Maggie and the Mourning Beads

by Barbara Cool Lee

  By the time she twirled around to see what was happening, Grey was lying on the floor, and Keith Norris was standing over him holding a length of 2x4 from the pile in the alley.

  "Are you okay?" he asked. "Did he hurt you?"

  Maggie shook her head. "I don't think he meant to hurt me—"

  Keith wasn't listening. He dropped the wood and was already on the phone, calling the police. "I'm at Carita Beads, Lieutenant Ibarra," he said into the phone. "I've got the boy who murdered my wife here. No. I knocked him out. We're fine."

  Maggie sank against the counter. "But I don't think—"

  He still wasn't listening. She watched Grey's still form as Keith finished the call and hung up. Then he came over to her. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, taking her by the shoulders. "Did he try to kill you?"

  He looked disapprovingly at her. "Why would you be here all alone like this? He could have killed you. You're lucky I was next door and saw him push you into the shop."

  Maggie shook her head. She turned to go to Grey, but Keith held her back. "Leave him there. The police will be here soon," he said. "They'll take care of that murderous jerk who tore my family apart."

  "But I don't think he did," she finally managed to say. "I think he was trying to tell me he didn't do it."

  She shook him off and he finally let go of her shoulders.

  "Maggie," he said patiently. "Of course he would say that." He looked down at the unconscious teen. "What were you doing here all alone, anyway?"

  "I had to pick up a delivery," she said. She felt herself shaking. Had she really almost fallen for a murderer's lies? Was that really what happened? "I guess I shouldn't have automatically believed him," she said. "But it just seemed like there was more going on." She glanced at Keith. "I think he was trying to tell me something else, not about the murder."

  He was standing there staring at her like she was nuts.

  "Sorry," she said. "I guess I'm not making sense."

  "It's all right," he said. "I'm not going to blow up at you. That was my wife's specialty."

  "Yeah," she said. "And here I just knocked over the trash can in front of your door. She would have a fit if she saw that. Sorry about that. It won't happen again."

  "Of course it won't," he said absently, staring down at the boy. "You have a lovely dog. If you try anything with me, something bad will happen to him."

  "What?!"

  He laughed and flashed her a quick, easy smile. "Nothing." His expression was relaxed, and then he turned back to stare at Grey as if he hadn't said anything odd at all.

  But she got it. Got it so suddenly she felt a rolling sickness in her gut that almost made her lose her balance. All of a sudden it all made sense, and she was horrified.

  He'd let down his guard in front of her for just a moment there. And she'd seen the real him. Just a glimpse, but it was enough.

  It was his casual denial of the importance of what he'd said that did it, even more than the strange threat that no sane person would make. The way he just laughed about it.

  Of course he wouldn't hurt Jasper. Hurting an innocent dog would never even cross a normal person's mind.

  But Keith Norris thought of it. He thought of it, and said it aloud, and then pretended he hadn't threatened to kill her dog over a garbage can. With that easy smile that showed not a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment at the horrible thing he'd said.

  And that made her sure. That easy switch between a threat of violence and an easy smile is what did it.

  It made the sickness in her gut more than just stress and being startled and dealing with the after-effects of shock.

  It made the sickness clear for what it was: an alarm bell her survival instinct was sounding. The unconscious mind setting off flares: DANGER! DANGER!

  The one thing that mattered the most to Maggie was Jasper. And Keith Norris instantly recognized it. Recognized it the way a predator did, instinctively spotting weaknesses he could use to control his prey.

  She knew it then. Knew it with a certainty that made her bite her lip to keep from screaming.

  Alexis Norris had bitten her lip just like Maggie was doing now. She had wrung her hands together and stifled screams that rose up in her throat and lashed out when the stress got to be too much to bear.

  Alexis's roses were really beautiful and his wife was really invested in them, Keith Norris had said to Brooke, and the next day Alexis poured bleach on them to destroy them.

  Alexis Norris hadn't hated the paintings she destroyed. She hadn't hated the roses that she poured bleach on and killed. She hadn't hated talking about art with Harper. And most of all, she hadn't hated the daughter she claimed meant nothing to her.

  She had cared about all those things. She had cared so much that she didn't dare let it show.

  Because if you loved something, it could be used to control you. If you loved something, it could be threatened, to punish you whenever you got out of line.

  Alexis hadn't been a monster devoid of feelings. She had been the victim of one.

  Keith patted Maggie on the shoulder and she automatically flinched away, in a chilling echo of Alexis's reaction when Maggie had tried to calm her.

  And Maggie's flinch was a mistake. Because then Norris got it, too. With that predator instinct of his, he realized she saw through his carefully crafted veneer of civilization. Saw through the nice guy image that had kept Alexis trapped in some personal hell where she stayed so tightly wound up with terror that even the most innocent gestures of friendship were met with fear and hostility.

  Maggie started to move casually toward the front door then.

  But he gripped her arm with a hand that felt like steel.

  "Oh no you don't, you dumb little b—"

  She twisted away and ran toward the alley.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She made it all the way to the alley, with Keith scrambling after her.

  The door to the art gallery next door was open, and light spilled out to show someone crouched down, picking up the spilled garbage from Maggie's can.

  The person stood up when she came rushing out.

  It was Charlie Vidal, the architect from Keith's firm in LA.

  "Charlie?" she shouted. "What are you doing here?" Then she shook her head. "Never mind. Call the police!"

  He just stood there looking at her, and she noticed his nice suit, and his dirty hands filled with garbage, and she wondered why he would be crouching on the ground in a dismal alley, picking up her trash.

  And then Norris was behind her and she backed away from him frantically.

  "He's a monster!" she yelled, knowing she was ranting incoherently to Charlie. "Call the police! He's a monster!"

  "I know," Charlie said quietly, and he dropped the handfuls of garbage he'd been holding.

  And she realized that Keith Norris had been in a hotel a hundred miles from the murder scene at the time of his wife's death.

  Charlie Vidal just stood there looking at her. Fear, shame, pity all playing across his face. Mostly shame.

  And she realized they were the same, she and him, both fools who figured out the truth about Keith Norris just a bit too late.

  Charlie came toward her, and she backed away, right into Norris. She felt his hands on her shoulders, holding her tight so she couldn't move.

  Charlie came closer, still with that deeply ashamed look on his face.

  "You got the evidence shredded?" Norris asked.

  "Yes, Sir," Charlie said quietly, still with his eyes on Maggie.

  "Evidence?" Maggie asked. "Of your crimes?"

  "Nothing much." Norris's voice sounded cool. "Just a little skimming of the architecture firm's money that Alexis thought would give her control over me."

  "Of course. She thought she'd found leverage to get away from you," Maggie said, remembering Alexis's plea to Willow: things will get better soon.

  "You're the one who slashed Harper Higgins's tires," she said suddenly.

 
His voice was matter of fact. "Of course."

  "And blamed your wife for it."

  "Obviously." She heard the contempt in his voice, like he was talking to a fool.

  "Because they were getting to be friends."

  "It was a simple lesson," he said, sounding totally uninterested in the topic. "Just a reminder."

  "A reminder that anything you care about could be used against you," Maggie said. "There was no escape for Alexis, was there? Not as long as Willow was in harm's way. And when you needed a fall guy to blame for Alexis's death, you used Willow. Because she meant nothing to you."

  "Nobody gets away," Norris said, still in that unemotional voice, and Charlie winced at the words.

  "What did he threaten?" she asked him softly.

  "My children," Charlie whispered. "My three little boys. I'm sorry."

  "Charlie?" Keith said coldly. "Bring her in."

  Charlie took her by the arm and led her back inside to the main room of the bead shop.

  Norris stood over Grey's body, calm and in control. The boy still hadn't moved, and Maggie wondered just how hard he'd hit him.

  "The police are on the way," she said desperately.

  "Then I guess there's not much time for Grey to murder you, is there?" Norris said, in that unnaturally calm voice that Maggie finally recognized as unemotional because he truly didn't care. About his daughter. About his wife. About killing people. About anything.

  "Hurry up," he said to Charlie. "Unless you want the police to find you here."

  "You can't do this," Maggie cried.

  "Grey is a killer," Norris said. "Luckily I caught him, but not before he murdered you." He could have been discussing the weather. "Hurry up. There's no time."

  Charlie took a step toward her, agony in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept repeating, raising his hands toward her. "My children. I can't…."

  Maggie backed against the counter, feeling frantically for a weapon. There was only the tray of oversized volleyball beads there, and she tipped them over.

  The large metal beads spilled from the tray, the jingle of stainless steel balls hitting the wood floor sounding like a tinkle of bells.

  Charlie took a step back, startled by the commotion, and he stepped on the steel balls.

  His feet went out from under him, and he grabbed at her for balance, but she got out of the way in time.

  He clutched at the counter, but missed, and went flying.

  Norris moved then, dashing toward her, but he, too, stepped on the balls and, with nothing to hold onto, made a perfect belly flop onto the floor.

  She backed away from them, watching her feet to make sure she didn't get tripped up by the rolling beads.

  She felt Norris's hand on her ankle and pulled it away before he could get a grip. Then she stepped on his wrist as hard as she could.

  He gave a satisfying yelp of pain, and she ran to the front door and out into the night.

  She heard crashing and the thud of bodies hitting the floor and a lot of cursing and yelling, but she didn't look back. She slammed the door open and ran out onto Main Street.

  She sprinted across toward the center divider of the boulevard, and then hid behind the trunk of one of the big palm trees. She tried to pull out her phone to call for help, but she couldn't get her fingers to work.

  Then she saw Norris coming out the door, a bit worse for wear.

  She ducked behind the tree trunk as he scanned the street for his prey.

  She peeked back around to see if he'd spotted her. She saw him smooth down his hair, straighten his eyeglasses, and then lift his arm in a friendly wave in her direction.

  She ducked back behind the trunk, but then saw who he was waving at.

  Lieutenant Ibarra was jaywalking across the boulevard.

  He waved at Norris, but then spotted Maggie and came over to her.

  When he got to her, she collapsed against him, crying and shaking, and pointing back toward the shop.

  "Are you hurt? he said quickly, crouching in front of her. "Did Grey hurt you?"

  She shook her head. "Keith… Keith," she gasped out.

  "I know," he said. "You're lucky he was able to stop Grey." He patted her gently and then started to stand up.

  But she grabbed at his leg.

  "Maggie," he said. "Stay here. I'll be right back after I put the little creep in handcuffs."

  "No," she gasped. "It's not Grey. It's Keith Norris. He planned it. He's framing the kids. Grey didn't do it."

  He narrowed his eyes at her. "Framing his own daughter, Maggie…?" he said doubtfully.

  "Yes," she said, realizing how crazy it sounded. "He's a sociopath. Watch him. Watch his eyes. He threatened Jasper."

  Ibarra shook his head. "Keith Norris has got an airtight alibi."

  She dug her fingers into his jeans. "It's Norris. Trust me, Will. Please. He blackmailed Charlie Vidal to make him do it. It's Keith Norris and Charlie Vidal. They were working together. He's going to say it's Grey. He hit the boy. Grey was trying to talk to me. He was just sitting there when he was knocked out. And now he's hurt, bad."

  He leaned down and patted her hand, which was still clinging to his leg. "Okay, Maggie."

  "Please, Will. Please believe me."

  He gave her a funny look. "Of course I believe you, Maggie. Now let go of my leg."

  She let go, and lay back against the trunk of the palm tree, feeling its rings digging into her back through her T-shirt.

  Soon more police cars arrived, and they were swarming her little bead shop with its funky barber pole out front and its purple door standing wide open.

  After they went in, someone flipped on the lights in the shop, and the barber pole began to spin.

  It kept spinning when the paramedics brought out Grey on a stretcher and loaded him up to go to the hospital.

  It kept spinning when the police brought out Charlie Vidal and Keith Norris in handcuffs and loaded them into separate police cars.

  It kept spinning until Ibarra finally came back and helped her to her feet and drove her home in his police department SUV.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maggie knocked on the open door of the hospital room.

  A man stood up from a chair next to the bed and came over to the doorway. "Hello," he said, speaking softly to not wake Grey, who was fast asleep.

  The man was in his forties, clean-shaven and short-haired, dressed in a polo shirt, Dockers, and suede loafers. Despite that, he looked a lot like Grey. He held out his hand and she shook it. "I'm George Yardley. You must be Junior's friend Maggie."

  She nodded. "Maggie McJasper. Did you say, Junior? So Grey is—"

  "—George Yardley, Junior," he finished. "He never liked that, though. He likes to be called Grey."

  "You're the fisherman," she said with a smile.

  He nodded. "I saw the bracelet you helped him make. He said the fish was for me. He was mourning me. Like I was dead to him. He thought I hated him…." His voice caught in his throat there, and she reached out and patted his arm.

  "He told you about the bracelet," she said. "So that means he's regained consciousness. That's wonderful."

  He nodded, sniffing back the tears. "He has a serious concussion. But he'll be okay. Thank you."

  "Me?"

  "For finding out the truth. For not believing he was a murderer."

  She smiled. "I admit I had my moments of doubt. He can be a bit…."

  "Stubborn?"

  "I was going to say, hard to understand at times."

  He smiled wanly. "I never understood him. I was trying to make him into a mini-me. I was too busy looking at the clothes, the hair, the attitude to see who he was. I got stubborn and told him it was my way or the highway. He chose the highway. Then when I heard he was in trouble, I realized it doesn't matter at all what color his hair is. As long as he's happy. As long as he's safe."

  "Did you tell him that?"

  He nodded. "I did. And I think he heard."

 
; "I'm so glad for you," she said softly. "So glad for you both."

  She met Willow coming into the hospital as she was leaving. They sat on a bench by the entrance and talked.

  The girl was lighter in every way, including her hair, which she'd died a pale pink that went with the pink rose poet's blouse she was wearing. "Got it in a thrift shop," she said when Maggie complimented it. "Looks so retro." Then she paused. "Reminds me of my mother's roses."

  "I'm so sorry," Maggie said. "How are you holding up?"

  She shrugged. "Okay, I guess." But she brightened up and said, "did you know Grey's father came?"

  Maggie nodded. "I met him. He isn't the monster I thought he was."

  "And my father is the monster no one thought he was." Then she shook it off. "I'm sorry I wouldn't tell you the truth when you came to see me in jail."

  "About that," Maggie said. "What was your alibi? Grey said you were covering for him, but it must not have had anything to do with the murder."

  She smiled, all at once looking so much older than her fifteen years. "I was such a child. Grey and I thought we were Romeo and Juliet. We thought we were so romantic and rebellious." She looked up at the sky. "We thought we could get married and be together. So we drove for hours until we came to this little town and went to the clerk's office to ask how you can get a marriage license. But the clerk took one look at us and said Grey was a criminal and had no right to marry me." She turned to Maggie. "He's three years older than me, you see."

  "Of course," Maggie said, remembering Ibarra telling her that Willow would serve time as a juvenile, but Grey was technically an adult.

  "Yeah. The clerk got all mean and yelled at us and said it was a felony. If some eighteen-year-old guy with purple hair tried to marry her fifteen-year-old daughter he'd go to prison for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. That's what she said. Then she picked up the phone and said she was calling the cops." She sighed. "So we ran, thinking the cops were going to arrest us if they caught us. Grey drove me back here and dropped me off and then ran and hid so no one could throw him in prison."

  Maggie laughed out loud. "But wouldn't you have to actually commit the crime before you were arrested? Not just ask how marriage licenses work?"