Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3

by Nancy McGovern

  Mandy nodded at one of the bodyguards. “Go get Chef Rogers.”

  “Ms. Frost,” Flint said to Haley, “for the remainder of the night, I want you downstairs in the living room. I have some questions that I need for you to answer.”

  “Am I in trouble?” Haley asked.

  “No,” Flint assured her, “you're not in any trouble.” To Flint's relief, Haley Frost wasn't the spoiled brat he’d assumed she would be. Instead, the girl seemed down to earth and unspoiled. But, Flint noticed, she also seemed very controlled by Mandy Garland.

  “I can answer any questions you might have,” Mandy said.

  “Nope,” Flint said, “Ms. Frost will answer my questions. Someone is sending death threats to her. The death threats arrived at a person Post Office box, which means whoever is sending the death threats knows Ms. Frost on a personal level. I'm sure you two have already figured that out, though?” Flint quickly looked at Haley to catch her reaction, and watched fear make her eyes glass over. “Ms. Frost?”

  Haley stepped off the last stair and shot a dark glance at Mandy. “You didn't tell me that the letters came to my personal Post Office box.”

  Mandy stiffened. She cast an ugly eye at Flint. “I didn't want to alarm you, dear,” she said in a calm, soft voice.

  Haley looked at Flint and then at Tori. “I thought... you know, some deranged fan. But if the letters came to my personal Post Office box...”

  “Who knows about your Post Office box, honey?” Tori asked. Mandy shot her an ugly eye. Tori shook her head. “Ms. Frost, we need to know this information.”

  “Well,” Haley said, “my parents, my brother... Mandy, of course... and my ex-boyfriend, but we broke up last year. I've been single ever since. Well, I did see this guy for about two weeks, but nothing came of it. But I didn't give him any personal information.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Tori said.

  Flint nodded. “We've got a long night ahead of us. Better make some coffee.”

  “What is the cause of this?” an angry old man in his early seventies said, walking into the foyer. “Why was I disturbed?”

  “Cool shirt,” Tori said, admiring the white chef shirt the old man was wearing.

  The old man ignored Tori. He looked directly at Mandy. “Dinner is ready, Ms. Garland. I will be leaving now.”

  Flint studied the old man. Tall, thin, fussy, short gray hair, lots of nose and ear hair. But what Flint noticed most was the old man's fake French accent. “Where did you to culinary school?” he asked.

  “I am self-taught,” Chef Rogers said in a poison tone.

  “Have you been working for Ms. Frost long?” Flint fired back.

  “Chef Rogers is my personal chef,” Mandy cut in. “I asked him to come here and cook for us as a favor to me.”

  “Yeah,” Flint said, making a mental note. “All right, you can leave,” he told Chef Rogers, “but stay close. I have questions. If you vanish on me, I'll put a warrant out for your arrest.”

  Chef Rogers glared at Flint. “You dare threaten me?”

  “Take a hike and stay close,” Flint said in a voice that chased Chef Rogers away. “Well,” he said, “let's go see what's for dinner.”

  “You can't be hungry?” Tori said, amazed. “Not after all of that Chinese food.”

  Flint shrugged. “Depends on what's cooking on the stove,” he said with a smile. “Ms. Garland, I'm assuming Chef Rogers has the code to the gate and will see himself out?”

  Mandy froze. “I... yes… I gave Chef Rogers the code to the front gate.”

  Flint simply nodded, then looked at Haley. “Ms. Frost, on second thought, I want you to go back to your bedroom with Detective Arnold. I'll bring you guys up some food in a minute.”

  “Is everything okay?” Haley asked, scared. She looked at Mandy. “Why did you give that old man the code to the gate? You said you--”

  “Go upstairs, dear,” Mandy said in a soft voice. “I will personally bring you your dinner. But I must insist that you go upstairs alone. I want to be present when these detectives ask you any questions.”

  “Nope,” Tori said, and carefully took Haley's hand. “You will remain downstairs for the rest of the night.”

  Mandy grew furious. “Haley, you are not required to answer any questions without your attorney present.”

  “Calm down,” Haley said. “I'll be happy to answer any questions these two detectives want to ask me. They're here to help, Mandy.”

  Mandy began to say something but Tori walked Haley back upstairs before she could.

  Flint folded his arms. “Ms. Garland, leave,” he said in a stern tone. “It's clear that you have no desire to assist me and my partner.”

  “Oh, you and your partner can go pack sand,” Mandy nearly spat in rage. “I didn't want the police in on this, to begin with. I can take care of Haley, is that clear?”

  “I'm starting to think you sent those death threats,” Flint told Mandy, locking eyes with her. “Wouldn't be the first time an agent lost her mind.”

  “How dare you?” Mandy said, and tried to slap Flint. Flint caught her hand and pushed her away.

  “Ms. Garland, leave now. But stay close. I have questions for you,” Flint said. “If you run, I'll put a warrant out for arrest.”

  The two bodyguards assigned to Haley grinned at each other again. They were enjoying seeing Mandy Garland put in her place.

  “I'll have your job,” she threatened Flint.

  “That's what the Mayor said, but he's in prison now,” Flint said.

  Mandy's face went blank. Flint's words jogged her memory. “You're the detective who was in charge of the Lila Crastdale case... you?”

  Flint smiled. “Me and my partner. Detective Arnold isn't anyone to fool with. She comes highly recommended.”

  Mandy slowly folded her arms. It was clear she was nearly in checkmate. “All right, detective, I will leave. But I'm going to return first thing in the morning with my attorney. Haley's father requested the police get involved, but that doesn't mean she has to stand by and be harassed by you and your... highly recommended partner.”

  “No one will come into this house unless I say so,” Flint said, and nodded at the front door. “You can bring the army with you, Ms. Garland, but the only people who will enter this house from now on are people I allow. You can return here when I give you permission. Death threats are being made against an innocent life, and I don't take that lightly. Now leave or be arrested.”

  Mandy snatched a black rain jacket off of a wooden coat rack and pulled it on. “You can't keep me away from Haley forever.”

  “We'll see,” Flint said, unlocking the front door. “Drive safe.”

  Mandy stormed out into the night like a wet hornet.

  When Flint closed the front door, the two bodyguards ran to him and began shaking his hand. “Man, we've been waiting for someone to put that old bat in her place for months,” one of them said.

  Flint grinned. “You guys want some coffee?”

  “We sure do. I'm Matt and this is Dave. We're twins. We own Studio Security.”

  Flint studied the twins. “Remind me not to tangle with you,” he said. “Which way is the kitchen?”

  *****

  Chapter 2

  Begin the Search

  Tori followed Haley down a glossy hardwood hallway trimmed with expensive paintings that cost more than she would ever see in a lifetime. The hallway smelled like cinnamon apples, which made her think of Autumn in Oregon - images of brightly colored leaves playing in a crisp Autumn wind brought a cozy feeling to her chest. Outside it was rainy, dark, and dangerous. But inside the house, it was nice, safe and cozy.

  When Haley reached the end of the hallway, she opened a thick wooden door. “My bedroom,” she said.

  “You own a lovely house,” Tori replied, admiring the hallway.

  “Oh, I don't own this house,” Haley said.

  “Oh?” Tori asked, looking at Haley's pretty face. As beautiful as the young woman was
, an ugly fear was clawing inside, that much was clear.

  Haley shrugged. “My parents own this house, detective. My grandfather was in movies. He and my grandmother lived here. My daddy... well, he didn't catch the acting bug. He became a cop in New York.”

  “I see,” Tori said, offering a polite smile. “Well, not everyone can act.”

  Haley sighed. “I know,” she said, in a tone that struck Tori as curious. Without saying anything else, she walked into a large master bedroom.

  Tori followed, closing and locking the bedroom door behind her. “Wow,” she gasped, admiring the bedroom. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was immaculate. A king sized bed stood in the middle of the room covered with a thick burgundy bed curtain. Dark green walls surrounded the bed, staring down at a lush carpet that matched the bed curtain. A large stone fireplace stood in the middle of the right wall.

  It was like walking back into time, Tori thought to herself, back to a time when craftsmanship, care, style, design, and dignity mattered in a home. Most of the homes she saw being built in her own time were look-a-like, buy-one-get-one-free, type places that weren't worth a penny.

  Haley, feeling like a prisoner, walked to the wooden mantle attached to the stone fireplace, and began to examine old picture frames holding photos of her grandparents. “I like Los Angeles,” she said in a low voice, “but I do miss New York.”

  Tori didn't immediately answer. First, she checked the closet and then walked into a large bathroom attached to the bedroom. The bathroom was one for the books, its polished marble gleaming in the dimmed light. When she returned to the bedroom, she went over to the closed set of dark green curtains hanging over a large window, and carefully pulled back one corner. Peering out into the rainy night, she saw the front driveway. She watched Mandy Garland get into the black BMW with Chef Rogers. Soon it picked up pace and sped out of sight. “Good for you, Flint,” she whispered.

  “What?” Haley asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Tori said, letting go of the curtain. She caught sight of an antique writing desk that was in terrific condition for its age. She pulled out the heavy wooden desk chair and sat down, facing the bedroom door. “Ms. Frost--”

  “Please, call me Haley.”

  “Okay, Haley it is.” Tori smiled. “Forgive me for saying, but you don't seem too happy about being a star?”

  Haley let her frail shoulders drop. Slowly, she turned to face Tori. “Detective--”

  “Call me Tori.”

  “Tori,” Haley said in a grateful voice. “Tori, I've always enjoyed acting, but in small, local, plays… for fun. I was in nursing school when Mandy approached me after a play one night.”

  “Ms. Garland was in New York?”

  Haley nodded. “She introduced herself, gave me her card, and asked me if we could have lunch the next day. Oh, she sweet talked me with promises of being the next big star... the next Lana Turner.”

  “That’s what I said!” Tori said. “You do resemble Lana Turner.”

  “Thanks, but Lana Turner had skill. Me? Well, my face is what people want, but the truth of the matter is, I can't really act. My last three movies...” Haley trailed off and lowered her head.

  “What?” Tori asked patiently.

  “The movies I have made... each role I played, oh, they were stupid roles that any idiot could have portrayed. Each of the characters I played had no depth, no truth, no life to them. They were just dizzy female characters equal to those who get cast to run through dark woods, fall down a bunch of times, get up, and eventually get killed.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Haley nodded “But,” she added, “beauty sells. It doesn't matter how bad the movie is, beauty sells. We might as well just say it how it is. I'm getting famous because I'm pretty. Nothing more, nothing less. And a few months from now, when some new pretty face comes along and people get tired of my face, I'll fade out. The movies that made me millions will be dropped into a five dollar bin at your local store.”

  Tori admired Haley's honesty. “Well, that may be true, but for now, someone is threatening your life and that is what matters. Any idea who this person could be?”

  “Up until tonight, I didn't even know the letters came to my personal Post Office box. Mandy checks my mail for me.” Walking over to a wooden chest sitting at the foot of the bed, she sat down, looked toward the bedroom window, and listened to the rain fall outside. “I love the rain.”

  “Me, too.” With caution, she said, “Haley, I've noticed that Ms. Garland seems to be very controlling over you.”

  Haley kept her eyes toward the bedroom window. “I'm her meal ticket,” she said in a low voice. “Tori, Mandy hasn't had a lot of success in the past few years. I mean, she's lined up a few people who got onto the screen, but those people were given small roles that ended at a brick wall. She's not a bad woman, really.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Mandy is pushing sixty. She's alone in the world, Tori. She has no husband or children. The truth is, Mandy’s scared.”

  “Is that the lie she's fed you?” Tori asked in a steady voice. “Haley, I don't mean to sound cold hearted or rude, but I do have eyes. I saw how Ms. Garland controlled you tonight. What I saw alarmed me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tori drew in a deep breath. Now it was time for her to play Flint, time to toss a theory into the air. “In a few days, somehow, the news of your life being threatened will hit the news, and when it does, your name will be everywhere. Magazines, newspapers, you name it, your face and name will be everywhere. No one will be able to stand in a check-out line at a grocery store without seeing your face plastered everywhere.”

  Haley stared. “Are you implying Mandy’s behind this... as some kind of publicity stunt? No way. I refuse to believe that. Mandy’s been very kind to me.”

  Tori began to speak, but then, all of a sudden, she saw herself in Haley's eyes. She saw her own gullible and dopey face before Flint helped her learn how to read a book all the way to the end. “We'll see how it plays out,” she said softly.

  “I guess,” Haley said miserably, then walked over to the bathroom. “Please excuse me.”

  “Smart,” Tori scolded herself. “I hope Flint is doing better than I am.”

  *****

  Downstairs, Flint examined a kitchen that was looked like it had been ripped from a storybook.

  I feel like I’m in a cottage in some fairy tale, he thought to himself, standing next to an old fashioned stone oven.

  Looking over his shoulder, he saw Matt and Dave standing by a green stove straight out of the 1950's. Dave lifted a lid off of a large pot and looked in. Floods of steam flowed out of the pot. “Looks like stew.”

  “Smells good,” Matt said. “I'm starved. Where are the bowls?”

  “Wait,” Flint said. Approaching the stove, he moved Dave and Matt back. Without hesitating, he grabbed the lid and put it back on the pot.

  “What?” Dave asked.

  “Arsenic powder,” Flint said. “You guys didn't smell the arsenic in the steam?”

  Matt and Dave looked at each other. Shaking their heads, they backed away from the stove. “Sorry, Flint,” Dave said, “I guess our noses aren't as trained as your nose is.”

  “Don't knock yourself,” Flint said, “the smell was faint. If Chef Rogers would have left the lid off the stew instead of leaving it on, the smell would have dissipated altogether. Instead, the steam held the scent in.”

  “But why would Chef Rogers do this?” Matt asked.

  “He wouldn't have,” Flint said. He hurried to the back door and tested the lock. “Unlocked,” he whispered. Pulling out his gun, he eased the back door open. A brightly lit, wet, side yard lined with a stone walkway through lovely flowerbeds greeted him. “The killer has been in here,” he said urgently, and slammed the back door shut. “You guys get upstairs, now!”

  Dave and Matt didn't ask any questions. They pulled their own guns and ran out of the kitchen, pre
pared for anything. After locking the back door, Flint turned and faced the door leading into the pantry. The lack of wet footprints on the kitchen's hardwood floor told him that the killer was in the house. “I guess I was wrong, Arnold. The killer is here,” Flint whispered, approaching the pantry door.

  With a steady hand, Flint reached out and slowly turned a brass knob attached to a white door. Drawing in a deep breath, he swung the door open to find a long dark pantry that smelled of old flour and spices. Using extreme caution, Flint reached his hand inside the pantry, felt the right wall, found a light switch, and flicked it up. Tall wooden shelves hugged the pantry walls, holding canned goods, bags of old flour, and other dry foods. At the back of the pantry, Flint saw a dumbwaiter. He made his way toward it. “Basement,” Flint whispered.

  Flint grabbed a bag of flour and ran out of the pantry. Sliding to a stop in the kitchen, he spotted a brown stool standing under a set of antique kitchen cabinets. Grabbing the stool, Flint tossed it down in front of the pantry door. Opening the bag of flour, he bit down on his lower lip.

  Maybe I might get a footprint, he thought, placing the open bag of flour down onto the seat of the stool.

  Wasting no more time, he ran out of the kitchen.

  Reaching the stairwell, Flint hung a hard left and ran down the hallway which led to a den, a library, and a sewing room. A door leading down into the basement sat at the end of the hallway. Flint stopped at the door, caught his breath, and, being ready for any sort of danger, opened the basement door. Cold, damp air immediately rushed out and slapped Flint in the face.

  Unwilling to make himself an easy target, Flint stepped through the basement door and closed it. Darkness enveloped Flint’s body like deadly claws closing around their prey. Using his left hand, Flint reached out into the darkness, felt around, and managed to grab an iron handrail. Using his left foot, he felt around for the top of the stairs. Unable to see anything but darkness, he crept his way down a set of stone stairs, expecting gunfire to come blazing out of the darkness at him any moment.