Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) Read Online Free PDF Page B

protection.”
    After identifying himself as the county prosecutor, Ben asked, “Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”
    After she confessed to no permit, Mac asked, “What’s your name?” She didn’t need to answer him. He was already reading the name on the California driver’s license from her wallet, which he had found in her purse. It read Riva Sinclair. The age was listed as twenty-nine years of age. Mac guessed that she was lying.
    “Riva Sinclair,” she answered. “My husband, Rock Sinclair, is staying with his mistress in one of your suites.”
    “You just said you needed this for protection. Who from? Your runaway husband or the woman he ran away with?” Mac studied the gun in his palm. It was a thirty-two caliber semi-automatic. Nothing fancy, but lethal all the same.
    “Mr. Faraday?”
    Mac turned around at the sound of his name. Startled, Jeff Ingles threw his arms up as if he had encountered a burglar when his eyes fell on the gun in Mac’s grasp. Brian Gallagher let out a gasp and stepped back and sideways to hide behind his boss.
    “Any problems?” Jeff stuttered out.
    “That still has yet to be determined,” Mac replied.
    Ben asked the guest. “How did you get on the plane with that thing?”
    “Do I look stupid to you?” she asked.
    “Well, you did just admit that you followed your estranged husband and his mistress here,” Mac said, “and you do have a gun hidden in your purse.”
    “Mac,” Jeff whispered, “it is not good customer service to imply that our guests are stupid.”
    “It’s not politically correct,” Ben added.
    “She’s the one who brought a gun into my hotel,” Mac said. “Why are you making me out to be the bad guy?”
    Jeff said, “Because she’s a paying customer and—”
    “I only sign your paycheck,” Mac said.
    “Actually,” Jeff said, “it’s direct deposit.”
    “What?” Mac countered.
    “I’m paid with direct deposit,” Jeff explained. “You don’t sign anything.”
    “Can I have my gun back?” Riva Sinclair interrupted to ask.
    “No!” Mac and Ben answered in unison.
    “Where did you get this?” Mac asked her.
    “None of your business,” she challenged him.
    “Excuse me,” Mac replied, “but if the purpose of this gun is to commit murder in my inn, then that makes it my business.” He turned to Jeff. “Lock this in the inn’s safe until we get this matter straightened out.” Carefully, he extracted the clip and placed both the hand gun and clip into the manager’s outstretched palm.
    “You have no right!” she exclaimed.
    Jeff assured her, “We will give you a receipt, ma’am.”
    Ben countered, “Excuse me, Mrs. Sinclair, but he has every right. The gun is not registered and the Inn has rules about firearms. I am afraid we will need to turn this weapon over to the police who will probably be pressing charges against you for carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. It’s a state law.”
    With a force grin, Jeff said, “But, ma’am, we’ll be glad to serve you a drink on the house in the lounge to make up for any inconvenience while you’re waiting for the police to come arrest you.”
    Uttering a growl from her throat that sounded as threatening as Gnarly’s, she stomped off in the direction of the hotel lounge.
    “We’re giving her a drink on the house to make up for the inconvenience of being arrested?” Mac muttered at Jeff.
    “Do you think the Spencer Inn’s five-star rating just happens?” With that, Jeff spun on his heels to lead Brian back into the hotel’s office wing.
    Exonerated for his thievery, Gnarly pressed his nose against Mac’s leg. With a pat on his head, Mac declared, “Good dog.”

Chapter Three
    “As police chief of this burg, what do you intend to do about this?”
    Police Chief David O’Callaghan and his officers were paid well to protect Spencer’s citizens and their high-priced properties from anyone wanting to do harm to either. The down-side of his