It's Murder, My Son (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (3 page)

When Mac saw the pools of tears in her green eyes, he could see that his mother had meant more to her than a pay-check.

She sucked in a shuddering breath. Her chest heaved before she declared, “I’ve tried to carry on with it, but it’s really hard without her.”

“Tell me about the murder.”

“You’re just like your mother.” Archie stacked their plates. “Your face lit up like it was Christmas morning when I mentioned a murder right next door.”

She carried the plates into the house with Gnarly prancing at her heels in search of any scraps that might fall into his mouth. After picking up their water glasses, Mac followed her into the kitchen. The stainless steel appliances shone. The granite counters looked like sheets of emeralds.

“In which house was the murder committed?”

Archie stepped out onto the deck and pointed through the trees scattered along the stone wall separating Spencer Manor from the rest of the peninsula. Through the branches filled with fresh young leaves, Mac could make out the corner of a gray cedar house.

“Her name was Katrina Singleton,” Archie said. “Three months ago, she was found in the family room with her throat crushed. The police are looking for a stalker that killed her first husband. They haven’t been able to find him since her murder.”

“Was her first husband killed here in Spencer?”

She gestured up toward the top of the mountain behind them. “Right up there. No one understands this case. Our phone book reads like a listing of who’s who among America’s rich and famous. Suddenly, out of the blue, this guy with wild hair shows up dressed in an old army jacket. He was threatening her, attacking her—horrible stuff. The police never caught him even once. Katrina swore he was a disgruntled client from Washington, but he always had an alibi.”

“If it wasn’t him, did she have any idea who else would have wanted to stalk her like that?”

With a shake of her head, she went back inside the house to the kitchen. “She said he had the words ‘Pay Back’ written on the name label on his army jacket.”

Gnarly gazed up at Mac with big brown eyes. His size alone was intimidating.

“Strange that someone would target a woman with a dog, especially Gnarly,” Mac said. “Didn’t he do anything to protect her?”

“Gnarly was found beaten to a pulp. David took him to the vet before Katrina’s second husband Chad got here from Washington. Chad told the vet to put him to sleep. When Robin got wind of it she offered to buy Gnarly.” Archie rolled her eyes while adding, “Chad Singleton is such a jerk. He wanted five thousand dollars. He said that if Robin didn’t pay his asking price that he would have him put down. Robin was between a rock and a hard place and he knew it. She paid every penny. Bastard.” She proceeded to load the dishwasher.

The doorbell rang.

She reminded him, “It’s your house.”

Mac went to the foyer and gazed through the cut glass window panes. A police officer in a white shirt with a silver badge pinned to his chest waited for his response on the other side of the door.

What’re the police doing here?

It took a moment for Mac to recall that his picture had been all over the news—the bankrupt detective inheriting the world’s most famous mystery writer’s vast fortune. Overnight, he had become famous.

Opening the door, his eyes met those of the officer.

O’Callaghan was the name printed on the label pinned under his badge.

This was the man Mac had come to Deep Creek Lake to meet. The man’s eyes were the same color and shape as his. He also had the same height and build. His blond hair seemed to be the only difference in their appearance.

“Mr. Faraday?”

Mac tore his eyes from the name plate. “Yes?”

“I’m Officer David O’Callaghan.” He offered Mac his hand. “I came to welcome you to Spencer, Maryland. Your mother was a friend of mine. She and my father grew up together. He used to be Spencer’s police chief.”

Mac stepped back and opened the door. “Would you like to come in?”

David accepted the invitation. While Mac closed the front door, Gnarly ran in, planted his paws on the officer’s shoulders and licked his face.

Apologizing, Mac tried to pull the dog off. “He’s a really bad dog.”

“Your mother didn’t think so.” David rubbed the dog’s ears. “She loved Gnarly more than anything. He hung out here even before she bought him.” He stopped in front of the portrait and gazed up at it before turning back to Mac. “Unbelievable. I always thought Mickey Forsythe was from her imagination.”

“She had that painted years before she ever met me.”

“A mother always knows her child.”

“Did you know about me?”

The officer said, “Robin never mentioned you to me.”

“Hi, David,” Archie called from the kitchen doorway. “How’s Violet?”

David answered with a sigh. “As ornery as ever. She doesn’t like the new nurse. But that’s okay. The feeling is mutual.” He told Mac, “My mother is in a wheelchair and housebound. I work a lot of hours, so we have a live-in nurse. We’ve been through seven in the last four years.”

Archie turned her attention to Mac to explain that she needed to go home to her cottage. She had a short deadline to meet on an editing project. With a farewell wave from across the room, she stepped out onto the back deck and disappeared among the trees between the main house and cottage.

“This sudden change in lifestyle must feel strange to you.” David sat on the sofa under the portrait.

“I never imagined it would feel as strange as it does. This morning, I caught myself comparing the price of gas between two service stations before I remembered that I had enough money to fill up the tank at either of them.”

After a few pleasantries, David told him, “Mom’s health went to hell in a handcart after my father passed away. She refused to go into a nursing home and I couldn’t take care of her. Robin set up a trust fund for her. She footed the bill to make sure my mother had a live-in nurse and that her medical expenses would be taken care of.” He smiled in spite of the truth about his mother. “Mom’s so obnoxious that the nurses keep quitting.” David shook his head with a sad expression. “Her mind’s not there enough to think about where the money’s coming from to pay for the nurse, but it’s there enough for her to remember that she hated Robin. If she knew the truth, she’d be mad enough to kill someone, if she could get out of her wheelchair to do it.”

Even though he sensed why, Mac asked, “Why did your mother hate Robin?”

“Robin and Dad were close, and Mom was very jealous of their relationship.”

After years of investigative training and experience, Mac could easily spot David studying him from where he sat with Gnarly at his feet.

If David had been a murder suspect, Mac wouldn’t have the dilemma of what to say next. But he wasn’t a murder suspect. He was the younger brother for which Mac had yearned when he was a child.

Murder was a safe topic.

In the tone of one professional to another, Mac asked him, “Archie told me that a neighbor here on the Point was murdered. Have you made any headway in finding out who did it?”

David sat back in his seat. He seemed to relax with the change of topic. “The man Katrina claimed to have been stalking her disappeared from his home in Washington shortly before her murder. He had an alibi for every incident we questioned him about. Yet, we can’t ignore him taking off at such a convenient time.”

“Washington’s pretty far to travel to stalk someone,” Mac noted. “Is there anyone local who may have wanted her dead?”

David bent over to rub both of Gnarly’s ears. “The Hardwicks, the couple who live two doors up from you. They’re kind of…” He cleared his throat. “High strung.” Grinning, he embraced the dog. “Gnarly was running loose when he allegedly impregnated the Hardwicks’ poodle. They went so far as to file a civil suit for paternity against the Singletons. The judge said that without proof positive that Gnarly was the father, they had no case. The last I heard, they were trying to get his DNA. No judge will waste his time with a warrant. Archie says every time Gnarly goes beyond the wall, Mr. Hardwick is close behind him trying to scoop up anything Gnarly will leave behind. It’s been months and he’s got nothing. We’re beginning to suspect Gnarly knows what he’s up to.”

“Isn’t DNA testing at a private lab—on a dog—expensive? What kind of people…?” Mac burst out laughing when he saw the officer was indeed serious.

“Now you know what I meant when I said they were high strung.”

“Plus they have way too much time on their hands. Is that common with rich people?”

“Not really,” David said. “They had reported Gnarly to animal control, who said that if they have no proof that he has been running loose, there was nothing that they could do. So, they installed a security camera to try to catch him. We had hoped that they got something the night of Katrina’s murder, but they claim someone broke their camera and it doesn’t work.”

Mac’s mind was working. “Where was the victim’s husband during the murder?”

“He was in the city. He’s an estate lawyer working in DC.” David noted, “He put the house up for sale and hasn’t been back since the murder. He also remarried one month after his wife got killed.”

“That’s kind of fast.”

“He and Katrina only got married last June.” David cocked his head before asking with a grin, “Why are you so interested in the murder of a neighbor you never even met?”

“Murder is my business.”

“You told Larry King that you were retired.”

“Everyone needs a hobby.”   

*   *   *   *

Mac felt like a stranger invading someone’s bedroom. Located at the far end on the top floor of the manor, Robin Spencer’s bedroom suite had two balconies with views of the lake on opposite sides of the house. Even though Archie had replaced the bed in which his mother had died, as well as replacing the floral-printed bedding with masculine royal blue satin sheets and comforter, he still felt awkward.

The movers had delivered Mac’s clothes and personal items earlier that week. Archie had hung up his clothes in the walk-in closet and put away everything else. Except for the pictures and mementos of people he didn’t know, the suite looked like it had always been his.

Two paces ahead of his new master, Gnarly charged into the room and leapt up onto the bed. He lay down in the center and faced Mac as if to dare him to try to remove him.

“You may be very pretty,” Mac told the dog, “but you’re not my type. Off the bed.” He gestured with a swipe of his hand.

The canine seemed to consider the consequences of disobeying the order before jumping down from the bed and sitting at his feet.

“Good boy.” Mac patted him on top of the head on his way into the master bath.

After introducing himself to the steam shower, the satin sheets seemed to embrace his body for his first night as master of Spencer Manor.

Mac had placed two books on the nightstand. One was Robin Spencer’s fifth book. He was making his way chronologically through her writings. The second was a thick cloth-bound journal in which Robin had written her deepest thoughts and feelings. She had started it the day she found her son. He made a point of reading two or three entries each night before going to sleep. When he opened the journal to read the next entry the question crossed his mind,
I wonder what my mother thought about the murder in her own backyard?

Recalling that the murder was committed on Valentine’s Day weekend, he flipped through the pages until he came to an entry near the end of the book: