Marked Down for Murder (Good Buy Girls)

by Josie Belle

  “Mama, that’s not very nice,” Summer chastised her mother.

  “I’m not trying to be nice. And if anyone tries to take what’s mine they’re going to see just how not nice I can be,” Blair said.

  Summer sighed, and Max frowned and said, “That’s the sort of comment you might want to hold in so as not to look too greedy when we go to probate.”

  Now it was Blair’s turn to look put-upon. Maggie didn’t think she was up for any more histrionics. She glanced back at Sam and saw him slip his phone back into his pocket. He looked grim when he approached the table.

  “Well, Blair, it appears you were right,” Sam said. “Your husband wasn’t married before you.”

  Blair tossed her black bob and looked vindicated. “I knew it. I was Bruce’s one true love. He always said so.”

  “Well, that’s where it gets a bit more interesting,” Sam said.

  They all turned to look at him as he resumed his seat at the table.

  “You weren’t married to Bruce Cassidy,” he said. “You were married to a man named Terry Knox.”

  Chapter 22

  “That’s impossible,” Blair said. She looked at Sam as if he were a complete idiot. “Honestly, do you even know what you are doing? A first wife, foreign bank accounts, and now you say his name isn’t his. It’s like you’re not investigating my husband’s murder at all.”

  “Blair, as far as I know, I am now investigating the murder of a man named Terry Knox. Whether he was really your husband or not, I don’t know,” Sam said. “The medical examiner matched the fingerprints of our victim to those of a man named Terry Knox whose last known residence was in San Diego, California. That’s the same city your husband was from, yes?”

  Blair looked horrified. She turned to Summer, who looked equally stunned. Then she turned back to Sam and said, “Yes, Bruce was from San Diego. He said he was retired military and had a small cottage just north of the city on the water.”

  “Well, his fingerprints identify him as someone else entirely. I’m going back to the station to see what I can find out about Terry Knox,” Sam said. His voice was gentle when he continued, “Blair, I suggest you find any documentation you can about your husband. Birth certificate, marriage license, driver’s license—anything that might help us unravel this mess.”

  “We have a safe-deposit box at the bank,” she said. “Bruce rented it when we arrived in town.”

  “I’m going to need to see the contents,” Sam said. “I’ll have Deputy Wilson go with you to the bank.”

  “I’ll come, too,” Summer said.

  “Contact me at the station if you need anything,” Sam said. He rose from his seat, and Maggie rose with him.

  “I’ll walk with you,” she said. “I need to get back to the shop.”

  “I’m going to call Judge Harding,” Max said. “He might be able to give us some direction as to what to do next, because if you weren’t even married to Bruce Cassidy, then you’re not really his widow—”

  Blair let loose with a wail that could have shattered glass. With an apologetic wave to Pete behind the counter and to the others, Sam and Maggie beat feet toward the door. Once outside, they didn’t slow down, but hurried away as if fleeing the scene of a crime.

  “Scale of one to ten,” Maggie huffed as they hurried down the street, “how mad do you think Ginger will be at me for leaving her in that train wreck?”

  “Max convinced Blair to hire Ginger to go through the financials, right?” Sam asked as he grabbed her hand and guided her across the street.

  “Right,” Maggie said as she stepped up onto the curb beside him.

  “Then she’s getting paid, so she really can’t complain, now can she?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Text me when you get to the shop,” he said.

  Maggie looked at him in question.

  “I worry,” he said. “There’s a murderer out there, and now our vic isn’t who he seems, making it even more curious, not to mention dangerous.”

  “You love this stuff, don’t you?” she asked. There was no way he could deny the sparkle in his eye as he tried to figure out what exactly was happening in their sleepy little town.

  “I’m not happy that someone was murdered, but I’m damn determined to catch the killer,” he said.

  “I’ll text you,” Maggie said. “Promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  He paused to plant a quick kiss on her lips before turning down the sidewalk that would take him to the station while she continued on to her shop. A few steps away and Maggie turned back and grabbed his hand, stopping him.

  “I worry, too, just so you know,” she said, squeezing his fingers with hers. “Please be careful.”

  “I promise,” he said. “I have an awful lot to live for and I don’t intend to let anything mess it up. I’ll swing by the shop later.” Then he stopped and leveled her with an intense stare. “I love you, Maggie.”

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  She gave him a quick wave and then hurried toward her shop. Maybe it was the weird twist the case had taken, but Maggie couldn’t help but feel creeped out that there was a murderer among them who had successfully bludgeoned one person and nearly shot another to death.

  Was Blair their target, and if so, why? And if Terry Knox really wasn’t Bruce Cassidy, then why was he murdered? Was it someone out to get Bruce Cassidy or Terry Knox? Maggie’s head was spinning with questions, but with no more information, she couldn’t even hazard a guess. It was maddening.

  Maggie spent the afternoon wondering what, if anything, Sam had discovered about Terry Knox. She hadn’t heard from Ginger, and she worried about that, too. Blair was high maintenance on a normal day; Maggie could only imagine what she was like now.

  Thankfully, Ginger arrived just before Maggie was about to close the shop, with Claire in tow. One look at her face and Maggie knew the day had been a long one. Ginger collapsed onto the couch and flung her forearm over her forehead. She was the picture of distress.

  “Rough day?” Maggie asked.

  “Nothing a tranquilizer gun couldn’t have cured,” Ginger said. “Pity I don’t carry one.”

  Claire pushed her black-framed glasses up onto her nose and nodded in agreement.

  “Apparently, Blair is not processing the news that her husband wasn’t who she thought he was very well,” she said. “Max stopped by the library to do some research after he dropped Blair and Summer off at Doc Franklin’s. He was hoping Doc could help ease Blair’s panic attack.”

  “Since my phone stopped ringing incessantly about an hour ago, I’d say he succeeded,” Ginger said. “Remind me to bake Doc Franklin a pound cake.”

  “Why was your phone ringing?” Claire asked.

  “Well, after the sheriff and company ditched us in the coffee shop,” Ginger said with a pointed look at Maggie, who gave a sheepish shrug, “Blair went right into full-on money panic mode.”

  “She’s afraid she’s going to lose it all?” Maggie guessed.

  “You got it,” Ginger said. “If Terry Knox stole Bruce Cassidy’s identity as well as all of his money, then there really isn’t anything for her to inherit, especially if their marriage was a fraud.”

  “Wow, if her marriage is invalid, she loses it all?” Claire said. “That is a huge kick in the pants.”

  “Especially, if you’re as used to spending money as she is,” Ginger said. “Honestly, going over her financials has been eye-opening to say the least.”

  “I take it Blair is not up for membership in the Good Buy Girls?” Maggie asked.

  “Huh,” Ginger huffed. “She may have to have an initiation by fire.”

  Claire wrinkled her nose. “Thrift is a gift—either you have it or you don’t.”

  “It’s true,” Ginger said. “You can imitate but never replica
te the skills of those blessed in the consumer arts.”

  Maggie laughed, not only at Ginger’s words but at the thought of Blair Cassidy buying anything on sale ever. It boggled.

  Claire’s phone chimed, and so did Ginger’s. Maggie knew immediately what that meant. She raced to the break room to grab her purse, and sure enough, there was a text from Michael. He and Joanne were on their way to the hospital—again.

  Maggie hurried back into the shop. She glanced at the others to see that they were already headed toward the door.

  “Maybe we should order a pizza,” Claire said. “Probably this is false labor again, and a pizza will cheer Joanne up more than hugs at the end of this ordeal.”

  “Agreed,” Ginger said. “Last week she was craving anchovies—bleck. Is she over that?”

  “Yes, I think she’s moved on to green olives and sausage,” Maggie said as she locked the door behind them.

  “My car?” Ginger asked.

  Maggie and Claire followed her to her minivan. They hurriedly got in, and Maggie took her phone out to text Sam. Since they were supposed to meet up later, she wanted him to know what was happening so that he didn’t worry.

  Claire took her phone out, too, and ordered a pizza to be delivered to the maternity ward.

  “Done,” she said. “And I asked for extra olives.”

  They zipped into the visitor’s lot at the hospital and together they hurried up to the third floor. The woman at the information desk was used to seeing them by now, and she waved at them as they passed.

  “Tell Joanne and Michael we’re all rooting for them,” she said.

  Maggie and the others waved in acknowledgment. Once in the large waiting room, Ginger went to verify that Joanne was already there, and the maternity ward nurse confirmed that she had just been brought in.

  They were the only ones in the waiting room, so they took over the television, turning on a romantic comedy while thumbing through the magazines. The pizza arrived, and they had just tucked into it when the doors to the ward burst open and Michael appeared.

  “Oh, no, not again,” Claire said. “Poor Joanne, is she terribly disappointed?”

  “No, in fact, I just came out to tell you that she’s dilated to five centimeters and one hundred percent effaced. We’re having this baby!” Michael cried.

  The three of them erupted from their seats and began to jump up and down.

  “Dilated and effaced is good, right?” Claire asked, still jumping with the others. Ginger burst out laughing and wrapped her arms around Claire.

  “It’s wonderful,” she said. “That baby has finally made up its mind to join us.”

  “Can we see her?” Maggie asked. She wiped her pizza fingers on a napkin, trying to clean up to go into the ward.

  “You know what they say,” Ginger said. “It’s easier to seek forgiveness than permission. Let’s just go. They’ll kick us out if they have to.”

  Michael led the way back through the doors to the ward. Given the late hour, it was quiet. The occasional cry of a baby was the only loud noise, and it mingled with the muted sound of the televisions in the birthing rooms.

  At the end of the corridor, he turned right and pushed through a wide swinging door.

  Half sitting, hugging her big belly with her arms, was Joanne.

  “Hee hee hee hi,” she said. “The baby’s . . . hee hee . . . coming.”

  “Oh my god!” Claire cried. “This is so exciting! Can I get you anything? What do you need? Are you in pain?”

  Ginger and Maggie exchanged a glance. Joanne’s dark brown hair was up on her head in its usual ponytail, but strands heavy with sweat had escaped the elastic and were plastered to her neck and the sides of her face. As to Claire’s last question, Maggie had no doubt Joanne was in excruciating pain.

  “No, nothing, a little bit,” Joanne answered in between breaths.

  Ginger moved in close and gave her a solid hug. Claire was next, and then Maggie.

  “You’re doing great,” Maggie said. “Just keep breathing.”

  “Did you have an epidural with Laura?” Joanne asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What about you . . . hee hee . . . Ginger?” Joanne asked.

  “For the first two,” she said. “The second two just sort of fell out when I sneezed.”

  Claire looked horrified, but Maggie laughed. “I remember that. Forty-five minutes of labor and bang—baby.”

  “It was crazy,” Ginger said. “We were sure Dante was going to be born in the car. As it was, we just made it through the front door when he started to crown.”

  “I wanted . . . hee hee . . . to have a natural childbirth,” Joanne said. “But there’s one thing they don’t tell you.”

  “What’s that?” Claire asked.

  “It hurts like—”

  The machine that Joanne was hooked up to let out a chirping noise, cutting off what she was about to say. Maggie watched the monitor.

  “What’s happening?” Claire asked. Her eyes were huge as Michael elbowed his way back to his wife’s side and took her hand in his.

  “She’s having a contraction,” Ginger said. “It’ll pass.”

  “Unnngh!” Joanne let out a growling grunt that sounded as if it came all the way up from her toes.

  “We’d better leave them to it,” Maggie said. She stepped up to Joanne’s other side and quickly kissed her head. “We’re here if you need us.”

  Ginger moved in after her and did the same. “Keep breathing, honey. Your sweet bundle is on its way.”

  Joanne gave her a smile that was more bared teeth than upturned lips, but Ginger had been through it four times herself and knew the drill.

  “Go, girl!” Claire said. She glanced at Joanne’s belly, which, even under her hospital johnnie, looked rock hard in the midst of her contraction. Claire stepped back as if the condition were contagious. She slapped Michael on the back and said, “Take care of our girl.”

  She bolted out the door as if escaping the plague. Maggie and Ginger exchanged grins as they followed her out.

  “Oh my god,” Claire said as soon as they met her outside. “Did you see her belly? The whole thing was like granite. I didn’t even know the body could do that.”

  “Which is why I’ve always maintained that simulated contractions would be all the birth control some women would ever need,” Ginger said.

  “Birthing is not for the weak,” Maggie agreed.

  “That would be me,” Claire said. “Sheesh, as soon as I see Pete, I am going to kiss him right on the mouth and thank him for not wanting to be a dad.”

  Maggie felt a spurt of annoyance that Claire had had the smarts to iron that talk out in the very early stages of dating while she, being a dope, had not, and now she had no idea if Sam wanted kids. And truthfully, it was kind of freaking her out.

  They resumed their spots in the still-vacant waiting room. Ginger paced for a bit before she settled down. Maggie debated going for coffee but as the time wore on, she didn’t want to have caffeine ruin her ability to nap. When two hours had passed, Claire looked like she was about to explode.

  “I’m sneaking back there to see what’s happening,” she declared.

  “You can’t,” Ginger said. “They could be at a critical moment in the birthing. Besides, this time really needs to be just for them.”

  “But I can’t take it anymore,” Claire said as she shoved her fingers into her hair. “What if she needs us?”

  “Michael would have sent someone to get us,” Maggie said. “Joanne’s a tough girl from New York. She’s going to be just fine.”

  “What about the baby?” Claire asked. “It’s early.”

  “Not that early,” Ginger said. “Just a few weeks, and due dates are always a little fuzzy anyway, especially if you’re trying really hard.”


  Maggie grinned. “It’s true.”

  “Okay, but I’m just going to take a peek to be sure,” Claire said.

  “Fine,” Ginger said in a resigned voice. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’ll hold the fort,” Maggie said.

  The two friends walked into the maternity ward as if they were expected. Maggie shook her head. It seemed like just yesterday that she and Ginger were here starting their families. Now Laura and Aaron were adults, and days filled with sticky jam kisses and broken crayons were long over.

  “How’s it going?” a voice asked from the door.

  Maggie spun around, and there stood Sam. He was still in his work clothes, but his tie was loose, hanging lower than his unbuttoned collar.

  “It’s going,” she said. She crossed the room and gave him a big hug just because he looked like he needed it. “Ginger and Claire are doing baby recon.”

  Sam grinned. “So it’s not here yet?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Did you come by to wait with us?”

  “I wish I could,” he said. “This is just a check-in. I’ve got to go back to the office after this.”

  Maggie studied his face. He looked as if something heavy was on his mind.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What have you found out?”

  He hesitated as if he didn’t want to tell her.

  “Oh, come on,” Maggie cajoled. “If you told Summer and Blair then it’s only a matter of time, likely minutes, before I find out. You know gossip moves at the speed of light in St. Stanley.”

  He kissed her head and then nodded.

  “Okay. While running background checks, I discovered what I suspected, that the lives of Terry Knox and Bruce Cassidy intersected about ten years ago in California.”

  “So they knew each other?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah, and they were definitely close enough for Knox to kill Cassidy and take his identity,” Sam said.

  Chapter 23

  “How did you . . . oh, my . . . are you sure?” Maggie asked.