The Murders at Astaire Castle (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (21 page)

His breath feathered her face. “I want so much for us to go back to the way it was before. You have no idea how much I regret the way I hurt you.”

“I forgave you, David,” she said. “You know I love you. Damn it! I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

David swallowed. “You wish you didn’t?”

“I am so sorry that I told you how I feel about you,” she said. “The only reason I told you how I felt was because I thought you were dying. But you didn’t die and now you probably think that we stand a chance of getting back together, but we don’t. By telling you how I feel, all I did was complicate things.” She sighed. “Actually, I take that back. I didn’t complicate things by telling you how I felt when I thought you were dying. You complicated them by not dying.”

“I’m sorry my surviving complicated things.”

She giggled. Her eyes met his eyes. He was smiling down at her.

“I do love you, Chelsea.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. She cocked her head at him. “You’re not mad?”

He shook his head.

“You understand?”

“Payback is hell, but I understand.”

“It’s not payback.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “I love you, David.”

“I know.” He rested his forehead against hers.

She felt his hot breath feather her face as he leaned over to bring his lips close to her cheek. His lips brushed across her cheek back to her ear. Anticipating his lips kissing her ear or better yet, nipping at it the way he used to, she waited.

“I’m going to bed,” he whispered with a hoarse voice into her ear.

Stunned, she remained still while he stood up, picked up his bottle of beer and climbed the staircase up to the loft.

Two yelps, followed by loud barking interrupted her thoughts when Molly charged past her. With the chicken in her mouth, Molly was pulling Gnarly behind her by her tail. She whipped around to send Gnarly, who lost his grip on her tail, sliding spread-eagle across the floor to knock over a bookcase that landed on top of him. Victorious in capturing the rubber chicken, Molly leapt over the coffee table and landed on the sofa, which collapsed under her weight.

“Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out, Chelsea,” David called down from the loft before turning off the light.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was in moments like this, holding Archie tightly in his arms, Mac felt as if his love for her was going to burst out of his chest. He wondered if she could sense his giddiness when he gazed down at her. She had the dewy look of an angel, especially with her blonde hair and emerald green eyes. “I love you.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“I love you, too.” She smiled up at him before burying her face into his neck.

He sighed. “Do you want to get married?”

“You already asked me that and I said yes,” she replied.

“Then I guess we need to set a date,” he said with a tired sigh.

“Tell me the date and the time and I’ll be there in my white dress.”

“You got the dress already?”

“I’ll buy the dress when you get me the ring.” She waved her ring-less fingers in his face.

“That’s right. I need to get you a ring. Don’t let me forget to do that.”

She pulled back and leveled her gaze on his eyes. “I have a feeling David and Chelsea are going to get married before you and I do.”

“I doubt it.” Mac rolled over to lie down next to her. “She’s going to go back to Annapolis to her job as a paralegal as soon as Riley is set up at the psychiatric hospital.”

“No, I think Chelsea is different,” she said with a shake of her head. “She pretends she doesn’t want him, but she does. She’s going to stay. She won’t admit it’s for David. She’ll use Riley as an excuse.”

“I think David needs to slow down when it comes to his love life,” Mac said. “I mean—really? A black widow? The guy actually slept with a black widow serial killer … at least he lived to tell about it.”

Without warning, Archie sat up. “The book!”

Mac sat up next to her. “What book?”

“Damian Wagner’s last book,” Archie said. “Certainly the black widow didn’t steal it. She took the money out of his account. Where is Damian Wagner’s last book?”

“I wonder if Riley took it,” he asked. “He told David that he and Damian Wagner had worked on it together.”

“Do you really think Damian Wagner would have left something that important with Riley?”

“Let me think about it.” He pulled her back down and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll find the answer.”

She turned off the lights and they settled down to sleep, only to have the phone ring next to the bed. As hard as they tried to not be jumpy, they both sat up. Mac grabbed the phone. When he read the Caller ID and it read
BOGIE
, he felt his heart jump up into his throat.

“No,” Archie gasped while clinging to his arm.

“Bogie …” It came out as a gasp.

“Mac, you and David need to get down here to the station.”

“Don’t tell me she escaped,” Mac said through clenched teeth.

“No, not that bad,” Bogie said. “I tried to call David but he’s still on sick leave and his phone is off. Bring him with you.”

Mac hung up the phone. When he moved to climb out of bed, Archie was clinging to his arm with both hands. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

“I suppose you’re going to bring your pink handgun with you.” Mac jerked loose from her grasp and reached for his bathrobe.

“Believe it or not, I have a personal stake in you not getting castrated.”

It was a full load riding to the police station at one-thirty in the morning. Neither Chelsea nor Archie would allow the men to leave without them. Molly had to go with Chelsea and Gnarly would not be left alone without Molly. So they all piled into Mac’s SUV with Gnarly and Molly in the back compartment.

They arrived at the police station to find it crawling with police, both local, state, and the FBI, who had arrived before Mac and David had left. Bogie met them in the reception area.

“If she hasn’t escaped,” Mac asked, “then what is this about?”

Bogie said, “She’s dead.”

Archie sighed with relief.

“Suicide?” Mac asked before shaking his head. “This woman was too much of a narcissist to have killed herself.”

“Nope.” Bogie shook his head.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Mac asked.

“One of my people would not have killed her.” David looked at the federal agents milling about with suspicion.

“It’s definitely her and it’s no suicide.” Bogie led them through the barred doors and down a short hallway that led back to the holding cells. When they came to the last cell they found a blood covered holding cell. She was sprawled across the floor with blood splatters all over the walls and floor.

Kneeling next to her, Dr. Washington’s eyes were wide while she stared at the gaping hole in the dead woman’s throat and the wide-eyed look of horror in her lifeless eyes.

“What did this?” Chelsea grasped David’s hand.

“To me,” the doctor said, “it looks like she was attacked by an animal. These are definitely bite marks on the neck. Her jugular vein was bitten clear through and it looks like her neck was snapped.”

“An animal? That can’t be,” Mac said.

“David,” Bogie said, “you saw when you left. We had people all over this place. We had people inside the station and out. Fed and police.”

“I know, Bogie,” David said.

“She was asleep in her cell,” Bogie said. “At twelve-thirty, the guard came out to take a break. Minutes later, we hear growling and screaming. We all came running back. Thinking it was a trap, I called on the radio for the guards outside to stay put. We came in and found her like this. The guards outside said they heard someone—or something—running into the woods.”

“Did they see anything?” David asked.

“Yeah.” Bogie led them back out of the cells and into the security room. “We got it recorded.”

Officer Fletcher was sitting at the monitor. “Are you ready to see this?”

“Show them,” Bogie said.

While David, Mac, Archie, and Chelsea crowded around the monitor, Officer Fletcher brought up the recording of the police station’s darkened parking lot. The time read three minutes after one o’clock. From the direction of the station’s back door, a white mist moved across the lot in the direction of the woods. Upon reaching the woods, it dissolved.

“What is that?” Mac asked.

“White shape,” David said.

“Ghost?” Archie said.

“No,” Mac said.

“Ghost dog?” David murmured.

“She was killed between twelve-thirty and one o’clock,” Bogie said. “The hospital called after we found her. Riley Adams is missing.”

“He was tied down,” Chelsea yelled.

“I guess those restraints don’t do much good against mists,” Bogie said. “According to their security video, a few minutes after midnight, they have two shots from different angles of a white mist blowing down the hall and exiting through the front door of the hospital.”

“You know,” Archie stared at the paused image of the mist. “When you look at it, you can see the tail. It could be a ghost dog.”

“Do you really believe Riley changed into a ghost dog named Nigel?” Mac asked her.

Her hands on her hips, Archie glared at him. “Do you have any other explanation for why security cameras at two different locations have recordings of a white mist that appears at the same time that a wolf man, claiming to have been taken over by the spirit of a ghost dog—” She held up her finger in an order to let her finish. “—a friendly ghost dog named Nigel goes missing?”

Mac turned to Bogie for help in the argument.

“I’ve got nothing,” Bogie said.

“Why come here to break into the police station to kill the black widow?” Chelsea asked.

“He didn’t break anything,” Bogie said. “From the looks of it, he dissolved right through the walls.”

“Why kill the black widow?” Archie repeated the question.

“In nature,” David said, “justice is swifter and less complicated than man has made it.”

“She could escape justice in man’s world,” Bogie said, “but not in nature—not where Nigel is the alpha male.”

“A ghost dog disappearing into thin air at the same time that a man claiming to have become one with the spirit of that ghost dog disappears from the hospital,” David said to Mac who was gazing at the recording of the white mist disappearing into thin air outside the police station. “We’re all waiting to hear your reasonable explanation for that, Mac.”

Before Mac could answer, in the reception area of the police station, Molly and Gnarly turned toward the mountain and howled up toward Astaire Castle.

Epilogue

Back home, Mac’s sleep was not restful. Yes, the black widow was dead. No, he did not have to worry about her hunting him down to slit his throat after castrating him. Still, sleep was evasive as the voices inside his head rattled while he drifted from sleep to an awakened state:

The first voice belonged to Archie:
There’s a missing book that the writer is hiding …

Jeff Ingles interrupted,
Robin told me that he had told her that his book was done. …

Someone stole the desk. …
Mac said to which Hector replied,
The day before Wagner killed his daughter and editor, he gave his desk to Robin.

Guess where he found it?
Archie took on the last voice to tell him.

Mac woke up with a start. The full moon shone through the skylight down on him and Archie, who was asleep next to him.

Robin was right. Damian Wagner had finished his last book and she was hiding it from Raymond Hollister.

“Archie, wake up.” He shook her. “I know where the book is. Where’s that book you were reading the other day?” Without bothering to put on his shoes, he got up and ran from the room.

“Downstairs in the study where I got it.” Archie rubbed her eyes. “I finished it. Awesome ending. Why?”

“The desk in the study used to belong to Damian Wagner. He gave it to Robin the same day he died. Do you remember Jeff saying that Robin was certain that he had finished his book?”

Shrugging into her bathrobe and shoving her feet into her slippers while shuffling to the top of the stairs, she called down to him from over the bannister. “Because he had it hidden away in the desk that he gave her?”

“I think she was keeping it away from Raymond Hollister.” Mac ran back from where he had started down the next flight of stairs to the study where the desk was waiting. “In that book you were reading? Did they find that manuscript in a desk?”

“As a matter of fact—”

“She must have been trying to tell us that in the book you were reading.”

“Why not just leave it in an envelope and give it to Willingham?” Archie hurried down the stairs to meet him at the bottom.

Mac grinned when the thought came to his mind. “Because she was Robin Spencer—she wanted us to earn that information.” He took her hand and led her to the stairs going down to the study.

“Lucky thing Hollister didn’t read her book and get the meaning,” Archie said. “He may have come after her either with an ax or lawyers.”

“It’s a toss-up of what would have been worse,” Mac said. “We need to find that book.” He dropped to his knees to study the heavy oak desk that was the centerpiece of Robin Spencer’s study.

Of all the rooms in the manor house, Mac felt most comfortable in Robin’s study. Here, he felt the essence of the woman who had given birth to him.

Robin Spencer’s famous mysteries had been penned in the most cluttered room in Spencer Manor. Built-in bookshelves containing thousands of books collected over five generations took up space on every wall. Robin had left her son first editions of all her books. First editions of famous authors personally inscribed to her, and books for research in forensics, poisons, criminology, and the law also lined the shelves. With every inch of bookshelf space taken, the writer had taken to stacking books on her heavy oak desk and tables, and in the corner. With no other place to put them, Mac let them remain where they were stacked.

Portraits of Spencer ancestors filled space not taken up with books. After two years, Mac was still in the process of learning many of their names and histories. Some appeared to be from the eighteenth century. Others wore fashions from the turn of the nineteenth century and on throughout.

The most recent portrait was a life-sized painting of Robin Spencer, dressed in a white strapless formal gown from the 1960s. She looked like a young Elizabeth Taylor. When he had first seen the picture, Mac was taken aback by how much Robin resembled his grown daughter Jessica, who was a third year student at William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia.

The portrait of the demure-looking author filled the wall between two gun cases behind the desk. One case contained rifles and shotguns, while the other had handguns. Some of the weapons had been handed down through the Spencer family. Others, Robin had purchased for research.

Robin had acquired other weapons during her career of writing about murder. The coat rack sported a hangman’s noose and a Samurai sword hung on the wall.

In a chair in the far corner of the room, Uncle Eugene watched all the comings and goings. A first aid training dummy, Uncle Eugene had been stabbed in the back, tossed off rooftops, and strangled on numerous occasions —all in the name of research. When he wasn’t being victimized, he sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner, dressed in a tuxedo with a top hat perched on his head. With one leg crossed over the other and an empty sherry glass next to his elbow, Uncle Eugene looked like he was taking a break while waiting for the next attempt on his life.

“Where was it hidden in Robin’s book?” Mac asked Archie.

“It was in a secret compartment along the side of the desk.” Archie crawled under the desk from the front while Mac was crawling in from the back. “There was a lever that Diablo had stepped on—” She pressed her hand on the brace between the front and back legs on the side.

Before she could finish, she heard a click followed by a yell from Mac, who fell back onto his rump where he was kneeling under the desk.

“Did you say something?” she asked Mac who was rubbing the side of his head.

“Nothing,” Mac groaned.

The front corner panel on the right side of the desk had popped forward to reveal that it was a corner door panel. She had tripped the lever to pop it open when she had pressed the bottom brace between the side legs. “I opened it just like Diablo did in the book,” Archie said. “It’s like Robin was psychic.” She giggled. “If Gnarly was here, he would have tripped it for sure.”

“Where is that dog anyway?” Mac asked.

“He’s wherever Molly is.”

“Ah, young puppy love.” Mac peered into the secret side drawer to find that it was empty. “It’s not here.”

“Are you sure?” Archie rushed around the desk and knelt down to reach her hand inside and slap the sides. “But according to her book …”

“Why did Damian Wagner give Robin that desk?” He pulled himself up and sat in the chair behind the desk.

From where she was sitting on the floor, Archie gazed up at him. “Because …” she shrugged when she didn’t have an answer. “He wanted her to have his last book. He didn’t want Hollister to get his hands on it.”

“Why give her the desk?” Mac asked again. “Why not hand over the book to her and ask her to keep it safe for him?” He gestured at the safe hidden behind the portrait behind him. “There are no less than a half a dozen places in this mansion that Robin could have hidden it for him, and she would have.”

Seeing the book on the desk’s top, he picked it up and read the copyright page: 2005. “Wagner was killed in 2002. This book came out years later.” He shook the book at her. “Here’s what I think. Robin didn’t find the book in the hidden compartment until later. When she found it, she knew why Wagner had slipped it to her.”

“They were friends,” Archie said. “Wagner knew Robin had dumped Hollister eons before. So she knew what a snake he was.” She asked, “But why not tell her?”

“Plausible deniability,” Mac said. “He didn’t want her in the middle. Legally, the book belonged to Hollister. But if Robin had it and didn’t know she had it, she was safe from any legal action to get it.”

“You’re starting to think like a lawyer,” she said.

“What have I ever done to you?” Mac joked. “Remember, until a few days ago, everyone thought Wagner had run off. So maybe the book was Robin’s message to Wagner. If he was alive, she was trying to tell him that she had his book and was keeping it safe for him.”

“But where?” Archie turned in a circle to examine all the walls in the study. “If Robin had found the manuscript, she would have moved it to make sure it stayed safe.”

“But why not tell someone so that if anything happened, like her death, it would have been located?” Mac turned around to scour the thousands of books on the bookcases that lined the wall. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“It wouldn’t have been bound,” Archie said. “It probably would have been loose leaf.”

“
The Purloin Letter,
” Mac said. “She would have put it with other manuscripts.”

“Her manuscripts!” Archie ran to a cedar chest on top of which rested stacks of books. Without any attempt at organization, she tossed the books to the floor and threw open the lid. “This is where Robin kept her original manuscripts, prior to editing, going all the way back to the beginning.” She dug through the books that were bound with clips and rubber bands. “Of course, most of these are collector’s items.”

She handed Mac an arm-load. “You look through these.”

While they were searching, Archie would pause on one title after another, rekindling memories of great books she had read. More than once she declared that she had to go back to read that title again.

Mac was about to give up when she reached in to take out the last arm-load and handed it to him. On a whim, he started at the bottom, with the manuscript that would have been at the very bottom of the chest.

Damian Wagner’s name leapt off the front cover at him. The title did next:
Alpha Force

“Got it!” Mac yelled.

Archie sprang forward.

Mac opened up the page to the dedication:

To Riley Adams and Nigel—The True Authors of This Book—May They—As One— Forever Answer the Call to Maintain Nature’s Alpha Force.

“Are you sure he’s up here?” Chelsea asked David.

David braced himself against a deep rut that Mac eased his SUV through on their way across the mountaintop. “This is where we found him.”

“It’s also where Damian Wagner found him,” Mac called back from the driver’s seat. “He considered Astaire Castle his home—his territory.” Watching Gnarly and Molly bouncing around in the rear compartment, he made a mental note to check into purchasing a much larger vehicle if they are all going to be traveling together.

Still weak from his gunshot wound, David was little help to Mac with pushing open the wooden gate to drive through into the castle grounds.

They had forgotten that Chelsea had never been to the castle until she uttered an audible gasp upon seeing the turrets and the burnt out stone structure. “Wow,” she said, “I can imagine what this was like back in its heyday.”

“Before all the suicides, murders, disappearances, and fire.” David opened the back to allow the dogs out.

“Riley!” Chelsea called out. “It’s me! Chelsea! Are you here?” She made her way through the overgrown weeds and brush to search the garage where David had told her they found evidence of her brother living.

“Oh, Mac …” Archie fought a sob in her voice while gazing at the burnt out structure. She took his hand.

Gnarly rushed over to press against Mac’s leg. His tail was between his legs. His ears lay back flat against his head.

“He does have a long memory.” Mac tried to maneuver around Gnarly’s large furry body to climb the steps up to the front door to look inside.

“What are you going to do with it?” Archie asked him. “It’s going to be expensive to repair all the fire damage.”

With her clinging to his hand and Gnarly pressed against the other side of his body, Mac gave up on going inside. He gazed up at the turret at the top of which they had found Damian Wagner’s body.

“I’m not going to fix it,” Mac said. “I’m going to have the whole place locked up—like Robin had done.”

Archie saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Do you think it’s evil?”

“I don’t know,” Mac said. “Maybe cursed? The only one who found happiness here was Riley. Everyone else ended in disaster. It’s too much of a pattern to ignore.”

He fought to remain on his feet when Gnarly jumped up onto his back and cried into his ear as if to beg him to leave. Wiping the dog off his shoulders, he eased him down onto all fours. “Even Gnarly doesn’t like it here.”

“So sad,” Archie said.

David led Chelsea out onto the back patio which looked out across the valley.

“Awesome,” she said, “I’ve never seen a place that was so magnificent and creepy both at the same time.”

“You should have seen it that Halloween night,” David said. “It was like something out of a horror movie. It made for one wild--” Remembering her brother disappearing that same night, he stopped. “I’m sorry, Chelsea.”

“Will you stop apologizing?” She shrugged. “You’re making me feel bad.”

“I don’t think Riley’s up here.” David offered her his hand. “I’ll keep looking for him and when I find him, I’ll call you. Or, if you think that’s too awkward, I can have Archie—”

She took his hand. “I’d like for you to call.” She gazed up at him with her clear steel-blue eyes.

“Okay.” With a squeeze of her hand, he turned to lead her around to the front of the castle.

“I think I’m going to come back to Spencer,” she blurted out.

Stunned, David turned back to her. “What about your job?”

“I never did like that job,” she said. “I thought that maybe I could get a job here—It’s important that I be close—for Riley. I’m coming back for Riley. After all, I’m the only family he has, and I really do love him, and when you love someone, you owe them a shot at having a relationship—even if you don’t really need them—but maybe a relationship with them would be nice to have.”

Having no idea what she had said, David nodded his head. “You’re moving back for Riley.”

“For Riley.” She extracted her hand from his grasp. “That’s the only reason I’m moving back here.” She brushed past him to head back to the front of the castle. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

Looking out across the valley, piecing together the possibilities for the future, a slow grin crossed David’s lips.

“You coming, David?” she yelled for him.

“I’m right behind you.” David turned and jogged to catch up with her and Molly. “Are you ready to go to dinner?” David called up to Mac and Archie who were peering through the broken out front window to the castle’s interior.