by Lauren Carr
“Then, she just nosed around until she could find out what room Lou was in,” Bogie said.
“Housekeeping records,” Mac said. “Jeff Ingles told me that housekeeping had taken extra towels up to Lou’s room. It would have been easy for Dani to nose around until she found out what room had ordered extra towels where the maid reported smoking to management.”
“After setting her trap, she dumped the empty jug and smock back in housekeeping and rejoined the party downstairs,” Hector said. “All she had to do was wait for the explosion.”
They sat in silence.
“I’m sorry, Mac,” Bogie said. “She was a very bright woman.”
“I knew going into this that I would be disappointed.” Leaning over, Mac rubbed his face with his hands. “Every one of these suspects—I’ve gone through doors straight into hell with each one of them at one time or another. I trusted each one to have my back—and I had theirs. I’ve exhausted every avenue in trying to clear them and couldn’t. It’s like they each have something to hide. Maybe their secrets don’t have anything to do with Brie and Trevor, but until I find out—There’s no way that I could come out on the other side of this investigation without being hurt. I just …” His voice trailed off. He shook his head. “Dani Derringer. She set up that trap to kill Gannon. Why would she do this?”
Bogie patted him on the back. “Would you like—”
“No, I’m going to talk to her.” Mac pushed up out of his chair and proceeded to pace. “It doesn’t make sense. She worked closely with Brie. They were partners. If she wanted Brie dead, there were dozens of opportunities for her to kill Brie and make it look like an accident or a police shooting. Why kill both her and her new husband on their wedding night in a hotel filled with police?”
“You can ask her that when you pick her up,” Hector said.
“No. We need to figure out her motive before we make any move. Underwood and Sanchez worked directly with her and Pratt in the months leading up to the double homicide. Let’s get together with them. They’re two good detectives. Maybe they’ll remember something they saw or heard that’ll help us understand her motive.” Mac threw open Hector’s office door and charged out.
“Why am I surprised that you have a forensics kit in your home?” Tonya asked while studying the tire iron resting in the center of the desk.
Careful not to disturb any possible fingerprints, Archie had carried the tire iron downstairs to the study at Spencer Manor.
Robin Spencer’s famous mysteries had been penned in the most cluttered room in the mansion. Built-in bookshelves, containing thousands of books collected over five generations, took up space on every wall. Portraits of Robin’s ancestors filled any space not occupied by books. Some were from the eighteenth century. The most recent portrait was a life-sized oil painting of Robin Spencer dressed in a white, strapless formal gown from the 1960s.
Robin had acquired many deadly weapons during her life and career. The coat rack sported a hangman’s noose and a Samurai sword hung on the wall.
In the far corner of the room, Uncle Eugene watched all the going-ons from an overstuffed chair. Dressed in a tuxedo with a top hat perched on his head, he sat with one leg crossed over the other and an empty sherry glass next to his elbow. The first-aid training dummy had been stabbed in the back, tossed off rooftops, and strangled on numerous occasions—all in the name of research for Robin’s books. Since the author’s death, Uncle Eugene offered his services to Mac when the investigator needed help in testing out a hypothesis for a case.
While Tonya gazed in amazement at the room in which so many of Robin Spencer’s classical mysteries had been written, Archie removed what appeared to be a tool chest from the closet and opened it to reveal a standard forensics kit, not unlike the type investigators take to examine crime scenes.
“Doesn’t everybody have a crime scene kit in their closet?” Archie removed what resembled a home pregnancy test strip from a white box.
“No,” Tonya said. “But then, not everyone has a test murder victim, dressed in a tux, sipping sherry in the corner.” She tossed her head in the direction of Uncle Eugene.
Archie peered around her, while removing a cotton swab from a plastic container. “Careful with what you say,” she whispered. “He can hear you.” Smiling, she touched the applicator to the blood and deposited it on the test strip. She yanked an evidence bag from the kit and handed it to Tonya. “You know what to do with this.”
“I most certainly do.” Tonya placed the tire iron into the bag and sealed it.
Staring at the test strip, they waited for the results, which appeared in the form of a thin purple line stating the presence of hemoglobin on the blood.
“It’s human,” Archie said.
Tonya spun around and ran up the stairs. Archie was close behind her. Gnarly and the four corgis followed the two humans out onto the deck and down the stone path to the guest house. With Tonya leading the way, they ran inside and up the circular stairs to the loft where they plopped onto the bed and peered out the window.
Constance Kleinfeld was taking paint cans, rollers, and other supplies from the back of her SUV.
“She was driving a Mercedes last night,” Tonya turned to tell Archie, only to find Gnarly’s head.
The German shepherd had squeezed in between the two of them. Refusing to be left out, the four corgis had wedged their small bodies in between everyone, even though they were too short to see what was happening outside the window.
“Edward drives the Mercedes.” Archie craned her neck to search the driveway and street.
“Well, Constance was driving it last night. He couldn’t drive it because she’d killed him.”
Archie climbed off the bed. “He usually keeps his car in the garage.” She gestured for Gnarly to follow her. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Like ducklings following their mother, the corgis followed Gnarly in a straight line.
“Walk? Now?” Tonya remained on the bed and focused her attention at the house next door.
“We’re going to see if Edward’s Mercedes is in the garage.”
As Archie and Gnarly trotted off to spy on the enemy, Tonya grabbed her phone to report her findings to David.
Mac stepped out of the Inn’s business wing and almost collided with a man dressed in a Spencer Inn staff uniform. He had a large padded envelope tucked under his arm.
“Excuse me, Mr. Faraday,” he said in a deep voice. “I need to be more careful about watching where I’m going.”
Mac paused to regard the man. What’s wrong with this picture? He didn’t recognize him. Yet, the Spencer Inn had over three hundred employees.
The crow’s feet around the man’s eyes, magnified by thick glasses, did not match with his dark hair, which was slicked back. His dark beard was neatly trimmed. He was much older than his hair color. He grinned to display a mouth full of discolored crooked teeth.
The elevator door opened.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Faraday.” The clerk practically ran onto the car and pressed the button to close the doors.
Mac looked up at the floor numbers above the door and watched the elevator ascend to the fifth floor.
Dismissing the strange man, Mac turned away just in time to spot Gwen of the town council crossing the lobby. Her eyes wide, she craned her neck while searching for her target. Mac dove behind the reception desk like a ball player intent on stealing home. He landed next to Jeff Ingle’s feet.
“Mac, what are you doing?”
“I’m hiding,” Mac said in a harsh whisper before shushing him.
“From who?” Jeff tugged at his collar while searching the numerous people in the lobby. “A bank robber. Mob boss.” He gulped. “Please don’t tell me it’s a serial killer. I don’t like serial killers.”
“Gwen.” Mac crouched on the floor and pressed his back against the recep
tion desk.
“Gwen who?”
“Town Council President Gwen. If she sees me, she’s going to want me to do mayor stuff.”
“But—” Jeff yelped when Mac grabbed his ankle. He looked up to find Gwen standing on the other side of the desk.
“Where’s Mac?”
“Mac who?” Jeff replied in a squeaky voice.
Mac’s cell phone burst into song with the Natalie and Nat King Cole duet, “Unforgettable.” Cursing under his breath, he wrestled with the phone to disconnect Archie’s call.
“Your boss,” Gwen said with her small eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “The rich playboy who owns this resort. Our mayor’s surrogate.”
“Oh, that Mac.” Her menacing expression caused Jeff to back up. He swallowed while trying to determine who he feared more—Mac, who could fire him, or Gwen who could physically beat the snot out of him. He chose to keep his job. “Never saw him.”
Beads of sweat formed on the side of Jeff’s face as she looked him up and down like a dinosaur trying to determine if he was worth the trouble of devouring. Deciding to look elsewhere, she backed away, turned around, and scurried across the lobby.
Jeff waited until she had entered the lounge before allowing himself to breathe. “She’s gone. Never ask me to do that again.”
Even with Jeff’s assurance that all was clear, Mac carefully peered over the top of the desk before rising to his feet.
Lieutenant Sanchez’s wife, Rosa, was leaving the restaurant with Kassandra and Morgan. He intercepted the three women at the elevator. They were on their way to the spa on the sixth floor. Despite their jovial mood, they were concerned about Lou Gannon—particularly Kassandra who had worked with him in the past.
“Is it true someone had set up a bomb in his room?” Morgan asked.
Not wanting to go into too many details, Mac simply nodded his head. “Trap using a flammable substance. With that and his smoking—”
“Why would anyone bother trying to kill Lou?” Kassandra asked.
“I think he figured out who killed Brie.” Mac turned to Rosa. “Where’s Rico?”
Rosa clasped her bosom. “It’s not Rico!”
“I’m not saying it is Rico or Underwood. I’m hoping that between the two of them they may have information that can help us.”
“Good luck with that,” Kassandra said. “Those two stopped being friends after Clarissa died. She was the social director for that foursome.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Once partners, always partners. That’s what my Rico says.” With a sly grin, Rosa tossed her head in the general direction of the lake at the bottom of the ski slopes. “They went kayaking. Troy told Joan that he was going with Rod.”
Thanking her, Mac jogged out the main entrance.
He was on his way to his SUV when he noticed David’s police cruiser parked in the same spot it had been when he had arrived. The sun’s beams from high in the sky sparkled on the freshly washed windshield and hood of the black police cruiser with “Spencer Police” written in block letters along the side panels.
The police chief sat motionless in the driver’s seat.
When Mac waved a greeting, David did not respond.
Peering at him through the windshield, Mac walked around the cruiser and stepped to the driver’s door. Storm was lying in the passenger seat with her head in his lap—her usual spot.
Trance like, David continued staring straight ahead.
Mac knocked on the window—causing David to jump in his seat. Storm sat up and whined. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Mac, who motioned for him to roll down the window.
“Are you okay?” Mac asked after he had lowered the window. He could hear David’s cell phone buzzing in its case on his belt.
Seemingly unaware of the phone calling to him, David stared at him.
“Where’s Hope and Gabriel?” Mac asked.
David opened his mouth, but no sound was uttered. He closed it and swallowed. “They’re …” His voice trailed off as he pointed in the direction of the mountain and valley on the other side of the Inn.
Mac fought the amused grin fighting its way to his lips. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
Storm uttered a long whimper and dropped her head onto his shoulder. She placed her paw on his hand in his lap.
“I …” David rubbed the back of his neck. “I had to gather my thoughts.”
“Any success in your gathering?”
David opened his mouth again. Unable to form words, he closed it and shook his head.
Mac kicked at an imaginary pebble by his toe. “Did Hope tell you or did you figure it out on your own?”
David took in a deep breath. “She told me.” He looked at Mac. “How did you figure it out?”
“When you come back from temporary assignments, the last thing you want to do is go on a trip.” Mac shrugged his shoulders. “That, and Gabriel’s got the O’Callaghan eyes and jaw. Why’d it take so long for her to tell you?”
“She didn’t find out she was pregnant until six weeks after she’d graduated from boot camp,” David said in a soft voice. “She didn’t want to force me into anything. Not only that, but I was an officer and she—”
“It would have destroyed your military career if it’d come out,” Mac said.
“Our relationship wasn’t like that,” David said. “I left that assignment for a yearlong deployment in the Middle East. By the time I came back stateside, she’d had Gabriel and was in a serious relationship with that jerk she ended up marrying.”
“Based on the looks she and Gabriel exchanged—”
“He agreed to raise Gabriel as his son,” David said. “Gabriel was never supposed to know. But then, they got divorced when the boy was ten years old. Gabriel still had no idea—until the bastard remarried and his wife had a son—”
“He had a son of his own,” Mac said with a frown.
“Hope was overseas last month when the jerk told him,” David said with a growl in his voice. “Gabriel started pumping his grandmother for information about who his real father was. Apparently, Gabriel has a mind like a steel trap.”
“Gee, I wonder what side of the family he got that from,” Mac said with a laugh.
David dropped his head back against the head rest. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said in a soft voice.
“He drove a Porsche across two states to hunt you down.”
“That’s why Hope came out as soon as she got back. She wanted to break the news to me gently.”
“Gabriel sounds like an O’Callaghan in every sense of the word.” Mac winked at him. “I don’t think you’ll be needing any DNA test.”
David drew in a deep breath.
“He’s a nice-looking boy,” Mac said. “Extremely smart. Tenacious.”
“I don’t understand how this happened.”
Arching an eyebrow, Mac cocked his head.
“I mean I know how it happened. What I mean is—”
“David, with you, the real question is what took it so long.” Mac jabbed him in the arm. “Congratulations. You’re the father of a six-foot-tall, one-hundred-and fifty-pound baby boy.”
David looked up at Mac in silence.
“You’re not going to be sick, are you?”
Cocking his head, David narrowed his eyes in thought.
“Are you still gathering your thoughts?”
“No,” David said in a low voice. “They’ve come together now.” He climbed out of the SUV. Storm jumped out behind him. “Sorry, I missed the briefing with Hector.”
“That’s okay. I need to question a couple of witnesses,” Mac said while answering his phone. “Hey, Archie, what’s up?”
They stepped onto the curb.
“The Kleinfeld’s Mercedes is gone! There’s been a murder, Mac!”<
br />
“Murder? How can you be so sure?”
A scream filled the air above them as a body plunged from a fifth-floor balcony to crash onto the top of David’s police cruiser. Glass from the windshield and windows splattered. The cruiser’s lights flashed, and the alarms sounded.
She lay spread-eagle on her back across the roof. Her head hung over the shattered windshield. Dani Derringer’s wide dead eyes stared at Mac—seemingly in a plea for justice.
Chapter Nine
“Didn’t the chief just get that cruiser detailed?” Officer Nathan Brewster asked when the deputy chief handed him a roll of yellow tape to mark off the crime scene around David’s cruiser.
“Yep,” Bogie said. “Picked it up last week. Not only that, but he got it washed inside and out just this morning.”
Officer Nathan Brewster paused in photographing Dani Derringer’s body. “I’ll never complain about it raining after washing my car again.”
Bogie checked the caller ID on his ringing phone to see that it was Tonya. “How’s your surveillance going?”
“This case is busting wide open. Is Fletcher there?”
“Yes, he’s here.” Bogie gestured for the younger officer to join him. “We’ve got murder victims falling out of the sky. What do you need?”
“Archie and I think Constance Kleinfeld killed her husband,” Tonya said. “I saw her drive away in his Mercedes in the middle of the night. Archie and Gnarly checked the Kleinfeld garage and it’s not there. We need Fletcher to do some spying for us.”
“Why Fletcher?”
Bogie tuned out her response when he saw Doc Washington pull up to the crime scene in her sedan. He cut Tonya off with assurance that he would send Fletcher and disconnected the call. He trotted across the parking lot to open the car door for her.
“I see your perp has been putting Spencer’s police force through their paces.” Shading her eyes with her hand, she gazed in amazement at the cruiser with the shattered roof and windows. “Is she a jumper or did she have a run-in with the killer?”
