by Lauren Carr
Archie clapped her hands with delight. “You read Gnarly’s book.”
“Of course, I did. He’s brilliant, which is why we elected him mayor and I’m not letting anyone set up my mayor.” Tonya wheeled her suitcase to the door.
“You’re moving in?” Mac asked.
“Unless you want me and my fur babies to stake Kleinfeld out in my car.”
“Well, I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms—”
“No, thank you. Chief gave me a key to the guest house.” Tonya waved a key hanging from a key chain. “He told me that the window in the loft has a perfect view of the whole house and yard next door.” She headed for the door. “Come along, babies. Let’s leave the lovebirds alone.”
The corgis fell in line behind her.
“You can go back to what you were doing now.” With a wink, Tonya closed the door on her way out.
“That’s okay.” Archie slumped onto the sofa next to Gnarly, who laid his head in her lap. “The mood has passed.”
A cocktail of emotions was mixing and stirring inside Tonya. The thought of someone, anyone, setting up Gnarly, or any dog, for a bite charge brought out the momma bear in her.
Archie had insisted on taking Gnarly with them to the party at the Spencer Inn—leaving Tonya and her four corgis alone for the stakeout.
Tucked away at the end of a path in a corner of the estate’s rose garden, the stone cottage consisted of a great room and a loft bedroom. David had lived in the cottage for over a year after his mother had gone into a nursing home and he had put his childhood home on the market. As he had pointed out, the window above the king-sized bed had a perfect view of the Kleinfeld home.
After she had set up her surveillance equipment, Tonya set a stool next to the bed for the corgis to jump onto it and crowd around her.
She focused the scope in on what appeared to be a spat between Constance and Edward. On the back deck, Constance turned her head when her husband leaned over to kiss her after he had returned home from a round of golf.
So much for being a loving couple. This is after two years of marriage?
While Tonya couldn’t hear what they were saying, the body language was loud and clear. On the deck, Constance screwed her face up until he went into the house. Tonya later saw him go upstairs to the master bedroom, where he undressed and went into the bathroom to take a shower.
Back on the deck, Constance peered over her shoulder at the door. She turned her head, as if waiting—listening.
“What are you up to?” Tonya sharpened the focus on the scope.
Constance stepped into the house and looked up the stairs. Edward was in the bathroom. Constance took a phone from her purse. Glancing toward the stairs, she stood motionless and listened. Then, she reached into the bag and took out a second phone. She plopped into a chair and sent a text on one of the phones. After a moment, she picked up the second phone, and then tapped out a message on that one. After setting the second phone aside, she picked up the other cell and sent a message on that one.
So on and so on. Constance sent one text message after the other on the two phones while paying close attention to her husband’s movements upstairs. After Edward emerged from the bathroom and called down the stairs to her, she stuffed the two cell phones into her purse.
Her suspicions of Constance’s disreputable character confirmed, Tonya smirked.
Chapter Four
“We really didn’t have to bring him,” Mac whispered into Archie’s ear as they entered the ballroom room with Gnarly on his leash.
“I’m not taking any chances.”
A buffet table along one wall boasted a wide assortment of finger food. An open bar with bistro tables took up the wall directly across from it. A dance floor encompassed the center of the room. French doors led out onto the patio off the garden with tables for guests to enjoy the night air.
“Oh, it’s Gnarly!” Clad in a form fitting cocktail dress, Morgan Johansson grabbed a shrimp from the buffet table.
Spying a shrimp with his name on it, Gnarly’s ears fell back and his mouth dropped open. His tail wagged. The party goers broke out their cell phones to record the event when Morgan presented the goodie to the mayor.
“Behave,” Archie said in a low voice. “You’re representing Spencer.” She unclipped the leash and Gnarly took control of the room—as always.
Hector appeared at Mac’s side. “Our people are in position. Your suspects will have eyes on them all weekend.”
“Did you tell them to be discreet?”
“Of course.” The security manager cleared his throat. “I do have a question about the bride’s aunt.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Kassandra Johansson, who was in a discussion with the event coordinator. “I noticed no spouse listed on her background check.”
Mac peered at Hector out of the corner of his eye. The rugged Australian was focused on Kassandra. “Her husband was killed during the terrorist attacks on September eleventh,” he said in a low voice. “She was totally devastated. As far as I know, she’s never even dated since losing him.”
Hector pursed his lips. “Her nose crinkles up when she smiles.”
Mac cocked his head at him.
“I think that warrants further investigation.”
“Are you thinking of going undercover, Hector?”
“It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
“Is David going to be here in the lounge or in the control room watching on the monitors while you’re hooking up with one of our suspects?” Mac asked.
“He’s not coming.” While Hector spoke to Mac, his eyes swept the room before refocusing on Kassandra. The event coordinator had moved on to talk to the caterer. “He texted Bogie. Apparently, something’s come up. Bogie’s to keep him in the loop if there are any developments.”
Kassandra filled up a plate with finger food.
Mac frowned. “Something’s come up?”
“Maybe David had a date.” Hector saw Kassandra sit at a bistro table to eat alone in a sea of merry party guests. A shadow of loneliness fell across her face. “Excuse me, Mac. I see a suspect who needs some special attention.” He snatched two glasses of champagne from a tray and hurried over to join her.
“I guess I’m going to have to solve this cold case myself,” Mac muttered to himself as Archie slipped her hand through his arm.
“Mac, do you really expect the killer to say or do something to give him or herself away sixteen years after getting away with murder?”
With his arm around her waist, Mac guided her in the direction of the bar. “With everyone connected to the murders here, including the lead investigator, our killer won’t be able to resist dangling this cold case in front of us.”
Bogie was seated at the bar with Doc Washington. No one could have guessed that the stunning woman with one long leg crossed over the other spent her days examining dead bodies.
Seeing Mac and Archie’s approach, Doc flashed them a grin from over Bogie’s shoulder, but before they could greet her a woman dressed in a shimmery black pantsuit intercepted Mac.
Over the decades, her sense of style had changed very little. Preferring to be noticed for her brains, she wore her hair in a short, understated style and little make up. With a wide grin, she stuck out her hand. “Remember me?”
Mac took her hand. “How could I ever forget you, Derringer?” Their handshake ended in a warm hug.
Dani Derringer turned her attention to Archie. “You must be Archie Monday. I’m lucky enough to have been one of your husband’s many protégés back in the day.”
“Definitely one of the best,” Mac said. “Dani Derringer is now the chief of homicide in Georgetown.”
“After stabbing the former chief in the back.” Lou Gannon staggered to the bar. With effort, he climbed onto a stool.
Lou was shorter th
an Mac had remembered. The former police lieutenant had barely reached the minimum height to be accepted onto the police force. His bald head was marked with age spots over his yellowed wrinkled flesh. His goatee was gray.
Lou put a cigarette to his lips and gestured at the bartender. “Hey, buddy, how about a light?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the bartender said, “but smoking is not allowed in the Spencer Inn.”
“I’ll have you know that I am a close personal friend of the owner—Mac Faraday.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in Mac’s direction. “I’m staying here at the Inn as his guest.” He spat out another demand for a light.
Towering over him, Bogie took the cigarette from his lips. “Sorry, buddy. It’s against state law.” He tossed it into the trash can behind the bar.
On Lou’s other side, Mac clasped his shoulder. “We do have a smoking area outside, Lou. It’s a pleasant evening.” He ordered a refill of his drink, a whiskey on the rocks. “We’ll take your drink outside and catch up on old times.”
Dani Derringer and Archie took seats at a bistro table. Mac assumed Derringer preferred to keep her distance after playing an active role in sending the police lieutenant to jail.
The corner of Lou’s lips curled while he looked Mac up and down. “You couldn’t resist, could you?”
Mac leaned against the bar. “Resist what, Lou?”
“Rubbing everyone’s nose in it.”
“I did inherit the Spencer Inn,” Mac said with a crooked grin. “Why shouldn’t I take advantage of my position to offer it to my friends for their wedding?”
“Knowing that Rod would invite all of his old friends from the force,” Lou said. “Can you think of a better way for everyone to see how far the great Mac Faraday has come? Success is the best revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“You were the brilliant one. A genuine Sherlock Holmes. Nothing got past you. Every single one of us took full advantage of your brilliance. How many times did we take credit for you solving our cases?” Taking up his drink, Lou looked around the room and caught the eye of every detective within hearing distance. “I dare any of you to deny using Faraday to advance your own career.”
“We were a team, Lou,” Mac said. “What good would it have done for me to not help my colleagues?”
“Still so humble.” With a chuckle, Lou drank half of his drink. “How many detectives did you mentor throughout the years.” He reached over to grasp Dani on the shoulder. “Like Derringer here!”
She jerked out of his reach. “Maybe if you had more integrity you wouldn’t have ended your law enforcement career in jail and your son would still be alive.”
“None of that is my fault.” Lou spun around to glare at Mac. “A little bird told me that you coached her into setting me up.” He fumbled in his pocket for another cigarette.
“Your son killed a federal agent,” Mac said. “Not only did you cover it up, but you tried to frame an innocent man for the murder.”
“You would have done the same thing if it was your son!”
Mac glanced around at the many guests staring at them. “My son would never have gotten mixed up with those bunch of lowlifes in the first place—the very same lowlifes who killed him in prison.”
“Like you think it was my fault.”
“You said it, not me.” Mac lowered his voice. “You really don’t think your son didn’t realize you were crooked enough to protect him after you ratted out Captain Jeffries to get his job.”
“Jeffries was emotionally unfit—”
“His wife was dying.”
“I felt sorry for the guy, but he was unfit to run the unit.”
“He was doing fine,” Mac spat out. “He’d hit a rough patch. Everyone respected him enough to help him—”
“By covering it up. I was doing what was best for the department.” Lou put the cigarette between his lips.
“You can say that all you want, but everyone knows you stabbed Jeffries in the back to advance your own career.” Mac flipped the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it behind the bar. “That is why no one lifted a finger to help you when you went down.”
“Hey, Mac.”
Immersed in their argument, Mac was startled when Will Harrington clamped his hand on his shoulder. The former head of the vice unit wore his many years of law enforcement in the lines on his weathered face. Since he had retired, Will Harrington had left the city behind—evidenced by a thick gray mane that covered his shirt collar with a matching beard and mustache—reminiscent of Grizzly Adams.
Harrington stuck his hand out to Lou. “How are you doing, Gannon?”
Lou Gannon snatched up his drink and drained the glass. He slammed the glass back down onto the bar and demanded a refill. The bartender cast a questioning glance at Mac. Since Gannon was staying at the hotel, he wouldn’t be driving. Mac gestured for the bartender to give him another drink.
“Glad you could make it, Harrington.” Mac shook his hand as Derringer rose from her seat to give her former boss a hug. “Kassandra told me you didn’t sound like you were coming.” He introduced Will Harrington to Archie, who shook his hand.
“Well,” Harrington paused to look around the room at the many guests, “a lot of memories. Not all good, I’m afraid. I’ve become quite fond of my little cabin up on my mountain.” He nodded toward where Gina and her fiancé Seth were sharing a laugh with friends—all of whom were young officers. “Gina is as pretty as her mother.”
“Yes,” Mac said, “she is.”
“Hey, Harrington, is that you?” A lanky man with once sandy blond hair that had turned silver with age stuck his hand into the center of the group to grasp Harrington’s palm. “Long time, no see.”
“Troy Underwood, how are you?” Harrington gave him a pat on the shoulder before taking note of the older blonde by his side. “Joan?”
“That’s me, Will.” The detective’s wife stepped forward to give him a hug.
“Last I saw you, Underwood, you were working in Georgetown,” Derringer said.
“Still in Georgetown, but no longer with the police department,” Underwood said. “Left twelve years ago.”
“He’s working with the Secret Service,” Joan said in a low voice.
“You don’t have to whisper, dear,” Underwood said with a laugh. “I’m not working undercover.”
“How about Sanchez?” Harrington asked. “Did he defect, too?”
The grin from Joan’s face fell. Underwood stiffened when he answered, “Last I heard, he passed his lieutenant’s exam. Second in command with the homicide unit in Potomac.”
“He’s remarried. He’s here with his wife.” With a toss of her head, Joan gestured in the direction of the main entrance.
“Rosa, I’d like you to meet the old gang!” Rico Sanchez broke through the crowd at the bar to join them. He had his arm wrapped around the bare shoulders of a shapely brunette who looked young enough to be his daughter.
Mac recalled that when Sanchez and Underwood had been partners, the couples double dated practically every weekend. Their kids, approximately the same ages, spent afternoons at each other’s homes. He wondered if the sudden death of Rico Sanchez’s first wife played any role in the partners going their different ways.
While Underwood and Sanchez patted each other on the back, their wives exchanged frosty greetings.
With a wide grin, Kassandra shattered the silent standoff by hugging Joan. “I am so glad all of you could come to Gina’s wedding. This means so much to her.”
“Sure hope this ceremony doesn’t end the same way as the last wedding we attended together,” Lou said from his seat at the bar.
His reminder of the murder doused the merry atmosphere.
Joan broke the silence. “Knowing you, Mac, you never gave up on finding Brie and Polk’s killer. Did you ever make
any progress?”
Mac slowly shook his head. “I handed the case off when I retired from the major crimes unit. Any work I’ve done since then has been unofficial.”
“Where were you on the case when you retired?” Derringer asked. “Had you made any headway? Did you identify any suspects?”
“Wasn’t there a witness?” Sanchez scratched his ear.
“Kelly Hughes,” Mac said. “Call girl across the hall. Died of a drug overdose.”
“No, I wasn’t talking about Kelly,” Sanchez said with a shake of his head. “There was another witness who came forward a few years later. Our team had broken up by then.”
“I know who you’re talking about, man. It was only a few months before I went over to the Secret Service.” Underwood snapped his fingers. “Who told us about her?”
“One of our old informants,” Sanchez said. “That guy who used to organize those illegal rave parties in abandoned buildings.”
“What was his name?” Underwood asked.
“Began with a ‘d’.”
“No,” Underwood said.
“Yes, it did.”
“Did not.”
“Then what did it begin with?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t a ‘d’.”
“If you don’t know, then how do you know it didn’t begin with a ‘d’?” Sanchez asked.
Mac held up his hand. “What witness are you talking about?”
“It was a woman,” Underwood said.
“But not Kelly Hughes,” Sanchez said. “This was a different woman. She worked in the hotel kitchen.”
“There was only one witness I knew of,” Mac said. “Kelly Hughes heard the shots.”
On either side of Mac, Underwood and Sanchez shook their heads.
“There was another witness,” Sanchez said.
“No, there wasn’t,” Derringer said. “I’ve had my ear to the ground for sixteen years looking for my partner’s killer. I’ve interviewed every snitch on the streets. Kelly Hughes was the only witness and she was dead of a heroin overdose by the morning after the murders.”
