"Mom!" Shane said. "What are you doing here?"
Olivia gave him a big hug that seemed to surprise him. All the while she was hugging him, she was staring at Reese with an eerie smile on her face.
Shane pulled away. He went to sit at one of the café's rickety tables and got out his phone to play a game.
That left no one standing between Reese and Olivia, and Maggie didn't like the look of that.
But Olivia just gave Reese another of those smirks of hers and left, the click of her stiletto heels on the old cement floor sharp as a snare drum.
Reese sank onto a stool at the counter, defeated. "She's up to something," he whispered to Maggie. "I don't trust her."
"Of course she's up to something," Maggie agreed. "She acts like the villain in a B-movie. But what could it be?"
Reese called up something on his phone and then handed it to her.
It was a page from a social media account, and at first glance Maggie assumed it was one of the old images of Reese from his youth: an androgynously beautiful boy without his shirt on, the kind of fodder for teen girls and weirdos that made her, now that she was an adult, feel a bit cringy.
"Wait a minute," she whispered back to him. "That's Shane."
"Yup. She's been seeding the tabloids with these kind of images for a while now, trying to get him noticed."
"Ugh."
"It's more than ugh, Maggie. It's dangerous." He was still whispering, but he glanced behind him to where Shane sat, oblivious to what was going on.
Maggie knew what he meant. Reese was alone. Lonely, even. He'd lost his best friend when he drove his car into a tree during a drug-fueled binge. He'd attempted suicide the moment he'd realized what he'd done, and then, after losing his friends, his career, his money, and custody of his son, he'd fought his way back to sobriety, success, and some measure of normalcy. He didn't want Shane to follow in his footsteps.
"Is it too much to ask that Shane have a chance at a normal life?" he whispered. "Is that really such a bad idea?"
"Nope. Not a bad idea at all," she agreed.
Nora and Quinn walked in and he said "Nora!" in such a loud voice that the whole room turned to stare. He grabbed his sunglasses and put them on, shutting out the onlookers.
Nora came over, unruffled as always. "Hi, Stanley. Is there a problem?"
He held up the phone, and Nora glanced at it without surprise.
"You knew?" he said with poorly concealed fury.
"Of course I knew. You think my clients do anything I'm not aware of?" Nora had represented Olivia almost as long as she had Reese, a situation that somehow she juggled without angering either of them. Usually.
"What's the problem?" she asked mildly. "So she took a few pictures."
He took off the sunglasses, the better to show his glare. "Don't play naïve with me, Nora. You know what happened when you first took pictures of me—and social media didn't even exist then."
Nora didn't blink. "She has primary custody, Reese. And there's not much you can do. When he's with you, you can play small-town normal life. With her, it's going to be Hollywood all the way."
"Over my dead body," he said, then started when he realized Shane had taken out his earbuds and was staring at him.
The boy turned his back and ignored them after that, and Reese sat there at the counter while Maggie tried to think of something to say.
Lieutenant Ibarra came in for some cinnamon rolls to go around 7:00 PM.
He spotted Maggie at the counter and came over to say hello. He gave Reese a nod and Maggie a smile and then grabbed the box of rolls Brooke handed to him.
"Finally getting off work?" she asked.
"Yup." He started to go. But then he stopped and leaned over to Maggie. "I'd better tell you: it'll be on the late news," he said softly. "Chief Randall did one of his press conferences to announce the kids are being charged with first degree murder."
Maggie shook her head. "Oh, no. Have they found Grey yet?"
He shook his head. "If you're into prayer, Maggie, you'll send one up that the boy turns himself in before he gets himself shot or something."
She put her head in her hands, and Ibarra patted her gently on the back.
"I'm sorry I won the bet, Maggie. I really am. I didn't want it to be this way."
She looked up at him and nodded, tears in her eyes. "I know. I've got to let it go. There's nothing more I can do."
"Me, too." He smiled wanly at her. "I'm gonna go home and pig out on cinnamon rolls and see if I can watch the baseball game I've got recorded before someone tells me the score and ruins it for me."
"Good luck," she said to him, trying to not hate him for doing his job.
She watched him go.
Chapter Nineteen
It was after nine that evening. They were still hanging out at O'Riley's.
The place was almost empty, and Reese was moping around acting glum, his gloomy mood matched by Shane's.
The boy had accepted a hot mocha with whipped cream from Brooke, but that was the limit of his communication with any of them.
They all sat around in the half-empty café, drinking coffee and not talking.
Maggie's phone beeped. It was a text from the delivery company notifying her that a package had arrived. "Finally," she muttered. If that was the missing volleyball beads she might be able to hold the class next weekend as planned. At least that was one problem solved.
"Good news, Shane," she said to the boy. "There'll be cute beach volleyball players around my shop next week. You're welcome to sit in on the class."
Shane shrugged, her attempt at humor falling flat.
She sat down at one of the rickety tables. Reese came over and sat next to her. "I don't know what to do," he said softly, his eyes on the boy.
Maggie put her phone away. "Give him time. You can't expect him to warm up to you immediately."
"Not immediately," Reese said, running his fingers through his hair. "But I feel like we're as far apart as we've ever been."
Maggie watched Shane drum his fingers on the counter. "He's heard nothing but lies about you for years. You have to give him time to figure out the truth."
Reese sighed. "He has to accept that his mother's been lying to him. That's got to be hard. No matter what I do, he's going to end up hating one of us."
"Not necessarily. He's a bright kid. I'm sure he already has a pretty good idea what his mother's like. He's smart enough to understand the situation."
She bumped Reese with her shoulder. "You've been so fixated on him as 'your son' you're forgetting he's a person in his own right. Don't underestimate him."
They watched Shane. He fidgeted a while, looking around the coffee house. Then he noticed the old upright piano on the far wall. He went over to it and sat down on the piano bench. He picked out a few notes.
Maggie noticed the notes weren't random, but melodic. She raised an eyebrow at Reese.
"Yeah," Reese said. "He used to sit on my lap while I played, back when he was a toddler." He watched him with longing in his eyes. "He's been taking music lessons since he was little."
"Like his father did," Maggie said softly. "Go on."
Reese hesitated, but she put her hand on his back and gave a gentle push.
He stood up, then went over and sat on the bench next to Shane.
The boy didn't look at his dad. He just kept noodling on the piano.
Reese began to pick out harmonic notes, echoing his son's playing.
After a bit of that, Shane played a chord.
Reese smiled, and played the next part of the sequence.
They played back and forth like that for a bit, not saying a word.
After they finished one song that way, Reese leaned in and whispered something.
Shane gave a slight nod.
Reese counted down, and they both began to play at once. The opening chords of Elton John's Rocket Man sent a thrill down Maggie's spine.
Brooke quietly went over to the café's
door and flipped the Open sign to Closed. She locked the door, then came back to sit at one of the counter stools.
There were only about half a dozen regulars in O'Riley's. Brooke saw one of them lift a cell phone up to record, and she went over and stood in front of the man.
He lifted his head when she blocked his view, then saw the expression on her face. "Don't do that to them," she whispered. "Enjoy the moment."
He switched off the phone and put his head down, ashamed. Brooke patted the man on the shoulder, then went back to the counter.
Shane began to sing, and his pure tenor made Maggie gasp. Reese joined in, singing harmony in his inimitable baritone, and the entire room went silent.
Shane tilted his head to the side and smiled at the beauty they were creating, and there was an audible sigh from the people in the room.
The song only last five minutes. When it was over, the room was absolutely still. Nobody clapped. Just silence. Waiting.
Reese watched Shane, a contented smile on his face.
Shane began to play Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah, and Reese joined him, this time singing lead. Shane effortlessly took the harmony.
At one point as Reese sang he glanced over at Maggie, and she could see the hurt in his eyes at all the wasted years.
She smiled at him reassuringly, and he turned back to his son.
They played for an hour. In that time, no one ordered coffee, or ate anything, or went to the restroom. They all just sat, mesmerized.
Through it all, the two beautiful blond men saw nothing but each other. They focused on the music, forging some sort of bond through the chords and lyrics they shared.
The people in the room seemed to hold their breath as they watched, and listened, and felt all the pain and regret and hope roll over them in waves.
Then the last note echoed away into silence.
Finally, it was over. Reese stood up and stretched his arms over his head.
That broke the spell. People gathered their belongings, stood up, and began to talk. But not about what they'd seen.
Maggie listened. The woman at the closest table said, "the fog is supposed to come in before morning."
A man at another table said, "I need to return my boss's call about the sales figures."
An older lady said, "my cat will be so mad I forgot her evening snack. I'd better get home before she tears up the sofa."
No one spoke about Reese and Shane. It was as if they'd been caught in a magic spell, and now that it was done, they didn't dare speak of it for fear of losing the memory.
Shane sat and smiled. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly, and Maggie cried.
She turned away and wiped her face quickly so they wouldn't see.
"It's getting late," she said. "I'd better go check on Jasper."
"Yeah," Reese said. He turned to his son. "Let's go home."
Chapter Twenty
The three of them were the last customers to leave the coffee house. Brooke locked the door again behind them, then Maggie saw her head to the kitchen to clean up.
The boulevard where they stood was empty. The raggedy palm trees marched down the center divider, towering up above the street lights.
Across the street, the barber pole in front of the bead shop loomed, which reminded her.
"Oh," she said. "I forgot about the text."
"What text?" Reese asked.
"The volleyballs arrived. I have to bring in the box."
"Huh?"
She shook her head. "Some beads. Never mind. I got a text that a delivery came and I have to go bring it in. I don't want it to sit out in the alley overnight."
"You want us to go with you?" Reese asked. Shane had already started home, and was halfway down the block.
"Nah. I'll just bring the box in and then walk home. I'll be just a few minutes."
"Okay." He ran to catch up to his son.
Maggie crossed the street and went into her shop.
She didn't bother to turn on the main lights, but just switched on the little lamp on the counter by the cash register so she could see her way past the displays and out the back of the store.
Sure enough, there was the delivery. She picked up the small box and turned to go back inside.
Something jingled in the alley, like the tags on a dog's collar.
"Hello?" she called out, wondering what had made the sound.
Grey Yardley stepped out of the shadows.
Maggie took a step back. She backed into the trash can and it fell over, spilling the garbage all over the spot in front of the art gallery's doorway.
She stood there, the little delivery box clutched against her chest.
The teen put up a hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I just didn't want anyone to see me."
Yeah. Because the police were after him for brutally murdering his girlfriend's mother. Maggie took one step back, toward the doorway of her shop.
Grey took one step forward.
She took another one backward, and Grey followed. It was like some macabre, slow-motion dance where she tried in vain to get away from the boy who the police were certain had committed a horrible murder.
His expression was pained, distraught at the obvious fear she must be showing. "I need to talk to you, Ms. McJasper," he said plaintively. "Wait a minute."
Maggie swallowed hard. It was one thing to argue that, theoretically, the ill-mannered teens who joked about Alexis Norris's death might not be guilty. It was quite something different to be standing alone in a dark alley and facing a young man who was much taller and stronger than her.
"Why are you here?" she asked, mad at herself to hear the breathy, frightened sound of her own voice.
"I don't know where to go. I saw the news and Willow's in jail. And she isn't saying anything. I think she's protecting me."
"Protecting you?" Again, that mouselike squeak in her voice gave her away, but Grey didn't seem to notice. He was obsessing over some concern of his own, and that didn't ease her mind.
"I can't figure out why they arrested her. I'm the one who's in trouble."
Oh, that's terrific. He did it.
He took another step toward her and she echoed his movement with another backward step, right into the entrance to her shop.
But her foot caught on the door sill and she lost her balance.
Grey ran forward and caught her before she fell.
She felt his strong grip on her arms as he pulled her back up to her feet.
"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded, trying not to struggle in his arms.
"You can't figure out why they arrested Willow?" she asked, but it came out so softly he didn't seem to hear.
He let go of her when it was clear she wasn't going to fall. She leaned over to pick up the delivery box, but he got it first and handed it to her.
She cleared her throat and tried again. "Willow must love you a lot to take the fall for you."
"The fall?" he asked dumbly. "She's only fifteen. Nothing's going to happen to her."
"What are you talking about? She's already been charged."
"With murder," he said sarcastically, with that teenage annoyance that was oddly comforting in its normalcy. "That's ridiculous." Then he got still, even his jangly bracelets silent. "Wait a minute—you don't believe she killed her mother, do you?"
She looked at him, trying to make sense of the conversation. "No," she said slowly. "I never did think she did it. But what are you talking about?"
"That's why I came to you," he said. He noticed she was shivering. "Shouldn't we go inside? You're freezing, Ms. McJasper."
Maggie felt herself smile. "Yes. Let's go inside and you can explain."
She turned around and went into the shop then, and he followed.
Once inside, she could see him a bit better in the glow of the small lamp. He looked more sheepish than anything, and that reassured her a bit, almost as much as his attempt to help her when she tripped had.
She set the de
livery box on the counter. "Now give it to me straight, Grey. What is Willow covering up for you? What could be worse than murder?"
He rubbed his face with one hand, the jingle of his beaded bracelet again drawing her attention to it. It was the piece he had made in the mourning beads class. The little brass fish hung from the black chain, and she watched it swing in the lamplight. "Willow's in jail," he finally answered. "They said it on the news. Why did they arrest her? I figured they'd be after me, but not her. I mean, they really can't believe she did anything wrong, right?"
Maggie felt her heart begin to slow down from its pounding. "The police took her in for questioning," she said carefully. "She has no alibi. And then when you ran away, they figured that was a sign of guilt."
He looked stunned at that. "No alibi? But it said on the news Ms. Norris died at two in the afternoon."
"Yes, she did. So?"
"So why do they think—" he stopped, and something flashed across his face. A sudden understanding. "That dumb kid," he muttered. "That dumb kid."
Maggie uncrossed her arms. "Sit down, Grey," she said, motioning to the chairs at the project table. "Tell me what's going on."
He pulled out a chair and sat. "She's trying to protect me," he explained. Then he looked up at Maggie with a sudden spark of enthusiasm. "You can fix it. You can go to her—tell her she doesn't need to protect me. I'll take my lumps."
"What lumps? What did you do, Grey?"
"Not kill anyone!" he said at her expression. "Nothing like that. It's so simple, really. We did something stupid, and Willow just got scared, thinking I'd be in trouble. But I'm not in trouble. Not big trouble anyway."
"You're not making sense, kid. What are you talking about? Murder is big trouble. There's nothing bigger than that."
She noticed his hands were shaking. "Listen," she said. "Let me get you a bottle of water and you can tell me all about it."
She turned to go behind the counter but Grey stood up quickly. "No! There's no time. We have to go—"
There was a loud crack, and Maggie jumped.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maggie and the Mourning Beads Page 11
