Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

“There you are.” Archie slipped up behind Mac to loop her arm through his. “You’re supposed to be mingling with the guests.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she chastised him with a grin. “You’re interrogating suspects.”

“You call it interrogating, I call it mingling.”

“Mac,” she said in a sultry tone while brushing imaginary dog hair from the lapel of his tuxedo, “this is our first big social event since we got married. Now I love solving murder cases almost as much as you do. And I know that you love a good juicy case as much as your mother, but the Diablo Ball really meant a lot to her. She did it every year for the animals. Please, for Gnarly’s sake and his fellow furry friends, don’t ruin this by inviting murder and mayhem tonight.”

As if to add his plea for good measure, Gnarly pressed his cold nose against Mac’s palm.

Archie slipped Gnarly’s leash into Mac’s hand. “Be a good host and really go mingle so we can score some big donations.”

“Donations?” Mac replied. “These people already paid two thousand dollars a plate to come to this thing. Are you saying they have to pay more money if they want food on that plate?”

With a wink of her eye, she brushed her hand across his cheek. “You are so adorable.” Caught up in a crowd of chattering women, she drifted away.

“Hey, Mac,” David’s voice abruptly called into his earbud, “have you got eyes on Lindsey’s date?”

Mac turned around on a complete circle while scouring the faces of more than a hundred guests at the benefit event. “No. Why?”

“He’s a member of a very dangerous South American drug cartel that’s been making a big splash on the west coast.”

“What’s he doing here in Deep Creek Lake?” Mac hissed while trying to appear hospitable as the event’s host.

Gazing up at his master, Gnarly was sitting in front of him. With a questioning expression, he cocked his head at Mac.

“Lindsey York,” David growled. “Need I say more? Bogie and Hector are on their way down to collect him. The feds say he’s suspected in four drug related assassinations.”

“Then what’s he doing at a party hosted by a retired homicide detective?” Mac asked before coming up with his own answer, “Lindsey’s probably his partner in crime.”

Grabbing Gnarly’s leash, Mac began elbowing his way through the crowd of guests as best he could. Abruptly, seeming to catch onto the scent, Gnarly picked up speed and determination. Intent on reaching his goal, the German shepherd dragged Mac through the guests. It was all Mac could do to keep from spilling drinks on the party-goers or himself.

Suddenly, a hand struck out of the crowd to grab Gnarly by the collar. “Whoa, handsome. Women find you more attractive when you play hard to get.” Carlisle knelt down between Gnarly and Molly to accept licks on both cheeks.

Laughing, Chelsea patted Molly on the head. “You certainly have a way with animals, Carlisle.”

“I have a pet leopard back home,” Carlisle tilted her head back to give Gnarly access to her chin.

“Leopard?” Mac parroted. “Really? An honest—”

“In Africa,” she explained. “I took her in as a baby. Her mother had been killed by poachers. She was young enough that I was able to domesticate her.” She peered into Gnarly’s eyes while petting the top of his head with such enthusiasm that it bordered on a head massage. “You remind me of her. Big. Strong. Smart and noble.”

Holding a serving tray with a single champagne flute, a server stopped next to Carlisle. “Ms. Green, a gentleman over at the bar asked that I bring you this drink. It is a red velvet champagne. He told me to tell you that it would bring back fond memories of the last time you were at Deep Creek Lake.”

Rising to her feet, Carlisle looked at the glass and then over toward the bar. “I don’t get it. Who?”

The server searched the faces of the people crowded around the open bar. “I don’t see him now.” He held out the drink. “Even so—”

“I don’t drink,” Carlisle said in a firm tone. “Take it back.”

Passing by, Lindsey York snatched the drink from the tray. “No sense in letting a perfectly good cocktail go to waste.”

“But—” the server objected while hurrying after her.

After Lindsey disappeared into the crowd, the server gave up. Shaking his head, he returned to the bar.

“What’s wrong?” Mac asked Carlisle. “What significance is there to a red velvet champagne cocktail?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “But then, back when I was here last, I did a lot of stuff, most of which I don’t remember. Maybe I spent an evening downing red velvet cocktails with whoever it was that sent it over.”

Chelsea said, “Since he didn’t stick around to see you accept his drink, maybe he realized he had mistaken you for   someone else. If you were such a mess back then, I’m sure your appearance has changed a lot.”

“That’s true,” Carlisle said.

In Mac’s ear, David’s voice broke through to drown out Chelsea’s question about what Carlisle fed her pet leopard. “Is that Carlisle Green and Chelsea?”

Keeping his voice as low as possible, Mac whispered, “Yes.”

“What are they talking about?”

“Right now they’re talking about what leopards like to eat for dinner.”

“What did you say?” David asked with disbelief in his tone. “Did you say
leopards?”

Preoccupied by David’s conversation in his ear, Mac almost missed Carlisle admiring Chelsea’s engagement ring.

“Who’s the lucky man?” Carlisle was asking.

“David O’Callaghan,” Chelsea said. “He’s the chief of police. I believe you’ve met him.”

“Congratulations.” Her grin stretching across her face, Carlisle rose to her feet. “I’m sure you already know how blessed you are to be engaged to a man with such integrity.”

“Now, they’re talking about you,” Mac whispered.

“What?” Mac didn’t miss the note of panic in David’s tone.

Mac almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clasp him on the shoulder. “Mr. Faraday, I’m sorry to disturb you.” Turning around, Mac saw a young man clad in a tuxedo, which from how it hung on his slightly built frame, was not tailored, but taken off the rack. The jacket hung off his bony shoulders and the pants were baggy down his legs to where they pooled on top of his scuffed loafers. Seeing the question on Mac’s face, he reminded him, “Rudy Crowe, from the Inn’s public relations department.”

“I’m just surprised to see you here, Ruby,” Mac lied about the source of his expression.

“I’m covering the gala for the Inn’s blog,” Rudy said. “The only way I could cover it was to be here myself. Anyway, there’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

Without giving Mac a chance to refuse his offer in order to return to his search for Raul, Rudy led Mac, who dragged Gnarly, who really wanted to get back to a wonderfully relaxing head massage, across the ballroom to where Vincent Van Dyke was watching his daughter holding court by the bar.

“Mr. Van Dyke,” Rudy stepped into his line of sight, “I’d like to introduce you to Mac Faraday, the owner of the Spencer Inn.”

Vincent Van Dyke tore his attention from where  Kassandra was entertaining a group of middle-aged men overtly admiring her overflowing cleavage. He stood up to take Mac’s hand.

Seeing pride on Vincent’s face while he watched the group of men practically pawing his daughter, Mac lost every ounce of admiration for his former screen detective idol. Mentally placing his own daughter Jessica, who was approximately the same age as Kassandra, in her place, he knew that pride would be the last sense he would feel. Rather, he would be out of the chair, grabbing his daughter by the arm, and dragging her outside to put some clothes on her—after punching every one of the horny old men in the nose.

At least, he would have a very strong urge to do it. Archie would put a stop to it before things got that far.

Mac had met many celebrities since his windfall and had found it to be disappointing. He discovered that often there was a great divide between someone’s public image and reality. Meeting Vincent Van Dyke was no different. His once blond locks had all but disappeared along with his six-pack abs. Mac doubted if he still ran the five miles a day he once bragged about to the media to explain how he stayed in shape and did his own stunts.

Gnarly’s whine seeped into Mac’s assessment of the aged actor. Behind Vincent Van Dyke, Mac saw Chelsea and Carlisle, with Molly in between them, going through the exit. They looked like lifelong friends.

David’s going to have a cow.
Amused at the thought, Mac fought the grin working its way to his lips.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Rudy’s voice broke through Mac’s thoughts, “I need to go check with Mr. Ingles about a matter that needs taken care of.” Without waiting to be excused, he hurried away into the crowd.

“Mickey Forsythe,” the actor said while studying his face. “I met your mother, Robin Spencer, once.”

“Mac,” he corrected him. “Mac Faraday.”

“Sorry,” Vincent Van Dyke said. “You look like him. Your mother interviewed me for Mickey’s part in
Dead Men Don’t Lie
.” The star went on to remind Mac that a famous producer had bought the film rights to three of Robin Spencer’s biggest books in the eighties, which featured her most famous detective, and wanted Vincent Van Dyke to play the starring role in all three films. “As part of her agreement to sell the movie rights to Lee, Robin Spencer insisted on being involved in the casting. So I had to interview with her.” He grinned. “She liked me. So did Lee. We all but signed the contract.”

Recalling that Vincent Van Dyke did not appear in the three movies that went on to become blockbusters and won the lead actor, who had been an unknown, an academy award, which shot him to stardom, Mac asked, “What happened?”

“
Hawaii Night Watch’s
producers refused to let me out of my contract.” The actor’s tone and sour expression betrayed a long time lingering resentment over the turn of events.

Abruptly, the actor excused himself and rushed across the room to grab Rock Sinclair by the arm. Mac noticed that a look of displeasure crossed Rock’s face when he turned to see the former television star.

“Is this the infamous Gnarly?” A.J. Wagner was kneeling next to the German shepherd to give him a good scratching behind the ears. “I always wanted a German shepherd. My father was allergic to dogs. Now I’m too busy to care for a gold fish. Maybe when I open that clinic in Alaska. I’ll get a malamute.”

Gnarly greeted the doctor with a lick on the nose.

“Where’s your date?” Mac asked him.

“Good question.” A.J. was more interested in petting Gnarly, who enjoyed the attention at his level. “Of course, you can see how hard I’m looking for her.”

Taking the opportunity to question A.J. alone, Mac said, “Speaking of dating, did Ashton ever mention someone who was obsessed with her? She may have referred to him as Greaser.”

His eyebrows furrowed, A.J. paused while stroking Gnarly’s fur all the way down his back. The German shepherd had a dreamy expression on his face. He was in heaven.

Mac wondered if A.J. would admit to knowing who he was asking about if Greaser was his devoted friend Corey Haim.

“I seem to recall Ashton and Carlisle talking about a Greaser,” A.J. said. “It was like a code name between them. Girl talk. Carlisle would say Greaser and they would giggle like a couple of hyenas.” He stopped petting the dog and shot a look up at Mac. “You don’t think he killed Ashton, do you?” He let out a low gasp. “I guess it is possible. I never thought—No, it has to be Breckenridge. She’s the one who’s made out since Ashton disappeared.” He stood up.

“There are other ways to gain by someone’s death other than money,” Mac pointed out.

“Have you talked to Carlisle?” A.J. asked. “What does she know about this Greaser? Who is he? Did he ever threaten Ashton?”

The questions were coming at a mile a minute.

“Carlisle told me to talk to you,” Mac said. “She’d never met Greaser. He was someone Ashton knew from school.”

A.J. was shaking his head. “That’s not possible. I knew all of Ashton’s friends.”

“He was infatuated with Ashton,” Mac said.

“You mean like a stalker?”

“Possibly. Who would fit that description?” Mac asked him.

“If it was someone from school who Carlisle had never met,” A.J. said, “then why would he come all the way out here to Deep Creek Lake to kill Ashton?”

Mac shrugged. “One rejection too many. He snapped.”

“Let me think about it,” A.J. said. “I’ll ask Corey. He might be able to come up with a name.”

Feeling the need to be blunt, Mac asked, “Could it have been Corey? He does seem—”

“Corey and Ashton were friends—that’s all,” A.J. said. “Corey brought the two of us together. He noticed Ashton following me around like a puppy dog and slapped me alongside the head to point out how she was right for me. Now would he do that if he wanted her for himself?” He chuckled. “Besides, he has a girl back home in West Virginia that he’s head over heels in love with. They’ve been together for over ten years. She teaches grade school and doesn’t even make enough money to buy a house—but she’s loyal to her friends and family—just like Corey.” He shook his head. “Corey kill Ashton? Not on your life.”

While Mac could see that A.J. believed in Corey’s innocence with all his heart, he had seen too many instances where  a cunning killer had fooled everyone, including his closest friends.

With a quick “excuse me,” Samuel Nash inserted himself between the two men, stepping on Gnarly’s toes, which prompted a loud yelp. Oblivious to the crowd of party guests turning to see who had hurt the canine guest of honor, Samuel asked A.J., “Where’s Rachel? We want to have a sit down interview with all of you.”

“I’m not her keeper, Samuel,” A.J. replied.

Archie appeared at his elbow. “Mac, it’s time for them to start serving dinner and everyone is going to be expecting you to speak.” Noticing A.J. being led away by Samuel, she asked, “Have you been soliciting donations or interrogating suspects?”

“Both,” Mac lied. “Am I allowed to go freshen up before begging for dollars?”

“Be quick,” she replied while tapping his chest, “and no more interrogating our guests.”