Maggie and the Hidden Homicide

by Barbara Cool Lee

Jasper pulled toward a particularly stinky piece of sea kelp, and Maggie unhooked the leash, letting him explore a bit. "Stay close," she told him, and he responded with a happy bark that pierced through the soft hush of the waves to echo against the shoreline cliffs.

  And what about Jasper? Even if she could find a parking place for her house, finding one that allowed eighty-pound dogs added another layer of complication. There were rules and regulations and complaining neighbors and all the complexities of being a renter in a world of homeowners.

  She watched Jasper sniff and explore and ramble, his tail wagging constantly. Every minute or so, he'd turn back to give her a big, open-mouthed grin, and she'd find herself smiling back.

  She had to stop worrying. It would all work out. Somehow. And in the meantime, she was missing the enjoyment of living in this gloriously beautiful place.

  So the next time Jasper turned his head and smiled at her, she smiled back and said, "wanna race, boy?" and took off down the beach at a run.

  Jasper barked and romped beside her, easily catching up and then circling around and around as she ran along the hard-packed sand. He feinted and play-bowed, having a grand time, and she laughed and felt some of his happiness rub off on her as he dashed in and out of sight in the thickening fog.

  The dog stopped to sniff something, and she used the excuse to stop, too, and bent down to rest her hands on her knees and catch her breath.

  Then Jasper took off down the beach, jetting past her and disappearing into the mist.

  He didn't come back, and she could hear his bark sounding farther and farther away.

  "No, Jasper! Come back!" she shouted, taking off at a dead run after him.

  She tried to call out to him again, but it was hard to yell when she was running as hard as she could. So she listened for his bark and kept heading toward it.

  Then she heard the bark getting louder again. He sounded happy, and that calmed her a bit. She heard running footfalls coming toward her and she stopped. It was the sound of a person jogging, the footsteps steady and even, unruffled. So she waited for whoever it was to get to her.

  Then a figure came out of the fog.

  It was a man, well over six feet tall, dressed only in shorts and running shoes, and even in the gray fog he seemed to have a golden glow about him, with blond hair glistening with mist, sun-bronzed skin on his bare chest and long legs, and well-defined muscles that made her unconsciously take in a breath at the sheer beauty of him.

  He looked like a rock star at the moment, with his hair long and shaggy, a month's growth of beard shadowing his perfect features, and his figure lean and rock-hard.

  That rock star look was appropriate, because that was exactly what Reese Stevens had been, long ago. A stunningly handsome lead singer in a chart-topping band, a sex symbol with fans at his feet, and beautiful women partying with him as he wasted his life away in a heroin-fueled fog.

  She shook her head to clear it. "Reese! You're back?"

  He grinned.

  That had been long ago, the rock stardom. It had ended in a life-altering car crash that had sent him to rehab a dozen years ago. He'd come back and rebuilt his life as a movie actor, reaching the same level of stardom as an actor that he'd had before as a musician.

  Reese Stevens had twice achieved the kind of fame people fought all their lives to find, and the kind of money most people only dreamed of. His life was charmed. Perfect. Lucky.

  Until a month ago, when he'd woken up after a near-deadly opioid overdose that caused a terrifying drug relapse.

  He came up to her and enveloped her in a big hug. She could feel his heart's steady pulse against her ear as she rested her head against his chest.

  He bent his head down and kissed her. Not a peck on the cheek as had been the usual limit of their contact. But a full-on, open-mouthed, straight-out-of-a-chick-flick kiss that truly swept her off her feet and left her leaning against him for balance.

  When she got her breath back she pulled away from him. "Um," she said eloquently, and he laughed.

  "Nice to see you, too," he said wryly. "I missed you, Magdalena."

  "Apparently," she said, straightening up and trying to find some semblance of her dignity. "I take it you had no female companionship in the rehab clinic."

  He laughed. "On the contrary. There was a particularly attractive doctor I spent a lot of time with."

  "Don't tell me you seduced your doctor," Maggie replied.

  "She was seventy-three years old and called me smart aleck all the time," he added. "As in, get your act together, smart aleck, unless you want to end up a corpse."

  Maggie reattached Jasper's leash the next time he bumped her, and they began walking back toward the house. "Sounds like good advice."

  Reese reached for her hand as they walked, but Jasper conveniently pulled on the leash at that moment and she focused on holding him in check. It was for the best, because Reese's new affection was a bit disconcerting. They were platonic friends. True friends. And she wasn't sure she was comfortable being anything more, despite the way her hormones went crazy every time she looked at him. She particularly didn't want to be a crutch for him as he worked through this new, hopefully improved sobriety he was trying to forge.

  They walked through the swirling fog for a bit, and Maggie focused on holding onto the dog and ignoring the sheen of moisture on the six-pack abs of the shirtless man next to her.

  "When I left for rehab, I wasn't sure where we stood," Reese said, breaking the silence.

  "Where we stood?" Maggie replied, stalling for time.

  He stopped walking. "Us."

  She turned to him, and told Jasper to sit. "Well…," she said slowly, trying to articulate her feelings. "I didn't think we were quite at the stage of our relationship where we check each other's tonsils every time we meet, I can tell you that."

  He laughed. "I have missed your honesty, Maggie." Then he frowned. "But I'm sorry if I got out of line."

  She smiled. "Yeah. Well, I can't say I exactly minded it. But I think we should take things a bit more slowly."

  They reached the beach stairs that led up to Casablanca.

  "So I guess that means you don't want to have dinner with me tonight," he said wistfully.

  "On the contrary," she said. "I'm going to go look at some beadwork this evening. Want to come along?"

  He smiled that heartbreakingly beautiful smile that made her forget all about being platonic, and put his arm around her. "Beads, huh? Okay. It's a date."

  She took a step back. "Let's take it a day at a time, okay?"

  He nodded. "Okay. That's pretty much my daily mantra now."

  Chapter Three

  When they got to the Kirby Produce Farm a few miles out of town around twilight, Maggie parked her little purple car in the dirt between a couple of dually pickups and two porta-potties in a big open space next to a tomato field.

  She and Reese got out, then she unfastened Jasper's car harness and he jumped out, grunting a bit when he landed. She rubbed the scar on his shoulder, and he wagged his tail at her.

  Then he pulled on the leash, dragging her toward the wonderful smells coming from across the parking area.

  They followed the dog, as drawn to the scent as he was.

  "You could have just said Santa Maria style barbecue instead of trying to convince me to look at some beads," Reese pointed out.

  "I didn't know," Maggie replied. "Abby just said barbecue. I guess I was picturing hot dogs or something."

  They joined the crowd of about forty people who were milling around in the clearing.

  It was getting towards dark, and beyond the open area where they stood were dusty, picked-over tomato fields.

  This area must be a staging spot for the crops, because there were lots of criss-crossing tracks left from produce trucks, and extra tomato crates were stacked off to the side.

  Off in the distance, some ways away, there was a house that must belong to the farmer. A dirt drive led in that direction. The
re was a single, low-wattage porch light on at the house, and the faint yellow glow of it struggled to hold back the dusk.

  Far off in another direction, beyond the fields, there was a dark clump of trees, and a well-worn path led in that direction. Occasionally someone would head over there or come back.

  But the clearing itself was lively and bright, with big work lights set up, and battered tables and resin chairs scattered around, most claimed by party goers.

  Most of the people there seemed to be migrant workers. The men wore their Sunday best of Western shirts, bolo ties, and cowboy hats with their jeans. The women wore everything from their usual jeans and shirts to flowered dresses. And the dozen kids were in casual clothes, dressed to play in the dusty parking lot with the assortment of mongrel dogs and beat-up toys that had been brought out to keep them entertained until dinner was ready.

  After making sure all the animals got along, Maggie let Jasper off the leash so he could play with the other dogs. He stood out like a fashion model among the pack of stray dogs, but neither he nor they noticed.

  Reese was as conspicuous as the dog, though he tried to play it down. At first people gave the side eye to the tall fair-haired stranger, and some clearly recognized who he was, but he turned on his charm, and joined into their conversations about crops and irrigation methods.

  Maggie smiled, remembering her visit to his family farm up in the northern part of the state. He was a farm boy at heart, and soon people relaxed as they realized he was one of them.

  Soon mothers began calling the kids to come eat, and everyone gathered around.

  There was a stack of sourdough bread, brushed with butter and garlic and toasted to crispiness, and giant pots of tender pinquito beans in a chili-accented sauce.

  But all the attention was centered on the grill, a monstrous affair of well-used and heavily rusted iron, with an oak fire charring the tri-tip beef and sending out those wonderful aromas that were making Maggie's mouth water.

  Jasper came back to bump Maggie in the side, and she put his leash back on. "Ready for barbecue?" she asked him as his long snout sniffed at the air, and he gave her a look that seemed to mean, are you joking?

  An attractive woman of about thirty-five, with an elegance about her that seemed a bit out of place among the farmworkers and ranch hands despite her simple jeans-and-shirt outfit, came over to where they stood. She stared at Reese, who was also dressed casually, and wore a battered cowboy hat that made him a little less conspicuous. "I'm Susan Gallegos," she said, holding out her hand to him.

  He shook it, unnecessarily introduced himself as Reese Stevens, then turned to Maggie. "This is Maggie McJasper," he said, and the women shook hands.

  "Oh!" Susan said. "Abby said you were coming. How nice to meet you." She glanced at Reese. "How nice to meet you both."

  "You know Abby?" Maggie asked.

  "Of course. She's doing the profile on our organization for the NTSB. And just in time for our annual fundraiser. We're thrilled to get the publicity."

  "Of course," Maggie said. "She's doing a story on the fundraiser for the Gallegos farmworker charity. You started it?"

  She smiled. "My parents started the organization. I'm just keeping it going."

  "So this is a fundraiser for your group?" Reese asked.

  "Oh, no," Susan corrected. "This is the end of harvest barbecue the Kirbys always throw for the migrant workers. The fundraiser will be a cocktail party with the big-money crowd." She lit up. "Would you like to come?" she asked Reese, and Maggie could see the wheels turning in her head as she thought of how adding some star power to the guest list might bring in more money for her charity.

  "I'll think about it," he said with a polite smile Maggie knew meant he had no interest in attending some stuffy party with the usual crowd of snobs fawning over him.

  "We'll go look for Abby then," Maggie said, before Susan had a chance to go into her charity sales pitch, and Reese shot her a grateful look.

  "I think she's talking to Donovan," Susan said. "My assistant," she clarified in response to Maggie's confused look. She nodded toward the far side of the party.

  They headed that way. It was slow going, with adults recognizing Reese and wanting to say hello to him, and children wanting to pet the pretty dog. The dog took the attention with happy wags of his tail, and Reese with studied patience.

  But they eventually made it to the other side of the crowd, to find Abby, with her little reporter's notebook out, writing rapidly as a serious-looking young man with wire-rimmed eyeglasses spoke quickly to her.

  The man looked up with a startled and not-quite friendly expression that was quickly covered by a polite smile as they came close.

  "Hi," Maggie said, and Abby stopped concentrating on her interviewee and noticed them for the first time.

  "You came!" she said happily. "All of you," she added, giving Jasper a big hug. The dog thanked her by thwacking her with his tail.

  Abby introduced them to Donovan Cruz, explaining that he was the office manager in the little two-person charity organization that helped migrant farmworkers with everything from English lessons to milk for the kids when the money ran out at the end of the month.

  He spoke with passion about the work, and their goal of breaking the cycle of poverty that kept many of the kids around them stuck in the same work for generation after generation.

  "Taiyari broke the cycle," Abby said then, and that brought the first genuine smile to Donovan's face.

  "Yes," he said with what almost seemed like longing. "She's going to college." He looked over to where a group of people had gathered around a young woman of about eighteen. She was lovely, with a face showing the graceful features of her indigenous ancestors, and the kind of curvaceous figure and laughing brown eyes that explained the longing expression on Donovan's face.

  He wasn't alone in his feelings toward her. A young man with reddish hair and an attractive, square-jawed face sat next to her, drinking in every word as she chattered on about something. Her hands waved in the air as she told a story, but his eyes were fixed on her face, utterly fascinated.

  Another man watched the girl, too. This one was older, and had the rough skin of a naturally pale man who'd spent too much time in the sun. His light eyes watched the young couple, and his expression was shuttered, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  "Like flies to honey," Donovan muttered, and Maggie glanced at him, startled. He quickly covered it with a smile, and added, "our Taiyari does gather a crowd, doesn't she?"

  Maggie wasn't sure the possessive "our Taiyari" was altogether a healthy way of putting it.

  There were undercurrents to this friendly little barbecue she found a bit disconcerting.

  But soon Taiyari noticed them watching and excused herself to come over to them.

  Maggie watched, not her, but the men. The young man who'd been sitting next to her accepted her brief pat on the hand as she excused herself, but then he watched her hungrily, and it seemed a bit warily, as she headed their way.

  The older man with the sun-roughened face watched too, that shuttered expression not changing. She wondered what his look meant, trying to decide between him being a stalker or a bodyguard. Or perhaps both.

  And Donovan beamed as she graced them with her presence. He eagerly introduced her, again with that "our Taiyari" that made Maggie a bit uncomfortable, as if he were throwing a blanket around her shoulders and pulling her away from the other men, and into a circle of his protection.

  The others didn't seem to notice, though, and Maggie wondered if she was overreacting to simple attraction the men felt toward a pretty girl.

  And she was pretty. Close up the attractiveness became more obvious, as her bubbly personality and quick-wittedness showed what made her more than just a pretty face.

  As they headed back to get the food, Abby explained that Taiyari was the one who had created the beaded skull. She told the girl about Maggie's bead shop and Taiyari peppered her with questions about it, her innate
curiosity about everyone and everything warming Maggie toward her.

  They picked up paper plates, filling them with sliced grilled tri-tip, fresh salsa, and the aromatic beans.

  "Oh, I forgot," Maggie said. She handed her plate to Reese for a moment, then pulled the bandana-wrapped skull out of her purse and held it out to Taiyari. "Abby showed me your work. I just have so many questions. I'd love to talk to you about your art."

  Taiyari waved her hand away. "Keep that one. It was one of my first ones, and there are mistakes, so you're welcome to it."

  Donovan said something to her in Spanish, and she answered him quickly, with a cool tone that made Maggie more worried than ever about the undercurrents in the group.

  But Taiyari gave her a quick smile, then a curious stare. "You don't speak Spanish?" she asked. She looked at Maggie in surprise, obviously noticing some Latina ancestry in her features.

  Maggie put the skull back into her purse. She shook her head. "To my father's eternal disappointment. My father is very proud of his Mexican heritage, and I regret I never took the time to learn Spanish. When I was young, I didn't care about having a connection to my roots, and now, I'm afraid I'm getting too old to pick up a new language. So I guess we're both a bit out of the loop," she added lightly, glancing at Reese.

  "Al contrario," he said with a smirk, handing her plate back to her. "And I agree with Donovan," he said to the girl. "Your art is amazing and you should be proud of it."

  Maggie stared at him. "I can't believe you speak Spanish better than I do."

  "I took it in junior high. And I dated Verónica Peña for two years, remember?"

  "Oh, yeah." He had been in a messy tabloid-fodder relationship with a sitcom actress long ago.

  "You learned Spanish from her?"

  "We had to do something in-between rounds," he said with a smirk.

  She didn't bother to ask rounds of what. He didn't mean boxing. He gave her that sexy grin and she rolled her eyes at him. "Eat your beans," she said, and he laughed.

  "You'd think the daughter of Lucky Lopez, the Car King of Cupertino, could do a bit more than say hola," he answered with a raised eyebrow.