I’m Mac Faraday, homicide detective. At least, I used to be a homicide detective, until the day that my wife walked out on me for this slimy prosecutor and him and all his buddies, including the divorce lawyer whose son was trying to get into Stephen Maguire’s old fraternity wiped me out in our divorce.
But, hey, that’s okay.
How is that okay?
Well, you see, the most interesting thing happened after the judge pounded that gavel to end our twenty year marriage. On my way out of the courtroom, there was this little guy in this real expensive suit that wanted to talk to me. I thought, “Not another one of Maguire’s friends.” So I took off out the back door of the courthouse and this guy chased me for three city blocks while yelling for me to stop the whole way. Finally, I felt sorry for him. So I stopped. Turns out, he was Ed Willingham, senior partner of Willingham and Associates, only like the biggest law firm on the East Coast, and he was informing me that I had just inherited $270 million bucks from my birth mother, who—get this—turns out to have been Robin Spencer one of the most famous mystery writers on the planet!
I guess my ex-wife should have stayed married to me just a little while longer.
Where do you live?
Ah, yes, where do I live? I used to live in a nice middle class home in the suburbs of Washington, DC. After I came home one day to find my stuff out in the lawn, I moved into a two-bedroom apartment. Now, I live in Spencer Manor, only the most expensive piece of real estate in Deep Creek Lake, Maryland. My birth mother, Robin Spencer, was born and raised here. The manor is a stone and cedar mansion at the end of Spencer Point. It is also surrounded by every type of flower garden you can imagine. When Robin—I still can’t get myself to call her Mom—wasn’t writing mysteries, or solving them herself, she was gardening. Spencer Manor is the main attraction for the home and garden tour. But no one told me that. The other day, I got up to let Gnarly out, and stepped out to drink my coffee and enjoy the view off the back deck, and there was a bunch of old ladies out there snapping pictures of the gladiolas. They also got pictures of me in my boxers. Archie had a good laugh over that.
Didn’t I tell you about Archie? She came with the house. The day I met Archie, I knew my luck was changing. The only thing that came with my last house was a five-year old washer and dryer that conked out a year later. Archie was Robin’s assistant and editor. She lives in the stone cottage at the end of the path through the rose garden. Robin specified that she can live there rent free as long as she wants. That’s perfectly fine with me.
Are you the hero of your own story?
I don’t like to think of myself as a hero. I’m simply a cop doing my job—or rather, I used to be a cop doing my job until all this happened. Now, I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. For the first time, I can do whatever I want. There are no restrictions. But I don’t like to play golf. That’s boring. I’m not good at tennis. I’ve found that I’m pretty good at playing the stock market, even in these hard times. But then, after making several tens of thousands of dollars playing around online, even that gets old after a while. So, I go looking to do what I’ve always done best—solving murder cases. So far, I haven’t had to look very far.
The first week after I moved in, I was interviewing housekeepers and Gnarly, my late mother’s dog, which was also a part of my inheritance, came home with a decomposed human head with a bullet hole through it. It ended up belonging to the guy accused of killing my next door neighbor during a blizzard. (It’s Murder, My Son)
Then, just as things were settling down, I thought, and things were about to happen with Archie, my ex-wife Christine shows up wanting me back. Of course, she was drunk and distraught about Maguire dumping her. So I took her up to the Spencer Inn. Did I mention that I also inherited a five star resort at the top of Spencer Mountain? My birth family had owned it for generations. So, I check Christine into my private penthouse suite, which I didn’t know I had a private penthouse suite until they asked me if I wanted to check her into it. Nobody tells me these things. Would you know it? The next morning, Christine is dead and so is that slimeball Maguire in my suite. Not only that, but Maguire has a bunch of my old case files from when I was a detective. With everyone thinking I did it, I did the only thing I could do. Started poking into things to find out what happened. (Old Loves Die Hard)
If that makes me a hero, I guess I am one.
How do you see yourself?
I see myself as just a regular guy, who lives at a glorious estate in paradise with a beautiful woman who can cook up a storm and look good while doing it. Like every regular guy, I also have a kleptomaniac German shepherd that got kicked out of the United States Army for some secret reason that they refuse to talk about. Oh, and just the guy next door, I also have a knack for solving murders.
How do your friends see you?
A compassionate generous guy, who will do anything for his friends and family.
How do your enemies see you?
A pain in the butt who doesn’t know when to stop asking questions.
Do you have a hero?
When I was growing up, it was Mickey Forsythe. I know, Mickey Forsythe is a fictional character. It was such a kick to find out that Robin Spencer, my birth mother, created him. First, he was her hero in a series of books, and then, when I was a kid, they made a bunch of movies with him. That was my first introduction to him. I remember sitting him the movie theatre speeding down the highway in his hot car and dodging bullets and thinking, “That’s what I want to do.”
Mickey Forsythe was a cop that inherited a fortune. The first thing he does when he gets his fortune is to solve his ex-partner’s murder, with the help of Diablo, his ex-partner’s police dog. So then, they ride off together in his hot car helping the little guy with their guns a-blazing—well, Diablo didn’t have a gun.
I remember sitting him the movie theatre speeding down the highway in his hot car and dodging bullets and thinking, “That’s what I want to do.”
Now, reporters keep pointing out that I’m an ex-cop that had inherited a fortune and I have a German shepherd who has done some pretty amazing things—but, believe me, I’m nothing like Mickey Forsythe.
Mickey Forsythe is a hero. I’m not.
Do you have a goal?
To keep the media from finding out about Gnarly’s thievery. He was home with me when the Schweitzer’s steaks disappeared off their grill last week.
What are your achievements?
I beat Ben Fleming, the county prosecuting attorney, at tennis last week—three straight matches!
Do you keep your achievements to yourself?
No, I told anyone and everyone about it. I also posted it on Facebook.
What makes you happy?
When the good guys win and the bad guys lose.
What makes you angry?
Arrogance. When I was a cop, I’ve run into more than my share of the rich and powerful who think that they are above the law. More than once, they were. They’d look down their nose at me and my team and laugh after literally getting away with murder. Now that I’m here at the Spencer Manor, I’ve made acquaintance with some who think that way, and think that I should be one of them. I guess you can say that’s my nightmare. I refuse to be one of them.
What, if anything, haunts you?
Cold cases. I have a few cases that went cold when I was a detective. I still have copies of files. Sometimes I’ll wake up and see the face of a victim. I won’t be able to get him or her, or their loved ones, out of my mind. So I’ll get up and open up a file and go over the evidence once again, hoping that maybe this time, I’ll get lucky and see what I didn’t see before to get me closer to solving the case. I consider that a better use of my time than playing the market.
What is your favorite item of clothing? Why?
My old tattered shoes. They’re leather and their worn out and they have holes in the bottom; but they’re comfortable. My favorite clothes are those that are broken in. Luckily, the manager at the Spencer Inn, is smart enough to not point out that I fail to dress as well as most of the guests at my hotel. But, hey, I should be allowed to be comfortable at my own Inn.
What are the last three books you read?
Death Becomes Her; Murder Takes Flight; and Cocktails at Six, Murder at Eight, all by Robin Spencer. I’ve been making my way chronologically through her eighty-something books. I’m only a quarter of the way through so far.
Links: Lauren Carr
Author of the Mac Faraday Mysteries
To buy It’s Murder My Son on amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Its-Murder-Son-Faraday-Mystery/dp/1452819432/ref=pd_sim_sbs_b_1
To buy Old Loves Die Hard on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Old-Loves-Die-Hard-Faraday/dp/1460935136/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1304166888&sr=1-4