by Lauren Carr
David laughed. “Remember the first time we made love? It all started with a can of whipped cream just like this.” He took the can, shook it, and poured some onto her finger. He then took her hand and brought it up to his mouth.
His eyes locked on hers while he slowly stuck her finger into his mouth and licked it off. In the moment, it was clear that, as it had when they were teenagers in love, it would start with a lick of her finger and end up with so much more.
This time was different.
Instead of teenagers who could not see beyond the moment, they were grown-ups who had pasts to learn from and futures to think about.
Chelsea’s face grew even paler. “I’m sorry … I should go.” She moved to get around David, only to have him block her path and back her up to the table where he fenced her in with his arms on either side of her.
His breath feathered her face. “I want so much for us to go back to the way it was before. You have no idea how much I regret the way I hurt you.”
“I forgave you, David,” she said. “You know I love you. Damn it! I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
David swallowed. “You wish you didn’t?”
“I am so sorry that I told you how I feel about you,” she said. “The only reason I told you how I felt was because I thought you were dying. But you didn’t die and now you probably think that we stand a chance of getting back together, but we don’t. By telling you how I feel, all I did was complicate things.” She sighed. “Actually, I take that back. I didn’t complicate things by telling you how I felt when I thought you were dying. You complicated them by not dying.”
“I’m sorry my surviving complicated things.”
She giggled. Her eyes met his eyes. He was smiling down at her.
“I do love you, Chelsea.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. She cocked her head at him. “You’re not mad?”
He shook his head.
“You understand?”
“Payback is hell, but I understand.”
“It’s not payback.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “I love you, David.”
“I know.” He rested his forehead against hers.
She felt his hot breath feather her face as he leaned over to bring his lips close to her cheek. His lips brushed across her cheek back to her ear. Anticipating his lips kissing her ear or better yet, nipping at it the way he used to, she waited.
“I’m going to bed,” he whispered with a hoarse voice into her ear.
Stunned, she remained still while he stood up, picked up his bottle of beer and climbed the staircase up to the loft.
Two yelps, followed by loud barking interrupted her thoughts when Molly charged past her. With the chicken in her mouth, Molly was pulling Gnarly behind her by her tail. She whipped around to send Gnarly, who lost his grip on her tail, sliding spread-eagle across the floor to knock over a bookcase that landed on top of him. Victorious in capturing the rubber chicken, Molly leapt over the coffee table and landed on the sofa, which collapsed under her weight.
“Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out, Chelsea,” David called down from the loft before turning off the light.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was in moments like this, holding Archie tightly in his arms, Mac felt as if his love for her was going to burst out of his chest. He wondered if she could sense his giddiness when he gazed down at her. She had the dewy look of an angel, especially with her blonde hair and emerald green eyes. “I love you.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“I love you, too.” She smiled up at him before burying her face into his neck.
He sighed. “Do you want to get married?”
“You already asked me that and I said yes,” she replied.
“Then I guess we need to set a date,” he said with a tired sigh.
“Tell me the date and the time and I’ll be there in my white dress.”
“You got the dress already?”
“I’ll buy the dress when you get me the ring.” She waved her ring-less fingers in his face.
“That’s right. I need to get you a ring. Don’t let me forget to do that.”
She pulled back and leveled her gaze on his eyes. “I have a feeling David and Chelsea are going to get married before you and I do.”
“I doubt it.” Mac rolled over to lie down next to her. “She’s going to go back to Annapolis to her job as a paralegal as soon as Riley is set up at the psychiatric hospital.”
“No, I think Chelsea is different,” she said with a shake of her head. “She pretends she doesn’t want him, but she does. She’s going to stay. She won’t admit it’s for David. She’ll use Riley as an excuse.”
“I think David needs to slow down when it comes to his love life,” Mac said. “I mean—really? A black widow? The guy actually slept with a black widow serial killer … at least he lived to tell about it.”
Without warning, Archie sat up. “The book!”
Mac sat up next to her. “What book?”
“Damian Wagner’s last book,” Archie said. “Certainly the black widow didn’t steal it. She took the money out of his account. Where is Damian Wagner’s last book?”
“I wonder if Riley took it,” he asked. “He told David that he and Damian Wagner had worked on it together.”
“Do you really think Damian Wagner would have left something that important with Riley?”
“Let me think about it.” He pulled her back down and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll find the answer.”
She turned off the lights and they settled down to sleep, only to have the phone ring next to the bed. As hard as they tried to not be jumpy, they both sat up. Mac grabbed the phone. When he read the Caller ID and it read BOGIE, he felt his heart jump up into his throat.
“No,” Archie gasped while clinging to his arm.
“Bogie …” It came out as a gasp.
“Mac, you and David need to get down here to the station.”
“Don’t tell me she escaped,” Mac said through clenched teeth.
“No, not that bad,” Bogie said. “I tried to call David but he’s still on sick leave and his phone is off. Bring him with you.”
Mac hung up the phone. When he moved to climb out of bed, Archie was clinging to his arm with both hands. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“I suppose you’re going to bring your pink handgun with you.” Mac jerked loose from her grasp and reached for his bathrobe.
“Believe it or not, I have a personal stake in you not getting castrated.”
It was a full load riding to the police station at one-thirty in the morning. Neither Chelsea nor Archie would allow the men to leave without them. Molly had to go with Chelsea and Gnarly would not be left alone without Molly. So they all piled into Mac’s SUV with Gnarly and Molly in the back compartment.
They arrived at the police station to find it crawling with police, both local, state, and the FBI, who had arrived before Mac and David had left. Bogie met them in the reception area.
“If she hasn’t escaped,” Mac asked, “then what is this about?”
Bogie said, “She’s dead.”
Archie sighed with relief.
“Suicide?” Mac asked before shaking his head. “This woman was too much of a narcissist to have killed herself.”
“Nope.” Bogie shook his head.
“Are you sure it’s her?” Mac asked.
“One of my people would not have killed her.” David looked at the federal agents milling about with suspicion.
“It’s definitely her and it’s no suicide.” Bogie led them through the barred doors and down a short hallway that led back to the holding cells. When they came to the last cell they found a blood covered holding cell. She was sprawled across the floor with blood spla
tters all over the walls and floor.
Kneeling next to her, Dr. Washington’s eyes were wide while she stared at the gaping hole in the dead woman’s throat and the wide-eyed look of horror in her lifeless eyes.
“What did this?” Chelsea grasped David’s hand.
“To me,” the doctor said, “it looks like she was attacked by an animal. These are definitely bite marks on the neck. Her jugular vein was bitten clear through and it looks like her neck was snapped.”
“An animal? That can’t be,” Mac said.
“David,” Bogie said, “you saw when you left. We had people all over this place. We had people inside the station and out. Fed and police.”
“I know, Bogie,” David said.
“She was asleep in her cell,” Bogie said. “At twelve-thirty, the guard came out to take a break. Minutes later, we hear growling and screaming. We all came running back. Thinking it was a trap, I called on the radio for the guards outside to stay put. We came in and found her like this. The guards outside said they heard someone—or something—running into the woods.”
“Did they see anything?” David asked.
“Yeah.” Bogie led them back out of the cells and into the security room. “We got it recorded.”
Officer Fletcher was sitting at the monitor. “Are you ready to see this?”
“Show them,” Bogie said.
While David, Mac, Archie, and Chelsea crowded around the monitor, Officer Fletcher brought up the recording of the police station’s darkened parking lot. The time read three minutes after one o’clock. From the direction of the station’s back door, a white mist moved across the lot in the direction of the woods. Upon reaching the woods, it dissolved.
“What is that?” Mac asked.
“White shape,” David said.
“Ghost?” Archie said.
“No,” Mac said.
“Ghost dog?” David murmured.
“She was killed between twelve-thirty and one o’clock,” Bogie said. “The hospital called after we found her. Riley Adams is missing.”
“He was tied down,” Chelsea yelled.
“I guess those restraints don’t do much good against mists,” Bogie said. “According to their security video, a few minutes after midnight, they have two shots from different angles of a white mist blowing down the hall and exiting through the front door of the hospital.”
“You know,” Archie stared at the paused image of the mist. “When you look at it, you can see the tail. It could be a ghost dog.”
“Do you really believe Riley changed into a ghost dog named Nigel?” Mac asked her.
Her hands on her hips, Archie glared at him. “Do you have any other explanation for why security cameras at two different locations have recordings of a white mist that appears at the same time that a wolf man, claiming to have been taken over by the spirit of a ghost dog—” She held up her finger in an order to let her finish. “—a friendly ghost dog named Nigel goes missing?”
Mac turned to Bogie for help in the argument.
“I’ve got nothing,” Bogie said.
“Why come here to break into the police station to kill the black widow?” Chelsea asked.
“He didn’t break anything,” Bogie said. “From the looks of it, he dissolved right through the walls.”
“Why kill the black widow?” Archie repeated the question.
“In nature,” David said, “justice is swifter and less complicated than man has made it.”
“She could escape justice in man’s world,” Bogie said, “but not in nature—not where Nigel is the alpha male.”
“A ghost dog disappearing into thin air at the same time that a man claiming to have become one with the spirit of that ghost dog disappears from the hospital,” David said to Mac who was gazing at the recording of the white mist disappearing into thin air outside the police station. “We’re all waiting to hear your reasonable explanation for that, Mac.”
Before Mac could answer, in the reception area of the police station, Molly and Gnarly turned toward the mountain and howled up toward Astaire Castle.
Epilogue
Back home, Mac’s sleep was not restful. Yes, the black widow was dead. No, he did not have to worry about her hunting him down to slit his throat after castrating him. Still, sleep was evasive as the voices inside his head rattled while he drifted from sleep to an awakened state:
The first voice belonged to Archie: There’s a missing book that the writer is hiding …
Jeff Ingles interrupted, Robin told me that he had told her that his book was done. …
Someone stole the desk. … Mac said to which Hector replied, The day before Wagner killed his daughter and editor, he gave his desk to Robin.
Guess where he found it? Archie took on the last voice to tell him.
Mac woke up with a start. The full moon shone through the skylight down on him and Archie, who was asleep next to him.
Robin was right. Damian Wagner had finished his last book and she was hiding it from Raymond Hollister.
“Archie, wake up.” He shook her. “I know where the book is. Where’s that book you were reading the other day?” Without bothering to put on his shoes, he got up and ran from the room.
“Downstairs in the study where I got it.” Archie rubbed her eyes. “I finished it. Awesome ending. Why?”
“The desk in the study used to belong to Damian Wagner. He gave it to Robin the same day he died. Do you remember Jeff saying that Robin was certain that he had finished his book?”
Shrugging into her bathrobe and shoving her feet into her slippers while shuffling to the top of the stairs, she called down to him from over the bannister. “Because he had it hidden away in the desk that he gave her?”
“I think she was keeping it away from Raymond Hollister.” Mac ran back from where he had started down the next flight of stairs to the study where the desk was waiting. “In that book you were reading? Did they find that manuscript in a desk?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“She must have been trying to tell us that in the book you were reading.”
“Why not just leave it in an envelope and give it to Willingham?” Archie hurried down the stairs to meet him at the bottom.
Mac grinned when the thought came to his mind. “Because she was Robin Spencer—she wanted us to earn that information.” He took her hand and led her to the stairs going down to the study.
“Lucky thing Hollister didn’t read her book and get the meaning,” Archie said. “He may have come after her either with an ax or lawyers.”
“It’s a toss-up of what would have been worse,” Mac said. “We need to find that book.” He dropped to his knees to study the heavy oak desk that was the centerpiece of Robin Spencer’s study.
Of all the rooms in the manor house, Mac felt most comfortable in Robin’s study. Here, he felt the essence of the woman who had given birth to him.
Robin Spencer’s famous mysteries had been penned in the most cluttered room in Spencer Manor. Built-in bookshelves containing thousands of books collected over five generations took up space on every wall. Robin had left her son first editions of all her books. First editions of famous authors personally inscribed to her, and books for research in forensics, poisons, criminology, and the law also lined the shelves. With every inch of bookshelf space taken, the writer had taken to stacking books on her heavy oak desk and tables, and in the corner. With no other place to put them, Mac let them remain where they were stacked.
Portraits of Spencer ancestors filled space not taken up with books. After two years, Mac was still in the process of learning many of their names and histories. Some appeared to be from the eighteenth century. Others wore fashions from the turn of the nineteenth century and on throughout.
The most recent portra
it was a life-sized painting of Robin Spencer, dressed in a white strapless formal gown from the 1960s. She looked like a young Elizabeth Taylor. When he had first seen the picture, Mac was taken aback by how much Robin resembled his grown daughter Jessica, who was a third year student at William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia.
The portrait of the demure-looking author filled the wall between two gun cases behind the desk. One case contained rifles and shotguns, while the other had handguns. Some of the weapons had been handed down through the Spencer family. Others, Robin had purchased for research.
Robin had acquired other weapons during her career of writing about murder. The coat rack sported a hangman’s noose and a Samurai sword hung on the wall.
In a chair in the far corner of the room, Uncle Eugene watched all the comings and goings. A first aid training dummy, Uncle Eugene had been stabbed in the back, tossed off rooftops, and strangled on numerous occasions —all in the name of research. When he wasn’t being victimized, he sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner, dressed in a tuxedo with a top hat perched on his head. With one leg crossed over the other and an empty sherry glass next to his elbow, Uncle Eugene looked like he was taking a break while waiting for the next attempt on his life.
“Where was it hidden in Robin’s book?” Mac asked Archie.
“It was in a secret compartment along the side of the desk.” Archie crawled under the desk from the front while Mac was crawling in from the back. “There was a lever that Diablo had stepped on—” She pressed her hand on the brace between the front and back legs on the side.
Before she could finish, she heard a click followed by a yell from Mac, who fell back onto his rump where he was kneeling under the desk.
“Did you say something?” she asked Mac who was rubbing the side of his head.
“Nothing,” Mac groaned.
The front corner panel on the right side of the desk had popped forward to reveal that it was a corner door panel. She had tripped the lever to pop it open when she had pressed the bottom brace between the side legs. “I opened it just like Diablo did in the book,” Archie said. “It’s like Robin was psychic.” She giggled. “If Gnarly was here, he would have tripped it for sure.”
