Old Loves Die Hard (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (3 page)

Mac grabbed his ex-wife while trying to disarm her. “They’re not worth it.”

Christine danced around her ex-husband to get at the other woman. “Who do you think you are?”

“What’s up with you, bitch?” the girl replied.

The commotion had drawn Jeff Ingle, a willowy man in a gray suit that matched his slicked-back hair, from his corner office down a hallway that led back to the business offices. The Inn’s manager jumped in to reinforce the blockade to protect the girl. “Madam, if you don’t quiet down, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“If you know what’s good for you, then I suggest you leave—now!” Christine raged. “I’m going to kill you!”

“You’re crazy.” She turned to Stephen. “Who is she?”

“Some drunken lunatic,” Christine’s former lover replied.

“Lunatic?” Christine shouted.

“Stop it, please!” Mac reached out to grab her arm, which she jerked away so hard that he had to duck to avoid being slapped.

“Who drove me to lunacy? You! Like you have every other woman that’s crossed your path.”

Leading his companion away by the arm, Stephen Maguire left the conversation and the lobby. When Mac and Jeff Ingle forcibly kept Christine from following, her rage reached hysterical heights.

“Don’t you walk away from me, Stephen. You won’t get away with this. I’m not going to let you get away with this. Do you hear me? I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you, Stephen Maguire! I’m going to kill you dead!”

“Shut up!” Mac cut off her madness with a slap across her face.

Startled by the assault, Christine yelped and grabbed her cheek.

“Mac?” Jeff noticed the guests staring dumbfounded at the scene.

“What is wrong with you?” Any sympathy that Mac had had for his ex-wife earlier was now gone.

Jeff Ingle gestured to the desk clerk. “Make sure a bottle of champagne and fruit tray is delivered to Mr. Maguire’s room with a note of apology.”

“Why are you apologizing to him?” Christine demanded to know.

“You attacked him,” Mac said. “He’s a guest at my inn and you attacked him.”

“You do know who that was, don’t you?” Jeff asked both of them. “That was one of the Maguires. Tycoon Broderick Maguire. Supreme Court Justice Everett Maguire. The social register.”

“I am very familiar with all the power and influence of the D.C. Maguires.” Mac recounted in a mocking tone, “One call and I can have you wiped out and licking the curb.” He shot a glare at Christine. “Heard the threat and experienced it.”

Wiping his sweaty brow with the handkerchief that he carried and used often, Jeff said, “Let’s hope Mr. Maguire doesn’t decide to take down the Spencer Inn by telling his friends about this incident and suggesting they start going to the Wisp for the season instead.” Grabbing Christine’s suitcase, the manager ushered them into an elevator to take them up to the top floor.

As part of the hotel security, the elevator wouldn’t take them up to the penthouse floor until Mac held his personal Inn key card to the eye beam for it to read the security code.

The elevator would only take registered guests and hotel employees to floors containing guest rooms and suites. Guests expecting visitors not staying at the Inn had to notify the front desk, who would issue the visitor a temporary key card.

There was no shortage of other facilities at the Inn that visitors not staying overnight could enjoy, like the conference facility, award-winning spa, and restaurant and lounge on the first three floors of the Inn. The elevator would allow guests without key cards access to those areas.

As the elevator took them up, Mac ordered Christine, “Stay in the suite. Order whatever you want from room service for dinner and get some sleep. I’ll come by for breakfast in the morning and we’ll talk about how to fix things.”

“Stephen Maguire ruined everything in my life.” She blinked the tears out of her eyes.

When the doors opened, they stepped down the corridor that ran the length of the top floor to the service elevator and stairwell at the other end.

Jeff warned Christine about using the stairwell. “Don’t go in without your key card. Once you go into the stairwell, none of the doors to any of the floors will open without your key card except the doors to the main areas down on the first, second, or third floor. We’ve had more than one guest go into the stairwell in their bathrobe or less and have to traipse through the lobby to the front desk to get let back into their room.”

With pride, Jeff said that every penthouse suite, except Mac’s, had been reserved for that weekend. “It’s the height of the autumn foliage and the Inn has the most beautiful views of the colors across the mountains and around the lake. This will be our biggest weekend until ski season starts in about six weeks.” He gestured at the door across from Mac’s suite. “This weekend, we have an ambassador from eastern Europe staying here. He says he has never seen the autumn foliage before.”

Mac recalled before the dissolving of their marriage, when Christine would have gushed over the elegance of the two-bedroom suite that afforded a view of the lake and wooded trails leading down to the water’s edge. There was a time she would have thrown off her clothes and jumped into the hot tub out on the balcony before curling up with glee in front of the fireplace.

Instead, she miserably gazed out the picture windows at the multi-colored landscape without seeing it while mumbling thanks to Jeff when he handed her the key card.

After the manager left, Mac got her attention. “I’m going now. Like I said, enjoy the suite. Order dinner, stay here, and stay away from Stephen Maguire. I’ll be back tomorrow at nine o’clock. We’ll have breakfast and discuss how we can get you back on your feet again then.”

“It’s not supposed to be like this.” She stomped her feet. “My life has gone to hell.”

“Then get out of hell,” he said. “You’re a big girl and you’ve made some dumb mistakes. We all make mistakes.

Do what a grownup does. Fix it. You crawled into bed with a snake and got bit. Learn from it and make it right.”

Christine returned to gazing out the window. “You’re right, Mac,” she said in a strangely quiet tone. “That’s what I have to do.”

Chapter Two

Mac knew in his heart that his Saturday night had to be better than Christine’s. He was positive that his Sunday morning would be less traumatic due to the absence of a hangover. Still, this knowledge didn’t console him any when he returned to the Spencer Manor to find a note taped to Archie’s cottage door:

My dearest Mac,

Gone out to visit an old friend. See you tomorrow.

Love,

Archie

It was a defining moment.

It was when Archie wasn’t there that Mac came to realize how much he had come to depend on her company.

In the five months since he had moved to Spencer, they had spent every Saturday night together, as well as most other evenings and days. Many evenings, they would go to the Spencer Inn for a dinner prepared especially for them by the chef, who delighted in treating Archie to new exotic recipes from faraway lands.

Having been Robin Spencer’s travel companion around the globe, Archie was fearless when it came to trying strange and unusual foods. Her adventurous taste buds delighted the Inn’s chef.

Other times, Archie would work her own culinary magic in the manor’s gourmet kitchen, and had taught Mac a few simple tricks in an effort to teach him to cook.

After dinner, they would either sit together on the deck to watch the sun set, or in the hot tub on cool evenings, or watch a movie together in the home theater. Afterwards, they would say good night with a hug and a kiss, at which point Archie would return to her cottage while Mac escorted Gnarly up to the master suite.

Tonight, Archie wasn’t there.

Mac was spending Saturday night in the manor alone, unless he counted Gnarly. Missing her companionship also, the dog opted for drowning his sorrows in a bag of popcorn.

The man and his dog stayed up late into the night watching a horror movie in the home theatre. The feature about a war between werewolves and vampires was already on when Mac had arrived home to find Gnarly with an open bag of popcorn, which he had stolen off the kitchen counter. Mac rooted for the vampires while Gnarly howled his allegiance to the werewolves.

The triumph of the vampires over the werewolves was a hollow victory without Archie sitting next to him covering her eyes during the gory parts, or better yet, burying her whole face against his chest while he held her, at which point the scent of her perfume would excite his senses.

Funny how you don’t notice how much someone’s scent excites you until it’s replaced by dog breath.

The next morning, Mac woke up on the sofa when Gnarly alternated between licking his nose and pawing at his hand. The two of them had been up so late that Gnarly missed his six o’clock morning patrol of the Point.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Mac dragged himself up the stairs with one hand on the banister while Gnarly guided him with the other until they made their way to the deck’s doors, where the dog suddenly jumped on the doors with both front paws pounding. His urgent barking seemed to bounce inside of Mac’s head like a ping pong ball.

“What’s your problem?” he demanded to know. But Gnarly wasn’t sticking around to answer. As soon as the door was open, he shot out like a bullet, across the deck, down the steps, and around the corner of the house. His barking sounded like a battle charge.

The bright morning sunlight momentarily blinded Mac, while at the same time the chilling autumn breeze that swept in off the lake sent a shock through his body that woke up any part of him that hadn’t been awakened by Gnarly’s barking.

Archie was his first vision of the day.

As always, she was barefoot with her toes dressed up in bright red polish that matched her floor-length silky bathrobe.

“Rough night?” she asked him.

“What’s his problem?” Mac asked.

“It’s not his fault. Otis keeps provoking him.”

“Who’s Otis?” Mac looked around off the deck in search of another dog. Gnarly’s barking could now be heard at the front of the house.

“That big fat squirrel,” she answered. “You can’t miss him. He’s the biggest squirrel on the Point. Otis keeps coming up onto the deck and shaking his fat butt with his bushy tail at Gnarly. He’s begging for a fight.”

Though he could see that she was serious in her version of the war between the dog and squirrel, Mac couldn’t help being amused. It sounded like an animated movie. To him, it was simple. Gnarly was territorial and couldn’t stop barking at everything that moved on the Point.

“This squirrel actually has a name?” he asked.

“Everyone has to have a name.”

Usually, she would come in and they would share a cup of coffee. If he was lucky, she would prepare breakfast.

This morning, she made no such movement. Instead, she gazed at him with emerald eyes that didn’t look angry, but sad.

Mac wondered, as he often did with women, if he had done something to offend her. Maybe he hurt her feelings when he laughed about Gnarly and Otis.

“I’m surprised Gnarly’s barking didn’t wake Christine up,” she said.

“Why would it? What makes—”

Christine’s car. It’s still in the driveway. Archie must have seen it when she came home. 

He asked, “Do you think Christine spent the night here?”

“Yeah.”

“No, no.” Taking her hand, he led her inside. “Want some coffee?”

In his haste to get breakfast, Gnarly plowed into her, causing her to fall against Mac when the three of them squeezed through the open doorway. While he fed Gnarly, she prepared the coffeemaker and pressed the button to grind the beans and brew a pot of coffee for the two of them.

After Mac told her about the scene that Christine had caused in the lobby of the Spencer Inn, she asked, “Why did you take her up to the Inn instead of letting her stay here? It isn’t like you don’t have enough room.” She collected the cream and sugar for their coffee.

“Would you have wanted her to stay here?” After Gnarly attacked the food in his bowl, Mac took two mugs from the cupboard. He paused to watch her reaction.

“Spencer Manor is your home. You can let whoever you want to stay here.” Those beautiful emerald saucers seemed to bore into him.

“I asked if you wanted her to stay here.”

Each one dared the other to say what was on his or her mind.

The only sounds in the kitchen were the churning of the coffeemaker and Gnarly devouring his breakfast. When he was finished, the German shepherd sat between the two of them and licked his chops while looking from one of them to the other as if to ask what was going to happen next.

“I’m going to step out on a limb here,” Mac announced.

“You first.” Leaning back against the counter, she looked as if she was bracing for him to punch her.

Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the kitchen table. “If the situation was reversed, and it was your ex-husband—”

“I don’t have an ex-husband.”

“Imagine you did,” he said. “If you had an ex and he came here, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with him spending the night under the same roof as you—even if nothing happened between the two of you.” He plunged on. “The cottage is yours. Even if it legally belongs to me, Robin said that you can live there as long as you want. That makes it your home. Since it’s your home, you can invite whoever you want to spend the night with you, but…”

“But…”

He hated that but.

Haven’t I said enough? I told you that I don’t want you having other men around. What more do I have to say?

“You were upset because you thought Christine had spent the night with me,” he came back at her. “Why were you upset about that?”

There. Let’s put it back on you.

Seeming to have seen the invisible ball tossed into Archie’s court, Gnarly turned his gaze from Mac to her.

“Because I was jealous.”