Old Loves Die Hard (A Mac Faraday Mystery)

by Lauren Carr

  She wasn’t paying much attention to him. Her blue eyes, rimmed in red and framed with dark swollen circles, gazed up at the beams in the two-story foyer and living room. Her mouth hung in awe at the discovery of each new treasure that she had missed out on.

  “What are you doing here, Christine?” He decided to skip the vacant compliment about her looking good to go straight for the heart.

  Her eyes filled with tears and spilled down her cheeks. “I screwed up.”

  “I know,” Mac said. “You didn’t need to drive all the way out here to Spencer to tell me that.”

  Wailing, she buried her face in her hands.

  Behind her, Gnarly watched while sitting up in the love seat with his front paws resting on top of the back. When her cry rose to a loud shriek, he buried his face in his paws.

  “Mac, what’s going on?” Archie rushed in from the back deck with David close behind her.

  The two women met each other’s gaze.

  Christine asked first, “Is this Archie?”

  As if she didn’t know the answer, Archie looked at Mac.

  “Yes.” Standing up straight, Mac crossed over to stand next to her. “This is R.C. Monday. She lives in the guest cottage.” He went on to introduce David. “David O’Callaghan is our chief of police. He’s a good friend of mine. He came to ask for my help in solving a robbery that happened in town today.”

  “Our children told me a lot about you,” she told them. “I’m Christine. I’m sure Mac told you a lot about me.”

  “Not really,” Archie replied quickly.

  As if to remind Mac that he had forgotten someone during his introductions, Gnarly let out a loud whine.

  Startled by the noise behind her, Christine whirled around. Spying the German shepherd filling the love seat and almost at eye level with her, she announced, “That’s a dog.”

  “That’s Gnarly,” Mac said.

  Eying Gnarly with a mixture of fear and curiosity, Christine stayed rooted in the middle of the living room without moving toward him. Gnarly was equally ambivalent about her.

  “Did you drive out here alone?” Mac wondered how she had managed to drive in her inebriated condition without being pulled over by the police.

  “Yes,” she mumbled.

  “Where’s Stephen?”

  At the mention of the name of the man for whom she had divorced him, she burst into hysterical cries again. “I’m so sorry, Mac. Please forgive me. Please let me have another chance. After all we had been through together—” Suddenly, she was on her knees with both arms wrapped around his legs while sobbing into his thighs.

  David snatched his keys from his pocket. Announcing that he had reports to finish at the police station, he hurried past them.

  “But what about the robbery at the market?” Mac called out.

  “I’ll pay off the manager.” David was out the door and gone.

  Mac didn’t know whether to ask Archie for help or not. She answered for him. “I have a tight deadline.” She galloped out to the deck to head down to her cottage.

  When Christine began choking on her sobs, Gnarly dug his stolen bone out from under the cushion and leapt over the back of the love seat to follow after Archie.

  “Get up, Christine.” Mac pulled her up to her feet by her armpits and dragged her over to the sofa.

  Her tears had glued strands of her golden blond hair to her wet cheeks. Mac recalled a time, as recently as the day that he had come home to find his belongings packed up in the garage, when she would never have left home without each hair being in place.

  “Stephen left you, didn’t he?”

  “We did have a good marriage,” she choked out. “If I hadn’t made that one mistake—” Clasping her arms around his neck she tried to kiss him.

  While diving backwards to dodge her lips, he released her hold on his neck. “You threw me out of my own home.” He folded her hands in her lap.

  “You were always such a good gentle man.” Each word came out slowly and deliberately in her effort to appear in control.

  “Funny,” Mac said, “that’s not what your lawyer told the judge.”

  “Stephen told him to say that.” Her tears fell anew. “If he hadn’t seduced me—he made me all these promises and told me how you didn’t treat me right and how I deserved so much better than our little house in the suburbs with its little lawn and…He said that I deserved so much more and that he could give it all to me because I deserved more.” Batting her tears out of her eyes, she waved her hands and glanced at the elegance surrounding her in the manor. “Like this.”

  “Maguire certainly thought what we had was good enough to take away from me and move into,” Mac noted. “What about your job?”

  “You want to rub my nose in it, don’t you?” she spat out. “Tristan told you.” She guessed which of their two children had spilled the beans about her losing her job due to her alcoholic state.

  “You got laid off,” Mac stated.

  She corrected him. “Fired.”

  “You’d been with Robertson and Sons for over fifteen years,” Mac said. “You were head of the paralegal team. What happened?”

  “It was political.”

  “What did they say?”

  “The complaint was absenteeism.” She rushed on, “I had leave saved up. And then they started complaining because I’d have a few drinks at lunch. Like I’m the only one to have two-martini lunches.”

  Mac asked her, “How much have you had to drink today?”

  She glanced over his shoulder at the bottle of wine on the back deck. “You first.”

  “That was my first drink of the day and I didn’t drive over the mountains after drinking it.” He asked her again, “How many glasses of wine did you have before you decided to come out here looking for me?”

  “Everyone needs some liquid courage before begging for mercy.” She reached for his hands. “Forgive me.”

  “I forgive you.” Mac pulled his hands away. “I can do that. I’ve moved on. If you need my forgiveness in order to move on with your life after all that’s happened, then I can give it to you.”

  She tried to make her smile as becoming as possible in her condition. “What about us?”

  “There is no us, Christine.”

  “You can’t abandon me like this, Mac,” she cried. “I’ve lost everything. I’ve got nothing. When Stephen left…” she broke into heavy sobs. “Oh, Mac…” She collapsed into his lap.

  * * * *

  Seeing that Christine was unfit to drive, Mac grabbed her suitcase from the back seat of her five-year-old Mercedes and drove her in his car to the Spencer Inn, another part of his inheritance, so that she could sleep it off.

  The resort rested at the top of Spencer Mountain. The front of the stone and cedar main lodge offered a view of the lake below and the mountains off in the distance. While resting between boating, golf, skiing, mountain biking, hiking, or any of the other host of activities, guests could enjoy the view in cane rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch. Between activities, they could partake of refreshments in the outdoor café on the multi-level deck among the flora of an elaborate living maze or, if the weather was too chilly, the lounge inside. For more formal eating, the Inn’s five-star restaurant offered dining experiences that had been favorably recorded in gourmet magazines for decades.

  Mac was still trying to wrap his head around owning a resort that he couldn’t have afforded to visit a year ago.

  Even with all the twists and turns driving up to the top of the mountain from Spencer Point, Christine had managed to fall asleep in the passenger seat of his Dodge Viper. When the valet opened the door to help her out, she almost fell onto the red carpet leading up the steps to the main entrance. With a bellhop in tow carrying her suitcase, Mac led Christine across the lobby to the front desk.

  Seeing the inn filled with guests—some resting in front of the fireplace, others reading in front of the waterfall fountain on the other side of the lobby, and a large gr
oup going into the lounge for cocktails—Mac worried that no rooms would be available.

  When the desk clerk asked if he wanted to check Christine into his private penthouse suite, he replied, “I have a private suite?”

  Mac’s reaction amused the clerk. “On the top floor. We never book it. It’s available only for you and your private guests.”

  Mac turned around. The guests that littered the lobby now resembled money in a coin jar. They were paying guests. Paying to stay at his resort. The resort he owned. It hit Mac as it had been hitting him time and again: This all belonged to him.

  A wail snapped him out of his daze.

  Realizing that Christine was no longer at his side, Mac whirled around.

  Her shoulder bag held up to strike, Christine had run across the lobby toward the lounge. Even with the target’s back to him, Mac recognized his broad shoulders, dark hair, each strand in place, and sophisticated demeanor. With the grace of a ninja, he raised his arm to block her blow while grabbing her bag with the other to prevent a second strike.

  “What are you doing here?” Stephen Maguire demanded to know. His tone suggested that he found the Spencer Inn permitting such low class through its doors offensive.

  “Who is she?” Christine shoved him out of her way to get to the woman by his side.

  Younger than other women that Mac had seen in Stephen Maguire’s company, Christine’s rival was as slender as his ex-wife had been in her youth. Her silky copper-colored hair and porcelain skin only further enraged Christine.

  “Who she is, is irrelevant.” Stephen Maguire made no move to protect his companion when Christine charged. The girl’s eyes widened like those of a deer about to be struck by a speeding vehicle. Crying out for help, she dove to hide behind him.

  Mac grabbed his ex-wife while trying to disarm her. “They’re not worth it.”

  Christine danced around her ex-husband to get at the other woman. “Who do you think you are?”

  “What’s up with you, bitch?” the girl replied.

  The commotion had drawn Jeff Ingle, a willowy man in a gray suit that matched his slicked-back hair, from his corner office down a hallway that led back to the business offices. The Inn’s manager jumped in to reinforce the blockade to protect the girl. “Madam, if you don’t quiet down, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, then I suggest you leave—now!” Christine raged. “I’m going to kill you!”

  “You’re crazy.” She turned to Stephen. “Who is she?”

  “Some drunken lunatic,” Christine’s former lover replied.

  “Lunatic?” Christine shouted.

  “Stop it, please!” Mac reached out to grab her arm, which she jerked away so hard that he had to duck to avoid being slapped.

  “Who drove me to lunacy? You! Like you have every other woman that’s crossed your path.”

  Leading his companion away by the arm, Stephen Maguire left the conversation and the lobby. When Mac and Jeff Ingle forcibly kept Christine from following, her rage reached hysterical heights.

  “Don’t you walk away from me, Stephen. You won’t get away with this. I’m not going to let you get away with this. Do you hear me? I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you, Stephen Maguire! I’m going to kill you dead!”

  “Shut up!” Mac cut off her madness with a slap across her face.

  Startled by the assault, Christine yelped and grabbed her cheek.

  “Mac?” Jeff noticed the guests staring dumbfounded at the scene.

  “What is wrong with you?” Any sympathy that Mac had had for his ex-wife earlier was now gone.

  Jeff Ingle gestured to the desk clerk. “Make sure a bottle of champagne and fruit tray is delivered to Mr. Maguire’s room with a note of apology.”

  “Why are you apologizing to him?” Christine demanded to know.

  “You attacked him,” Mac said. “He’s a guest at my inn and you attacked him.”

  “You do know who that was, don’t you?” Jeff asked both of them. “That was one of the Maguires. Tycoon Broderick Maguire. Supreme Court Justice Everett Maguire. The social register.”

  “I am very familiar with all the power and influence of the D.C. Maguires.” Mac recounted in a mocking tone, “One call and I can have you wiped out and licking the curb.” He shot a glare at Christine. “Heard the threat and experienced it.”

  Wiping his sweaty brow with the handkerchief that he carried and used often, Jeff said, “Let’s hope Mr. Maguire doesn’t decide to take down the Spencer Inn by telling his friends about this incident and suggesting they start going to the Wisp for the season instead.” Grabbing Christine’s suitcase, the manager ushered them into an elevator to take them up to the top floor.

  As part of the hotel security, the elevator wouldn’t take them up to the penthouse floor until Mac held his personal Inn key card to the eye beam for it to read the security code.

  The elevator would only take registered guests and hotel employees to floors containing guest rooms and suites. Guests expecting visitors not staying at the Inn had to notify the front desk, who would issue the visitor a temporary key card.

  There was no shortage of other facilities at the Inn that visitors not staying overnight could enjoy, like the conference facility, award-winning spa, and restaurant and lounge on the first three floors of the Inn. The elevator would allow guests without key cards access to those areas.

  As the elevator took them up, Mac ordered Christine, “Stay in the suite. Order whatever you want from room service for dinner and get some sleep. I’ll come by for breakfast in the morning and we’ll talk about how to fix things.”

  “Stephen Maguire ruined everything in my life.” She blinked the tears out of her eyes.

  When the doors opened, they stepped down the corridor that ran the length of the top floor to the service elevator and stairwell at the other end.

  Jeff warned Christine about using the stairwell. “Don’t go in without your key card. Once you go into the stairwell, none of the doors to any of the floors will open without your key card except the doors to the main areas down on the first, second, or third floor. We’ve had more than one guest go into the stairwell in their bathrobe or less and have to traipse through the lobby to the front desk to get let back into their room.”

  With pride, Jeff said that every penthouse suite, except Mac’s, had been reserved for that weekend. “It’s the height of the autumn foliage and the Inn has the most beautiful views of the colors across the mountains and around the lake. This will be our biggest weekend until ski season starts in about six weeks.” He gestured at the door across from Mac’s suite. “This weekend, we have an ambassador from eastern Europe staying here. He says he has never seen the autumn foliage before.”

  Mac recalled before the dissolving of their marriage, when Christine would have gushed over the elegance of the two-bedroom suite that afforded a view of the lake and wooded trails leading down to the water’s edge. There was a time she would have thrown off her clothes and jumped into the hot tub out on the balcony before curling up with glee in front of the fireplace.

  Instead, she miserably gazed out the picture windows at the multi-colored landscape without seeing it while mumbling thanks to Jeff when he handed her the key card.

  After the manager left, Mac got her attention. “I’m going now. Like I said, enjoy the suite. Order dinner, stay here, and stay away from Stephen Maguire. I’ll be back tomorrow at nine o’clock. We’ll have breakfast and discuss how we can get you back on your feet again then.”

  “It’s not supposed to be like this.” She stomped her feet. “My life has gone to hell.”

  “Then get out of hell,” he said. “You’re a big girl and you’ve made some dumb mistakes. We all make mistakes.

  Do what a grownup does. Fix it. You crawled into bed with a snake and got bit. Learn from it and make it right.”

  Christine returned to gazing out the window. “You’re right, Mac,” she said
in a strangely quiet tone. “That’s what I have to do.”

  Chapter Two

  Mac knew in his heart that his Saturday night had to be better than Christine’s. He was positive that his Sunday morning would be less traumatic due to the absence of a hangover. Still, this knowledge didn’t console him any when he returned to the Spencer Manor to find a note taped to Archie’s cottage door:

  My dearest Mac,

  Gone out to visit an old friend. See you tomorrow.

  Love,

  Archie

  It was a defining moment.

  It was when Archie wasn’t there that Mac came to realize how much he had come to depend on her company.

  In the five months since he had moved to Spencer, they had spent every Saturday night together, as well as most other evenings and days. Many evenings, they would go to the Spencer Inn for a dinner prepared especially for them by the chef, who delighted in treating Archie to new exotic recipes from faraway lands.

  Having been Robin Spencer’s travel companion around the globe, Archie was fearless when it came to trying strange and unusual foods. Her adventurous taste buds delighted the Inn’s chef.

  Other times, Archie would work her own culinary magic in the manor’s gourmet kitchen, and had taught Mac a few simple tricks in an effort to teach him to cook.

  After dinner, they would either sit together on the deck to watch the sun set, or in the hot tub on cool evenings, or watch a movie together in the home theater. Afterwards, they would say good night with a hug and a kiss, at which point Archie would return to her cottage while Mac escorted Gnarly up to the master suite.

  Tonight, Archie wasn’t there.

  Mac was spending Saturday night in the manor alone, unless he counted Gnarly. Missing her companionship also, the dog opted for drowning his sorrows in a bag of popcorn.