Twelve to Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (12 page)

“I’ll see what I can do,” Delaney said.”

After Mac hung up, he looked across the squad room to where Archie was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Gnarly’s head still in her lap. Tenderly, she was stroking the sick dog while humming softly to him.

Sensing his gaze on her, she paused in the petting. “What?”

Mac shrugged with a grin. “I was just thinking about what a happy little family we are.”

With a groan and a whine, Gnarly pressed his head against her hand to urge her to continue.

“Maybe not all of us are happy right now,” Mac corrected himself. Recalling the roses he had ordered, he asked in a casual tone, “How long have you been here?”

“Since a little after noon,” she replied.

“Any deliveries come to the house?” He stood up and went around the desk.

She shook her head. “Why? Are you expecting something?”

“No.” He knelt next to her. With his finger under her chin, he lifted her head up to meet his eyes.

Not believing him, she arched an eyebrow in his direction. “Liar. Now you’ve made me curious.”

He smiled at her. “You’re beautiful when you’re curious.” He kissed her lips.

Begging for her to resume petting, Gnarly lifted his head so that his warm snout bumped the bottom of Mac’s chin. 

“Get your own girl,” Mac told him.

Uttering a long whine mixed with a groan, Gnarly’s ears fell to the side of his head and he plopped back down into Archie’s lap.

Chapter Thirteen

The scent of spring snapped Mac out of his thoughts on his way to David’s cruiser in the station parking lot. Low in the sky, the setting sun cast a golden glow across the lake up onto the shore.

Time does have a way of flying by.

In a flash, he recalled that it had been almost three years to the day since he had discovered that his birth mother was a world-famous mystery novelist and she had left him a fortune beyond his wildest dreams. It seemed like only the day before that he had driven his brand new red sports car around Deep Creek Lake for the first time to his new home on Spencer Point where he met his half-brother and…first laid eyes on Archie Monday, the love of his life.

In an instant, his life changed forever.

Yes, Archie Monday is the love of my life.

“Mac, are you coming or aren’t you?” David snapped him back to the present.

Mac blinked. “Yeah.”

“Then get in the car.” David slammed the driver’s side door shut.

Need to do something about that. Fix things with her. Today. As soon as I get home.

With a sense of determination, Mac yanked open the door and climbed into the front passenger seat. He took out his phone and thumbed the button for the Spencer Inn.

“Who are you calling?”

“Jeff Ingles.”

“Manager at the inn? Why?”

“To make a reservation.”

Assuming Mac was making dinner reservations for that night, David chuckled. “You’re pretty optimistic.”

Ten minutes later, David’s radio cackled while he was turning his cruiser around the barricade at the Blue Whale Pub. The police dispatcher announced, “Suspect vehicle spotted at overlook and picnic grounds on Lake Shore Drive in Spencer, mile marker two.”

“That’s directly across the lake from here,” David noted.

Mac’s phone vibrated. The caller ID showed that it was Archie. He tapped the screen to put her on speaker. “Mac, David, Harris just got a call from that burner. They’re talking right now.”

“Can you locate Harris with the GPS in his phone?” David leaned across the seat to ask into Mac’s phone.

“I’m—” She cursed. “Call has been disconnected. They were talking for less than a minute.”

“They’re coordinating.” Mac searched the faces of the many bystanders lurking along the hillside leading up the mountain. “Zachery Harris is in the area.”

“Maybe she was telling Harris where she was so he could pick her up.” David gestured for Mac to get out of the cruiser. “You go take care of Lenny Frost. Tell Bogie to get him into custody.” He picked up the radio. “I’ll go hunt down Sela Wallace and Zachery Harris.”

David was on the radio with two of his officers when Mac climbed out of the cruiser and went over to the van where the command center was housed.

Bogie met Mac at the door. “Where’s the chief going?” He stepped aside to allow Mac to enter the van.

“The car Sela Wallace stole was spotted directly across the lake from here.” Mac shrugged out of his sports coat and took the ballistics vest the deputy chief offered him. “He’s meeting a couple of officers over there to see if they can catch her.”

Sheriff Turow and Deputy Parker flashed Mac wide grins. “Thank you for the steaks,” the deputy said.

“As long as the staff at the inn was whipping up dinners for the hostages and Lenny, why not throw a few more on the grill?” Mac replied while patting the deputy on the shoulder. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Like I said, this is the weirdest hostage situation I’ve ever seen,” Sheriff Turow said. “Hostages inside singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ out of tune, steaks all around, booze flowing freely—it’s time to end this and for all of us to go home. Problem is, I can already tell you that none of those people in there can drive. They’re all over the legal limit.” He picked up the phone and hit the number to call the Blue Whale Pub. It was still ringing when he handed the phone to Mac.

Sucking in a deep cleansing breath, Mac waited several rings before a timid voice answered. “Hell-o?” The slurred greeting was followed by a long, loud belch.

“Who’s this?” Mac asked in a sharp tone.

“Bernie. Who’s this? …Is that you, Mr. Forsythe? How are you? Are you mad at us for voting you off our island?”

“I’m not mad, Bernie.”

“That’s good,” the elderly man burped. “I’d hate for you to be mad at us. You were only trying to save our lives. It’s just—you were such a party pooper doing it.”

Mac shook his head to adjust to the unexpected step of a drunken hostage answering the phone and making small talk. “Where’s Lenny?”

“He’s right here,” Bernie said.

“Why are you answering the phone?”

“Because he’s asleep.”

“Asleep?” Mac gasped before catching himself.

“Asleep?” Sheriff Turow asked Bogie. “Did he say our hostage taker is asleep? How long has he been sleeping?”

Mac was already asking the same question.

“Oh,” Bernie mused, “I don’t know.” They heard the phone cackle and then the old man asking, “Hap, when did Lenny pass out? Do you remember? He was awake during the second inning, wasn’t he? Remember he was laughing at that beer commercial with the big dog?” He came back to the phone. “He must have fallen asleep during the third inning. Do you want me to wake him up?”

“No!” Everyone in the van screamed in unison. 

“Do you want me to take a message for him?” Bernie asked. “I’d have to get some paper. I don’t know where they have any here. Edith and Carl are asleep, too. The only ones awake are Hap and me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bernie,” Mac said. “I’ll give Lenny my message when I see him later—in person.”

“Okay,” Bernie said. “You know what, Mr. Forsythe?”

“What, Bernie?”

The old man belched before saying, “You really need to loosen up. Don’t be so serious all the time.”

“I’ll try to do that.” Mac attempted to disconnect the call but the elderly man called out to him from across the line.

“Life is short you know, Mr. Forsythe!”

“I am very aware of that, Bernie.” Once again, Mac tried to hang up. Sheriff Turow and his deputies were already suiting up to rush into the pub before Lenny Frost woke up.

“I’m just saying…” Bernie said.

“Thank you, Bernie,” Mac said through gritted teeth. “I—”

“Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Forsythe?”

“No, Bernie. Thank you.”

“Can I go back to watching my game, Mr. Forsythe?”

“Sure. Go enjoy your game.” In spite of his frustration, Mac chuckled when he hung up the phone.

Bogie was grumbling while checking his equipment. “The game is now in the top of the fifth inning. Lenny has been asleep for close to an hour and we didn’t know.”

Sheriff Turow looked at each of the officers and deputies surrounding him. “That information never leaves this van. Understood?”

“Understood,” Bogie said while slapping the fasteners on his vest. “It’s time for us to end this, dry out our hostages, and go home.”

This is easy—too easy.

David found the old green Ford Sedan parked in the first space next to the trail weaving through the trees and rocks down to the lake shore, which was directly across the narrow inlet from the Blue Whale Pub. The sun was setting behind the mountain. In a few minutes, it would be dark. With the lack of outdoor lights in the area, it would be nearly impossible for them to spot Wallace hiding in the brush.

Studying the layout, David picked up his radio mike. “Brewster, Fletcher, I’m at the overlook. What’s your ETA?”

“Two minutes, chief,” Fletcher replied. Brewster clicked in directly behind Fletcher with an ETA of three minutes.

Best to wait.

Even as he thought it, David climbed out of his cruiser and made his way to the top of the path. Craning his neck, he could make out the water lapping on the boulders that lined the shore…and the silhouette of a rifle barrel aimed at the pub across the water.

Grasping his gun with one hand, David tapped the button on his shoulder mic. “Dispatch, this is Chief O’Callaghan,” he reported while making his way down the darkened path. “Female suspect spotted at the bottom of the path at the mile two overlook. Suspect is armed with weapon aimed at Blue Whale Pub. Will attempt to apprehend. Back-up requested. Notify sheriff and his team at Blue Whale. Repeat. Back up requested and notify Sheriff Turow ASAP.”

Leading with his weapon, David eased his way down the path toward the water. Along the rocky path, he stumbled over a loose rock and twisted his ankle. Cursing at the pain, he told himself that it was a lucky thing it was he, and not Mac or one of his other officers, on the scene. Judging by how desperate Wallace was, he didn’t want to risk giving himself away by using a flashlight to light the rocky path. Having grown up on the lake, David knew every path and tree like the back of his hand. Everybody else would have been forced to use a flashlight, which would have put them at a possibly fatal disadvantage.

At the water’s edge, with the sun dipping behind the mountain, the lakeshore was bathed in almost total darkness.

Keeping his breathing slow, David peered in the direction of the water while letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Eventually, he was able to make out the outline of the redheaded woman who had managed to fake her way out of a hostage situation, overpower a nurse to escape the hospital, and steal a car to return to where she had started.

This is one desperate woman—the most dangerous kind.

With the black metal of the assault rifle and her dark clothing, he could only barely make her out laying on her tummy on the ground with the rifle aimed across the water. She was peering at her target through the night scope.

David stepped out of the shadows and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the top of her redhead. “It’s over, Wallace. Take your finger off the trigger and put your hands up.”

For a long moment, they both stood frozen in silence.

“Don’t risk it, Wallace,” David said. “You pull your trigger and I’ll pull mine. From this distance, you may miss. I won’t.”

Slowly, she rose up onto her knees. David backed up a step to allow her room to stand up. Then, in an instant, she twirled the rifle around and swung it to hit David across the face.

Mac, Bogie, Sheriff Turow, and three of his deputies were crowded around Lenny Frost, who was passed out in a chair in the center of the stage. After eight hours of continuously drinking an unbelievable amount of beer and wine and topping it all off with a bottle of scotch, Lenny Frost had none of the dignity that comes from being an award-winning actor and star. He was sprawled out with his legs and arms at all different angles. His head hung back with his mouth wide open to allow drool to drip out of the corner of his mouth. He smelled like a brewery.

They had found Carl and Edith entwined in each other’s arms on a booth bench with an empty bottle of wine and two glasses on the table before them. The expressions on their faces resembled those of a couple of love-struck teenagers.

Bernie and Hap objected when they were told in the bottom of the seventh inning that the hostage situation was over. They only agreed to allow the EMTs to take them to the hospital to be checked over after being assured that they would have the game on in the emergency room.

Lenny slept through the entire evacuation.

“Who’s going to wake him up?” Bogie asked.

Everyone looked at Mac.

“I guess it’s me.” Mac crept up to the sleeping man and slipped the gun out from under Lenny’s hand where he had been holding it in his lap. Mac handed it off to one of the deputies. Lenny snorted, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and continued sleeping.

“This is incredible,” Sheriff Turow said.

“Just when I thought I’d seen it all,” Bogie said.

Mac leaned over and nudged the hostage taker in the shoulder. “Hey, Lenny, wake up,” he said in a loud whisper.

With a phlegm-filled cough, Lenny folded his arms across his chest and turned away from Mac.

“Lenny, it’s Mickey,” he said while nudging him harder. “We have proof that you didn’t shoot the Stillmans.”

“Tell them to leave a number and I’ll text them in the morning,” Lenny mumbled in a slurred voice.

Mac raised his voice and patted him on the cheek several times. “Lenny, wake up. We need to talk.”

With a shriek from deep in his gut, Lenny opened his eyes, while at the same time throwing a punch at the man standing over him.

Seeing the fist flying toward him, Mac ducked back so that all it hit was air. However, Mac was not prepared for what came next. Lenny backed up his punch with a side kick that connected with his mid-section.  Mac doubled over. While the officers came in to get control of the drunken man, Mac stumbled off the stage, took a deep breath, and stood up.

In front of him, Mac could hear the rage and terror in Lenny’s voice while he cursed at the officers and deputies trying to calm him down. Later, he would wonder at how over all that, he heard the shatter of the glass in the patio door behind him. The sound of the glass breaking was immediately followed by the horrific impact of the bullet striking him in the middle of his back—one instant before everything around him went black.