The Murders at Astaire Castle (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (9 page)

Yet, David was his brother and friend. He didn’t like to see him hurt.

“I’m sorry,” was all Mac could think of to say. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” David sat up and opened the folder. “I think we need to find Rafaela Diaz. Unfortunately, she’s not still in the area. According to Dad’s notes, she had requested to return to Brazil shortly after the murders. They let her go.”

“There has to be an address in the file.” Mac craned his neck to see the folder across from him. “They wouldn’t let her go without insisting on contact information for where she was going.”

“There is.” David made note of the address. “I’ll try contacting her.”

“Maybe over the years,” Mac said, “she’ll remember something that she didn’t mention before.”

“Like a wolf man being on the scene?” Bogie asked from where he was coming down the stairs. “Because you’ll see in her statement that she swears she saw the wolf man leaving the scene. She’d seen him more than once at Astaire Castle.”

Mac leafed through his case file in search of the housekeeper’s statement.

“At the time,” the deputy chief continued, “we didn’t take her too seriously because she didn’t seem to be too credible. She was from a small village in Brazil—practiced voodoo—very superstitious—believed in zombies and werewolves and all types of creatures. Heck, she was a creature herself with hair all over the place—all these medallions and tattoos all over her. She swore Astaire Castle was cursed and couldn’t wait to get back to her high priestess in Brazil to purify her of all the evil that she’d picked up there.” He concluded with, “Good luck finding her. I told your father when he gave her permission to leave that we’d never get her back in this country again, unless we hog tied her and threw her into the trunk of a car.”

Mac wanted to continue the conversation, but the cell phone on his hip was buzzing. When he checked the ID, he saw that it was Hector, who was not one to call Mac for idle conversation.

“You’ll never guess who just checked in here at the Spencer Inn,” Hector said by way of greeting.

“The President.”

“Be serious,” Hector laughed.

“I was. The Spencer Inn is a five-star inn that has been frequented by celebrities from all walks of life. Why wouldn’t the President visit?”

“Because Gnarly can’t get cleared by the Secret Service,” Hector chuckled. “I’m talking about Raymond Hollister.”

“Raymond Hollister?” Mac stood up. In response to David and Bogie’s questioning looks, he asked Hector, “He’s at the Spencer Inn right now?”

“Just checked in without a reservation and made a fuss when the desk clerk told him that no suites were available—only regular rooms. He’s in the spa now getting a massage from Laynie.”

“I want to talk to him.” David stacked up the files and returned them to the case boxes.

“We’re on our way,” Mac told Hector.

When she saw David heading across the squad room, Tonya threw up her hand and waved a message at him. “Before you go, Chief. Chelsea Adams will be here later on this afternoon and she wants to meet with you.”

David halted so fast that Mac, who was gesturing for Gnarly to come, collided into his back. “Why is she coming here? I told her that Riley was in Oakland.”

“She wants to see you,” Tonya said. “I told Mac all about it.”

Snatching the message out of her hand, David turned to Mac with yet another angry glare in his eyes.

“I forgot and I’m not your secretary,” Mac said.

“There’s nothing more I can tell her that the hospital won’t.”

“It’s easier hearing it from a friend,” Mac said. “You did grow up with her.”

“Who told you that?” David asked.

“You grew up with Riley,” Mac said. “Chelsea is his sister. Is it that big a jump to say you grew up with her, too?”

“Spoken like a detective.” Tonya smiled.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” David said with a groan before opening the door and rushing out.

With Gnarly in the back, David hit the accelerator to make the cruiser fishtail before shooting out into the road and heading up the mountain to the Spencer Inn.

“Care to talk about it?” Mac grabbed the armrest to brace himself.

“I’m having a bad week.” David glared out the windshield.

“I can tell,” Mac said. “What is it about Chelsea?”

“Nothing.”

“David, I’ve met you. I can now tell when something is bothering you. What bothers you about Chelsea Adams?”

The clenching of David’s teeth and his silence gave Mac his answer.

“Seriously?” Mac gasped. “Who have you not slept with?”

“It’s not the way you think.”

“What do I think?”

“Chelsea was different.”

“How is she different from all the other women you’ve been with?” Mac asked forcibly. “Katrina. Yvonne. Randi.—”

“Chelsea was my first—that’s how she’s different.”

To this, Mac had no response.

Even Gnarly seemed to be staring at David with a hint of sympathy.

David pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “She was my first and I screwed things up royally. That’s why I don’t want to see her. I didn’t realize at the time what a big mistake I’d made. Now I know, but it’s too late.”

“So she’s the one you were talking about yesterday … who you’re too ashamed to face,” Mac said. “How did you screw it up?”

“I was seventeen years old.” David glanced over at Mac. “You know how it is. Think back to when you were seventeen?”

“Seventeen was a long time ago for me,” Mac said. “What happened with Chelsea?”

“My hormones were raging,” David said. “Chelsea was my first serious girlfriend. We were in love. Maybe it was more lust on my part, but she was in love at least.” He fell silent.

Sympathetic to the pain of past mistakes coming back to the forefront, Mac asked, “What went wrong?”

“Katrina went wrong,” David said. “Chelsea was a nice girl. Katrina wasn’t. Katrina had breasts. Chelsea didn’t. Use your imagination.” He shook his head. “By the time I grew up and realized what a good thing I’d thrown away, Chelsea was long gone.” He swallowed. “The last thing she said to me was, ‘Thank you for ruining my life, David.’”

They were coming up over the rise. The overlook provided a sweeping view of Deep Creek Lake and the valley far below. As always when he saw it, Mac was amazed by the beauty before him.

Turning his concentration back to David’s dilemma, he asked, “How did she sound when you called her last night?”

“Polite,” David said. “What happened was years ago. Of course, we didn’t talk about it. But I didn’t expect us to spend that much time together. I expected her to come see Riley, have him committed and be gone. I didn’t expect to—”

“Face her?”

“Not really.”

“You know,” Mac said, “my mother, my adopted mother, used to say that things happen for a reason. Maybe Randi’s ex coming back, her dumping you, and us finding Riley to bring Chelsea back now, is to give you a second chance to make things right with her.”

“Or maybe it’s her chance to slap me alongside the head,” David said.

“Opportunities are what you make of them,” Mac said with a shrug of his shoulders. “You’d be surprised how much mileage you can get out of the two little words ‘I’m sorry,’ especially when you mean it—and I think you do.”

Chapter Nine

When David pulled his cruiser up to park in front of the Spencer Inn, they found what resembled a royal procession entering through the main entrance. A full stretch limousine took up much of the curb at the end of the red carpet leading up to the front doors. A crowd, including paparazzi and men in suits with ear pieces, buzzed along the carpet like bees entering a hive.

“Who’s that?” David asked. “Is it the senator?”

“Stan Gould,” Mac said, when he saw the short slender man in a gray suit step out of the back of the limousine. “He wants to buy Astaire Castle.” He was surprised that such a powerful man could be so short. He was a full head shorter than every member of his entourage.

David’s head jerked around to look at Mac. “You’re not going to sell it to him, are you? Robin said it was never to be sold or occupied again.”

“I said no,” Mac replied, “but Stan Gould is the type of man who insists on getting what he wants.”

“There’s a saying. ‘Look out for what you wish for.’” David threw open his driver’s side door. “‘You might just get it.’”

One of Gould’s entourage reached inside the back of the limousine and helped out a statuesque redhead.

Keeping Gnarly tightly leashed, Mac and David slipped into the lobby ahead of the entourage, where Hector Langford was waiting with three members of his team. As always when VIPs were on the premises, they were wearing their communication ear pieces.

Hector told Mac, “Gould’s people made their reservations at midnight last night, when he decided at the last minute to fly in from Italy, where he and his wife were honeymooning. He wasn’t happy about not getting to reserve the castle and having to settle for one of the Inn’s luxury vacation rentals. It only has three master suites, a private swimming pool, spa, and tennis court.”

“I don’t care,” Mac said.

They took note of the horde surrounding and following the slightly built man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses across the lobby. He had a baby face that looked like it was incapable of growing any hair. By his side, the redhead stood a full head taller than him in her stiletto heels.

Stan Gould made a beeline for Mac and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Faraday. Stan Gould. I’m glad to see that you saw fit to personally welcome me.”

With a curl of his lip, Mac refrained from telling him that it was a coincidence that he happened to be there when the business mogul arrived. He saw the redhead licking her lips while giving David an up and down look. Her fingers were curled around the crook of her husband’s arm.

“I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Lacey.” Stan wrapped his arm around her waist. “Just Lacey. No last name.”

“Nice to meet you, Lacey No-Last-Name.” Mac shook her hand, which she offered in a limp grip. “This is David O’Callaghan. He’s the chief of police here in Spencer.” He went on to introduce Hector Langford, the chief of security and his team.

David paused when Lacey offered her hand to him. “Excuse me for staring … but I could have sworn we met—”

She shot him a seductive grin.

“That happens a lot,” Stan Gould interrupted her answer. A smile of pride crossed his face. “Lacey is a famous lingerie model from France. I’m afraid men all over the world have seen my wife in her underwear—and lusted over her.”

“Must be,” David said before turning to Mac. “While you take care of business here, I’m going to go locate Raymond Hollister.”

Leaving Mac trapped with Stan Gould, David rushed off to find and interrogate a murder suspect. As the wealthy owner of the Astaire Castle, Mac’s duty was to conduct business with the world-famous billionaire. Sometimes life can be so unfair, he thought while watching David jog over to the reception desk.

Even Gnarly, who had parked himself between his master and Gould’s entourage, peered around Mac to watch David leave them.

“I assume you’re here to discuss the offer that I told my people to put forward to yours.” Stan captured Mac’s attention. “I’m afraid there was some sort of miscommunication. My people told me that yours declined my offer. Of course, that can’t be right. So I came out here to see the castle in person and close the deal.”

“I’m sorry you made the flight from Italy for nothing,” Mac replied. “The castle isn’t for sale.”

Stan blinked his small eyes. “Excuse me?” he said in a tone similar to that of a parent to a child who has disobeyed them out of nothing more than spite.

The attitude alone made Mac want to decline the offer, even if it was for ten million. He had no desire to have this man so close to his Inn’s employees and guests. Over Stan’s shoulder, he could see Hector smirk. The Australian loved nothing more than seeing his boss put arrogant guests in their place.

“One,” Mac said, “right now, Astaire Castle is a crime scene. A decomposed body identified as Damian Wagner was found there yesterday and the police are investigating. Now is not a good time to sell it.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Stan replied.

“It is to me,” Mac replied. “It’s my castle and I have no problem with the police taking their time to find out who killed this man.”

Stan Gould’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Faraday?”

“Yes, I do, Mr. Gould. Your problem is that I don’t care.”

Seemingly too enthralled with his accomplishments to have noticed Mac’s lack of interest, Gould said, “I own the most successful company in America. I have estates in four countries, two yachts, both of which have swimming pools on them, two private jets, and I’m making millions of dollars a day!”

The mogul’s nostrils flared in tune with his temper. He went on to list more of his holdings. Before Mac’s eyes, Stan Gould morphed from a respected and feared businessman into a spoiled child outraged by the less privileged child who had the bike he wanted.

“Now, all I want to do is give my new bride here something that she has always wanted—a castle—a haunted castle—Astaire Castle.” Stan softened his tone to reach over to caress Lacey’s face.

Her eyes fell.

In the flash of a second, Mac caught what appeared to be repulsion by the touch.
Oh, yes, she’s a classic gold-digger all right. How long will she stay married to him before taking him for all she can get?
His mind flashed back to her checking David out.

The billionaire’s tantrum continued. “I would like to get this business taken care of now so that we can renovate the castle in time for our Halloween night a gala.”

“Halloween is days away,” Mac said.

Stan Gould chuckled. “When you have the resources I have, Mr. Faraday, anything can happen. We’re going to have to build a helipad in order to have my friends flown in for what will be the biggest party that this burg has ever seen.”

“Ain’t happening,” Mac said.

“Yes, it is,” Stan said.

“No, it’s not, because I’m not selling Astaire Castle to you.”

“Oh, I get it.” A wide grin crossed Stan Gould’s face. He dropped Lacey’s hand. Now it was serious business. “Listen, Mr. Faraday, I have played hard ball with the biggest balls busters in New York, Washington, and LA. Bring it on. What has to happen in order for you to sell that castle to me?”

Mac stepped forward. He glared down into the little man’s face. Gould resembled a creature that he had seen in The Lord of the Rings movies. “No.”

Stan Gould’s entourage stood with their jaws dropped open. Mac guessed no one had ever said, “No,” to the mogul before.

Laughing out loud, Hector slapped Jeff Ingles on the shoulder. The manager had come over to welcome the distinguished guest, only to see the Inn’s owner enrage him. All color drained from Jeff’s face.

His eyes still on Mac, Stan Gould stomped his feet. “Kyle! Call The Wisp. Tell them I want to book the whole hotel!” He scoffed at Mac. “No way in hell am I ever giving even a penny to the Spencer Inn again. You just wait. Within the next fifteen minutes, my people will spread this atrocious treatment all over the Internet.” He pointed a finger at Mac so hard that it threatened to poke him in the face.

Gnarly reminded everyone of his presence with a loud bark and growl, and Stan Gould and his entire entourage jumped back a full three feet.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to teach you a lesson the hard way about messing with me,” Gould said. “You mess with the big dogs and you’re liable to get bit—hard!”

“If you want to compare dog bites, bring it on,” Mac said with a laugh while stroking Gnarly’s head.

“You’re going to be surprised by how far I can reach and how much I can take from you—things you really care about.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

Mac laughed. “Take your business elsewhere, Mr. Gould. I don’t want you and your type here. It’s contaminating our atmosphere of hospitality.”

With a wave of his arm, not unlike that of a monarch, Stan Gould ordered his entourage to turn around and leave as a single unit.

“Mac, what have you done?” Jeff came running over to him. “Do you have any idea what you did?”

“Mac just told Gould and his group to take their business elsewhere.” Hector sauntered over. “I think he was great. Robin Spencer would have done exactly the same thing.”

“Mac?” Jeff gasped out. “Stan Gould is big.”

“No one is too big to have basic manners,” Mac said.

Jeff glared at Mac. His eyes dropped down to Gnarly. “You’ve been hanging around Gnarly too long.”

“Gnarly didn’t do anything this time,” Mac said.

“Actually, Mac did everyone here a favor,” Hector said. “Stan Gould is a demanding, arrogant, cheap jerk. He quibbles over everything, including the bill, and is the cheapest tipper on record—anywhere. It’s all over the Internet. There are nasty postings about him from hotel and restaurant employees everywhere he goes. Everyone in that entourage is an employee of his because he has no friends. He even has to pay hangers-on to make him look like a big wheel. I’m glad Mac threw him out. He’s a twerp.”

“He’s a rich and influential twerp,” Jeff said.

“Which goes to prove what I’ve always thought,” Mac said.

Disgusted with the exit of his most wealthy guest, Jeff asked, “What is that?”

“Money,” Mac said, “and I’m talking about extreme wealth, doesn’t really change who you are. It only makes who you really are more extreme.”

Hector laughed. “Like you were intolerant of decadent SOBs before you became rich. Now you’re more so.”

“Now you hurt my feelings, Hector.” Mac frowned. “Because I have the money to do whatever I want to do, I don’t have to compromise my beliefs or feelings by playing political games to stay employed or to move up in the police department anymore. If I don’t like the attitude of some arrogant jerk in this hotel, which I happen to own, then I can throw him out.”

“Even though he has the resources and power to announce his displeasure to the whole world in less than thirty seconds,” Jeff said with a grumble.

“You can take a jerk,” Mac said, “dump billions of dollars into his bank account, put him in the longest stretch limo the auto assembly lines can build, put him in a tailored suit, attach a super model to his arm, and surround him with a dozen body guards wearing dark glasses, but in the end, you still have a jerk—just a flashier, louder, and more obnoxious jerk.” For Jeff’s benefit, he added, “And most of those billions of people reading his Internet gripes can see it, too.”

With a jaunty salute at Jeff and Hector, Mac took Gnarly to search for David and Raymond Hollister.

Hector asked Jeff, “How many times have you predicted the Spencer Inn would close after Mac, or in a previous life, Robin Spencer, pulled one of their stunts?”

“I’ve lost count,” Jeff said. “Sometimes it’s weekly. Why?”

Hector glanced around the lobby at the steady flow of guests coming through the door and the busy reception desk. “And how many times has it shut down?”

“In every business, there has to be one naysayer.” Jeff mopped his sweaty brow with his handkerchief. “That’s me. Chief Naysayer.” He turned on his heels, and hurried back to his office to fill in their public relations specialist.

Mac almost collided with a tall, slender, silver-haired man exiting the Inn’s salon and spa through the double doors. After holding the glass doors open for the older man, Mac was closing it when David turned the corner at the end of hall and waved for Mac to stop him. “That’s Hollister.”

Mac raced through the doors to practically grab him by the elbow. “Mr. Hollister.”

The man turned to Mac. A puzzled expression crossed his face when he noticed Gnarly sniffing his leg. His small dark eyes shot a glare at both of them. “What is this? A drug-sniffing dog? I assure you I have no drugs on me.”

“I’m Mac Faraday.” He offered him his hand, which Raymond Hollister ignored. “I’m working with the police department in their investigation of the Wagner murders.”

David caught up with them. “I’m Police Chief David O”Callaghan, Mr. Hollister. May we have a few minutes of your time?”

Raymond Hollister regarded David with disdain. His eyes narrowed. “O’Callaghan? Any relation to Patrick O’Callghan?”

“He was my father.”

“Your father was like a dog with a bone on that case,” Hollister recalled. “Him and Robin Spencer—”

“David takes very much after his father,” Mac said.

David rested his hand on his service weapon as if he was considering using it. “My father didn’t make accusations without reason.”

Aware that they were standing in the middle of a busy corridor with guests entering and leaving the salon, Mac suggested that they go to the lobby to sit in front of the fireplace. “We can talk more privately there.”

Raymond Hollister shot David a look, as if he considered refusing, but instead followed Mac and Gnarly down the hallway. David brought up the rear.

When they returned to the lobby, Mac noticed that the stretch limo was still out front with some of Gould’s men milling around. “What’s going on?” Mac paused to ask Hector, who was chuckling over something. Everything amused the Australian.

“Ms. Super Lingerie Model had to go to the head.”

With a roll of his eyes and shake of his head, Mac led Raymond Hollister over to the sitting area in front of the fireplace, which had a fire ablaze. Mac sat in one of the chairs while Hollister took the sofa facing the lounge and the small corridor down which the rest rooms, phones, and service entrance leading back to the kitchen were located. Sitting at attention, Gnarly faced the subject of their interview.