by Lauren Carr
“Did he get a lawyer?” Francine asked.
Sue gave them a slim grin. “Never saw or heard from him again.”
“Did Mercedes see him that weekend?” Jacqui asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Are you positive that Sal Loughlin was at that conference on that weekend?” Francine asked. “It’s important.”
“I’m positive,” Sue said. “He snagged me during the cocktail party before the awards banquet. I meant to tell Mercedes, but she was already gone.”
A spring rain had made it impossible to eat breakfast lakeside on the deck at Spencer Manor. However, the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows in the Faraday’s dining room made it seem as if they were indeed on the lake.
Chris paused in scrolling through the case file on his laptop to flash a smile at Helen when she descended the granite steps into the drop-down dining room where he and Mac were eating breakfast.
Bruce Harris’s case of wine rested next to the steps. It had already been open and two bottles, one red, the other white, were missing.
“I guess Bruce’s wine is being tested?” Helen slipped an arm across Chris’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his lips.
“Archie is the Inn’s wine expert,” Mac said. “She took a taste this morning and gave it a thumbs up. I guess we’ll put it on our menu.”
“She just made Bruce’s day.” Helen whispered into Chris’s ear, “Why does Sterling have toilet paper stuck between his toes?”
“It’s a long embarrassing story.” Chris looked up into the living room where Sterling was stretched out on a rug. The German shepherd was sound asleep after what had proven to be a very active night. “Let’s just say Gnarly has not been a good influence on him.”
“Archie’s making omelets.” Mac gestured at the western omelet that filled his plate. There was also a serving bowl filled with fresh fruit in the middle of the table. “Just give her your order and she’ll whip it up for you.”
Helen objected. “She’s done so much for us already.”
“I never pass up a chance to show off my cooking skills.” Archie breezed through the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Gnarly pranced at her heels in hopes of capturing the Denver omelet on the plate she was carrying. She placed it in front of Chris.
“I’ve got a call into Joshua Thornton,” Mac told Helen, who responded with a puzzled look.
“Josh Thornton is the prosecuting attorney up north where Caroline Andrews lives,” Chris reminded her. “Patricia Baker’s sister.”
“Josh knows everyone in the Ohio Valley,” Archie said. “If he can’t set up an interview with Andrews, no one can.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Helen followed Archie back into the kitchen to help with breakfast.
Mac picked up a slice of sourdough toast and nibbled on the corner. “Okay, Matheson, let me get this straight. You’re thinking that George Livingston may have been snatched much earlier than the FBI concluded?”
“Or even murdered and they covered it up by making it look like he’d been kidnapped.”
Chris spooned a serving of the fruit salad onto a side plate. “Patricia Baker is a common denominator in this case. Lucille Del Vecchio stated that Patricia was in the suite with George Livingston when she went to tell him about an important phone call. Patricia would not let her inside or speak directly to him. Later, Patricia was the one who identified the man getting into what was believed to be Mercedes’s rental car as George Livingston to the second witness. That identification was the only way the second witness knew he was George Livingston.”
“He’d never met the victim before?” Mac asked.
“No,” Chris said. “Plus, he told an associate of mine yesterday that he didn’t get a clear look at the man’s face.”
“That’s interesting.”
“It was then that the man leaving the hotel announced that he was having dinner with his wife,” Chris said. “It would be interesting to find out from witnesses how many knew he was going to dinner with his wife before that.” He dug into the omelet.
Finished with his omelet, Mac turned his attention to the fruit salad. “If what you’re thinking is true, then Patricia Baker isn’t a witness. She’s a suspect.”
“Yet, she only had hours to pull off kidnapping George Livingston for ransom. Kyle Billingsley was in California when George was snatched.” With a frown, Chris took a bite of his omelet. “Just because he was in California doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved.”
“Are you sure Kyle Billingsley was in California?” Mac asked.
“Well, the FBI—”
“The FBI is not infallible,” Mac said.
“The case file has copies of the flight records showing that Kyle flew in after his father had called him about the ransom demand,” Chris said while refilling his coffee cup.
“You have to remember that all of this happened in 1980. It was a whole different world then.”
Chris cast a sideways glance in Mac’s direction as Helen and Archie returned to the dining room with their omelets. Gnarly brought up the rear.
As they took their seats, Archie recognized the arch of Mac’s eyebrow. “Uh-oh. Stand back. Mac is thinking.”
“About what?” Helen asked while helping herself to the fruit salad.
“Mac is about to tell me how Kyle Billingsley made it appear that he was in California while really he was here helping Patricia and Gavin abduct George.”
“I once had a case involving the murder of a senior partner at a prestigious law firm,” Mac said. “The one to gain the most from the victim’s death was his junior partner. Yet, he had a solid alibi.”
“He was very far away—like too far to drive,” Chris said.
“Now, this murder happened in the mid-nineties,” Mac said. “Before September eleventh. Before people had to show their driver’s licenses and social security cards and passports and all of that to fly. The junior partner was supposed to be on vacation in Vegas at the time of the murder. The murder happened something like Saturday night. He was booked on a Sunday morning flight to fly home, and he arrived in Reagan International that night. Now, even in the mid-nineties, they had security cameras. We checked out the security cameras and there he was walking down the concourse, wearing a Nationals ballcap and jacket, going into the men’s room, and coming out about twelve minutes later. We also checked the hotel security cameras in Vegas to make sure he was there.”
“Was he?” Archie asked.
“The security cameras showed him checking out of the hotel Sunday morning, dressed in the same National’s cap and jacket.”
“But you’re saying he was actually in Washington that Saturday night killing his senior partner,” Chris said.
“After eliminating all of the other potential suspects,” Mac said, “I decided to take a second hard look at the junior partner who’d inherited the whole firm after the senior partner’s murder.”
“It was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who said, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,’” Archie said.
“I went through all of the hotel and airport security footage from Saturday morning to Sunday night when my suspect walked down the concourse from the gate when he had gotten off the plane and went into the men’s room. All of it.” Mac grinned. “And if I hadn’t, then I never would have seen it.”
“Seen what?” Chris asked.
“In Las Vegas, my suspect was in the lobby talking to a guy wearing a cowboy hat and boots and a big brass belt buckle. They talked for a bit and shook hands. The cowboy then goes to the registration desk, picks up his duffel bag and leaves. On Sunday night, in Washington DC, a couple of minutes after my suspect goes into the men’s room, a man wearing the same cowboy hat and boots and big brass belt buckle went into the rest room after him. Ten minutes later, they both
walked out.”
“Now what are the odds of that?” Helen asked with a gasp.
“That was when I realized that the guy in the cowboy hat was my suspect,” Mac said. “Same height. Same build. Same general description. They swapped flight tickets and IDs. The accomplice stayed in Vegas setting up an alibi for our suspect while the murderer flew cross country to kill our victim. Then, the suspect met his accomplice at the airport, where they changed clothes in the men’s room so that he could pretend that he had just arrived back from Vegas to learn of his partner’s murder.”
“The paper trail put your suspect in Vegas, but the recorded evidence proved he was here,” Chris said. “But Kyle claims he didn’t know when Mercedes was planning to run away? How would he have known when and how to abduct George without her showing up and blowing their kidnapping scheme?”
“Robin figured it out,” Archie said. “Kyle was Meredes’s brother. He knew her better than anyone.”
Mac’s phone buzzed and danced on the table next to his plate. He answered the phone while Chris and Helen continued to consider the possibilities.
“Kyle is in show business,” Helen said. “It wouldn’t have been hard for him to get someone to take the flight for him while he flew out under a different name the day before.”
“He could have used call forwarding to get the phone call from his father after the ransom demand was made,” Chris said.
“Okay, we’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” Mac disconnected the phone and stood. “Chris, we’ve got to go.”
“Go where?”
Helen started to rise from the table. “Does this have anything to do with Lucille?”
“No,” Mac said.
“Then why do you need Chris to go with you?” Archie asked.
“David needs his input about a case he’s working on.” Mac ushered Chris up the stairs and across the living room.
Seeing his master heading for the door, Sterling fell in behind them to go along. Gnarly opted to stay with the omelets.
“It isn’t like Chris to go off chasing a lead without me,” Helen said. “I hope this doesn’t turn into a bad habit.”
Archie picked a sheet of tissue paper out from behind Gnarly’s collar. “Whatever it is, I have a sneaky feeling it involves toilet paper.”
Helen narrowed her eyes. Her phone buzzed. She checked the caller ID before answering. It was Doris. “Good morning, Doris.”
“Good morning, Helen. I’m at Shannon’s house. Speare has the letters.”
The rain pitter-pattered on the windshield of Mac’s SUV as he spun it around a sharp curve and took the left fork in a Y to head up the mountain. Sterling lost his footing and fell against the back rest in the rear seat.
“What did David say?” Chris peered out the window at the steep rocky drop on his side of the road.
“He said to drive past Buttwrinkle’s house, but don’t stop.”
“Buttwrinkle?”
“The twerp who lost his mind when Spencer elected a dog for mayor.”
The road led to a maze of side roads that scattered across the mountainside. The deep forest provided privacy for spacious lots on which residents could build luxurious homes. Mac slowed down as he made his way around a sharp turn to encounter several Spencer police cruisers and an EMT vehicle.
“What happened here?” Chris asked. “Did someone kill him?”
“Do you think?” There was a note of hope in Mac’s tone. In response to a sharp look from Chris, he frowned. “Adam Buttwrinkle has been a royal pain in the butt.”
Beyond the law enforcement vehicles, they saw the trees littering the lot covered in toilet paper disintegrating into a white ooze from the rain. Behind the trees, an upper-middle class home resembled an oversized gift wrapped from the ground to the roof in white tissue.
“I think they found the stolen toilet paper,” Mac said.
“Is that—”
“Councilman Adam Buttwrinkle’s house.”
“Why are the EM—” The rancid odor of skunk hit his nostrils. Chris covered his nose. He noticed the officers and EMTs were wearing face masks.
Sterling crouched down in the back seat and covered his nose with his paws.
“Mac, you need to get us out of here.”
Mac was already speeding up.
“How could Gnarly pull that off?”
“He’s got lots of friends.” Mac pressed the button on his steering wheel to answer a call from David.
“Did you see?”
“How could I miss it?” Mac replied while driving back down the mountain. “What are the EMTs for? Did Buttwrinkle get hurt?”
“Didn’t you smell the skunks?”
“Skunks as in plural?” Chris asked.
“He opened the front door this morning and got ambushed by one. Then, two more ran inside and detonated stink bombs on the ground and upper floors before escaping.”
“Why didn’t Buttwrinkle stop them?” Mac asked.
“He was too busy throwing a tantrum about the gift he stepped into on his doorstep.”
“Dog doo?” Mac asked in a low voice.
“Bear,” David said.
“Bear?” Mac said.
“Front and back door,” David said. “Buttwrinkle is calling it a terrorist attack. He’s claiming that it has all the earmarks of being launched by someone with military training—like Gnarly.”
Mac chuckled as he eased the SUV back onto the Y at the bottom of the mountain. “Squirrel. Skunk. Bear. Unless he can capture them and make them talk, he’s got nothing.”
“Don’t be so sure, Mac,” David said. “Buttwrinkle is swearing that he’s got evidence. He says his security cameras recorded Gnarly on the scene at the time of the attack.”
There was silence in the SUV.
Mac and Chris exchanged worried glances.
“Did you see it?” Chris asked.
“He refuses to let me see it,” David said. “Claims I’m biased and will get the media to set the narrative ahead of him.”
“Where’s the video?” Mac asked.
“On the home server of the security company contracted to protect his house. Buttwrinkle is planning a press conference at the town hall where he will play the video showing Gnarly leading a terrorist attack against his political enemy to prove that he is a canine crime boss. He’s planning to report this to the DOJ and demand that Gnarly be arrested.”
“What time is the press conference?” Mac asked.
“Ten o’clock.”
Chris rubbed his nose. “Will Butt Man be fumigated by then?”
“I think he’s embracing the odor as a badge of honor,” David said. “The price he’s been forced to pay for his righteous investigation against the evil canine mayor.”
Mac disconnected the call as he raced between the stone pillars into Spencer Manor.
In the back seat, Sterling uttered a long mournful whine.
“I can’t lose Sterling,” Chris said.
“You’re not going to lose Sterling,” Mac said while pressing a button on his cell phone.
A sleepy voice that Chris recognized from the year before spilled out of the speaker.
“Yell-o?”
“Tristan, it’s me?” Mac said.
“Me who?”
“Dad.”
“Dad?”
“Your father,” Mac said with a note of annoyance. “Wake up. It’s important.”
“I’m awake,” Tristan said. “What do you want?”
“Gnarly and his friends launched a terrorist attack against Buttwrinkle’s house,” Mac said.
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Tristan said.
“Buttwrinkle claims to have security video of Gnarly on the scene and he plans to present it at a press conference at ten o’clock.”
>
“Is it on the server at his security company?”
Chris hissed, “He’s not going to hack—”
Mac cut Chris off by raising his hand.
“I’m on it,” Tristan said. “Dad, don’t you think it’s time for us to put an end to this nonsense? Give me the word and you’ll be rid of Buttwrinkle for good.”
Mac and Chris exchanged long glances.
Chris was unsure what was going through Mac’s mind. In his experience, Chris had seen many powerful men become dangerous with too much power. Yet, Mac had spent a lifetime fighting for what was right.
“Is there enough time?” Mac asked Tristan.
“I’ll make it happen. After that press conference, Buttwrinkle won’t be a problem anymore.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
With one eye on the grandfather clock in the Faraday’s living room, Helen listened to Doris read the first letter that Robin had written to Shannon after she had eloped with Billy.
Helen had a feeling that she was now working alone on their case. Mac and Chris had returned to the house only long enough to quickly get dressed, grab Gnarly, and leave. Chris had told her that he’d meet her at the Spencer Inn.
In her first letter, Robin mentioned an odd encounter:
There was a strange man I had met in the lounge during cocktail hour. He was really upset with Sue. At first, I thought he was yet another writer she had rejected. But he turned out to be upset because she blew him off after he’d threatened to sue both you and her for defamation. He said his name was Sal. I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore.
In her response, Shannon pounced at the mention of Lacey Woodhouse’s former employer and demanded that Robin tell her more.
