by Lauren Carr
“I don’t trust anyone my fur-babies don’t like,” Tonya said over the top of her mug.
“Robin used to say that dogs have a sixth sense when it comes to people.”
“But Mac’s right. We can’t get a search warrant based on her cleaning the walls and him being gone. For all we know it was a screech owl I heard, he’s playing golf, and she decided to do some fall cleaning.”
The kitchen door flew open and Gnarly trotted in with the corgis jumping and pawing at the treasure he had clutched in his jaws. The tire iron banged against the door, wall, and chairs—marking its path with streaks of blood. When he finally made his destination, he dropped the rod onto Archie’s lap. Then, the German shepherd sat down and gazed up at her. The corgis rose up on their hind legs to beg for her to turn the treasure over to them.
In silence, Tonya and Archie stared at the iron rod covered in dirt, fallen leaves, and blood.
With a napkin, Archie picked up the tire iron and placed it on the table. “Or, the scream was her killing her husband for his inheritance. He’s gone because she disposed of the body and now she’s cleaning up the crime scene.”
Dani Derringer failed to notice Mac pressing through the Inn’s main entrance until she body slammed him backward into the door. With a laugh, she shoved the phone on which she was adjusting the music into her pocket and pulled the earbuds from her ears. “I am so sorry. Guess it’s not safe to listen and run at the same time.” She opened the door and held it open for him to step through. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“I’m tougher than I look.” As he stepped through the door, he was aware of her following him into the lobby.
“You probably assumed the biggest drama this weekend would be drunken wedding guests, huh?”
“Not really.” With a glance around the busy lobby, he said, “I knew this was a tough crowd when I invited Gina to have the wedding here.”
Derringer turned serious. “How’s Lou? I heard he’d suffered some pretty serious chemical burns over most of his body.”
“He was still hanging on last night. I haven’t gotten an update yet this morning.”
“Where did they take him?”
“They flew him to the burn unit at Lehigh Valley Hospital Burn Center,” Mac said. “WVU hospital doesn’t have a burn unit.”
“Is he awake?”
Mac shrugged his shoulders. “He was awake last night, but in a lot of pain.”
“I can imagine,” she said. “I wonder if he knows anything about …” Her voice trailed off.
“He did talk to Lynda,” Mac said.
She crossed her arms. “Who?”
“The second witness. The one that Sanchez and Underwood told us about. Gannon remembered talking to her. Unfortunately, he was arrested before he could follow up her call with an interview. Someone must have seen his notes and realized she could identify Brie and Trevor’s killer.”
“It wasn’t me.” Derringer placed her hands on her hips. “You’re dead set on digging all of this up again, Mac. Well, I suggest you look at my statement. Mine and Will Harrington. We were together when Brie and Trevor got whacked. I rode to the hotel with the rest of the bridesmaids. As soon as I got there, I went straight to the open bar and sat on the stool next to Will Harrington. He and I were together drinking scotch until Kassandra sounded the alarm that the bride and groom were dead.” She clamped her mouth shut into a tight line.
“That’s true,” Mac said. “But you did take over the homicide division after Gannon’s arrest. You inherited his open cases. That gave you direct access to all of his notes.”
“And before that, the feds swooped in with their search warrant and went through everything. Everyone assumed from the first that it had been a professional hit because Trevor had arrested Yurievich’s grandson. Yurievich had people everywhere. One of the agents searching Gannon’s office must have been working for them.”
“Maybe,” Mac said. “But last night Gannon was pretty confident that he’d figured out who did it.”
With a laugh, she unfolded her arms. “Gannon was an idiot.”
“Obviously, someone wasn’t so sure about that,” Mac said. “Otherwise, why would they have been so desperate to kill him that they’d risk killing innocent people by burning down my hotel?”
Derringer’s eyes met Mac’s for a long silent moment. She tore her gaze away, shoved her earbuds in place, and pushed her way through the door. Once out, she glanced over her shoulder back to him, as if to make sure he wasn’t following her, before breaking into a run.
Mac felt a sense of dread. Could this bright young woman, one of my apprentices have used her brilliance to commit murder? Turning away, he stepped into the lobby that was busy with guests anxious to start their day.
The woman with the cinnamon-colored hair was reading a tablet on the loveseat in the lounging area. Her leather flight jacket was draped across the arm. Storm was curled up in the chair across from her.
Unsure if he should introduce himself or not, Mac made his way across the granite floor in her direction. David exited the restaurant with two coffee mugs and delivered one to her. When she smiled up at him, he gave her a kiss on the cheek before slipping into the loveseat next to her.
Cozy.
“Who’s David’s new friend?”
Startled by Bogie’s voice directly in his ear, Mac felt his feet leave the floor. Once he regained his composure, he said, “I thought you knew.”
Bogie shook his head.
“Hey, Mac, Bogie.” David waved for them to join them.
“Something tells me we’re about to find out,” Mac said in a low voice.
The woman rose from her seat and adjusted her maroon scarf as they approached. “Hope is a military buddy of mine.” David ushered her forward with his hand on her back.
“Military buddy?” She laughed. “Is that all I am now?”
David pulled her in close. “Lieutenant Commander Hope West.”
“You can call me Hope.” She shook both Mac’s and Bogie’s hands with a firm grip as David introduced them.
“Lieutenant commander?” Chuckling, Bogie arched an eyebrow.
“She’s a navy pilot,” David said. “One of the navy’s first female fighter pilots.”
“David was my marksmanship instructor at boot camp,” Hope said. “I was absolutely awful. That was the thing that could have kept me out of the service.” She brushed her hand across his chest while gazing into his eyes. “David worked extra hours on the range with me to make sure I passed. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for him.”
“What a nice guy.” Bogie chuckled at the blush on David’s cheeks.
“How long will you be in Spencer, Hope?” Mac asked.
“I need to be back in Norfolk by Tuesday,” she said. “I just came back from a sixty-day TDY in the Mediterranean. I thought spending a few days in the mountains during the height of the autumn foliage and—” She smiled at David “I heard through some mutual friends that David was Spencer’s police chief. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to drop in and catch up on old times.”
“Mac.” Jeff Ingles waved to them from behind the reception desk.
A tall young man in a sports coat over jeans appeared to be checking in. He turned in their direction. Instantly, he turned away and lowered his head. Slowly, he moved toward the exit.
“I don’t believe it.” Hope took off in a run across the lobby. She intercepted him before he could escape through the doors leading to the gardens. “Gabriel Patrick Vanderbilt, what are you doing here? I’d ask how you got here, but I think I already know the answer to that.”
While the lieutenant commander continued berating the guest, Jeff Ingles handed a driver’s license to Mac. “I called you over to ask your opinion about this identification. We’re not allowed to permit guests under the age of twenty
-one to stay in the Inn without an adult. While Mr. Vanderbilt does appear to be built like an adult and his identification says he’s twenty-one, something just told me—”
“He’s fifteen,” Hope interjected. “I know because he’s my son.”
“Your son?” The gasp in David’s tone revealed that Hope had not mentioned any child during their reunion.
“I’m divorced,” she said in response to his shock. “Gabriel was supposed to be home with Mom.”
The family resemblance between the mother and son was subtle. At least six feet tall, he towered over her. He had his mother’s reddish-brown hair. Mac guessed that he inherited his father’s striking blue eyes and strong jaw.
“This is a really good ID.” Mac handed it to David. “Something this quality costs a lot of money. Where did you get it, Gabriel?”
“Grandma gave it to me.”
“Your grandmother?” David replied.
“You remember my mother,” Hope said to David. “Becoming a grandmother didn’t change her one bit.”
“Why did your grandmother give you a fake ID?” Bogie asked the teenager.
“To use in case I got pulled over while driving,” Gabriel said.
“Driving what?” Bogie asked. “You’re fifteen years old.”
“Tell me you didn’t drive the Porsche all the way here from Norfolk,” Hope said.
“It’s my car,” Gabriel said. “Grandma gave it to me.”
“I told you that you couldn’t drive it until you got your license.”
“What kind of woman gives her fifteen-year-old grandson a Porsche?” Mac asked.
“Hope’s mother is not your average mother,” David said in a low voice.
“After my divorce, we moved in with Mom so that she could take care of Gabriel when I was on deployment,” Hope said.
“What about his father?” Bogie asked.
The question prompted a pain-filled glance between the mother and son. Mac noticed Hope grasp her son’s hand, which he pulled away.
“Hey, Bogie, we need to go,” Mac said. “Hector is waiting to brief us.”
“But—” Bogie objected when Mac dragged him backward by the arm. “It’s just getting interesting.”
Chapter Eight
“Where’s David?” Hector asked when Mac and Bogie stepped into his office. “I saw him in the lounge with a cute brunette.”
“He and the cute brunette have some business to take care of,” Mac said.
“Where’s Gnarly?” Hector asked. “Shouldn’t he be here? He is on the case, isn’t he?”
“He’s working another case with Tonya. I’m here,” Mac said with a roll of his eyes. “Any word on Gannon?”
“Still hanging on.” Bogie took his tablet out of his shoulder bag. “He’s in a drug-induced coma to try to keep him comfortable. Doc doesn’t think he’s going to make it.”
“I guess he hasn’t been conscious to say anything?”
Bogie shook his head.
“According to your statement, Mac, Gannon was alone in the bathroom,” Hector said. “The accelerant had been left in the toilet, waiting for him to toss the lit cigarette in to blow himself up.”
“Forensics also reported that the accelerant had been spread all over the bathroom,” Bogie said. “When the toilet blew up, the flames ignited the rest of the room.”
“He must have known something about the case,” Hector said. “Otherwise, why turn his toilet into a fire bomb. Did you get anything out of him, Mac?”
“He knew who pushed him on the night of the murders,” Mac said. “I think he figured out who’d killed them.”
“If he solved the case, why didn’t he say anything?” Bogie asked. “He was a disgraced detective—”
“Which is why he didn’t say anything,” Mac said. “A high-profile, double homicide case went cold. I had a certain reputation on the force—got promoted up to major cases. I couldn’t solve it. Information landed in Gannon’s lap on the same day he got arrested. He forgot about it because he had other things on his mind. He assumed his replacement followed up on it. Then, last night, he found out that his witness had been killed. The number of suspects who had access to that information had been reduced significantly. That’s how he was able to figure out who did it.”
“Because he had been disgraced, he decided to keep that information to himself to reveal at just the right time,” Hector said.
“At the wedding reception,” Mac said. “He told me as much right before he tossed that cigarette.”
“Well, it should be easy enough for us to figure it out,” Hector said. “Who knew that Gannon liked to toss lit cigs into the toilet?”
“It was a topic of conversation last night,” Mac said. “In addition to the spouses of our suspects, Will Harrington was there. He used to be captain of the vice division that Polk had been assigned to. Harrington’s retired. I saw him go upstairs shortly before Gannon did. His room was directly across the hall.”
“He may have had access and opportunity, but he saved Gannon’s life,” Bogie said. “If he had done it, he would have been smart to stay in his room and let Gannon burn.”
“Not necessarily,” Hector said. “Being a suspect, he couldn’t risk being seen leaving the area without offering to help.”
“Underwood and Sanchez, two detectives from homicide, were also in on the discussion. They brought it up, by the way.” Mac ticked off on his fingers. “Both transferred out after Gannon stabbed the chief in the back. One of their confidential informants had made them aware of the second witness.”
“Last night, Sanchez was down in the banquet room the whole evening,” Hector said. “Underwood left there, but he never went upstairs.”
“That only leaves Derringer.” Mac let out a deep breath. “She took over running the division after Gannon had been arrested. She had access to his files and notes, which gave her information on the second witness.”
He recalled, “Out of all the suspects, she was the most adamant about wanting information about my investigation. I found out last night that she had refused to be a bridesmaid in Brie’s wedding but changed her mind at the last minute.”
“Being a bridesmaid would have given her access to the wedding details,” Bogie said. “Would Derringer know enough about electrical systems to turn off the sprinkler system for an entire floor—like what happened last night?”
Looking up at the ceiling, Mac thought back to when they had worked closely together. “She’s clever enough to figure it out.”
“Clever or cunning?” Hector asked. “Whoever did it broke into the electrical room and simply unplugged the smoke sensor system for the fourth floor.”
“How did they break in?”
“I think they copied a key card,” Hector said. “They had to, because the identification code for the key card used belonged to one of our maintenance guys. He had a solid alibi for the time of the break in. He and his crew were outside working on the lights for the wedding.”
“That sounds very familiar,” Mac said. “My son told me that there are apps you can download onto your phone from the dark web to copy the codes from key cards. Then you send the signal to the device, whether it be a lock or card reader, from your phone.”
“Do you have any idea what motive Derringer would have had to kill her partner?” Bogie asked.
“Brie Pratt and Dani Derringer were like oil and vinegar,” Mac said. “But I can’t see Derringer killing both of them on their wedding night simply because she didn’t like Brie.”
“We may not know the motive, but considering that she’s the only woman and the only suspect left, I think we need to have a serious talk with her.” Hector adjusted his computer monitor for them to see a security video. “One of our security cameras caught a woman, wearing one of our housekeeping smocks, going into the supply closet and coming
out with a jug of linseed oil.”
“That’s what the perp had poured into the toilet,” Bogie told Mac, who was watching the video.
Every Spencer Inn employee wore a uniform. Office and desk clerks were distinguished by their black suits with white shirts. The restaurant staff wore white long-sleeved shirts over black slacks with a black apron that hung down to their knees. A similar uniform with black smock or apron was reserved for the cleaning staff, which the woman in the security video was wearing.
No matter what type of uniform the employee wore, it displayed the resort’s insignia, which consisted of the Spencer family crest, stenciled on the blazer’s breast pocket or on the top portion of their apron.
“According to the forensics report,” Bogie said, “the perp shut off the water in the toilet and filled the bowl with linseed oil. When he tossed the butt in—poof!”
Mac noted that the woman on the video entering and leaving the supply closet, was very careful to keep her head down so the video would not catch her face. Clearly, it was a woman. The time stamp was a half an hour before Mac had confronted Lou Gannon in his room.
“The last time I saw Derringer before the explosion, she went outside with a group of ladies to see where the ceremony was taking place,” Mac said. “You say the guy whose card had been used was setting up the lights out there?”
Hector nodded his head. “He swore his card was with him the whole time.”
“Just like the wine steward at the Willard,” Mac said. “Derringer cut her teeth in vice. It would have been easy pickings for her to distract him somehow—just like a pickpocket. All she needed was a few seconds to steal his card and copy the code onto her phone and return it to him. She then went to find a housekeeping smock to use as a disguise.”