Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (12 page)

Approaching from Archie’s other side, Chelsea tapped her on the shoulder. “We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Archie asked.

As if to answer her question, a high-pitched scream came from the corridor outside the banquet room. The scream was followed by a crash, and another crash, and scream, and more crashes and more screams.

“What was that?” Archie blurted out.

“It’s called a fight,” Chelsea answered. “I believe a woman is trying to kill one of our guests. That’s the problem I wanted to tell you about.”

Ben fell in behind Mac to wade through the panicked guests to get out onto the corridor where Jasmine was screaming  hysterically. Rock was shielding himself as best he could while one piece of Spencer Inn china after another was being hurled   at him from a service table that Riva Sinclair had managed to hijack from a bus person.

“And this is for that trip to Nice that you never took me on!” Riva threw a tea cup that smashed against the wall above Rock’s head to shatter into china dust which rained down onto his head.

Riva picked up a dinner plate. “And this is for abandoning Pugsy.”

“No one cares about that rat dog of yours!” Jasmine yelled.

“Pugsy has gone into a depression because of his daddy abandoning him,” Riva said. “The doctor has had to put him on anti-depressants.” She punctuated her announcement by throwing a saucer at her runaway husband.

“Why aren’t you in jail?” Rock ducked to avoid being hit in the head by a saucer. “I thought they arrested you!”

“Oh yeah!” Riva hurled a plate like a Frisbee at him. “And that is for the thousands of dollars bail money I had to pay out after being busted by a flea bitten mutt for carrying the gun I was going to blow you and your slut away with!”

“Gnarly is not flea bitten!” Archie yelled out.

“She’s trying to kill him!” Jasmine said. “Where’s that police chief? Why isn’t this psychopath locked up?”

Samuel Nash was laughing loudly. “You know what they say about a woman scorned, Jasmine.”

“Mac,” David’s voice asked in his ear, “what’s going on?”

“We have a distraught abandoned wife trying to kill her estranged husband and lover.”

“I’m sending Fletcher down to break it up,” David reported.

“What’s happening here?” Jeff Ingles shrieked and grabbed his head with both hands upon seeing the growing pile of broken hotel china in the hallway.

“You didn’t even leave me enough money to live on!” Riva yelled. “Phony skirt chasing con man!”

“Do we have to go through this here?” Rock hissed. “Can’t you see that I’m working?”

“Is that what they call it now?” She roared, “You shut off my credit cards!”

“They’re my credit cards!”

“How am I supposed to live?” Riva shouted.

“Can you say ‘Get a job’?” Jasmine spat out.

“That’s an idea,” Riva said. “Maybe I’ll take up the same career as you. Hooking!”

Jasmine lunged for her.

Mac and Ben forced their way in between the two women.

“You husband-stealing bitch!” Riva raised up her hand in which she clutched a dinner plate. “I’m going to get you for this! I’m going to get you like no one has ever done before. When I’m done with you—”

“That’s enough, Ms. Sinclair.” Mac thrust Gnarly’s leash into Ben’s hand and grabbed Riva’s arm, poised to hurl a dinner plate at her cowering husband.

“Oh, I’m only getting warmed up,” she argued while Mac pinned her arms behind her back. “I’m not some chewing gum that you can just spit out after wringing the best out of me.” Seeing Jasmine helping Rock to his feet, she shouted at the couple. “I’m not finished, Rock.”

Mac had her pressed against the wall when Officer Fletcher jogged around the corner. Struggling against Mac, she continued to hurl threats at the couple. “By the time I’m through with you, every husband will think of how you ended up before stepping out on his wife ever again.”

“You all heard that,” Jasmine shouted to everyone within ear shot while clinging to Rock. “Riva Sinclair is threatening to kill us. If anything happens to either of us, you all heard her.” She pointed at Riva who Mac handed off to Officer Fletcher.

“It’s not a threat,” she said while eying her estranged husband and mistress. “It’s a promise.”

“Mrs. Sinclair,” Ben warned, “you’re not doing your case any good throwing out threats like that in public. As it is, because of this attack, your bail will have to be revoked. We have no choice but to lock you up again.”

“That china is special order,” Jeff said.

“Don’t worry,” Mac said while glaring at Rock and Jasmine. “They’re paying for the damage.”

“She attacked me,” Rock said.

“She wants to kill us,” Jasmine added.

In contrast to his bosses’ dismay, Samuel Nash was doubled over in laughter.

“Do you find this funny?” Mac asked him while taking Gnarly back from Ben, who accompanied Officer Fletcher and Riva Sinclair out of the hotel to attend to his duty as the prosecuting attorney.

Seemingly unembarrassed, Samuel grinned like the Cheshire Cat in
Alice in Wonderland.
Turning his back to Mac, he sauntered down the hallway.

It must be something in the water in California. These Hollywood types are just plain nuts.

Beyond Samuel’s departing figure, Mac spotted David’s deputy chief, Art Bogart, called Bogie, gesturing for his attention. In sharp contrast to his age, which was sixty-five years old, the silver-haired deputy chief, who sported a thick, bushy mustache, possessed the solid build of a wrestler, which commanded respect from every officer in the area—far and wide.

Keeping hold of Gnarly’s leash, Mac jogged to the other end of the corridor, which opened up into the reception and lounge area where a painting of Robin Spencer hung above the mantel of a stone fireplace.

Beyond Bogie, Mac saw Raul step out of the servant entrance. His hand flew up to point at their suspect. “Zernbog! Stop! Police!”

It was only when Gnarly barked and charged, yanking Mac’s arm out of its socket, that Mac remembered he still had the hundred pound German shepherd on his leash.

How Gnarly knew they were pursuing the tall dark haired man with the tattoos, Mac didn’t know. He was too busy trying to get back up onto his feet or release Gnarly from his leash in order to stop being dragged down the carpeted hallway.

Finally, Mac was able to untangle the leash from around his wrist, which was already burning like hellfire. Bogie and Gnarly, barking up a storm, disappeared around the corner at the end of the hallway.

Mac tried to climb up onto his knees, but a sharp pain in his shoulder stopped him. He knew the instant it happened what it meant; his shoulder was dislocated. “Gnarly,” he muttered to the absent German shepherd, “I’m going to kill you.”

The pain heightened Mac’s distaste for the formal affair. Grabbing the gun out of his ankle holster, he ran down the hallway in time to see Raul dart back across the hallway and down a servant stairway.

Doubling back. Very clever.
Mac heard Gnarly barking. Following Raul’s scent, the German shepherd was closing in.
Not clever enough.

Mac reached the door and held it open in time for Gnarly to charge through.

The door was to a small employee stairwell that descended to the event kitchen. This kitchen was used exclusively for affairs like weddings and benefits. The separate kitchen kept the catering staff from interfering with the daily operations in the main kitchen for the inn’s five-star restaurant, which was located on the opposite end of the hotel.

There was only one place for Raul Zernbog to go—down to the kitchen, which was filled with busy hotel employees. Gnarly was hot on his heels. There were three ways out of the kitchen—the back door to the loading dock where food supplies arrived, backup the stairwell, which Mac was blocking, and through the banquet room door into the ballroom filled with over two hundred guests.

A woman’s scream came to Mac’s ears when he stepped out of the stairwell with his gun drawn.

Coming down the stairs behind him, Bogie said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

Familiar with the kitchen’s layout, Mac instructed Bogie, “Keep him busy,” before ducking down a galley way filled with hot burners and stoves. A delicious blend of culinary scents met Mac’s nostrils to remind him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch. From his left came the smell of prime rib, while chicken cordon bleu drifted behind him. The lobster was wafting up ahead not far from the freshly baked bread, rolls, and desserts.

In the middle of it all, Bogie held up his hand in a fist to signal for Hector, who was directly behind him, to hold his fire.

Keeping his gun aimed at the floor, Mac made his way past a collection of cooks and servers frozen in fear and gazing pleadingly for him to help them. On the other side of the counter where they prepared the plates of hot food, Gnarly was barking and snarling while a man yelled above the barking and a woman sobbing—“Call off the dog! Now! Or I’m going to kill her—I swear—I’ll blow a hole right through her head!”

Finally, Mac was able to spy Raul. Gnarly had him backed into a corner. The tall drug dealer was using one of the Inn’s young servers as a human shield. With his arm grasping her across her shoulders, he held his gun pressed against her temple.

Mac knew her. Her name was Savannah Cosgrove, the registration manager’s daughter. She had dark hair and big dark eyes. A tiny little thing, she didn’t look old enough to be legal. But she was—barely.

“Gnarly! Stand down!” Bogie ordered.

Instantly, Gnarly stopped barking and backed up. He didn’t sit. Instead, he stood ready to pounce when Bogie or someone gave him the word.

Mac saw that Bogie held his hands up. “Now, Zernbog, we can talk about this. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

“No talk,” Raul said. “You let me out of here and she lives. You don’t back off and let me go—she dies.”

“Let her go,” a male voice announced from among the huddle of employees.

While Bogie tried to hush him, Brian Gallagher elbowed his way through the crowd of frightened kitchen staff. He held up both hands. “I’m a better hostage than her. You can take me. They’ll all step back. You can take me out of here and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I can give you all the money you need to get anywhere you want.”

“How’s that?”

“My father is a billionaire,” Brian said. “He’ll pay whatever you ask for to get me back.” He gestured. “I’ll go with you willingly, without any trouble, if you let Savannah go.”

Raul’s grin, filled with bright white teeth, crossed his face. For a moment, everyone held their breath, anticipating the drug dealer accepting Brian Gallagher’s offer. Then, he started to laugh. “Ah, a hero, eh?”

“I don’t want to see Savannah hurt,” Brian said.

Savannah whimpered. “Brian, don’t.”

Pushing through the sharp pain in both his shoulder and his wrist, Mac hunkered down behind the counter. He was aware of more than a dozen pair of eyes watching him while he took aim on Raul. When he pressed his finger against the trigger, a sharp pain shot in all directions from his wrist. His hand shook. With a grimace, he shifted his position and moved the gun to his left hand. He was going to have to shoot with his weaker hand.

Peering over the counter at the man holding the server close to him, Mac had a target of Raul’s side, but it was slim. While he was an excellent shot, Mac preferred it if Raul offered a clearer target.

No one was breathing.

“You like the lady, huh?” Raul asked. “You try to be a hero to save her and maybe impress her to get into her pants, huh?”

Brian’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

“I’m the one with the gun!” Raul said, “I’ll show you what we do to heroes where I come from.” Abruptly, the gun that had been pressed against Savannah’s temple rose up and across her shoulder to take aim on Brian’s chest.

“Zernbog!” Mac bellowed as sharply as he could.

As Mac expected, Raul instinctively turned in the direction of where he had heard his name called, exposing half of his body.

Mac fired off three shots.

Every hotel employee in the kitchen moved to get out of the way. Savannah dove into Brian’s arms. He plunged her to the floor and landed on top of her to shelter her from any bullets coming their way.

In the same instant, Gnarly charged. From four feet away, he became airborne. His jaws clamped down on the hand grasping the gun. The force of Gnarly’s attack spun both of them around three hundred and sixty degrees. Grasping at the bullet wounds that Mac had put into his side and chest, Raul was unprepared for the hundred pounds of fur and teeth that knocked him off his feet. He was grappling for whatever senses he had left from the bullets that punctured his lungs and heart when the two of them sailed through the swinging kitchen doors to land on the carpeting inside the ballroom.

Mac and Bogie were giving chase.

After ensuring that Brian and Savannah were okay except for being horribly frightened, Hector followed them out into the banquet hall where stunned guests gazed silently at the bleeding guest gasping his last breath with Gnarly standing over him. Behind Gnarly, Mac, Bogie, and Hector stood over him with their guns drawn.

Archie Monday broke the silence. “Mac, what are you doing?”

Her voice made Mac aware of how the scene must have appeared to the hundreds of guests who had been invited to make donations to the humane society. He looked up at a sea of expressions filled with confusion.

Holding his gun up for everyone to see, Mac looked around the banquet room and asked, “Anyone else want to leave without making a donation?”

Chapter Twelve

“Yes, you definitely have a dislocated shoulder.” Doc Washington proceeded to wrap the bandage around Mac’s shoulder and around his chest. “This is only temporary until you go to the hospital to get that shoulder and wrist x-rayed.”

Mac lifted the ice pack from his wrist that the medical examiner had applied upon discovering his injuries when she has arrived to examine the dead drug dealer. Jeff Ingles had offered his office for her to give Mac a quick examination.

“Gnarly did that?” she asked with a frown.

“He’s passionate when it comes to catching bad guys.”

She tossed his tuxedo coat at him. “I have a dead man waiting for me.”

Noting her skinny jeans and polo shirt, Mac said, “You didn’t come tonight. You and Bogie were on the invite list.”

“Bogie had to work,” the stunning woman grinned when mentioning the name of the deputy chief who was twenty-five years older than she. “It wouldn’t have been any fun without my favorite handsome man escorting me.” Her smile was demure.

Mac felt a tug of guilt. “I’m sorry, Doc. I feel like this is all my fault. Chelsea came without a date and you ended up sitting home alone.”

“Both Chelsea and I signed on for this when we fell for the men we love.” The corners of her lips curled. “We may miss out on fancy dress balls, but our men more than make up for it in other ways.”

Recalling arguments from the distant past about missing out on affairs that were only a fraction as fancy as the Diablo Ball, Mac said in a low voice, “My first wife was not quite so understanding. Maybe she was at first, but as the years wore on …”

“Your first wife had issues,” Doc said, “and none of them were your fault.” Her dark eyes met his. “You have nothing to worry about with Archie.”

“Do I look worried?”

Snapping her medical bag shut, she ordered, “Go get that wrist x-rayed and tell Gnarly to take it easy next time.”