Maggie and the Inconvenient Corpse

by Barbara Cool Lee

  "That's the first thing we have to change," she said to him. "That name is awful. So we'll compromise. I'll keep you for a week or so, but we'll change your name to something other than Jasper."

  The dog barked when she said his name.

  "No." She put her hands on the sides of his long narrow head to look at him straight on. "We need to have an owner-to-dog conversation about this."

  "Here's the thing," she explained, looking him in the eye and speaking very seriously. "Big Mac McJasper named you after himself because he had a big ego. That was the thing I most hated about my ex-husband. How everything was always about him. Now every time I call you Jasper—"

  The dog barked at the mention of his name.

  "—it will remind me of what a jerk Mac was. So we're going to come up with something better we can both agree on. Got it?"

  The dog looked quizzically at her.

  "How about Ruff? That's a nice name."

  The dog looked out the window.

  "Collies are from Scotland. So how about Scottie?"

  The dog scratched his ear again.

  "Laddie?"

  The dog sniffed at the floor.

  "Sebastian? Tavish?"

  The dog stood up and knocked into her craft lamp. She set it straight and continued.

  "Okay, something appropriate for you. Goliath? Hulk? Duke? Cujo?"

  The dog examined her kneecaps with his nose.

  "Look at me, dog."

  He looked at her and grinned.

  "We'll go ironic, okay? Pipsqueak? Tiny? Peanut? Munchkin?"

  No response.

  "I know! Jupiter. It's a J-name but it's not Jasper."

  At the mention of his name, the dog barked happily at her.

  Maggie sighed. "Fine. We'll talk about this later." She remembered what the woman at the bead shop had said. "A run. We're going to go for a run on the beach." She stood up and reached for his leash. "We are going to run until you are ready to drop, young man."

  She hooked the leash onto his collar.

  "But don't get the idea you won. You are not going to be named Jasper."

  The dog barked again.

  On the beach, Jasper was like another dog. He was happy and free, and when she let go of the leash he ran and jumped and pranced into the waves, barking his head off as if he was trying to drown out the roar of the ocean.

  The people they passed smiled at the beautiful, happy dog, and she felt herself relaxing a bit, too, some of Jasper's joy rubbing off on her.

  He came running back to her, covered in sand and his thick fur sopping wet from the salt spray.

  He grinned, and bumped her in the side, and then raced off again, following her down the beach in big loops as he raced around her in circles.

  He didn't seem to want to get too far away from her, though. He kept coming back and bumping and bowing down to her, his front end low to the sand and his fluffy rear wiggling suggestively.

  "What does that mean, boy?" she asked him. "Are you asking me to run with you?"

  So she did a bit, until she got tired and had to slow down. The next time he came to bump her she grabbed onto his leash.

  They came to the far end of The Row, where the beach ended abruptly in a tumble of rocks where the cliff had once given way. A steady trickle of tourists made their way along the path that led to the parking lot at the top of the hill.

  She turned around to walk the half-mile back to Casablanca.

  She hadn't been thinking of much of anything except the sun and the sand and the happy dog, but the sight of Nora's green cottage perched high on the cliff above her brought her back to earth, reminding her of the dead man they had in common. So many of her friends lived on The Row. Any of them could have gotten to Mac's house along the beach.

  She walked slowly, musing about what had happened yesterday.

  Someone had hit Mac over the head with a pole, and then let him drown in the pool. It was someone he knew. Someone he felt comfortable-enough with to take off his robe in front of.

  She knew Mac's vanity. She knew he wouldn't let a stranger see him without his robe like that. Knew how he felt about his slight middle-age paunch and his hair plugs and the dorky looking glasses he wore whenever he took out his contact lenses.

  Whoever had hit him had to be someone he knew well. Or someone he didn't see coming.

  She wondered about that for a minute. Could someone have done what she'd done? Come up the stairs from the beach, surprised him, and bashed him with the pole that was conveniently lying next to the pool?

  It seemed unlikely. His phone had been right there, on the table. He hadn't reached for it. Hadn't called for help the way he would if a stranger suddenly appeared in his yard.

  And what about that torn-up check? Lieutenant Ibarra seemed to think it was just a random scrap of paper. But she knew Mac only wrote paper checks when he was handling financial business himself, without involving his accountant.

  No. It was someone he knew. Someone he felt comfortable around. Someone he would turn his back on and trust.

  And that someone had brutally murdered him.

  No matter what a jerk Mac had been, he hadn't deserved that. She felt the tears on her cheeks. Why was this hurting so much? Why was the death of someone she'd convinced herself she hated hitting her so hard? You're human, Reese had said. And maybe that was all it was. She just couldn't take pleasure in the death of the man she had once loved, no matter what dark secrets she had learned about him in the years since.

  And she couldn't bring herself to see Virginia's arrest as karmic justice for the affair. She'd done the same as Virginia, back when she was young and stupid. Nora had forgiven her for believing Mac's lies. She needed to forgive Virginia for that.

  She wiped away the tears. Her gut told her Virginia wasn't the killer. She just couldn't let this go. She had to understand what had happened.

  Maybe this was about business. Mac had stepped on a lot of toes with his business dealings. Maybe it was someone who held a personal grudge—but she paused there. Who did she know who could have held a grudge against Big Mac? Nora, even Reese? She just couldn't go there. She was sure it wasn't Virginia, but it couldn't be anyone she cared about, either. Could it?

  Jasper bumped her. "Had enough running for now?" she asked him. He looked up at her as if thanking her for taking him for a run.

  She knelt down with him and gave him a big hug. "You're welcome, pup. Let's go home."

  Jasper bounded up the long set of wooden stairs that led from the beach to Casablanca, pulling on the leash the whole way.

  "Hold up!" Maggie said. She took the steps slowly, worn out from the dog's energy. He was totally the wrong dog for her. But she had no idea what to do with him. Maybe she could give him back to the breeder. If she could find out who that was.

  She caught up to him on the landing halfway up. As soon as she reached the dog, he bumped her with his hips, knocking her sideways.

  "Stop it!" she scolded him.

  And he stopped, looking crestfallen at her lack of interest in playing, and that melted her heart.

  She knelt down with him on the wooden platform and gave him a big hug. "I'm sorry, buddy. You've just always been an afterthought, haven't you? It's not your fault you were given to someone who didn't want you."

  He licked her face, and then turned around in a circle, smacking her across the mouth with his giant, wagging tail.

  She stood up. What was she going to do with him? What had that woman at the shop said? Dogs need mental exercise as well as physical.

  "Jasper?" she said tentatively.

  He wagged his tail and grinned at her.

  "Sit?" she asked.

  He cocked his head to the side and smiled.

  "You have no clue what that means, do you?" She pulled out her phone and called up a search. How to teach a dog to sit.

  "Got it!" She faced Jasper, grabbed onto his leash, and, after reading the instructions a second time, said firmly, "Jasper, sit!" At
the same time, she pulled up and back on the leash close to the collar.

  Jasper took a step back and then plopped his hindquarters down on the decking.

  "Wow!" she said. She leaned down and gave him a big hug. "You brilliant, wonderful boy! You're so smart."

  He jumped up, spun around in a circle, and slapped her happily in the face with his tail.

  "Okay, next we're going to work on not doing that…."

  Chapter 14

  When they got back to her tiny house, Maggie found Brooke sitting on the front steps waiting.

  Brooke stood up, and gave the dog a doubtful look. "He really is huge, isn't he?"

  "Yeah," Maggie said. "That's why he's only temporary. But I'm just not sure who I can pawn him off on. He's such a handful."

  She unlocked the door and they went inside. Jasper wandered around the room, checking things out.

  "What's he looking for?" Brooke asked.

  Maggie motioned for Brooke to sit on the daybed. "He's hunting for Big Mac, I think. It's pretty sad. How about some tea? I wouldn't dare offer to make instant coffee for a barista like you."

  Brooke didn't laugh at the joke. "Nothing for me," she said. "But go ahead and make some for yourself, if you want."

  Maggie shook her head. Then she pulled the stool away from her craft table to face the daybed and sat. "So what's wrong? You're acting unhappy about something."

  Brooke looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. "I'm not unhappy," she said carefully.

  "Okay…," Maggie said slowly. "You're something. What is it?"

  "I'm…." She stopped, then started again. "I'm scared. And I don't know what to do."

  Maggie leaned forward and put her hands over Brooke's clenched ones. "What is it? How can I help?"

  There were tears in Brooke's eyes. But she pulled her hands away. "There's something I've never told you. I don't want to wreck our friendship. But I have to tell you now."

  Maggie closed her eyes. Then opened them again. "Oh," she whispered. "You, too?"

  Brooke looked up, surprised. "Me, too? What do you mean?"

  "Am I wrong?" Maggie asked. "This isn't about Big Mac?"

  Brooke's eyes widened. "How do you do that? You always figure things out."

  "Body language," Maggie said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "The expressions on people's faces. What they say. What they don't say." She swallowed hard, and then looked straight into her friend's eyes. "You're one of the zillions of women who slept with my husband, is that it?"

  Brooke jumped back as if Maggie had struck her. "Wow. You believe I would have an affair with my friend's husband? Seriously, Mags?"

  Maggie stammered out, "I'm sorry, Brooke. I'm so sorry. I just…." Then she put her head down, mortified that she'd accused her friend of betraying her trust. "I'm really sorry. I guess my intuition isn't as good as I thought. It just felt like you were working yourself up to telling me something you were ashamed of. I assumed it was about Mac. I'm so sorry, Brooke. Please forgive me."

  Jasper came to sit next to her. He leaned against her leg, sensing how upset she was and trying to offer comfort. She put one arm around him.

  "Look at me, Maggie."

  She looked up at Brooke, who had a faint smile, though the tears still made her pale gray eyes look glossy and very beautiful. "Your intuition isn't totally off. I am, well, I wouldn't say ashamed. Definitely not ashamed. I'm proud of myself, as a matter of fact. But I'm sorry I kept a secret from you. And now, I'm afraid. Not of you," she quickly added at Maggie's frown. "Let me start over. I have something to tell you. Something I can only say now that Big Mac is dead."

  Brooke stood up. Paced a bit, back and forth, taking the five steps from one end of the living room to the other a couple of times while she seemed to be working herself up to talk.

  Maggie and Jasper watched her walk back and forth in front of them, their heads moving side to side like following a tennis match. It took all of Maggie's self-control not to demand an explanation. What was this about? If Brooke wasn't afraid of Maggie, who was she afraid of?

  Finally Brooke sat back down on the daybed facing Maggie. She started to clench her hands together again, but then consciously unclasped them and set them on her knees. "I kicked your husband," she said.

  "You what?"

  "I kicked him where it counts. As hard as I could. I'm surprised he wasn't a soprano when I finished with him. And it's one of my proudest moments. And I couldn't share it with my best friend."

  Maggie just stared. "You're going to have to explain that."

  Brooke smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah. I know." She looked up, her eyes tracing the ceiling line of the little house. "Do you remember when I decided to give up acting and buy a coffee shop?"

  "Sure. About three years ago. You were so happy. You said it was like—"

  "—being released from prison," Brooke finished.

  "You didn't have to diet, or go to auditions, or dye your hair, or fuss over show business. You could just be yourself and live your life on your own terms," Maggie said, starting to see where this was heading. "But that's just what you told me, isn't it?"

  "That was all true," Brooke said. "All of it. But there was a reason I did it then. At that time. Not a year earlier or a year later."

  Maggie sighed. "Because you kicked my husband where the sun don't shine."

  Brooke nodded. Maggie found herself again noticing the gorgeous gray eyes and heart-shaped face that had made Brooke sought after by so many casting directors. She could have continued working as an actress for many more years. Could have continued to book acting gigs over and over and over.

  "What did he do?" she asked quietly.

  "He hit on me," Brooke said frankly. "He asked me to come talk to him about my career. He told me he was thinking of casting me in a major role in a film. And then…." She hesitated.

  "Give me all of it," Maggie said, clenching her teeth.

  "He and I were alone in his office. And he put his hands on me. And told me what I needed to do to get the part." She rolled her eyes. "Nothing I hadn't heard a hundred times before. But he put his hands on me. And instead of politely backing away, instead of joking him out of it, instead of gently maneuvering out of his reach and making it into a cute little game that didn't matter and pretending I wasn't upset to keep him happy, instead of all the little coping mechanisms you learn when you're an attractive woman around powerful men, I got mad. Something suddenly clicked in my mind and I just told myself, enough. I've had enough."

  "And so you kicked him."

  "As hard as I could. And walked out of there with my head held high."

  "What did he do?"

  "I never booked another job. No one would tell me why. But I kept auditioning for about two months until I got the message. He never said a word to my face. Smiled at me and said hello when we met at parties at your house."

  "But you never worked again," Maggie said. "Why didn't you tell me? Why all that fiction about wanting to get away and start a coffee shop?"

  "It wasn't fiction. I wanted to do that. Don't get me wrong. I am happier now than I have ever been. I think he did me a favor. Or, I guess, I did myself the favor of torpedoing my own career by standing up to him."

  "You could go back, now that he's dead," Maggie said.

  But Brooke shook her head. "Back to anorexia and hair dye and phoniness? No way. I don't want to. I love O'Riley's. I love my life. Nothing I said about that was a lie. The only lie is that I never told you about your husband. And I'm sorry. I knew you loved him. I knew your marriage wasn't going well. And I thought, why pile on?"

  "I would have dumped him if I'd known." Then she realized, "you were afraid I'd believe him over you?"

  Brooke grinned. "No. I know you. You would have known in your gut I was telling the truth. And you would have divorced him. And that would have been my fault. I thought there was a chance you could have a happy marriage. I didn't want to be the one to break it up."

&nbs
p; "So you let Virginia have that honor. Thanks."

  Maggie got up and moved to sit next to Brooke on the daybed. She gave her a big hug, which was enthusiastically returned.

  "It must have been so hard to keep this secret," Maggie said. "Now that he's dead, you finally felt safe telling me."

  But Brooke shook her head. "It's not that. I had to tell you now. Because I'm scared, Mags."

  "Scared? Of what?"

  "Don't you see?" Brooke asked, her eyes haunted. "Someone murdered him. What if they think it's me?"

  Chapter 15

  The woman who worked for the police department came back to the shop the next morning.

  "I forgot to buy a clasp for the pearl bracelet," she said.

  "Lauren, right?" Maggie said.

  "That's right," she said, smiling.

  "How's Hendrix?"

  "He's keeping the doggy daycare staff on their toes," she said with a fond smile. "And what's your dog's name?"

  Maggie hesitated. "Jasper, I guess."

  "That's a cute name. You said you were keeping him temporarily. Has he gone home yet?"

  Maggie shook her head. "He doesn't have a home. I need to look up rescue groups. I'm not going to just dump him without knowing he'll be safe. But, unfortunately, I can't keep him myself."

  "If he's a purebred Rough Collie there will be no problem finding him a home," Lauren said. "Does he look like he might be pure Collie?"

  Maggie laughed. "He's the spitting image of Lassie. He's the prettiest dog I've ever seen."

  "Then there's probably a waiting list of people wanting a dog like him. You won't have any problem getting rid of him."

  "Thanks," Maggie said quietly. Why did she feel a pang of disappointment at that news? That was good news. Wasn't it?

  "Let me show you the clasps we have in stock," she said. "And we can order something else if these aren't what you have in mind."

  They ended up laying out a dozen different clasps on the counter, trying to decide which went best with the pearls.

  "So tell me about your job," Maggie said while they were looking.