Candidate for Murder

by Lauren Carr

  “Listen to your brother, Ms. Braxton,” Erin said as she wedged herself in between the enraged politician and Hugh. “Let’s just go back into the banquet room and finish your speech.”

  “You should do what Erin said to do.” Nathan had casually joined the group surrounding Nancy.

  Determined to have the last word, Nancy said, “You’ve made the wrong enemy, O’Callaghan. My political enemies have been trying to silence me and take me down for thirty years because they know that when I get into power, I will eliminate them all.” She thrust a finger in his direction. “You are just one more player in a long line of players in this vast conspiracy—”

  Abruptly, Erin and Nathan grabbed Nancy and tried to drag her back into the banquet room.

  Nancy pulled away from them and said, “By the time my political machine is through with you and your little dog, every single bone in every single closet will have been dragged out into the town square for everyone to see.”

  “If they want to dig up Gnarly’s bones, go right ahead,” David said. “Just be sure to put them back after your photo op, because Gnarly hates it when people move his bones.”

  As if to voice his agreement, Gnarly barked—which prompted a laugh from those watching the exchange.

  “You’re going to regret even thinking of messing with me,” she said while brushing Nathan’s hand off of her shoulder.

  “Erin, get her out of here,” Nathan said.

  “Are you going to deal with me the same way you dealt with Sandy Burr?” David asked.

  The mention of Burr’s name propelled Nancy Braxton backward.

  Hugh’s double chin quivered. “We have no comments about something that is part of ancient history.”

  “I’m sure Burr’s family doesn’t consider it ancient history.” David enjoyed seeing the color fade from Nancy Braxton’s face as her assistant ushered her back into the banquet room. Meanwhile, her brother urged everyone to return to the room so that Nancy could resume the speech, and then he thrust his chubby finger into the police chief’s face.

  “You know full well that the state police investigated Sandy Burr’s death and closed it as a suicide. She was not charged with anything. So if you as much as even mention his name again during our campaign and insinuate that she had anything to do with his death, we will sue you for slander and defamation of character.”

  “What did Sandy Burr uncover during his investigation?” David asked.

  “Like my sister said, you’ve made a big mistake, Chief. Because when it comes to digging up dirt, we’re not only able to dig deeper than anyone else but also to make it ourselves,” Hugh said.

  “Which is precisely why the more voters see of today’s politicians, the more they like their dogs.”

  “You should have seen her face, Mac.” Sitting in front of the fireplace in the master suite, David was watching Mac try to stir the bowl of wedding soup resting on a bed tray. After learning that Mac was sick, Carmine had insisted on sending a bowl to him, claiming that it was a surefire cure for everything.

  Afraid that the soup was going to spill, David picked up the tray from the bed and held it over Mac while he had a coughing fit. After he had finished, David shook his head. “If you cough any harder, you’re going to cough up a kidney.”

  “I’ll be better tomorrow.” Mac took the tray from him. “Do you think Nancy Braxton killed Sandy Burr?”

  “She’s definitely guilty of something.” David went back to his seat in the sitting area. “She and her group are scared to death that his murder will come back up to bite her in the butt during this campaign.”

  Since Mac and Archie were eating their dinner in bed, Gnarly was staying a respectable distance away from them. Instead of begging, he opted to be generously petted and perched between David’s knees.

  “But the state police hijacked the case and closed it as a suicide,” Mac said. “That means that there’s nothing we can do—unless we can uncover new evidence that proves that it was murder.”

  “Why wouldn’t the state police have noticed that both of Burr’s wrists had been slashed from the left to the right?” Archie asked. “He didn’t switch the blade to the other hand to slash the other wrist, which means that he didn’t slash his wrists himself.” Archie was curled up on the other side of their bed. She folded a slice of pizza in half and bit into it.

  “I’m sure they did,” David said. “They hijacked the case because Dad had zeroed in on Nancy Braxton as a prime suspect, and her party bosses couldn’t allow her to go down, because she gave them a lot of money—and still does.”

  “We’re going to need a ton of evidence that will be impossible to spin if we’re going to bring Nancy Braxton down, especially with all of the power backing her.” With a defeated sigh, Archie shook her head.

  “She won’t have any of that backing if Gnarly wins the election.” David emphasized his statement by clasping both sides of Gnarly’s head. Seeing that he was the center of attention, Gnarly sat up straight with his tall ears erect, projecting a commanding presence.

  “I’m sick of seeing people like her and Clark thinking that laws are for peasants, and I’m sick of party bosses confirming that belief by protecting them all for the sake of grabbing or holding onto political power,” Mac said.

  “Well, I should be going,” With a tired sigh, David stood up. “I’m meeting Dallas for dinner at the Lakeside Inn.”

  “Lakeside Inn?” Archie grinned. “I wonder who picked that place.”

  “She did.” David cocked his head at the wicked grin that had crossed Archie’s face. “Judging by your expression, I would think that you two have been conspiring against me. But since you two don’t like each other—”

  “No, I am not warming up to Dallas,” Archie said with a firm shake of her head. “She asked me if Robin had any information on the Burr case, and I checked Robin’s files. That’s it. We have a purely professional relationship. No friendship at all.”

  Behind her, Mac was slowly shaking his head.

  “Not even just a little bit?” David pressed his thumb and forefinger together.

  “She’s very…loud,” Archie said.

  “I know,” David said, “and I kind of like that. It’s refreshing. Up until now, every woman I have been involved with was—”

  “Pretentious,” Mac said. “Behaving in accordance with how our culture says you have to behave. It’s low class to dry your sheets on a clothesline and Spencer can’t tolerate low class. So if you’re into clotheslines, you need to either get out of town or hide your air-dried laundry in the closet.”

  “And it’s not mayor-like to get a fresh drink of water out of the toilet,” David said as Gnarly, licking his chops, came out of the master bathroom. “Dallas doesn’t put on any airs for anyone.”

  “I’m sure being Buddy Walker’s daughter had everything to do with that,” Archie said.

  “If you ask Dallas, she’ll tell you she’s a rancher’s daughter, not the daughter of a Texas billionaire.” David went on to ask, “What did you and my loud girlfriend uncover?”

  “A second witness,” Archie said. “The bartender saw Burr meeting with Nancy Braxton in the lounge less than two hours before the time of death. He still works at the Lakeside Inn and is now the manager.”

  “I guess it’s going to be dinner and a show.”

  Chapter Seven

  Nestled along the shore of Deep Creek Lake, the Lakeside Inn was a midpriced hotel with only four floors, a lobby, a sitting area furnished to serve guests a free continental breakfast, and a restaurant lounge that served traditional all-American meals that were both tasty and inexpensive.

  Since summer was in full swing, the hotel’s parking lot was filled with cars and SUVs. Vacationing families with young children flitted in and out of the front doors. Most of the children were scurrying down the walkway to the hotel’s priv
ate beach.

  Taking in the family atmosphere as she climbed out of the passenger side of her maroon truck, Dallas felt slightly overdressed in her straight-leg jeans, high heels, and rose-colored silk blouse. “Guess I’ve gotten too used to the Spencer Inn.”

  Joining her in front of the truck, David took her hand. “You’re not supposed to fit in with the tourists. You’re an investigative journalist, and your subject will take you more seriously if you look professional.”

  Noticing that David had changed out of his police-chief uniform into jeans and a blue polo shirt, she said, “If we want him to take us seriously, why aren’t you wearin’ your badge and packin’ your side arm?”

  David escorted her through the front entrance and into the lobby. “My department can’t reopen the Burr case until we have new evidence. Until then, the only role I can play during your interview is that of your supporting boyfriend. So when it comes to introductions, don’t mention the name ‘O’Callaghan’ or say anything about my being with the police.” Then he whispered, “By the way, I’m always packing.” He winked at her.

  Pulling him in close to her, she whispered in a husky voice, “And here I thought you were just happy to be with me.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist and ushered her into the hotel, through the reception area, and into the lounge. Since most of the hotel guests were families with children, the lounge’s busy dinner hours were early, between five and seven o’clock. Since it was close to seven-thirty, busboys were still in the process of cleaning up a half dozen large tables, some of which had high chairs around them. There were three older couples dining at smaller tables along the window that provided a view of the lake outside.

  “You can sit anywhere,” the bartender behind the bar said. “The server will be right with you.”

  David and Dallas took a table for two by the fireplace, away from the other patrons so that they could talk without being overheard. As was his custom after spending years in law enforcement and in the military, David positioned his chair so that his back was to the wall and he had a clear view of everyone and all of the exits.

  By the time the server, a pretty, young woman named Leeza, arrived, Dallas had shifted to her chatty investigative-journalist persona; her intention was to charm the server into putting in a good word with the hotel manager for her.

  Everything seemed to go as Dallas had planned. Dallas and Leeza hit it off, and it didn’t hurt that Dallas’ date was so attractive that the server paid special attention to their table. David returned her attention by flirting with her, and Leeza was more than receptive when Dallas moved in for the kill.

  “Does Caleb still work here?” Dallas casually asked when Leeza was clearing their plates after they had finished their dinners. Dallas had had a large prime rib, and David had eaten fish.

  “Do you mean Caleb Montgomery?” After Dallas confirmed that that was whom she’d meant, Leeza grinned. “Sure. He’s the hotel manager.”

  “Really?” Dallas replied with a wide grin. “Maybe he’s the one I’m talkin’ about. He used to be a friend of my momma’s. The Caleb I’m thinkin’ of was a bartender.”

  “That must have been quite a few years ago,” Leeza said. “From what I understand, Mr. Montgomery has been managing the Lakeside Inn ever since the owners renovated it.”

  David’s eyebrows furrowed. Leeza had jogged his memory and reminded him of the old hotel, which had undergone an extensive renovation several years earlier. He vaguely remembered that the hotel had been mowed down and that a new one had been built onto the foundation. Had that been before or after Sandy Burr’s death?

  Unbeknownst to her, Leeza answered his question. “I remember hearing that Mr. Montgomery was the bartender before the hotel changed hands.”

  “That’s quite a promotion.” With an arched eyebrow, Dallas cocked her head in David’s direction. “Is Mr. Montgomery working tonight? I’d really like to say hi and to see if he remembers my momma.”

  After saying that she would go fetch him, Leeza rushed off.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Dallas leaned toward David. “I wonder who gave the bartender such a plum promotion and what he did—or didn’t do—to earn it.”

  “Are you thinking that Nancy Braxton paid Caleb Montgomery for his silence by buying the hotel and promoting him to manager?” David nodded his head in the direction of the doorway. “We’ll find out soon.”

  An exceedingly tall man with curly salt-and-pepper hair sauntered into the lounge. After Leeza pointed Dallas and David out to him, he strolled over with a wide grin on his face and offered Dallas his hand. “Leeza said you asked to see me. She said your mother was an old friend, but—”

  Dallas grasped his hand. “Actually, I was lyin’. I’m Dallas Walker, and I came across your name while investigatin’ the Sandy Burr murder. I understand that you were one of the last people who saw him alive.”

  The smile dropped from Caleb Montgomery’s face. He extracted his hand from Dallas’ grasp so fast that one would have thought that she had some sort of disease.

  “I’m afraid your information is wrong, Ms.—what was your name?” Caleb Montgomery looked from Dallas to David.

  David sensed a spark of recognition in the hotel manager’s eyes. He should have known that the odds that Caleb wouldn’t recognize the small-town police chief were extremely low.

  “My name is Dallas Walker,” she said. “I’m an investigative journalist.”

  “Well, I refuse to be a part of your investigation.”

  “Accordin’ to my research and sources,” Dallas said despite his objection, “you tended bar the very night that Sandy Burr died, and he was in the lounge from shortly before five o’clock until well after eight. Witnesses said that there was hardly anyone here, so you had to have noticed him.”

  “I didn’t,” Caleb said. “I didn’t see or notice anything.”

  “In the statement you gave to the police on the day Sandy Burr’s body was found, you said not only that you noticed him but also that you noticed the woman he met after dinner for drinks—”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” Caleb Montgomery said in a firm—and threatening—tone. “You and your friend—and if you’re both smart, neither of you will come back. We don’t need your business.”

  "But also that you noticed the woman he met after dinner for drinks was Nancy Braxton,” Dallas said, finishing her thought.

  But Caleb Montgomery had hurried across the lounge and gone out the door.

  “He remembers everything,” David said in a low voice.

  “Dirty, rotten liar,” Dallas said. “I hate liars.”

  Great Falls, Virginia

  Located in the rugged woods lining the Potomac River, Great Falls, Virginia, offers its residents the best of both worlds. The area just outside of the capital beltway is rural enough that it offers an escape from the tensions of city life but close enough to that city life that one can partake of the electrifying excitement of Washington, which is only a few minutes away on Georgetown Pike.

  Tucked back behind a security fence with an automatic gate and hidden behind thick trees, the Faraday-Thornton estate took up seven acres of woods and rocky trails at the end of which was a fast-flowing section of the Potomac River.

  The Faraday-Thornton home consisted of a sprawling gray-stone six-bedroom mansion with white trim. Jessica’s younger brother, Tristan, was renting the two-bedroom guesthouse located at the end of a wooded path while his Georgetown brownstone was being renovated.

  The sun had given way to nightfall. High in the sky, a full moon cast a golden glow in the darkness when Murphy pressed the remote button to open the garage door and then parked his motorcycle in its spot in the six-car garage.

  After turning off the bike’s engine, Murphy took off his helmet and ran his fingers though his hair and over his scalp.

 
“Welcome home, Murphy. Would you like me to close the garage door and turn on the security system?”

  Grabbing his weapon on his belt, Murphy almost fell off his bike as he searched for the owner of the low, throaty, sensual voice that was not unlike that of James Earl Jones, a.k.a. “Darth Vader.”

  “Nigel,” Murphy said when he remembered to whom the voice belonged.

  “Yes, Murphy?” the voice of their state-of-the-art smart home’s speaker said. “Do you want me to close the garage door and turn on the security system, or would you rather do it yourself?”

  “Yes, close the door and turn on the system. Thank you, Nigel.” Murphy asked himself why he couldn’t keep from saying “please” and “thank you” to a computer.

  The garage door proceeded to close behind him. Before it clicked into place, Murphy heard the beep of the garage’s security system, which indicated that it had been activated.

  Mentally, he counted down the seconds until he would be in her arms again.

  As soon as Murphy’s feet hit the path leading up to the main house, Nigel, clued into his movement by the motion detectors that had been placed around the property’s perimeters, turned on the outdoor lights to illuminate his way to the side door. Except for the lights that Nigel had turned on for Murphy, the house was dark.

  After a week and a half, she must have given up on waiting up for me every night.

  In his excitement, Murphy’s hand shook while he unlocked the door, pushed his way inside the mansion’s two-story foyer, and pressed his thumb against the security panel inside the door. After scanning his thumbprint and verifying that he was indeed Murphy Thornton, the system beeped.

  “Welcome home, Murphy,” Nigel said again.

  That time, Murphy remembered to whom the voice belonged. “Good evening, Nigel. Where’s Jessica?”

  “She is upstairs in the master bath, Murphy,” Nigel said.