Behind The Gates (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 1)

by Charisse Peeler

  “Two more cosmos, please,” Britney said.

  “To go?” Fonzie asked.

  “Yeah,” Maggie replied, “we’re waiting for Alex.” She watched as Fonzie flinched.

  As Fonzie worked at the other end of the bar getting their drinks, Britney noticed he was wearing his shirt untucked. “Maggie,” she whispered, “do you see that?”

  “What?”

  “The bulge,” Britney said.

  “Really, Britney?” Maggie chided.

  “Oh my God, Maggie, gutterbrain. His waist,” Britney said. “The bulge at his waist. I think he has a gun.”

  “No way, he’s a bartender. He might even be illegal,” Maggie said. “How would he get a gun?”

  “We are in Florida; anyone can get a gun.”

  Maggie sighed, seeing Britney’s point. “True.”

  Fonzie brought their drinks and set them down in front of them. “Anything else, ladies?”

  “Nope, thanks Fonz,” Britney said. She grabbed both drinks and walked out the door, Maggie following, still in shock.

  When Alex showed up to pick up the girls, she looked like a Fabergé egg. Diamonds and sapphires hung from her ears and encircled her fingers. Even her shoes had bling.

  Maggie took a good look at her. “You know we’re only going to O’Malley’s?”

  “One thing I’ve learned in my life,” Alex said, “always present yourself in the best possible light. Now get in,” she told them, “I’m dying to hear what Angie is going to tell us.”

  They arrived at O’Malley’s a short while later. The parking lot had a lot of empty spaces, so Alex picked one right in front. There were also a lot of open tables, so they selected a high-top just inside the doors: they would still get the benefit of the air-conditioning but would be able to watch who came and went.

  “What can I get you, ladies?” their server asked.

  “Cosmo. Grey Goose, please,” Maggie spoke first.

  “Me too,” Britney said.

  Alex twirled her finger in the air.

  “You got it,” the server said. “Three Grey Goose cosmos.”

  “Nice car.” Maggie pointed to the light grey and blue ’55 Chevy parked under the tree at the far end of the parking lot.

  “That’s Dale’s car,” Britney said.

  “Who’s Dale?” Maggie asked. She thought she recognized the name.

  “Preston’s best friend,” Britney said. “I’m surprised you haven’t met him before. He’s always around.”

  “If I saw him, I would probably remember,” Maggie said.

  Britney glanced around the bar, but she didn’t see Dale sitting anywhere. “Unless he’s in the bathroom, he’s not here. What I can tell you is something isn’t right. Dale would never park his car under that tree,” Britney said.

  Maggie again looked at the large tree in the corner of the parking lot. Its branches hung low, almost touching the hood and roof of the classic car.

  “I just hope Preston doesn’t show up,” Alex said. “It seems like those two are always together lately.”

  “There’s Angie now.”

  Alex pointed to the blue Honda pulling into the spot right next to Alex’s car. They watched Angie park, grab her purse from the passenger seat, and get out of the car. She spotted the girls right away and waved as she started across the street.

  Before she was halfway, a loud roar pierced the air and screeching tires seemed to appear from nowhere. Angie froze. Before she could move, the speeding truck ran right into her. It was as if she were a rag doll: she flew back toward the parking lot while the truck just kept going, disappearing around the corner before anyone could react.

  Britney screamed. Maggie flew out of her chair, knocking over the server, who had their drinks on a tray but now watched them spill on the floor. A young woman ran over to Angie, screaming, “Call 911!” Alex, Britney, and Maggie watched in silent shock as the young woman announced herself as a paramedic and began shouting out orders to the crowd that had begun to form as she worked on Angie. After several minutes, the ambulance finally arrived, and the Boca police came in a swarm. The officers jumped out of their vehicles and formed a line, holding everyone back. Several took off around the corner where the truck had disappeared. Maggie saw one of the medics shake his head. Then the murmurs began to ripple through the crowd: the EMTs had pronounced Angie dead.

  “There’s her purse,” Britney said, pointing to the large concrete planter just a few feet in front of them. “Should I go pick it up?”

  “Do it, fast!” Alex said. She looked around; everyone was distracted by the commotion. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen someone murdered before!”

  “Me either,” Britney said. She had returned with the purse; tears poured down her face. Alex reached for the purse and put it in her own. “We’ll look at that later,” Alex said.

  Maggie put her arm around Britney. “Good idea.”

  As the women started to walk away from the scene, Britney turned back. “Oh my God, Dale’s car is gone.” She pointed to the far corner—and sure enough the ’55 was gone.

  “Okay, that’s weird,” Maggie said. “When did he leave?”

  “I wonder if he had something to do with this?” Britney said.

  “Of course he did,” Alex said.

  The police were busy stringing yellow tape around O’Malley’s parking lot, and it looked as if they weren’t going to leave; so the women decided to order more drinks.

  “Maggie, call Wendy,” Alex said.

  “Shit, of course,” Maggie said.

  Maggie took out her phone and pushed her contact for Wendy, who actually answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Wendy, this is Maggie….No, we’re still at O’Malley’s….Well that’s the thing, she was in an accident…wait…no, wait…I’m going to put you on speakerphone…” But Maggie didn’t put Wendy on speakerphone; instead she stayed silent for a few minutes, obviously listening to whatever Wendy was saying. Finally, she said, “Wow, okay, talk to you later.”

  “What did she say?” Britney asked after Maggie had ended the call..

  “Oh my God. You girls are not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Alex asked.

  “She said that Preston definitely killed Angie.” Maggie set her phone down in front of her. “She said it was the life insurance policy he found out about. He showed up at their apartment with Dale last night and he wanted some money but she refused. Then he said he knew about the life insurance and he expected half. She told him to go to hell, so Dale spoke up that if something happened to her, Preston would get the whole thing. Preston just smiled and told her to watch her back.”

  “Do you really think Preston is capable?” Britney asked.

  “Preston might not be, but I have a feeling Dale was the mastermind. I heard he’s been in jail for assault,” Alex said.

  “No way,” Maggie said.

  Alex nodded. “I heard he beat the crap out of some guy for sitting on his car.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I was actually here that night. It was the Thursday night ‘classics,’ where the guys line up and drool all over each other’s cars. Some guy leaned on Dale’s car, and he told the guy to ‘get the F off,’ but the guy was drunk and jumped up and sat right down on the hood. I guess Dale grabbed him, threw him to the ground, and beat the holy shit out of him. The guy was in the hospital for weeks.”

  “There’s a big difference between assault and murder,” Britney said.

  “There’s a whole lot of money involved,” Maggie returned. “Wendy said it was a million dollar policy.”

  “Oh shit,” Britney said.

  “What?” Maggie looked over to where Britney was staring and watched Detective Mike Marker climb out of an unmarked black sedan. “Oh shit is right.”

  “Well, hello ladies.”

  The detective had walked into the bar and approached the table where the women were sitt
ing. Now he took the open seat they had saved for Angie.

  “Detective,” they all said in unison.

  “Been here long?”

  “Long enough,” Alex said.

  “Can you tell me what happened? It seems like you all had front row seats to the excitement tonight.”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Maggie said.

  “Try me.”

  Mike took the small notebook from his front pocket and waited for the girls to tell him everything they knew. They each took their turn reciting to the detective their version of what they had just seen, filling in for each other.

  Maggie was in shock but recounted the conversation she had with Wendy. Mike listened but remained silent, writing everything down.

  “Do you think Preston could have actually killed Angie?” Maggie asked the detective.

  “I have no idea,” Mike said, “but anything is possible.” He closed his notebook and tucked his pen back in his jacket pocket. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, and I thank you for that.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Britney said.

  They watched the detective move to the other side of the bar, speaking with other patrons who had witnessed the murder.

  “What if it was just a hit-and-run…?” Britney shook her head, obviously still trying to process what just happened. “Or just an unfortunate accident…?”

  “That is an incredibly naïve thing to say,” Alex said.

  “Do you think Preston killed Marco?” Maggie asked.

  “Well, according to Angie, Preston found the life insurance policy after Marco was already dead, so what would be his motivation?”

  “Angie was living with her brother, maybe Preston was mad about him taking her in?”

  “Maybe,” Alex said, “but I don’t see it.”

  Just then they saw Mike look at his phone; the next moment he rushed out the door. He sprinted to his car and sped off.

  “I wonder where he’s going in such a hurry?” Maggie said.

  The server nodded to Maggie as she set another round of drinks in front of them. “I heard one of the officers say they had Preston in custody.”

  Alex excused herself from the table. She went over to the tiki hut, which was currently absent of any smokers. She pulled her phone from her pocketbook and dialed. Maggie and Britney couldn’t hear her words but her voice was elevated, as if she were giving orders. Whomever she was speaking to was on the butt end of the conversation.

  When she returned to the table Alex looked worried but covered it with a wide smile.

  “What was that all about?” Britney asked.

  “We’re having a manufacturing issue. Someone screwed up.”

  “I thought your plant was closed for two weeks?” Maggie said.

  “It’s our supplier, not my actual plant…but let’s finish up, this has been a crazy night and I’m exhausted. Do you girls mind calling an Uber?”

  “Not a problem,” Britney said—and she and Maggie watched Alex rush out to her car. She climbed in quickly then squealed her wheels as she turned out of the parking lot.

  “Something is definitely going on,” Maggie said.

  Britney nodded. “Let’s get my car and go up to the club.”

  “Sounds like a plan; but it’s after eight, nobody will be there.”

  “There might still be a few stragglers at the bar,” Maggie said. But when they finally got to the clubhouse after going to Maggie’s house to retrieve her car, the bar was closed.

  “Shoot,” Maggie said, “I wanted to talk to Fonzie.”

  “Well, there he goes.” Britney pointed to a light blue Audi R8 pulling out of the parking lot. “No way a bartender can afford that car.”

  “Well, let’s go,” Maggie said.

  “Where?”

  “Wherever he’s going.”

  Chapter 21

  Amaretto Sour

  The large iron gate of the oceanfront house opened slowly. Fonzie waited until the gate had opened wide enough to drive through.

  “I’m going to have to follow him on foot,” Maggie said.

  “You’re going to be trapped in there,” Britney said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I need you out here in case something happens,” Maggie said. “Just text me if you see anything out here.”

  “Okay, but be careful.”

  But Maggie had already jumped out of the car and was through the gate before it closed on her.

  What are we doing here? Britney asked herself.

  Maggie followed Fonzie down the short driveway. She waited behind a clump of palm trees until Fonzie climbed out of his car. She decided to take off her shoes so she could follow him along the travertine path.

  Fonzie opened the trunk of the car and removed a briefcase. Then he walked down a path of multicolored pavers surrounded by exotic plants. Maggie followed, staying far enough behind so he wouldn’t be able to see her if he turned around, but close enough to be certain she saw which door he entered through.

  The door he approached was a tall double-framed door, at least eight feet in height, with long glass-frosted decorative windows. Fonzie pressed a few buttons on the lock: the door clicked open.

  Maggie looked around but didn’t see any cameras; still, she was careful to remain hidden by the lush landscaping as she quietly approached the house. The evening was too dark to really take it all in…Lights were coming on in the windows. She could see Fonzie moving through the house.

  Maggie couldn’t believe it. This could not possibly be Fonzie’s house, but he was walking around inside it, stopping in the kitchen area to confidently pour what looked like Amaretto into a rocks glass. The furnishings looked high-end antique…Maggie knew the view must be spectacular. The whole front of the house faced the Atlantic Ocean. She could hear waves crashing on a bulkhead nearby.

  This guy is the richest bartender in the world, she thought. The possibilities became unlimited in Maggie’s mind: she imagined Fonzie as an international spy, or even something more nefarious, maybe a contract killer. As she went through the possibilities, she found herself a little disappointed. Fonzie was such a good bartender.

  She continued to work her way around the house, avoiding the areas lit by tiki torches, finally reaching the back area. It looked like a resort. The swimming pool was hugely oversized. A giant rock waterfall rose above the deep end. A swim-up bar ran the length of one side. A lazy river snaked its way around the entire area. A large fire pit was lit up by recessed lighting built right into the apron of the pool; the fire pit was surrounded by at least ten chairs.

  The sliders to the pool opened, and Fonzie stepped out. He had changed into a pair of shorts and a white short-sleeved button up that he left open: from the exotic lighting of the pool Maggie made out Fonzie’s exposed chest, full of dark curly hair. He was carrying a glass half-filled with a golden brown liquid. He sat in one of the chairs in front of the fire pit and lit a cigar. He leaned back and put his feet up on the ledge of the pit.

  Maggie took this moment to text Britney.

  Maggie: I think this is his house. He’s smoking a cigar.

  Britney: U OK?

  Maggie: Yeah. Just need more time.

  Britney: Be careful.

  Maggie: K

  Finally, Fonzie went back inside and the lights started to dim. Maggie felt safe enough to come out of the shadows and try the side door. The backyard was still lit up by tiki torches and a few accent lights. She needed to make it quick. She rushed past the sliders, hitting her pinky toe on a lounge chair. Her mouth opened wide but she held on to her pain, releasing only a silent scream. She continued limping to the door.

  Fonzie had left it unlocked. Maggie opened it only far enough to squeeze through then closed it softly behind her. Immediately, she heard Latin music coming from the second floor. She looked around in amazement. The house was even bigger than it appeared from the outside.

  Maggie took her phone out of her back pocket and selected Britney on FaceTim
e.

  Britney’s face appeared. “What is taking you so long?”

  “Shhh! I’m in the house,” Maggie whispered.

  “Can you please get out of there,” Britney said.

  “Take a look at this.”

  Maggie flipped the phone around and did a slow, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn.

  “Nice place,” Britney whispered, “now get out.”

  Maggie spotted the briefcase that Fonzie had taken out of the trunk of the car. It was sitting at the end of the kitchen counter. She forgot about Britney and set the phone down next to the briefcase. She carefully placed the briefcase on its side and snapped the latches, releasing it. The noise was too loud; it echoed in the large space. She waited a few minutes until she felt safe to continue. Then she opened it.

  There were several folders inside. The folder on top was labeled BPR. She opened it and turned through the pages. Contracts for the Boca Palms Resort.

  The other folder contained a report in Spanish…or a report that seemed to be written in Spanish. It was all in Spanish. She put it back and shut the briefcase, snapping it as silently as she could.

  Then she felt something cold against her head.

  “Shit,” she said aloud.

  She slowly turned to face Fonzie.

  “What the hell are you doing here, crazy bitch?” Fonzie said.

  “ ‘Crazy bitch’?” Maggie scoffed.

  “What are you doing in my house?” he asked. He pointed the gun at her forehead.

  “I followed you,” Maggie said calmly. “By the way, nice house.”

  “It belongs to my family,” Fonzie said. “But why would you trespass?”

  “I don’t know. Curious, I guess.”

  “You and your friends are way over your head. Now you have broken into my house”—he pressed the barrel of the gun to Maggie’s forehead—“I could legally shoot you.”

  “Are you going to shoot me?” Maggie said.

  “I don’t know yet…”

  “Shit,” Maggie said.