by Susan Breen
Agnes cleared her throat. She was wearing a velour pantsuit, which for Agnes was restrained.
“Maggie, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’m going to let you decide.”
“Okay,” Maggie said, stunned. Agnes must be feeling really guilty. “What?”
“Do you think we should give Racine her money back?”
She opened up her pocketbook and retrieved a check for $10,000, made out to Racine Stern. “This represents all the money she’s given us. What do you think?”
Maggie’s first impulse was to say yes. Of course they should give the money back. How could you charge a client when you accidentally killed her mother, even if, in fairness, her mother tried to kill you first? But then Maggie paused. She thought of Detective Grudge. She looked into Agnes’s and Helen’s solemn faces. This was a job, she reminded herself. Racine had hired them to do a job, and they had done it well.
“You know what,” Maggie said. “I think we earned that money.”
Agnes jumped to her feet and began pumping her hand. “Finally,” she cried out. “Finally.” She ripped up the check. “I didn’t dare dream.”
Then Agnes took out her checkbook again. “I’m going to make it out to you,” she said.
She set it down on their huge slab of a table and started to scrawl out Maggie’s name. “You can keep it.”
“No, we’re dividing it three ways. We’re a team, right?”
“I feel a group hug coming on,” Helen said, and they were in the middle of a huddle when Walter came in. He hit his head on the top of the door frame, and swore, and then stared at them in his typical bemused fashion. He looked around.
“So this is the office. Very nice.”
“Sit down, Walter, why don’t you?” Agnes said.
“I thought you’d want to know that the court didn’t charge Racine with anything. She’s going to sell Stern Manor though. I understand she wants to move back to France.”
“Good for her,” Maggie said. “She needs to start over.”
“At her age,” Helen said.
“I’ll have you know, she’s only eight years older than I am. That’s not so late,” Maggie said. “You can start your life over at any point you want.”
Walter cleared his throat. “I came by for a reason,” he said.
They all waited.
“I have a referral.” He held up his hand, stopping Agnes in mid-swoop. “Don’t get too excited. It’s just some subpoena work, but I thought you could use the business.”
“Thank you, Walter,” Maggie said, ridiculously touched.
Somehow she’d arrived at this amazing place. She had two partners, she had a nutty little surrogate grandchild and she had the chief of police referring work to her. She knew private detectives weren’t supposed to weep. She felt sure Detective Grudge never did. But she did wipe away a little tear. She was so thankful.
Chapter 47
Senior Friends Day was approaching and Maggie felt nervous. Would it break her heart to be around so many real grandparents? How would Edgar behave? She’d become braver about so many things. She’d embraced her new life in a way she never could have anticipated. Still, there were times such as this, walking into the same elementary school her daughter had attended, and seeing some of the same teachers, that she felt she would sink.
But this wasn’t about her, she reminded herself. This was Edgar’s day, and Edgar was, as always, enthusiastic. He wore a suit and tie and he gave a presentation about her. He’d made a poster of her life. He’d pasted on pictures of Maggie as a young author, her house, the cats, Juliet as a baby, and then a photo of the two of them at the apple orchard. She was covered in apple sauce and grinning like a lunatic. She seemed to have acquired Edgar’s smile. He gave a report about her and then he said, “My grandma is a private detective and she just chased down a witch and some bad guys and she pushed a lady out the window.”
“Not pushed,” Maggie felt compelled to say. “But I was there.”
“She fought and she won.”
When he was done, Edgar sat down amid applause, barreling into her as always. She wondered if having a six-year-old continually run into your stomach built up muscles. She wondered if she would become toned. She ate two cookies at the reception and chatted with all the other grandparents, who marveled at her experience. On the way home, Edgar held her hand, and she knelt down in front of him, hoping she’d be able to get back up eventually.
“You are the best grandchild anyone ever had,” she said.
“Thank you, Maggie Dove. But why are you crying?”
“I think it’s because I’m happy.”
“I’m happy too, Maggie Dove,” he said, and he linked his arm with hers. He was getting taller, she realized. He was growing up. Maggie couldn’t help but think about what Helen had said about his father. It had been on her mind ever since that conversation, an undercurrent to everything he said and did. She knew better than anyone that life could be hard and could twist people around. It had happened to her for a long time. It happened to Madame Simone. She had started off a beautiful young woman and turned into something monstrous. But Maggie believed with all her heart that with her love, and the love of his mother, and the love of the community, and the love of the detective agency, this boy would grow up to be something fine. He had his father in him, but he had his mother too. And he had Maggie Dove, and she was starting to realize she was a much tougher character than she’d ever realized.
“What say we go watch a Detective Grudge video,” she suggested. “I think there’s one that shows you how to search through garbage.”
“Yes,” he cried out. “Yes!”
To Brad, with all my love. Always.
Acknowledgments
So many people to thank:
The remarkable Paula Munier of Talcott, Notch Literary Services, along with the very supportive Gina Panettieri.
Elana Seplow-Jolley and all the passionate and hardworking people at Random House Alibi, among them: Erika Seyfried, Ashleigh Heaton, Ted Allen, and Tatiana Sayig. Thanks also to Dana Isaacson and Priyanka Krishnan.
Special hugs to the mystery community, which has been so warm in embracing me. That includes all my new friends at Bouchercon, Malice Domestic, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Writers’ Police Academy, and, most especially, The Miss Demeanors (www.missdemeanors.com).
Thanks to Chris Canning and Patricia van Essche, who designed a magnificent website for me, which you can check out at susanjbreen.com.
Warm thoughts for my own little village of Irvington, New York, which is not exactly Darby, but shares certain trees. Thanks to all the kind souls at the Irvington Presbyterian Church, and most especially to the IPC Book Club and the Board of Deacons. Thanks also to my friends Sarah Cox, Melinda Feinstein, Robin Freedman, Terry Gillen, Leslie Mack, and Kay O’Keefe.
Finally, thanks to my family: Rob and Beth and Meghan and Taylor Zelony, all the Bucks and Murcotts. Nancy Breen and Peggy Turchette. Special hugs to my husband, Brad, and our chicks and their loved ones: Tom Breen and Lucy Gellman, newly engaged Kathy Breen and Alex Brennan, and Chris Breen and Claudia Russell. Thanks, or possibly a nod, to the Kosi in my life, a ferocious cat named Calvin, his feral friend Brady, and my two little cockapoos, Buster and Bailey.
BY SUSAN BREEN
Maggie Dove
Maggie Dove’s Detective Agency
PHOTO: © EVE PRIME POPPY STUDIO
SUSAN BREEN is the author of the Maggie Dove mystery series. A story featuring Maggie Dove will be published next year in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Susan’s first novel, The Fiction Class, won a Washington Irving Award from the Westchester Library Association. Her stories have appeared in many publications, among them The Best American Nonrequired Reading and Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. She teaches creative writing at Gotham Writers Workshop in Manhattan, and is on the faculty of the New York Pitch Conference and New York Writers Workshop. Like Maggie Dove, she has spent a lot of t
ime teaching Sunday School. She lives in Irvington, New York, with her husband, two dogs, and two cats. Her three children are grown and flourishing elsewhere.
susanjbreen.com
@susanjbreen
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