The Murders at Astaire Castle (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (17 page)

“That I’ve always loved him, and when I came to town and saw him, all of those old feelings came back—” Chelsea let out a moan filled with anguish. “What am I going to do, Archie?”

“One,” she said, “David may not even remember that.”

“Do you think?” Hope filled Chelsea’s voice.

“Two,” Archie said, “if he does remember that, don’t you think it’s better having your feelings out in the open?”

“No,” she said in a firm, almost harsh, tone.

“Why not?”

“I can’t go through that,” Chelsea said. “I won’t go through it. I’ve worked long and hard all these years to become an independent woman—not dependent on some man to make me feel whole. The last thing I need in my life is David, or any man, messing with my head and heart.”

In the dark compartment of the SUV, Chelsea couldn’t see the soft smile that worked its way to Archie’s lips.

“I know what you mean,” Archie said. “I don’t need any man either.” She saw doubt come to Chelsea’s eyes. “Really,. I get five thousand dollars a month from a trust that Robin Spencer left me. I make almost double that a year as a freelance editor to some of the biggest authors in the world. I have permission to live at Spencer Manor for as long as I want. I have no need for any man.” She giggled. “But when you get a good one, they’re mighty nice to have.”

“Until they break your heart.” Chelsea reached around to pat her sleeping dog on top of the head. “Molly is all the companionship I need.”

Nothing looked more comfortable to Mac than his bed. He was unsure which he desired more: the feel of his pillow beneath his head and the feel of the satin comforter caressing his body, or the feel of Archie in his arms.

As tired as he was, he chose the pillow and comforter.

When she saw him come dragging into the bedroom in the master suite at the Spencer Manor, Archie sat up from where she was working with her laptop on what had become her side of the bed. Mac was too tired to notice that she was wearing the top to his pajamas. “Where’s Gnarly?”

“Outside, eating some mums?” Mac plopped down on his side of the bed and kicked off his shoes. “I noticed Chelsea and Molly already in their room and the light out.”

“They were exhausted, too. We didn’t even stop for dinner. Came home and they went straight to bed.” Realizing what he had said, she sat up straight. “Gnarly is eating my mums and you let him?”

“Yeah.” He dropped straight back on the bed to lie cross-wise. His head landed on her legs.

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because I don’t like mums,” he said with his eyes closed. “They offend me and he’s very intense about it. So I decided not to waste what little energy I have left trying to save them.”

“Molly wouldn’t even think of eating my mums,” Archie said.

“Of course, she wouldn’t. No self-respecting Stepford dog would,” he said in comparing Molly, the perfect German shepherd, to the perfect wives of Stepford in the thriller movie
The Stepford Wives.

Covered in dirt and shredded flowers, Gnarly opened the door, came in, and dropped to the floor. Archie shrieked at his condition when he bellied under the bed.

To her shock, Mac threw his arm across his face and laughed. “That’s my dog.”

“Since when do these antics amuse you? I think you’re jealous.”

Mac sat up. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Molly.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said. “Why would I be jealous of a dog?”

“Because she’s perfect and Gnarly’s—” Seeing Mac’s eyes narrow into a glare that dared her to continue, she shifted gears. “Gnarly is gnarly.” With a giggle, she reached over to clasp his hand. “I’m glad you appreciate Gnarly and his special quirks. Did you stop to see David?”

“Yes.” Mac rolled over and wrapped his arms around her. “He wasn’t much help. He’s happy on pain killers.”

“You’d be too if you had a bullet go through your stomach,” she said. “I hope we catch the guy who did this.”

“We will.” Nuzzling her neck, he drew in his breath to take in her scent. It was the sweet scent of roses. “They have a woman wearing Sue’s uniform and using her ID to gain access to the employee section of the Inn on security video. Assuming she’s the killer, we can narrow down the suspect list to fifty-percent of the population. Did you have any luck finding Rafaela Diaz?”

“Struck out,” she said. “Three times at bat.”

“How?”

Archie cocked her head at him. “I’m not invincible you know. Most people aren’t pros at disappearing. However, it is harder to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. I found where Rafaela left to go to Brazil. I found the record of her flying to Brazil, but after that, she disappeared off the face of the earth. I even managed to locate the village that she claimed to be from. It’s one of those small villages where everyone knows everyone. They haven’t heard from Rafaela since October 2002 and according to what they told me, she was planning to visit the family for Christmas that year—but never showed. They didn’t know that she was returning in November, which is when Pat and Bogie gave her permission to go home.”

“Something very fishy there,” Mac said.

“Very fishy,” Archie said. “I think someone got her. She wanted to get away because she saw something and didn’t tell the police, but the killer wasn’t going to take any chances. They tied up this loose end before Rafaela could get away.”

“Our killer is very good at tying up loose ends,” Mac said. “They’re like a pro at it.”

“We’re talking about the techniques of a professional hit. Now, do we want to add a conspiracy theory to our case?” She reached from where she was balancing the laptop to stroke his face. The stubble on his jaw felt rough against her palm.

He directed his gaze at the laptop. She was on a social media page. “A conspiracy sounds good to me. Have you got one that ties everyone together?”

She explained, “I was doing a background check on Lacey, Stan Gould’s lingerie super-model bride—”

“Who was murdered along with him.”

“A beautiful super-model,” she said. “Maybe she had a deranged fan who didn’t want her marrying up. We can’t eliminate the possibility that she was the prime victim.”

“Good thinking.” He squinted his tired eyes to focus on the pictures she had spread across the screen.

She let out a laugh. “Anyway, I found evidence of a conspiracy—or maybe you would want to call it an affair—that Gould’s vice president, Kyle Finch, was having with Lacey in the weeks leading up to him introducing her, as a lingerie super-model, to his boss Stan Gould. Yet, the European fashion world never heard of Lacey, the lingerie super-model.”

Mac was nodding his head. “That sex-text we found on Lacey’s cell phone proves that they had something going on.”

“Imagine this,” Archie said. “Kyle Finch meets this sexy woman at a resort. She’s gorgeous. She’s to die for—literally. So he comes up with this scheme to take over the company.”

“Lacey was a spy?” Mac asked.

“Totally,” Archie said. “Kyle Finch fixed his girlfriend up with the boss in order to get her on the inside. They give her a cover of a super-model in order to enhance Gould’s attraction to her. Based on what we know about Gould, he’d be more likely to snatch up the bait of a world famous super-model that men all over the world fantasied about than a sexy nobody.”

“You’re right there,” Mac said. “I noticed how quickly he dropped the line about her being a lingerie super-model. He was like a high school boy trying to impress his buds by having the prettiest girl at the prom.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“Motive?” he replied.

“Gould Enterprises is planning to go public in the next twelve months,” Archie said. “With information that Lacey was collecting from across the pillows, Kyle Finch was maneuvering to take control of the company by acquiring as many shares as possible, in order to squeeze Stan out and become CEO.”

“A hundred million dollars can buy a lot of shares,” Mac said. “Besides that sex-text we found, did you find any real evidence of an affair that we can use to arrest him?”

“How about pictures?” She clicked on a couple of keys. “Do you know how often you’re photographed during the course of a day? I found these pictures on the Internet that she had posted from a vacation the two of them went on for New Year’s—months before she was introduced to Stan Gould. They were at a couples resort in Jamaica.” She adjusted the laptop for him to see Lacey and Kyle Finch in a sensual embrace on the beach. “I also have records that prove they flew to Jamaica together. They were staying together in the same room at the hotel. Kyle Finch paid for the whole trip with a company credit card.”

Mac was scratching behind his ear. “What if Lacey decided she liked being married to a billionaire and threatened to blow Finch’s plan out of the water?”

“Then he’d have motive to get rid of both of them,” she said. “He was the number two man. With Gould dead, he’s now number one. Their murders put him in the driver’s seat sooner than he had originally planned.”

“Finch was there when I turned Gould down,” Mac said. “The text Gould received lured them to the castle by saying I changed my mind. Finch had the knowledge to have sent that text. But then Hollister and David don’t fit anywhere in this conspiracy.”

“Hey,” Archie said, “it’s something.”

Mac kissed her on the cheek. “And something is better than nothing.”

Chapter Seventeen

Deputy Chief Bogie had an uphill battle trying to convince Ben Fleming, the Garrett County prosecutor, that they would be able to get enough evidence to bring in Kyle Finch for the murders of Stan Gould and his wife.

“Lacey’s laptop has given us the motherload,” Bogie told the prosecutor during a breakfast meeting in his office at the police station. “It’s all there in email and pictures and sex-texts between Lacey and Kyle Finch.”

“But can you place Finch at the scene of the murders?” Ben asked.

“We have a dozen witnesses who put Kyle Finch at the Wisp,” Office Fletcher reported while spilling coffee across his desk during a wrestling match with Gnarly for his donut. “He’s alibied out.”

Mac grabbed Gnarly by the collar to drag him over to his bed. Out of spite, Gnarly refused to take the bed and jumped up onto the sofa. He shot his long snout up into the air before dropping down.

Mac was aware of Ben’s smirk behind his back while he refilled Fletcher’s coffee mug. “I went to see David at the hospital this morning on my way in,” Ben said. “Met his new lady friend, Chelsea, and her service dog—what’s her name?”

“Molly,” Bogie said.

“Nice dog,” Ben said with a chuckle.

“If you like dogs like that.” Mac practically slammed the coffee mug on Fletcher’s desk.

Despite seeming to sometimes be on opposing sides, Ben Fleming was one of two lawyers who Mac counted among his friends. Ben was everything that Mac Faraday would expect from a lawyer, based on his encounters with criminal defense lawyers and big city prosecutors. Handsome and charismatic, Ben spent much of his time playing tennis and golf at the Spencer Inn while cutting deals with the other members of Spencer’s high society residents. His wife Catherine, an heiress whose fortune came from a dozen different directions, was a leading lady on the Spencer society scene, and a huge fan of Robin Spencer … and Mac Faraday.

While Ben was part of Spencer high-society, he made his quest for justice known to Mac and the police department. Using his political connections, Ben was very good at working behind the scenes to get things done, all the while putting on a front of being a wheeler and dealer.

“The texts and emails prove that Finch was having an affair with Lacey before meeting Stan Gould,” Bogie told the prosecutor.

“He had everything to gain by the murders,” Mac pointed out. “If Lacey had decided to back out of their scheme to help him become CEO, Finch risked being fired and his reputation ruined. He stood to lose everything.”

“Now, with Gould dead,” Bogie said, “Finch is the heir apparent. He’s gained everything.”

“Do any of the emails prove that she had changed her mind?” Ben asked.

“No,” Mac groaned.

“Maybe he decided he wanted it all sooner rather than later,” Bogie said.

“Finch could very well have sent the text to lure Gould and Lacey to the castle where he had a hired assassin kill them while Finch set up his alibi,” Mac said. “He was there when I turned Gould down for the sale. Whoever sent that text to Gould had to be on the scene at the Spencer Inn.”

“Finch isn’t the type to get his hands dirty.” Bogie was nodding his head at Mac’s assessment. “So much of what has happened points to a professional hit.”

“Or an organized psychopath,” Mac said. “I mean, we have yet to come up with the connection to David. He has no connection with Gould or any of that crew.”

“The motive for shooting David could be to cut off the head of the dragon,” Ben said. “David is your leader. Take out the lead man and, if the killer was lucky, you’d all be chasing your tails looking for the connection back to David.”

While they digested that, the lawyer went on. “Finch has the resources for a team of top lawyers—the best of the best—coming to his aid if you try to nail him for these murders. I suggest that before you show your hand, you make sure it’s a damn good one.” He set down his coffee cup and checked the time on his cell phone. “I’ve got a meeting with the town council for breakfast. You can bring Finch in to question him, but be nice about it until you have something more.”

“I’ll be Mr. Congeniality,” Mac said.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” Kyle Finch scoffed when Mac accused him of having an affair with Lacey.

Sitting across the table in the interrogation room, Mac didn’t answer. Instead, he thumbed through the case file he had resting in front of him. He saw Kyle eying the folder with a minute hint of fear, which he masked with a heavy dose of arrogance.

“My client has over a dozen witnesses to corroborate that he was at the Wisp the evening and night of the murders,” Finch’s lawyer said. “He’s come in here voluntarily in hopes of finding the real killer of two of his dearest friends.”

“And upon their deaths, he inherited a billion dollar company,” Mac pointed out.

When his lawyer tried to intervene, Kyle waved him aside. “I’m thirty-two years old and Stan Gould made me his senior VP. All of my friends from MIT, they’re still paying off their student loans. Half are still living in their parents’ basements. I didn’t get where I am today being stupid.”

“More like being ruthless,” Mac said, “by killing off the competition.”

“Lacey was Stan Gould’s wife,” Kyle said. “That made her untouchable.”

“Even if you touched her first?” Mac asked.

The arrogance slipped from Kyle’s face.

The lawyer jumped in. “You have no proof—”

“Yes, we do,” Mac interjected while holding Kyle Finch’s gaze. “There are dozens of pictures across the Internet of the two of them together months before your client introduced her to Stan Gould.” He slid picture after picture of Kyle and Lacey in intimate poses across the table for him and his lawyer to see.

“That’s impossible,” Finch said in a low voice. “When were these pictures taken? I …”

“If he was stupid enough to be sleeping with Stan Gould’s wife …”

Mac cut the lawyer off by holding up his finger. “Lacey was a spy. Her identity was a complete fabrication made up by your client.”

“That’s not true,” Finch said.

“Seriously?” Mac chuckled. “A lingerie super-model that no one in the fashion industry has ever heard of? Like you think that cover wouldn’t be uncovered during a murder investigation.” He paused to observe the questioning expression on Kyle’s face. “You met Lacey almost a year ago in Cancun. You hooked up immediately. It was love at first sight for her. At least, that’s what she said on her pages on the social media sites.”

“Lacey didn’t have any social media pages,” Kyle said. “She was too busy building her career to have one.”

“You mean as your spy?” Mac leaned across the table at him. “You saw how irresistible Lacey was— how every man wanted her. So you decided to use her gift to your advantage. You whispered your sweet plan in her ear. She’d seduce Stan Gould into a relationship—never letting on that she was already in love with you. Once she had Gould under her thumb, she would use her influence to help you gain control of the company.”

“You have no proof of any of this,” the lawyer said.

“We have the emails,” Mac said. “They were all on her laptop and cell phone.”

“Emails!” Kyle Finch’s face was red. “We never exchanged emails.”’ He whirled to his lawyer. “They’re setting me up.” He pointed at Mac. “You can’t get away with this. We’re going to fight it.”

Mac slapped his hand down on the pictures. “Tell me this is not you and Lacey in these pictures dated last year.”

“I didn’t know she was—” Kyle stopped to rub his face with his hands. “Pages on the Internet? Pictures? Email? She set me up,” he muttered while staring at the pictures. “I don’t know how she … she set me up.”

“This interview is over.” The lawyer grabbed Kyle’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

While the lawyer dragged him out, Kyle kept looking over his shoulder at the folder on the table. “The bitch set me up,” he murmured over and over again.

Mac continued staring at the pictures scattered across the table where he had set them out to show—and shock—Kyle Finch. They had their desired effect—only not in the way Mac had expected.

“I think you got him,” Archie’s voice broke through Mac’s thoughts. She laid her hands on his shoulders and squeezed.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

Archie moved around the table and sat down across from him. “Why the look?”

Bogie came in from where he had been watching in the observation room. “That interview looked good. You certainly rattled him.”

“Kyle Finch is not the type to be rattled easily.” Mac picked up one of the pictures. “She set him up.”

“Why?” Archie asked. “I mean, how could she? Lacey’s one of the murder victims.”

“If anything, her setting him up gave him additional motive for killing her,” Bogie agreed.

“Think about it,” Mac said. “Finch is right. He’s not stupid.” He held up one of the pictures of Kyle Finch and Lacey together for them to see. “No way would he have allowed pictures of the two of them together to end up on the Internet where Gould and the whole world could see. We need to find out who took these pictures and who posted them.”

“At places like Cancun,” Archie said, “All you have to do is slip some money into a local’s pocket and they’ll be snapping pictures until you tell them to stop.”

““And post them on the Internet?”

“They’re Lacey’s sites,” Archie said. “She posted them.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Mac asked.

Archie sat up straight. Her eyes flashed with offense at his suggestion of her being wrong or sloppy about her research.

“I’ve investigated more than one murder case where someone set up a page on a social media site under someone else’s name and identity,” Mac said. “It’s surprisingly easy … and pretty scary, too.” He stacked the pictures back into the case file. “Let’s start with finding this Taylor Jones that Raymond Hollister was looking for. Lacey was posing as a lingerie model. Maybe her real name was Taylor Jones. We need to question Karin Bond, Lacey’s assistant, to find out what she knows about her boss’s life.”

“I don’t know how much help she’ll be,” Bogie said. “According to her statement, she’s only been working for Lacey for six weeks. She came on to work for her the week before Lacey married Gould.”

“That’s enough time to have seen or met someone who would have reason to kill Lacey and frame Finch for it.”

“Are you saying you don’t think they had an affair?” Archie reached for the case file. “But these pictures—”

“I believe he had an affair with Lacey.” Mac opened the file. “I even believe he set her up to seduce Gould in order to help him take over the company. What I’m beginning to doubt is that Finch would be so sloppy as to exchange damaging emails that he knows are admissible into evidence with Lacey and allow pictures to be taken of the two of them that could be very easily found.”

Bogie nodded his head. “So you’re thinking someone else collected all of this evidence of their affair and plan so that they could kill Lacey and Gould, and frame Finch to get away with murder.”

“With the motive being to steal a hundred million dollars from Gould’s rainy day account,” Mac said. “Whoever did this has to have had access to know about Gould’s secret account and transfer the funds. Plus, they have to have some motive for getting David and Hollister out of the way.”

Tonya buzzed them on the intercom. “Hey, Bogie … Mac, Karin Bond is here to see you two.”

“Perfect timing,” Mac said in a low voice.

Dressed in a heavy coat and a floppy black hat with her dark hair sticking out in disarray, Karin Bond was huddled on the sofa, clutching her big purse, when Mac led Bogie and Archie into the reception area. Seeing Mac, she stood up. “Mr. Faraday, have you got any news yet about who killed Lacey?”

“We’ve got some leads,” Mac replied. “I’m glad you’re here because we were going to call you. Some questions have come up.”

With her index finger, she pushed her glasses up on her nose. “What type of questions?”

“Does Lacey have any family?” Bogie asked.

“No,” Karin answered quickly. “I didn’t know a lot about Lacey. She was really a very private person—she could come across as almost rude and inconsiderate sometimes. It was because she was afraid of people hurting her. She told me that she was an orphan. She grew up on the streets in Germany. She was a thief for a while.”

“A thief?” Archie gasped. “She told you that.”

“Yes,” Karin nodded. “She was only a young girl when gypsies recruited her and taught her to be a pickpocket—”

“Like in
Oliver Twist
.” Archie’s tone was doubtful.

“Then they found out she had other talents,” Karin said. “Lacey was discovered by an agent who she had targeted for a mark. He turned the tables and made her into a star.”

“Who no one heard of,” Mac said. “Lacey was never a super-model. Her whole background is fake.”

In silence, Karin stared at him while they studied her for her reaction. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know. To tell you the truth, I didn’t care what she was as long as I got paid. I’d been out of work for two years. Lacey hired me to do her clothes and make her appointments and all that crap, and she paid me good. Now she’s dead and I’m out of work again. That’s why I’m here. I can’t afford to stay at the hotel. Gould Enterprises won’t pay my bill. I have to go back to New York—today. If I give you my address and phone number, can I go home?”

Mac and Archie looked to Bogie for his reaction. Sympathy came to the deputy chief’s eyes. “I’m very sorry that you’ve ended up in this position.”

Fearing that Bogie was about to send the witness on her way, Mac interrupted, “If we could just have another couple of days …”

“Are you willing to pay for my room at the Wisp?” Karin’s scowl caused her cheeks to push her glasses up on her face.

“No,” Mac replied before cutting off her scoff. “But I’ll put you up at the Spencer Inn. I’ll arrange for a nice suite for you and all of the resort’s facilities free of charge—including meals and the spa. Think of it as a nice vacation to help relieve the stress from the traumatic experience you’ve gone through.”

The more he talked, the wider her eyes became.

“Your police department can do that?” she asked.