”
“And what a scary skeleton it is indeed,” Archie said.
Chapter Eleven
“How long will this take?”
Through the crack of the penthouse door, a blue eyeball trimmed in long lashes threatened not to allow Mac and David to enter. They were intruding on Rachel Adams-Singleton’s evening out with her new husband.
When she hesitated to keep their appointment, Mac considered being equally rude by informing her that her groom had set the time. Instead, he promised that they would only take a few minutes of their time.
She shut the door. A few minutes later, she permitted them entrance to the top floor penthouse in Crystal City, Virginia. The high-rise condos provided a view of the Potomac River and the planes taking off and landing at Reagan National Airport.
Chad Singleton had wasted no time on mourning since his first wife’s death had left him with a forty million dollar estate. Not only did he re
marry and quit his job as an associate at the law firm where he had met Katrina, but he also traded up from Niles Holt’s brownstone in Georgetown.
Tall and model slim, his trophy wife’s red hair fell to her shoulders. Her pale skin made her look like a porcelain doll. Her turquoise dress hugged every curve of her body on its way down to her shapely legs.
She escorted them into the living room and ordered them to wait while she fetched her husband. Mac was admiring the view of the Washington Monument on the other side of the Potomac River when their host made his entrance.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Shorter than Mac imagined, Chad Singleton had the sleek build of a cat. The color of the shirt he wore under his suit matched his wife’s dress. “You’re lucky you got here when you did,” he told them. “My bride and I were about to go out for the evening. We’ve got reservations at Michel Richard Citronelle,” he said as if the name of the restaurant meant something to both of his guests. While it did to Mac, it meant nothing to David.
Chad motioned to the sofa next to where David sat and ordered Mac in a tone disguised as congeniality, “Do sit down.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather stand,” Mac replied.
Chad directed Rachel into the recliner across from David and stood with his hand on her bare shoulder. “As I told you on the phone, I’m not obligated to speak to either of you.”
“And I thank you for taking the time to see us,” Mac said.
“What do you want to know?”
Mac began. “What did Katrina tell you about this man tormenting her?”
“That he was Lee Dorcas.” Chad let out a chuckle. “The police insisted it wasn’t him. She said he looked like him. He had the dreadlocks and beard and wore an army jacket. To tell you the truth, I think you guys are chasing your own tails. You found Dorcas’s body in Spencer, didn’t you? He blew his brains out after killing Katrina. Face it. You guys blew it. You would have saved her if you had locked Dorcas up after he killed Niles Holt.”
Grasping her husband’s fingers, Rachel interjected, “We’re lucky he didn’t decide to do in Chad, too.”
