5 The Murders at Astaire Castle

by Lauren Carr

  “I guess that was kind of what happened,” Mac said. “Chelsea just left. She was here all day for you.”

  A drugged smile crossed David’s face. “Yeah … Chelsea.”

  “Things are going well?”

  David took in a deep breath and grimaced. He clutched his side. “I don’t know.” Painfully, he turned his head to look at Mac. “She told me that she loves me … has always loved me.”

  “That’s good.”

  “No, it’s not,” David said. “She lives in Annapolis. I can’t get involved with her only to have it turn out like Randi and Yvonne. Not with Chelsea. It’ll hurt too much.” He let out a pained laugh. “Like anything can hurt more than this.” He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

  “What if it didn’t turn out like Randi and Yvonne?” Mac took the seat next to the bed.

  David let out a long groan before asking, “Did you catch the guy who did this to me?”

  Sitting back, Mac noted the sudden change in subject. “Not yet. Do you remember anything about the shooter?”

  David tore his eyes from Mac’s face and looked over at the equipment and monitors hooked up to him. “Chelsea told me that someone pulled up on us and started shooting. I managed to shoot out the windows.”

  “We found the car,” Mac said. “It was burned up at Astaire Castle. Raymond Hollister had rented it when he flew in yesterday. Hollister is dead. Poisoned less than an hour after you got shot.”

  “Same perp?”

  “We believe so. Murdered a server at the Inn to get access to his breakfast. We have a woman on a security video wearing the server’s clothes and ID. She could be the killer acting alone, or maybe working with someone.”

  “There was only one person in the car,” David said. “What’s the connection between me and Hollister?”

  “We were hoping you could answer that,”’ Mac said. “Does the name Taylor Jones ring a bell?”

  David shook his head.

  “Maybe you heard the name while you were having that fling with Genevieve Wagner,” Mac said. “Hollister had his girlfriend looking for her. He believed she got Damian Wagner’s last book somehow.”

  David uttered a drugged chuckle. “Genie and I didn’t talk very much.”

  After spending the whole day with Chelsea, Archie felt she knew her well enough to tell that Chelsea was a woman with something on her mind. Why wouldn’t she? The man she loved had been shot and almost died.

  Archie had assumed that Chelsea would relax once she found out that David was going to be okay. She did see that she was relieved upon hearing that news. But then, as the day wore on, while sitting next to David’s bed, with him slipping in and out of sleep, Archie sensed that anxiety had slipped back in. Driving Chelsea and Molly back to the manor, Archie’s suspicions were confirmed when she saw Chelsea staring straight ahead out the windshield. She was twirling a lock of her platinum hair around her finger.

  “Bet you’ll sleep good tonight,” Archie said. “Now that we know David’s going to be okay.”

  Chelsea continued staring ahead.

  Molly sighed in the back seat of the SUV.

  “You okay?” Archie reached over to tap her arm.

  Startled out of her thoughts, Chelsea jerked and looked over at Archie. She sighed as if reminded where she was and that Archie was a friend. “I’m fine.”

  “You look worried,” Archie said. “Are you thinking about Riley?”

  She hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

  “No, you’re not,” Archie pressed her foot on the brake pedal to stop at the intersection to wait for the green light to turn right to cross the bridge over to Spencer. “What’s wrong? You’ll feel better if you talk about it. You’ve been getting antsier and antsier all afternoon.”

  Chelsea sighed. “I told David how I feel about him.”

  Mulling over what that meant, Archie missed the light turning green until the car behind her honked. She turned onto the bridge. “When did you do that?”

  “After he was shot,” Chelsea said. “Before you and Mac got there.”

  Why do women always feel compelled to discuss their feelings with their men after they’ve been shot while they’re bleeding out all over the place? Archie fought her curiosity about the timing. Instead she asked, “What did you say?”

  “That I’ve always loved him, and when I came to town and saw him, all of those old feelings came back—” Chelsea let out a moan filled with anguish. “What am I going to do, Archie?”

  “One,” she said, “David may not even remember that.”

  “Do you think?” Hope filled Chelsea’s voice.

  “Two,” Archie said, “if he does remember that, don’t you think it’s better having your feelings out in the open?”

  “No,” she said in a firm, almost harsh, tone.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t go through that,” Chelsea said. “I won’t go through it. I’ve worked long and hard all these years to become an independent woman—not dependent on some man to make me feel whole. The last thing I need in my life is David, or any man, messing with my head and heart.”

  In the dark compartment of the SUV, Chelsea couldn’t see the soft smile that worked its way to Archie’s lips.

  “I know what you mean,” Archie said. “I don’t need any man either.” She saw doubt come to Chelsea’s eyes. “Really,. I get five thousand dollars a month from a trust that Robin Spencer left me. I make almost double that a year as a freelance editor to some of the biggest authors in the world. I have permission to live at Spencer Manor for as long as I want. I have no need for any man.” She giggled. “But when you get a good one, they’re mighty nice to have.”

  “Until they break your heart.” Chelsea reached around to pat her sleeping dog on top of the head. “Molly is all the companionship I need.”

  Nothing looked more comfortable to Mac than his bed. He was unsure which he desired more: the feel of his pillow beneath his head and the feel of the satin comforter caressing his body, or the feel of Archie in his arms.

  As tired as he was, he chose the pillow and comforter.

  When she saw him come dragging into the bedroom in the master suite at the Spencer Manor, Archie sat up from where she was working with her laptop on what had become her side of the bed. Mac was too tired to notice that she was wearing the top to his pajamas. “Where’s Gnarly?”

  “Outside, eating some mums?” Mac plopped down on his side of the bed and kicked off his shoes. “I noticed Chelsea and Molly already in their room and the light out.”

  “They were exhausted, too. We didn’t even stop for dinner. Came home and they went straight to bed.” Realizing what he had said, she sat up straight. “Gnarly is eating my mums and you let him?”

  “Yeah.” He dropped straight back on the bed to lie cross-wise. His head landed on her legs.

  “Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “Because I don’t like mums,” he said with his eyes closed. “They offend me and he’s very intense about it. So I decided not to waste what little energy I have left trying to save them.”

  “Molly wouldn’t even think of eating my mums,” Archie said.

  “Of course, she wouldn’t. No self-respecting Stepford dog would,” he said in comparing Molly, the perfect German shepherd, to the perfect wives of Stepford in the thriller movie The Stepford Wives.

  Covered in dirt and shredded flowers, Gnarly opened the door, came in, and dropped to the floor. Archie shrieked at his condition when he bellied under the bed.

  To her shock, Mac threw his arm across his face and laughed. “That’s my dog.”

  “Since when do these antics amuse you? I think you’re jealous.”

  Mac sat up. “Jealous? Of what?”

  “Molly.”

&n
bsp; “You’ve lost your mind,” he said. “Why would I be jealous of a dog?”

  “Because she’s perfect and Gnarly’s—” Seeing Mac’s eyes narrow into a glare that dared her to continue, she shifted gears. “Gnarly is gnarly.” With a giggle, she reached over to clasp his hand. “I’m glad you appreciate Gnarly and his special quirks. Did you stop to see David?”

  “Yes.” Mac rolled over and wrapped his arms around her. “He wasn’t much help. He’s happy on pain killers.”

  “You’d be too if you had a bullet go through your stomach,” she said. “I hope we catch the guy who did this.”

  “We will.” Nuzzling her neck, he drew in his breath to take in her scent. It was the sweet scent of roses. “They have a woman wearing Sue’s uniform and using her ID to gain access to the employee section of the Inn on security video. Assuming she’s the killer, we can narrow down the suspect list to fifty-percent of the population. Did you have any luck finding Rafaela Diaz?”

  “Struck out,” she said. “Three times at bat.”

  “How?”

  Archie cocked her head at him. “I’m not invincible you know. Most people aren’t pros at disappearing. However, it is harder to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. I found where Rafaela left to go to Brazil. I found the record of her flying to Brazil, but after that, she disappeared off the face of the earth. I even managed to locate the village that she claimed to be from. It’s one of those small villages where everyone knows everyone. They haven’t heard from Rafaela since October 2002 and according to what they told me, she was planning to visit the family for Christmas that year—but never showed. They didn’t know that she was returning in November, which is when Pat and Bogie gave her permission to go home.”

  “Something very fishy there,” Mac said.

  “Very fishy,” Archie said. “I think someone got her. She wanted to get away because she saw something and didn’t tell the police, but the killer wasn’t going to take any chances. They tied up this loose end before Rafaela could get away.”

  “Our killer is very good at tying up loose ends,” Mac said. “They’re like a pro at it.”

  “We’re talking about the techniques of a professional hit. Now, do we want to add a conspiracy theory to our case?” She reached from where she was balancing the laptop to stroke his face. The stubble on his jaw felt rough against her palm.

  He directed his gaze at the laptop. She was on a social media page. “A conspiracy sounds good to me. Have you got one that ties everyone together?”

  She explained, “I was doing a background check on Lacey, Stan Gould’s lingerie super-model bride—”

  “Who was murdered along with him.”

  “A beautiful super-model,” she said. “Maybe she had a deranged fan who didn’t want her marrying up. We can’t eliminate the possibility that she was the prime victim.”

  “Good thinking.” He squinted his tired eyes to focus on the pictures she had spread across the screen.

  She let out a laugh. “Anyway, I found evidence of a conspiracy—or maybe you would want to call it an affair—that Gould’s vice president, Kyle Finch, was having with Lacey in the weeks leading up to him introducing her, as a lingerie super-model, to his boss Stan Gould. Yet, the European fashion world never heard of Lacey, the lingerie super-model.”

  Mac was nodding his head. “That sex-text we found on Lacey’s cell phone proves that they had something going on.”

  “Imagine this,” Archie said. “Kyle Finch meets this sexy woman at a resort. She’s gorgeous. She’s to die for—literally. So he comes up with this scheme to take over the company.”

  “Lacey was a spy?” Mac asked.

  “Totally,” Archie said. “Kyle Finch fixed his girlfriend up with the boss in order to get her on the inside. They give her a cover of a super-model in order to enhance Gould’s attraction to her. Based on what we know about Gould, he’d be more likely to snatch up the bait of a world famous super-model that men all over the world fantasied about than a sexy nobody.”

  “You’re right there,” Mac said. “I noticed how quickly he dropped the line about her being a lingerie super-model. He was like a high school boy trying to impress his buds by having the prettiest girl at the prom.”

  “Exactly,” she said.

  “Motive?” he replied.

  “Gould Enterprises is planning to go public in the next twelve months,” Archie said. “With information that Lacey was collecting from across the pillows, Kyle Finch was maneuvering to take control of the company by acquiring as many shares as possible, in order to squeeze Stan out and become CEO.”

  “A hundred million dollars can buy a lot of shares,” Mac said. “Besides that sex-text we found, did you find any real evidence of an affair that we can use to arrest him?”

  “How about pictures?” She clicked on a couple of keys. “Do you know how often you’re photographed during the course of a day? I found these pictures on the Internet that she had posted from a vacation the two of them went on for New Year’s—months before she was introduced to Stan Gould. They were at a couples resort in Jamaica.” She adjusted the laptop for him to see Lacey and Kyle Finch in a sensual embrace on the beach. “I also have records that prove they flew to Jamaica together. They were staying together in the same room at the hotel. Kyle Finch paid for the whole trip with a company credit card.”

  Mac was scratching behind his ear. “What if Lacey decided she liked being married to a billionaire and threatened to blow Finch’s plan out of the water?”

  “Then he’d have motive to get rid of both of them,” she said. “He was the number two man. With Gould dead, he’s now number one. Their murders put him in the driver’s seat sooner than he had originally planned.”

  “Finch was there when I turned Gould down,” Mac said. “The text Gould received lured them to the castle by saying I changed my mind. Finch had the knowledge to have sent that text. But then Hollister and David don’t fit anywhere in this conspiracy.”

  “Hey,” Archie said, “it’s something.”

  Mac kissed her on the cheek. “And something is better than nothing.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Deputy Chief Bogie had an uphill battle trying to convince Ben Fleming, the Garrett County prosecutor, that they would be able to get enough evidence to bring in Kyle Finch for the murders of Stan Gould and his wife.

  “Lacey’s laptop has given us the motherload,” Bogie told the prosecutor during a breakfast meeting in his office at the police station. “It’s all there in email and pictures and sex-texts between Lacey and Kyle Finch.”

  “But can you place Finch at the scene of the murders?” Ben asked.

  “We have a dozen witnesses who put Kyle Finch at the Wisp,” Office Fletcher reported while spilling coffee across his desk during a wrestling match with Gnarly for his donut. “He’s alibied out.”

  Mac grabbed Gnarly by the collar to drag him over to his bed. Out of spite, Gnarly refused to take the bed and jumped up onto the sofa. He shot his long snout up into the air before dropping down.

  Mac was aware of Ben’s smirk behind his back while he refilled Fletcher’s coffee mug. “I went to see David at the hospital this morning on my way in,” Ben said. “Met his new lady friend, Chelsea, and her service dog—what’s her name?”

  “Molly,” Bogie said.

  “Nice dog,” Ben said with a chuckle.

  “If you like dogs like that.” Mac practically slammed the coffee mug on Fletcher’s desk.

  Despite seeming to sometimes be on opposing sides, Ben Fleming was one of two lawyers who Mac counted among his friends. Ben was everything that Mac Faraday would expect from a lawyer, based on his encounters with criminal defense lawyers and big city prosecutors. Handsome and charismatic, Ben spent much of his time playing tennis and golf at the Spencer Inn while cutt
ing deals with the other members of Spencer’s high society residents. His wife Catherine, an heiress whose fortune came from a dozen different directions, was a leading lady on the Spencer society scene, and a huge fan of Robin Spencer … and Mac Faraday.

  While Ben was part of Spencer high-society, he made his quest for justice known to Mac and the police department. Using his political connections, Ben was very good at working behind the scenes to get things done, all the while putting on a front of being a wheeler and dealer.

  “The texts and emails prove that Finch was having an affair with Lacey before meeting Stan Gould,” Bogie told the prosecutor.

  “He had everything to gain by the murders,” Mac pointed out. “If Lacey had decided to back out of their scheme to help him become CEO, Finch risked being fired and his reputation ruined. He stood to lose everything.”

  “Now, with Gould dead,” Bogie said, “Finch is the heir apparent. He’s gained everything.”

  “Do any of the emails prove that she had changed her mind?” Ben asked.

  “No,” Mac groaned.

  “Maybe he decided he wanted it all sooner rather than later,” Bogie said.

  “Finch could very well have sent the text to lure Gould and Lacey to the castle where he had a hired assassin kill them while Finch set up his alibi,” Mac said. “He was there when I turned Gould down for the sale. Whoever sent that text to Gould had to be on the scene at the Spencer Inn.”

  “Finch isn’t the type to get his hands dirty.” Bogie was nodding his head at Mac’s assessment. “So much of what has happened points to a professional hit.”

  “Or an organized psychopath,” Mac said. “I mean, we have yet to come up with the connection to David. He has no connection with Gould or any of that crew.”

  “The motive for shooting David could be to cut off the head of the dragon,” Ben said. “David is your leader. Take out the lead man and, if the killer was lucky, you’d all be chasing your tails looking for the connection back to David.”

  While they digested that, the lawyer went on. “Finch has the resources for a team of top lawyers—the best of the best—coming to his aid if you try to nail him for these murders. I suggest that before you show your hand, you make sure it’s a damn good one.” He set down his coffee cup and checked the time on his cell phone. “I’ve got a meeting with the town council for breakfast. You can bring Finch in to question him, but be nice about it until you have something more.”