by Josie Belle
“So, I figured,” he said. “But what concerns me is whether you’ve compromised my investigation or not.”
“Oh, be serious. How could my talking to a few townspeople affect your investigation?” she said.
“A few townspeople?” he asked. He sat forward, much to the ire of Mr. Tumnus, who hopped off his lap while casting a dirty look at Maggie as if it were her fault, which she supposed it sort of was. “Maggie, exactly whom have you spoken to about this?”
“No one,” she said. “Not really.”
“I want to know exactly who you talked to and what was said,” he commanded. He had his cop face on, and Maggie knew there would be no playing dumb to get out of this.
“All right, fine,” she said. She started from Ginger’s list of local businesses that had taken money from Templeton, and then she gave the short version about how they had all picked one of Templeton’s clients to question.
“Of course, the e-mail pretty much clinches that Hugh is the one who did it,” she said. “I mean, he straight-up says he’s going to kill Templeton in those.”
Sam was gazing out the window across her backyard while he contemplated all that she had told him. “Not necessarily,” he said. “The thrust of the knife indicates it was overhand, which is more common in female assailants.”
Maggie gasped. “So, you think it was a woman.”
Sam’s eyes snapped from the window to her. “I didn’t say that. In fact, forget I said anything at all.”
“Do you suppose it was Eva?” she asked, completely disregarding what he’d just said.
“I mean, she was so angry that he had dumped her,” she said. “And she definitely thinks he dumped her for Claire, which would give her a reason to lure him to the library and kill him there, making it look like it had been Claire.”
“Templeton was a womanizer,” Sam said. “He didn’t have a thing with just Eva, he was also involved with Sum—”
Abruptly he cut himself off, but Maggie latched on to the beginning of the name with a gasp.
“You were going to say Summer, weren’t you?” she asked. “He had a thing with Summer, too. That means she could be the killer.”
“Now, Maggie,” he said, holding up his hands as if to slow her down. “I didn’t say that. I said some as in somebody else.”
Maggie shot him a look of disgust. “Oh, please, just admit it. He was seeing Summer, too, wasn’t he?”
“He was seeing somebody else, but I am not at liberty to say who, and I shouldn’t have said as much as I did,” he said.
Maggie wanted to growl in frustration. But one look at the stubborn set of Sam’s chin, and she knew he wasn’t going to give her any more information. Darn it!
“Well, I know that Eva was seeing him,” she said. “She was very forthcoming about it, which you wouldn’t think she would be if she was the killer.”
Maggie thought that, maybe if she kept talking, she could get Sam to spill more information. She didn’t notice the muscle clenching and unclenching in his cheek as she continued.
“I really thought she’d be more a crime-of-passion type and less premeditated, though, you know?” she asked.
“I understand the crime-of-passion part,” Sam said. The sarcasm in his tone brought Maggie’s attention back to him.
“Now, listen, Maggie,” he said. “The person who killed Templeton is desperate. They tried to frame Claire, and they’re obviously capable of murder. You need to butt out of this, for your own good.”
“Do you really think the murderer would kill again?” Maggie asked.
“At this point, they have nothing to lose,” Sam said. “So, no more asking questions, am I clear? I want you to let it lie.”
“But—”
“No!” Sam roared. He stood up and glared down at her, looking as stormy as yesterday’s thundercloud. “No buts. You are to stay away from this case and not ask any more questions.”
“You don’t have to yell,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Really?” he asked. “Because you seem incapable of following the most basic instructions. Now I want you to back off.”
“What if I just happen to find out something relevant?” she asked.
He blew out a stream of breath that sounded like a steam engine releasing pressure.
“Woman, you are the single most infuriating human being I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.”
He stuffed the papers into his back pocket and took his plate and his fork into the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink. Maggie followed and, when he was finished, she took them from him and put them in the dishwasher.
When she straightened back up, Sam was watching her with an intensity that left her throat dry.
He reached out his hand and brushed one thick lock of her hair back behind her ear. Then he shook his head in wonder.
“You have been winding me up since I was three years old,” he said. “And just like then, I don’t know if I want to strangle you or kiss you.”
Chapter 31
“Aunt Maggie, we’re home,” Sandy called as she and Josh tumbled in through the front door.
Maggie ripped her gaze away from Sam’s and was surprised the action didn’t make a noise like unfastening Velcro. She swallowed, trying to get some moisture in her throat so she could speak.
Thankfully, Josh made a beeline for her on his chubby little legs and threw himself at her. Maggie reached down and scooped him up, propping him on her hip.
“I got wormie,” Josh said. His eyes were huge as he tried to impart the enormity of this discovery to Maggie.
“You did, huh?” she asked. Her gaze avoided Sam as she held Josh between them as if he were her personal shield.
“The rain last night must have brought the worms all above ground,” Sandy said. She held up a paper cup. “We have a whole bunch of new friends in here.”
Josh was staring at Sam. Sam smiled at him, and Josh considered him for a moment before grinning back.
“Worms!” he said to Sam, and Sam chuckled.
“Worms are good,” Sam said back.
“In the garden,” Maggie added. “Not your room.”
Josh heaved a put-upon sigh as if he had expected this response from her. “Okay. Garden, Mommy.”
He wiggled in Maggie’s arms, and she let him down so he could introduce his friends to their new home. Maggie watched him scramble to the back door. She didn’t think she imagined the significant look Sandy gave her as she passed Maggie to follow her son.
“Nice to see you again, Sam,” Sandy called as they slipped out the back door.
“You, too,” he said.
Not wanting to get sucked into another bout of awkward, Maggie led the way to the front door and held it open for him.
“I’ll have your word, Maggie,” he said.
“What?”
“Your word that you’ll stay away from this investigation,” he said.
She got the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t leave if she didn’t cough up a promise.
With a sigh as deep as Josh’s at letting go of his worm friends, she said, “Fine. I promise I won’t ask any more questions.”
Sam frowned at her as if examining her statement for loopholes. Finally, he gave her a slow nod.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said. “I don’t want to see you hurt, Maggie.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out the irony of him not wanting to see her hurt when he had crushed her twenty-four years ago, but she didn’t. She just nodded and waved him through the door.
“Good-bye, Sam,” she said. She did not wait for a reply, instead shutting the door firmly behind him.
Maggie went to visit Claire the next morning. Her preliminary hearing was the next day, and Maggie knew that Claire was getting nervous. She wanted to give her a pep talk. Since they had found so many people with motives to kill Templeton, things were looking up for Claire, even if it didn’t feel that way.
“I want a shower,” Claire said.
“They haven’t let you shower?” Maggie asked. “That’s barbaric.”
“No, I’m allowed a few minutes to shower,” Claire said. “But I’m not allowed a razor, and its harsh soap and shampoo. So, I’m hairy and I don’t smell right. Thank God there’s no mirror in here.”
“You look fine,” Maggie lied. “Better than fine, really.”
“And that’s why you’re my friend,” Claire said. “You’re a terrible liar, but you sure give it a try.”
Maggie looked at Claire, her bright and lovely friend, and tried to find something to say that would lift her spirits. But other than the fact that there were some other solid suspects, she had a whole lot of nothing.
“Have you and Max worked out a strategy for court tomorrow?”
“Yeah, he’s been great,” Claire said. “His brain is absolutely amazing. I can’t believe how well he knows the ins and outs of criminal law in Virginia. Now, so long as he doesn’t show up in shorts and a Yoo-hoo T-shirt, I think we might stand a chance.”
“Oh, I didn’t even think of that,” Maggie said. “We need to get him a suit.”
“So, change of subject,” Claire said. “Are you really going to butt out of the investigation?”
“I said I wouldn’t ask questions,” Maggie said.
“I can’t believe Sam accepted that for a promise.”
“Me either. Obviously, the man is a terrible judge of character.”
They both chuckled.
“Well, listen, I’m going to get Max and make sure he has the appropriate attire for court tomorrow,” Maggie said. “I do think he can argue a good case for your innocence, and we’ll figure out how to make it happen. Okay?”
Claire looked doubtful, but she nodded. “Max brought me Gone with the Wind to read. So, my mind will remain occupied.”
“Good.” Maggie reached through the bars and gave Claire’s hands a squeeze. “I’ll check in later.”
Maggie’s first stop was Max’s house. Thankfully, he didn’t have to work this morning, because after yesterday’s revelations about Hugh, Maggie was sort of nervous to go to the Frosty Freeze, and she didn’t want Max to be anywhere near it either.
Then again, Sam had said that Templeton’s chest wound had been overhand, which indicated a female assailant.
Lying in bed last night, Maggie had convinced herself that Summer Phillips could be the killer. Maggie had seen Summer when she came at her with that sundae, her face twisted with rage. Yes, she could absolutely see Summer as the killer.
That she-devil could have stabbed Templeton and left him in the basement of the library to die. Wasn’t Summer the one who had been going around telling everyone that the body had been naked and wearing high heels? It was the perfect cover to be the person spreading misinformation, obviously a ploy to make herself look innocent.
As she walked from the jail to Max’s studio apartment above the town garage, Maggie mulled all that she had learned over the past few days. She felt as if she must know who the real killer was, but she had met so many people with a reason to kill Templeton, she was hard-pressed to pick just one.
A rickety set of wooden stairs ran up the back of the brick building to Max’s place. His door was weathered and badly in need of a coat of paint. Maggie knocked hard against the door. A moment or two passed before Max pulled the door open.
“Hi, Maggie,” he said. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He was wearing his usual cargo shorts and a tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt in vivid shades of blue, red and yellow.
“Max, do you own a suit?” she asked.
Max looked at her in puzzlement.
“Max, you need a suit.”
“I owned one once,” he said. “I had to wear it when I was valedictorian.”
“Well, dig it out so we can be sure it still fits,” Maggie said. “You need to look professional for court tomorrow.”
“Oh, sure, okay,” he said.
He turned and led the way to a dresser that was tucked against the far wall.
Because it was an attic apartment, the ceiling sloped down on both sides, so if you left the central part of the apartment, you had to hunch over or risk smacking your head.
Maggie hunched down and followed Max to the dresser. He squatted as he rifled through the bottom drawer. Finally, he pulled out a charcoal gray suit. It looked promising—until he unfolded it. Aside from the many wrinkles and creases from being stuffed in a dresser, it looked suspiciously short.
“Try it on,” Maggie said. “At the very least we need to get it pressed.”
“Now?” Max looked at her in horror.
“I’ll turn my back,” she said.
Max blew out a breath in a way that said unhappy, but he didn’t protest anymore.
Maggie went and stood at the tiny breakfast bar in the mini kitchen. It was stacked several feet deep in legal paperwork and reference books. His laptop was open, and it appeared he was hard at work on trial prep.
“All right,” he said.
Maggie turned around and blinked. Although he was as skinny as he had been when he’d last worn the suit, and the shoulders and the waist fit, the pants were several inches too short, and so were the jacket sleeves. Also, he had the tie-dye on under the suit jacket.
“You’ve had a growth spurt since you wore that last, yes?”
“I think so. It was six years ago,” he said.
“Max, we need to go get you a new one,” she said.
He looked horrified.
“Don’t worry. I’m paying for it,” she said.
“But I don’t have time,” he said. “I’m in the middle of preparing my closing. I’m working on three different ones, depending upon what the prosecutor throws at me. I can’t take time out to go shopping.”
“Max, presentation is critical,” Maggie said. “Now, we’re just going down the street to the second-hand shop. I know they have a ton of suits, and I’m sure we’ll find you one. Give me half an hour.”
Max looked miserable, but he reluctantly agreed. “But only because I look like Pee-wee Herman in this.”
The thrift store My Sister’s Closet was in the center of town, nestled between the dry cleaner and a yarn store. Ginger had told Maggie that the store had already done a deal with Templeton and that they were planning to stay open until the end of the summer. She could only hope that was true and that they had some men’s suits still in stock.
The window still had mannequins on display and one was wearing a very fetching aqua chemise dress that caused Maggie to slow her pace, wondering if it might be in her size.
“Maggie, focus!” Max said.
“Oh, sorry,” she said.
He pulled open the door, allowing her to enter first. Trudi was at the front counter, ringing up a sale to Tyler Fawkes.
“Hi, Maggie,” she said. “I’ll be right with you.”
“No worries,” Maggie said. “I’m going to browse suits with Max.”
“Help yourself,” Trudi said. She peered over her reading glasses at Max. “I think there’s a navy blue pinstripe that might fit him.”
Max was rifling through the rack of suits. Maggie had to admit that Trudi had some amazing stuff, all sorts of designer labels from high-end shops for a tenth of the price.
“Hey, I like this one,” Max said.
Maggie took her eyes off of the rack of dresses behind her and turned to see Max holding up a black suit that had flames shooting up from the cuffs and the hem.
“Do you want the judge to think you’re Satan?” she asked.
“You have to admit it’s badass,” he said.
“You got first part of that right,” she said.
Max sighed and put it back. They flipped through the rack together until Maggie came across the pinstripe suit she was sure Trudi had been talking about. She held it up to Max. He looked aggrieved.
“I’ll look like an accountant,” he said. “A dead one.”
Maggie
ducked her head to keep from laughing. There was no point in encouraging his whining. She grabbed a dress shirt and a tie and added them to his bundle.
“Go try it on,” she said. “The dressing room is right over there.”
Max went into the curtained closet, and Maggie decided to kill time by checking out the aqua number in the window. While she fingered the price tag, Trudi joined her.
“I love that little chemise,” Trudi said. “It would really compliment your skin tone.”
“Thanks,” Maggie said. “But I can’t afford a Maggy London, even at a resale price.”
“Well, keep an eye out,” Trudi said. “I have no idea what is going to happen to all of this merchandise now that I am leaving.”
“So, you’re really going?”
“Yep, Jacob and I bought our little retirement house in Florida, and we’re leaving St. Stanley,” Trudi said. “I have no idea what Templeton’s company will do with my little storefront now that he’s dead, but I’m out for sure.”
“Good for you,” Maggie said. “But I’ll miss shopping here.”
“Maybe you should buy the store,” Trudi said. “If they offer it up for sale, you would be a natural. You’re so good at bargain hunting, and selling is the easy part. When you pick out the good stuff for resale, the items just sell themselves.”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I’d have to give up working for Dr. Franklin, and I’m not sure I have the stamina to own my own business.”
“The only part that would do you in would be dealing with Summer Phillips,” Trudi said. “Since she lost all of her money to her last husband—and her romance with Templeton didn’t work out—she positively haunts my shop. She has me put away all of the high-end designer stuff for her, and then she tries to haggle down the prices. What she doesn’t know is that I only put away the butt-ugly stuff that I can’t sell to anyone else.”
“Oh, right there, game over,” Maggie said. “I can’t have Summer Phillips entering any shop I would own.”
Trudi laughed. “Well, if you own it, you could ban her.”
“So, is she really broke?” Maggie asked doubtfully. She just couldn’t imagine it.
