Behind The Gates (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 1)

by Charisse Peeler

  “Sounds amazing,” Maggie said.

  “Oh boy, was it amazing.” Alex laughed.

  “Wait for it,” Rodney said.

  “My son said it was the best coq au vin he had ever tasted in his life. I felt pretty great because he really knows French cuisine. At the end of the meal, he insisted on taking our plates to the kitchen while I sipped my wine and relaxed. It wasn’t long before he comes back to the dining room with a discarded bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild. He said, ‘Mom, what did you do with this wine?’ I said, ‘I used it in the coq au vin.’ He just shook his head and said, ‘Well, that was the most expensive coq au vin in history.’ Then he told me that that particular bottle of wine cost over seven hundred dollars.”

  “Oh no,” Maggie said.

  “Oh yes,” Alex said. “I about died of embarrassment. But my son wasn’t mad, just shocked.

  “So anyway,” Alex continued, “a week or so later I get a delivery—and it’s a case of the same Chateau Mouton Rothschild, with a note from my son reminding me this wine was to be used for special occasions…or my famous coq au vin.”

  “Hilarious,” Maggie said. She took another sip of her wine, wondering what the special occasion at Marco’s house had been the night he was killed. Or was it all just a coincidence?

  *

  Britney, Wendy, and Angie all showed up at the same time, so a blast of young energy hit the house. Fonzie had a drink in every one’s hand as they sat outside surrounded by waterfalls and the smell of eucalyptus.

  Everyone seemed in a good mood—and they were still busy enjoying the evening when Alex announced dinner was served. When the dinner guests walked into the dining area, salads were already set on plates around the table. Each setting had a nameplate indicating each guest’s assigned seat. Maggie sat at one end of the table and Alex sat at the other. Rodney sat at Maggie’s right; next to him came Britney, then Doc. To Maggie’s left was Wendy and Alan, then Angie.

  Alex and Britney had debated the seating plan the night before; this was the configuration they had finally come up with. Maggie didn’t see how the seating made any difference; however, separating Wendy and Angie was a no-brainer.

  As everyone got themselves settled, Fonzie topped off their drinks—except for Maggie’s, which was still too full. She shrugged and pointed at Rodney. Fonzie nodded in understanding.

  The salad was a crisp Caesar with homemade dressing and freshly toasted croutons. As Maggie helped arrange the plates she remarked, “No anchovies?”

  Alex shook off the suggestion. “We won’t be having any of those furry little creatures on these plates.”

  Soon, the salad plates were removed, and Fonzie served the osso buco two plates at a time. The only other time Maggie had osso buco was at a previous dinner party at Alexandra’s, and it had been fabulous. Tonight each plate looked like a work of art: the plate was a white canvas, the veal shank in the center sitting perfectly surrounded by orange and purple baby carrots with a scoop of brown wild rice. Shitake mushrooms and red grapes complemented the dish.

  Doc was the first to praise the chef. “This is amazing.”

  “Where did you get the veal?” Alan asked.

  “I get it from Dori’s Italian Market.”

  “I think this is the best meal I’ve ever had in my life,” Maggie said. She wanted to feel guilty for eating the veal, but it was melting in her mouth.

  “I think you said the same thing last time you ate here,” Alex replied, smiling.

  “I can’t help it if you outdo yourself every time.”

  The girls had decided to start with the questions during dessert. So Maggie took the opportunity to excuse herself to use the restroom; she intended to fill her glass, which was finally empty, on her way back. As she passed the kitchen, Maggie set her glass on the counter but stopped when she heard Angie whispering loudly around the corner.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you to wait.” Fonzie’s voice strained to keep it low.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Angie whispered.

  “It was all your fault…”

  The next moment Rodney came up behind Maggie and poked her in the ribs. “What are you doing standing there?” Maggie yelped then tried to move back, but Rodney’s proximity forced her into the kitchen now in clear view.

  Angie stood frozen, white-faced. She stared at Maggie before she broke the spell, rushing past Maggie and pushing her into the wall. Then she disappeared into the hall bathroom, where Maggie had been heading in the first place.

  “Geez,” Rodney said, “what’s wrong with her?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know, but I needed to go to the bathroom.”

  “There’s another one down there?” Rodney said, pointing to the opposite side of the hall. “Yeah, thanks,” Maggie said, as if she didn’t already know where the bathroom was.

  When Maggie returned to the kitchen to retrieve her glass, Fonzie had already refilled it. He stood quietly wiping down the counters as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

  “Thanks,” Maggie said, taking the glass back to her seat.

  When she returned to the table Angie was already back in her seat. But she was too far away for Maggie to ask her if she was okay; nonetheless, she could tell Angie’s earlier demeanor had changed. She sat stiffly, a forced smile pasted on her lips.

  “How is she doing?” Maggie asked Wendy. She realized only now that she had never asked.

  “Surprisingly well, especially since the funeral arrangements are done,” Wendy said in a low voice. She did not want Angie to hear her at the other end of the table.

  “Is she back to work?”

  “No, she’s been busy with Marco’s estate stuff, so the casino gave her paid time off. They even took up a collection and bought her flowers.”

  Maggie nodded. “Wow, that sounds nice.”

  Finally, dessert was served. It was even more dramatic than the dinner.

  Alex had prepared a warm poached pear bathed in Burgundy wine. It was served in a crystal dish, with a scoop of old fashion vanilla bean ice cream floating at the pear’s side. After dessert had been plated, Fonzie came around the table and poured each of the guests a glass of Veuve Clicquot.

  “I would like to make a toast,” Alex announced. She stood from her seat at the head of the table and held her glass high. “To good friends, good food, and good health.”

  “Cheers!” everyone exclaimed, clinking their glasses with the guests closest to them.

  “And cheers to our amazing hostess,” Rodney said.

  Everyone again repeated “Cheers!” while clinking glasses.

  “Here’s to blue skies and green lights,” Doc said.

  “Cheers!”—and a third clinking of glasses.

  “Okay, let’s enjoy the dessert before the ice cream completely melts,” Alex said.

  The room went silent. Everyone dug their spoons into their dishes. Suddenly Britney squealed and swatted Doc away. He whispered something, and she laughed.

  “Angie,” Britney asked the next moment, “have you heard anything from the police? Do they have any leads in Marco’s murder?”

  “Nothing new that I know of,” Angie said. “They did talk to my almost ex-husband several times.”

  “Really?” Maggie looked across at Alex, who didn’t react.

  “Hopefully he gets arrested,” Angie said.

  “Do you think he did it?” Maggie asked.

  “Not really…but it would be nice if they arrested him anyway.”

  “I wonder who else they’ve talked to besides us…?” Alex said.

  Britney looked around the room. “Has everyone here been talked to?” Nobody volunteered anything.

  “I heard it was someone definitely in our country club,” Maggie said.

  Finally, Alan spoke up. “Well, he did have enough enemies in here…”

  “Including you?” Rodney asked.

  “Definitely me—but I wouldn’t waste a bullet on that l
oser.”

  “It was an arrow, so…”

  “Have another drink, Rodney,” Alan said. “I wasn’t the one found asleep at the crime scene.”

  “I was outside,” Rodney said.

  “You were probably blacked out when you shot him.”

  “I didn’t shoot him,” Rodney replied evenly. “Plus, why would I do it? The only person with a motive was Wendy.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wendy protested. “Why are you bringing me into this?”

  “You know why?”

  “Really, Rodney,” she said.

  “I think we all had a motive,” Doc said.

  Britney took a drink of her wine. “Speak for yourself.”

  “You forgot you told me about that business deal,” Doc said.

  “What was your motivation, Doc?” Britney asked, trying to move the focus from herself.

  “He was extorting me and my family,” Doc said.

  “How?” Alex asked, surprised at the confession, “Why?”

  “I can’t say…but it was serious.”

  “Maybe your dad put a hit on him,” Britney said.

  “Maybe,” Doc said, “or maybe it was your dad.”

  “So most of us at this table had some motivation to kill Marco, obviously,” Maggie said, “except me.”

  “You have motivation too,” Alex said. “But I’m pretty sure none of us at this table had anything to do with the murder.”

  “Let’s guess who we think did it,” Britney said. “Maggie?”

  “I think it was one of the card ladies,” Maggie said, smiling broadly.

  “No one specific?”

  “No, I think it was a card-lady gang hit.”

  “Britney,” Alex asked, “who’s your suspect?”

  “I think it was a professional hit job, so I’ll go with Doc’s father.”

  “Doc?” Alex asked.

  “I’m going to have to go with Wendy.”

  Wendy sat up straight. Her face turned red. “I don’t even have access to this place, how did I get in? You’re ridiculous!”

  “You know half the people in here,” Doc responded. “I’m sure you could have figured out a way in….”

  “Okay, Wendy, who do you think?” Maggie asked.

  Wendy sat back in her chair. “I’m going with Angie’s husband, Preston.”

  “Me too,” Angie spoke up.

  Fonzie, who had been standing to the side, sensed a break in the conversation. “Cordials?” he asked.

  *

  The group once again gathered outside by the pool, now lit up by alternating blue and white twinkle lights. They chatted easily, all evidence of the tension of their previous conversation gone. Soon, one by one, the guests disappeared, leaving the three women alone.

  “I think that went well,” Maggie said.

  “I was kind of hoping either Rodney or Alan would say ‘Let’s take this outside’ or ‘Put up your dukes.’ It would have been a YouTube classic,” Britney said.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Alex replied, “but I thought it went well.”

  Maggie considered. “I wonder if Wendy and Angie know something we don’t about Preston? But honestly,” she added, “I think we didn’t get anything that we didn’t already know.”

  “I would like to know more about what Doc said about his dad,” Alex said.

  “I’m on it,” Britney said.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you ladies,” Maggie put in, “I’m going to Seattle on Monday.”

  “Why?” Britney said.

  “I got a writing job a little too good to turn down.”

  “You can’t do it from here?”

  “It’s actually for a tech manual for a military drone, it’s got some classified elements. So I have to write it in a controlled environment.”

  “They actually trust you with governments secrets?”

  Maggie laughed. “Funny girl, Britney. It’s a big check and all expenses paid. Besides, it will give me a chance to see my family. It’s worth the trip.”

  “Is it really worth it? Seattle is a billion miles away,” Britney said.

  “At least the weather will be nice this time of year,” Alex noted.

  “True, the rain stops on the fifth of July and starts back up the day before Labor Day. I think God created the Pacific Northwest as a little experiment. He just keeps it raining and grey until the people start packing their suitcases; then he turns the sun on for two days in a row. The green trees reaching into the sky and the majestic mountains surrounding you three-hundred-and-sixty degrees and the crisp fresh air is all so incredible, you lose your brain and forget about the rain that lasted like forever.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Alex asked.

  “A week. It will only take me a day or two at an actual desk at the air force base. I already have a boilerplate that I use. I just fill in the good stuff when I get there, collect a check, and then back to our murder mystery.”

  Chapter 14

  Virgin Piña Colada

  Maggie arrived at the Fort Lauderdale airport a little late but made it through security just in time not to miss her flight. She was thankful she had thought to check in on her phone last night; otherwise she would have lost her seat.

  It would be a long flight to Seattle, and she really needed some sleep. She looked at the paper ticket she received at the check-in counter: her seat was 3F. She hated the window seat, but at least she was in first class. By the time she reached her seat, everyone already seemed to have a drink; she was probably going to have to wait for hers, until they were ten thousand feet in the air.

  “That’s me,” she said, pointing to the window seat and smiling as sweetly as she could. The older gentleman in the aisle seat looked irritated but got out of his seat to let her in.

  “Would you mind if I trade seats with you?” Maggie heard a voice ask behind her.

  “No problem,” said her original seatmate. As soon as she settled in her seat and was cognitive of what was happening around her, Detective Mike Marker was sitting in 3D, right next to her.

  “Oh God,” she said aloud.

  “If it isn’t one of Charlie’s Angels, Maggie McFarlin.”

  “Charlies Angels, huh? Who’s Charlie?” Maggie laughed. “Seriously, Detective, are you following me?”

  “No, just a really fortunate coincidence, I’m afraid.”

  “Now I really do need a drink.”

  Just like that the flight attendant appeared. “Can I get you something to drink before we pull away?” she asked as if she were a fairy godmother. Apparently, she was willing to serve Maggie before the door closed.

  “Yes, please,” Maggie said as she buckled herself in. “Cabernet.”

  “So early in the morning?” Detective Marker asked.

  Ignoring what was likely a rhetorical question, Maggie returned: “Detective, what are you doing on this plane?”

  “Headed to Charlotte,” the detective said.

  The flight attendant reappeared shortly and handed Maggie her wine. Detective Marker asked for a Mimosa for himself.

  “Palm Beach County must pay pretty well if you’re flying first class.” Maggie smiled.

  “Got lots of points,” Detective Marker replied. “I’m on this same flight to Charlotte every other week.”

  “What’s in Charlotte?”

  “My daughter, Zoey, lives there.”

  “I’m trying to visualize you as a father,” Maggie said, smiling. “How old is Zoey?”

  “She just turned thirteen going on thirty.”

  “Yikes, tough age.”

  “She’s actually a great kid, into school and all that. The only thing that worries me is that she thinks she needs to take care of me. She’s also a vegan, so it’s tough to go out to eat. Last time I was there, she came unglued when I used a packet of pink sweetener for my tea—and never ever use a plastic straw around her or you’ll be responsible for every dead turtle on the east coast.”

 
Maggie nodded. “She sounds very environmentally conscious.”

  “You could say that. We spent our last vacation at the Outer Banks picking up trash from the beaches. I complained the whole time until she reminded me that at least we were spending time together.”

  “Smart girl. She’d fit right in where I’m going.”

  “Hmm, let me guess…San Francisco.”

  “Right coast but a little more north.”

  “Seattle?”

  “Very good, Detective, I’m impressed.”

  “What’s going on in Seattle?”

  “I have a small consulting job at the air force base in Tacoma. My hometown is a small town called Bremerton, across the sound from Seattle. You probably never heard of it.”

  “I actually know exactly where Bremerton is; also Port Orchard, Bainbridge Island, Silverdale, and Keyport,” he said.

  “Navy?”

  “Marines. I was stationed at Keyport for three years.”

  “Impressive,” Maggie said.

  “So how on earth did you go from Bremerton, Washington, to South Florida? Don’t take offense,” Detective Marker told her, “but you just don’t seem like the Boca type.”

  “I traded grey skies for blue skies. I couldn’t face another depressing winter there. It was a choice between Zoloft or sunshine. I have to ask you the same thing, you’re also not the Boca type. What brought you there?”

  The detective shifted in his seat. “I originally came down to help take care of my parents, who have both since passed. I decided to stay, fix up the place, and was promoted to detective. Besides my daughter, I had nothing keeping me in North Carolina.”

  Maggie looked at the detective’s left hand, which was now absent of a ring. “What about your wife?”

  “I’m not married,” Detective Marker said, immediately noticing the confusion on Maggie’s face. “I wear the band at work; for some reason, people trust a married man more than a single cop. Don’t ask me why, it’s a psychological thing.”

  “Really?”

  Maggie was pleasantly surprised but needed to quickly change the subject before she embarrassed herself.

  “It’s really a long story,” Detective Marker said.

  Maggie looked at her smart watch. “We still have another two hours until we reach your destination and my connection in Charlotte.”