Whether it was the mimosa or the connection Maggie felt beginning to establish itself between them, Detective Marker took the invitation and spilled his guts. Surprisingly.
“The only thing I ever wanted was to get out of the small town I grew up in. I was attending the University of North Carolina, I was studying forensic accounting. I’d just finished my second year when the money ran out, so I sat down with a marine corps recruiter. I told him about my studies in forensic accounting but all he heard was forensic and stuck me in law enforcement. I didn’t complain and ended up as a military policeman stationed at Keyport.”
“How did you end up in Boca?” Maggie asked.
“My sister Joanie was getting in trouble and my parents were having a hard time; they had us later in life. So I left the marines and moved home to help. I got a job with the Rowen County sheriff’s department. As soon as Joanie graduated high school, my parents moved to Century Village in Boca Raton. My sister got married and had her first child before her twenty-first birthday but then she actually straightened up, finished college, and got a great job at the bank. She’s been there ever since.”
“That’s wonderful. Is that when you moved to Boca?” Maggie asked.
“Not quite. I ended up marrying my old high school girlfriend, but it was a turbulent relationship from the very beginning. We almost divorced less than six months into the marriage, when we found out she was pregnant. We made an effort for the baby’s sake—but oil and water just don’t mix. The only good thing that came out of it is my daughter Zoey. She really is the joy of my life.”
Maggie watched as Detective Marker pulled out his phone and swiped a few times. He showed Maggie the screen. Zoey was a beautiful girl with eyes that matched her father’s.
“She is beautiful, Detective Marker,” Maggie said.
“Inside and out,” Detective Marker replied, smiling proudly. “She might be the only thing I’ve done right in my whole life. But please,” he said, putting the phone away, “call me Mike.”
Maggie paused, considering. Then she said, “I’m surprised you live in Boca instead of Charlotte.”
“Zoey actually lives in a small town called Faith…I say ‘Charlotte’ for the same reason you say ‘Seattle’: no one would have a clue where I was referring to. But a few years ago, my mom got sick, and my dad needed my help. I was commuting back and forth until I was served with divorce papers, so I moved in full time with my parents and took a job with Palm Beach. Within the next few years, I was made detective and both my parents passed.”
“Mike, I’m so sorry…” Maggie said. She had begun to realize the detective was actually a good man.
“It is what it is. I do have my sister, who is also my best friend,” Mike said.
Maggie smiled. “Aw, that’s sweet…”
“She’s such a great girl,” Mike continued. “I feel so bad for her. She’s had a rough time the last few years. She has two kids, and her husband left her about a year ago.”
“How old are the kids?”
“One is in high school and the other will be starting fourth grade in the fall.”
“Big gap.”
“Her marriage had been tough the whole time; so I think the second one might have been an accident. But that baby girl has been a blessing to our whole family, so everything for a reason.”
The detective shifted in his seat again and finished off his mimosa. “So now you know my whole story, what’s yours?”
Maggie again looked at her watch. “We definitely don’t have time for that,” she said.
“Okay, so tell me,” Mike said, staring into her eyes, “what were you girls doing at the gun range, the other day?”
“Shooting guns.”
“Really, at a gun range? Imagine that.”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, Detective, there’s a murderer running around our neighborhood.”
“No, I hadn’t heard.” He sat back and with his next breath said: “How well do you know your buddies?”
“My buddies?”
“Your girls?”
“Well, that was a quick switch into detective mode.” Maggie took a sip of her wine. “We interviewed all the lead suspects at our dinner party last night.”
“You did what?”
“It was harmless, I really don’t think any of those people had anything to do with Marco’s murder.”
“You know that both your friends have lawyers representing them?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, but I’m sure they both have nothing to hide.…I’m sure Alex is only protecting her business since Marco was involved, and Britney is just protecting herself because of the hotel.” She stared into Mike’s eyes. “I know you know all this.”
Mike shook his head. His face had flushed, as if he were holding in a lot of foul words.
“Seriously, are you going to arrest me for having dinner with my friends?” Maggie asked.
“Are Wendy and Angie your friends?”
“Of course they are,” Maggie replied. “Well, sort of…”
“Maggie, I’m being serious here. You need to stay away from this thing. There are things you don’t know—and I can’t tell you. You’re a nice lady. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Maggie smiled gently. “I’m a lot tougher than you think, Detective Marker.”
“Is that why you froze on the gun range?”
Maggie started. “Oh my God…how do you know that?”
Mike shrugged. “I’m a detective. Plus I’ve known Alan for years. We shoot together all the time.”
“Isn’t Alan a suspect?”
“No, he’s not…But again, can you stay out of my investigation?”
Maggie gazed quietly at Detective Marker, still in disbelief. “Wow, I would have thought Alan would be at the top of your list….”
“Maggie, again…”
“I know, stay out of it. But I have to tell you one thing I might not have told you about Marco.”
Mike nodded. “Okay?”
“He sort of took some money from me and didn’t pay me back.”
“Yeah, I know.
Maggie blinked. “You do?”
“Yeah, again I am a detective.”
“Am I a suspect?” Maggie asked.
“No.” Mike smiled. “If the list included all those he owed money, it would be a mile long.”
“You’re probably not supposed to be telling me this…” Maggie said.
“I don’t think that curious brain of yours will stop anytime soon,” Mike replied, “so let’s make a deal.”
“Okay.” Maggie nodded.
“You quit snooping around this case, and when you get your private investigator license, I’ll send some work your way.”
Maggie stared at Mike incredulously before recovering. “Number one, I have to have two years’ experience before I can practice—and number two…how the heck did you know I was thinking about getting my P-I license? And don’t say ‘I’m a detective.’ ”
Mike smiled mysteriously. “I have my ways.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. But I’ll make you another deal…If you want to try again at the gun range, I’ll take you after hours and we’ll start with a much smaller gun.”
Maggie turned away. “I honestly can’t explain what happened to me that day.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Mike told her, “it happens. You just need to get right back on that horse.”
Maggie paused, then turned back to Mike and smiled. “I’ll think about it.”
“You have my cell number, it’s on the back of the card I gave you.”
Maggie rolled her eyes then shook her head.
“Just remember,” Mike said, “a victim is not always innocent…but a vigilante is not a remedy to a crime. It also is a crime.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maggie asked.
Mike placed his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Listen,” he told her seriously, “you need to sto
p with this amateur sleuthing. This is a real murder, not a television show.”
Maggie looked into Mike’s eyes again. She nodded then shrugged his hand gently from her shoulders. Just then the pilot announced their arrival at Charlotte Douglas International Airport. Seatbacks came back to their original positions and tray tables went up. The two remained silent until the plane landed. They got through the breezeway together, pausing before going their separate ways.
“Safe travels, Maggie McFarlin,” Mike said with a grin.
“Good luck with your daughter, Detective Mike Marker,” Maggie returned warmly.
She turned toward the D gates, measuring each step, unsure if the lightness she was feeling were wine induced or the aftereffects of Mike Marker.
She reached the gate for her connecting flight to Seattle, only to find it was delayed two hours. She sat in a chair near the gate and pulled out her Kindle just as her phone buzzed. She was surprised to see a text from the detective.
Mike: Sorry your flight is delayed, I would stay and keep you company but I promised to pick my daughter up by 3.
“That would have been nice,” Maggie said to herself and quickly texted back.
Maggie: No problem TTYL.
Maggie needed a drink and found the nearest bar. She ordered a virgin piña colada. She figured she’d now had enough alcohol for the day and wanted to keep a clear head.
She pulled out her phone again and searched for links to online private investigator training sites. When she found one that looked like it would work she signed up.
The next five days flew by. Maggie picked up the engineering drawings from her the department head and locked herself in an empty conference room.…Words flowed remarkably easily whenever she was engaged in writing a document that involved engineering terms. When she was a college student, she had wanted to study literature or journalism, but her scores in mathematics were so high, her school counselor had talked her into undertaking an electrical engineering degree at the University of Washington.
But the factor that had determined the course of her professional life was an offer from Boeing to pay for her degree in exchange for working for them for at least five years. She really hadn’t known how she was going to pay for college, so it was a win-win. Thirty years later, she was able to retire when she was only fifty-five years old, after a career working as a junior engineer until an opportunity as a technical writer had become available.
Those days, when she had gotten up at four in the morning, choosing the Southworth Ferry route rather than fighting I-5 traffic, seemed like a different life—one she had traded long ago for a life of sunshine and golf. After returning the drawings and emailing her doc to her former boss, Maggie McFarlin packed her bags and summoned an Uber, feeling very fortunate.
Chapter 15
Johnny Walker Blue
Britney picked Maggie up from the Fort Lauderdale airport late in the afternoon.
“Welcome back,” Britney said as Maggie slid in the passenger side.
“Thanks, but you really didn’t have to pick me up, I could have grabbed an Uber.”
“I was working right down the street,” Britney said. “Plus, I missed you.”
“Aw, thanks,” Maggie said.
“I’m really glad you’re back, things are a little crazy here.”
Maggie stared at her. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing at the club, just work.”
“I’m glad to be back. The Seattle weather sucks, even in summer.”
Britney smiled. “I want to go with you next time.”
“I would love that…we can stay at the Alderbrook Inn and go hiking at Staircase,” Maggie said.
“No staircases for me,” Britney replied.
“Not that kind of staircase. Staircase is a hiking trail in the Olympic Mountains.”
“Ah, I see.” She nodded once. “That sounds fun.”
“Maybe we can spot Bigfoot,” Maggie said, smiling.
“Maybe not,” Britney said. “But hey, speaking of ‘big’ stuff, would you mind if we stop and see my dad at Boca Big’s? He’s been calling me nonstop for the last few days.”
“Boca Big’s?” Maggie asked. “But no, I don’t mind.”
“It’s a cigar bar in a strip mall right off of Palmetto Parkway.”
A short while later, Britney and Maggie walked through the door of Boca Big’s Cigar Bar. Britney stopped just past the counter. She peered through the thin cloud of smoke until she spotted her father. He was sitting on an overstuffed brown leather chair in front of a dark walnut coffee table. Maggie imagined the room was what she might have encountered had she traveled across time and space, exiting one dimension and entering another….The room was open, but the voices were muted, as if the smoke and the thick leather furniture absorbed the occupants’ conversation.
Several groups of men were sitting around small tables, each with a cigar in some variable stage of consumption. Flakes of ash covered every surface. Several large-screen televisions were mounted high on each wall. Most of the televisions were set to a sporting event of some kind, including a horse race taking place halfway around the world.
Britney and Maggie walked up to where Britney’s father sat in the leather chair, talking to another man. Maggie felt underdressed: the dress code seemed to be from a time before women burned their bras or started wearing sensible shoes. The man talking with Britney’s father was the first to spot the two women. He stood up to greet them.
Vincent Cabrelio was like an uncle to Britney; he had been a part of her life since she was born. He was a big guy and looked a lot like Britney’s father.
Joe, Britney’s father, and a well-known real estate developer in Palm Beach County, stood about five foot ten and weighed maybe three hundred pounds. He had big brown eyes with thick black eyelashes. He was a handsome man…but it was likely those eyes that had won her mother’s heart.
Joe was the reason Britney was living in Banyan Woods Country Club. He had convinced her that it was a great investment and would greatly increase in value, even in the very short term. Britney agreed to the arrangement, figuring her father had some inside information.
“Ladies.”
Vincent smiled, opening his arms to gather Britney in an enthusiastic hug. Like Joe, he was well dressed, sporting a jacket and slacks, but no tie. His hair was black and slicked back across his balding head. His cologne reached Maggie before she leaned in to receive the obligatory hug.
Joe kissed Britney’s forehead after Vincent released her; then he nodded to Maggie.
Vincent moved his drink to the small table in front of the oversized chair beside Britney’s father, leaving the small couch open for the girls to sit. Then a stout man approached them. “You need a drink?” he asked, standing in front of them.
“Yes, please,” Britney said. She turned to her father. “What are you guys drinking?”
“Johnny Walker Blue,” Joe said.
“I’ll have one of those,” Britney said.
Maggie said, “I’ll have a glass of Cabernet.”
“She’ll have the same as us,” Britney said, raising her hand and moving her finger in a circle.
“Seriously?” Maggie looked at Britney wide eyed.
“Pull up your big girl panties, woman,” Britney said, smiling.
Maggie resigned herself to her friend’s protocols and sat back on the couch.
The television was suddenly louder than it had been. Maggie looked over and saw the man who had taken her drink order with a remote in his hand, standing by a group of smokers surrounding the television broadcasting the horse race. Everyone in the group was now standing, eyes glued to the set in anticipation. Joe and Vincent ignored the group and leaned close to each other. Britney took the hint: she also leaned in close. Maggie couldn’t hear much of what was said—only “She’s cool,” from Britney.
The horse racing group suddenly shouted then sat talking excitedly among themselves about whichever horse had placed
or won. Maggie couldn’t really make it out, and she was much more interested in the conversation at her own table, where she was considered “cool.”
As soon as the rocks glass was placed in front of her, Maggie took a deep breath and followed Britney’s lead. She took her glass in hand and had a good sip.
The moment the drink hit her lips, Maggie felt hot. It was a fire. Not hot enough to burn, but the liquor left a trail as it slid from her tongue and traveled down her throat. She could feel it finally reach her stomach, where it quickly dispersed to every part of her body. She felt electricity in her fingertips, as well as in the tips of her toes.
Britney smiled, watching Maggie’s reaction. “Good stuff, huh?”
Maggie nodded.
Joe turned to Britney, ignoring Maggie’s red face. “What did the cops ask?”
Britney shook her head. “They really didn’t ask me anything. I don’t think they made the connection.”
“They may not have made the connection but were pretty sure they figured out Marco was part of the Ibis Hotel project,” Vincent said. “Our guy at the FBI said they had a lead.”
Maggie felt her pulse quicken. Vincent was obviously more than a typical real estate attorney.
“I found this at his house.” Britney pulled out the small notebook that she had taken from Marco’s house and handed it to Vincent. Maggie held back her shock; she had no idea Britney had taken anything from Marco’s house, although she did remember seeing Britney holding the notebook.
Vincent flipped through the first few pages. “Shit!” he said, “I can’t believe they didn’t find this.”
“Honestly,” Britney said, “it looked like they hadn’t taken anything out of the house except the body.”
“I can’t believe you went in there with those two women,” Joe said.
“They are the best cover ever; the cops just think we’re a bunch of nosy neighbors.”
Maggie felt a little confused: they were speaking as if she wasn’t sitting right next to them. She took the opportunity to remind them of her presence by taking another sip of her drink. This time it went down a lot easier.
Behind The Gates (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 1) Page 13
