Deception Trail
By
Charisse Peeler
Chapter 1
“I don’t kiss boys,” a fourth grade Maggie said.
“Who do you kiss?” the dirty-faced new boy teased. “Maggie kisses girls,” he shouted.
“I do kiss girls,” Maggie said confidently. “I kiss my mom and baby sister. They are girls and you are stupid.”
That was the first time Maggie met Chase, on the playground, a million years ago. He was the new kid, and all the girls had an instant crush on him, except for Maggie. Even though, his out-of-control blond curly hair and deep blue eyes had an angelic familiarity to her, but he was far from an angel. Part of his teasing might have been his defense mechanism. Most of the girls were relentless and chased him around the playground at every recess.
Finally, Maggie felt sorry for him and showed him a great hiding spot behind the ball bins. She sat with him for the first few days until the girls were distracted by a new set of jacks.
“We can pretend you’re my girlfriend,” he said.
“That’s gross,” Maggie said, “I told you, I don’t kiss boys.”
“You don’t have to kiss; you just hold hands sometimes.”
Maggie smiled at the memory of Chase as a child and her best friend for most of their school years. Why did all the good memories always seem better than they were when someone died, the bad memories not so bad anymore and all the everyday stuff buried six feet under.
Chase and Maggie’s sister, Liza, had been married for more than ten years now. Maggie hadn’t even spoken to her sister or Chase in all that time, yet she couldn't resist picking up the phone just to hear his familiar voice one more time.
She searched through her contacts, not even sure if the number was current, but it was there. She pushed the button and let it ring until it finally went to voicemail.
You have reached Chase Dawson. I am temporarily unavailable. Please leave a brief message, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.
"I don't think it's very temporary, Chase," Maggie said aloud, pushing the end button looking around, but no one seemed to notice her talking to herself. She wanted to leave a message, a very long message, but it would do no good to expose her truths since he was already dead.
Not to mention anything she recorded could be discovered as part of the murder investigation. It was also not ideal that she was surrounded by people, waiting for what appeared to be a full flight to Seattle. Charlotte International was always a busy airport, and she was fortunate to get the last seat in first class on such short notice.
She looked through her phone for Kat's text messages and found the link to the article in the Kitsap Sun. Kat was one of Maggie's oldest and dearest friends in the Pacific Northwest and the one who called Maggie, telling her that her sister was in trouble. Kat had been there for Maggie through thick and thin. She was there for Liza too, and she always treated Liza like her own little sister.
The article began, Woman Shoots Husband on Popular Northwest Trail. The couple was hiking the Staircase Rapids Loop Trail Sunday afternoon when two witnesses came upon the couple. The woman was still holding the gun.
"Group 1," the announcement came over the loudspeaker. Maggie dropped her phone into her backpack and excused her way through the people crowding around the terminal gate, blocking her from the pathway to the jet bridge.
As soon as Maggie was seated in seat 1C, the bulkhead seat with lots of legroom, she pulled her phone out and finished reading the article. It was short and to the point, and in the story's body, they did say she 'allegedly' killed her husband. It appeared Chase's murder was big news for a small town. It was going to be hard to get an untainted jury. They may even have to change venues.
She finally sat back, letting the reality of it all sink in as the flight attendants greeted the passengers as they entered the plane and made their way to their seats. Liza is in jail for killing her husband, and she actually reached out to Maggie for help. The two women hadn't spoken in many years. Chase was dead, and their father was dead, their mother missing since they were teens, and was probably dead. Liza and Maggie were the only ones left. The betrayal that seemed so raw for so long had dulled over time. Maggie's sister needed her help, issues of the past, now forgotten.
Maggie took a deep breath as her seatmate arrived, pleased that it was a woman about her age. Maggie got up to provide the woman with easy access to the window seat even though there was plenty of room in the first row. The aisle seat was Maggie’s favorite, it provided a quick exit and easy access to the restroom. She hated disturbing a sleeping person if she had to go, and at her age, it was much too often.
Maggie's phone buzzed with a text notification. It was a text message from Detective Mike Marker.
Have a safe trip and call me when you get there.
Mike was one of the good guys, and Maggie liked the handsome detective. Still, their relationship was going to stay in the 'friend zone.' Even though they had a few weak moments in the past, the reality of a long-distance relationship was just too complicated. Maggie lived in Boca Raton, and Mike lived in the smallest town possible in North Carolina. But the distance wasn’t the only obstacle, he was also raising Zoey, his 15-year-old daughter full time since his ex-wife died in a motor vehicle accident.
Zoey was the reason Mike stayed in North Carolina instead of coming to Seattle with Maggie. Maggie hadn't asked him, but he said he wished he could. She would be facing her sister's murder charge as well as all the bad memories, all by herself.
"Business or pleasure?" asked the woman sitting next to her, interrupting Maggie’s thoughts.
"Uhm," Maggie paused, not knowing how to answer the woman attempting small talk. "Family," she finally settled on the one-word answer before shifting it back to the woman. "What about you?"
"I live in Gig Harbor. It’s across the Narrow’s Bridge," she said. "I was visiting my grandkids in Pensacola. My son is in the Navy and stationed there. I had a three-hour layover in Charlotte."
"You sure don't look old enough to have grandkids," Maggie said even though she knew it was a possibility. Maggie herself could easily have grandkids in her mid 50's.
"It's their fourth child. The other three are boys, so now that they have a girl, maybe they are done," she said proudly, taking out her phone and showing Maggie a picture of a small child wrapped up like a pink burrito. "I wish I lived closer to the kids, but they are trying to get stationed at the shipyard in Bremerton. I pray for that every day." She finally took a breath, “Where does your family live?”
"I'm staying in Port Orchard," Maggie said.
"Did you hear about that woman who killed her husband?" the woman asked.
"I…" Maggie felt her face heat up.
"My mom knows the guy."
"How does your mom know the guy?" Maggie turned her undivided attention to the woman. "By the way, my name is Maggie McFarlin."
"I am Heather Bergstrom. My husband is the head of the Music Department at Olympic College in Bremerton. That’s real close to Port Orchard.”
“I went to OC for two years after high school,” Maggie said.
“What a small world,” Heather said, a little too loud.
The Flight attendant, who had begun demonstrating the seat belt's proper use, gave them a polite but warning smile.
“It really is a small world,” Maggie whispered.
When they finally reached cruising altitude and the engine's noise settled, Maggie decided to explore the connection between Heather's mom and Chase. Not that anything would come of it, but one thing she has learned as she studied to be a Private Investigator was no detail was
too small.
"How does your mom know the guy that got shot?" Maggie asked Heather.
"My mom is the head of the Northwest Bigfoot Alliance, and the guy was part of her group."
"Really?" Maggie caught herself sounding a little condescending, so she added, "I am a believer." She knew that this was the universal statement that separates a true Sasquatch enthusiast from the skeptics.
"I am also a believer," Heather said, smiling, "but my mom is certified."
Maggie smiled but kept silent, not able to translate certified as crazy or just overly dedicated.
"What do you do, Maggie?" Heather asked.
"I'm a retired technical writer," Maggie said, not wanting to reveal that she was working on her detective's license. "How about you?"
"I am a court reporter in Kitsap County," she said, smiling.
"That sounds interesting. You must hear a lot of interesting cases,"
"Honestly, most cases are super boring, but once in a while, you get a good one. I am hoping to get assigned to the murder case. We just don't get murder cases in Kitsap County."
"Do you have pictures of your other grandkids?" Maggie asked, attempting to get off the subject of her brother-in-law's murder.
By the end of the flight, Maggie saw what seemed like thousands of pictures of Heather's grandchildren, her two dogs, and her award-winning Dahlias, reminders of a different life. Heather was lovely, but more importantly, she was Maggie’s first lead in finding out more about a part of Chase's life that was off the radar.
"We should be Facebook friends," Maggie suggested. "I will send you a request."
"Great idea," Heather said, almost bouncing in her seat. "We should meet for lunch at the Brewery in Silverdale while you are here."
"That sounds like fun," Maggie smiled at her new friend.
Maggie closed her eyes and slept for the remainder of the flight. She didn't get much sleep the night before, worrying about her sister sitting in jail for something she didn't do.
Maggie and Heather said their goodbyes as they went their separate ways. Maggie stopped at the restroom to splash some cold water on her tired face. She hardly recognized the woman looking back at her in the mirror. The dark circles looked purple on her pale face especially under the fluorescent lights.
She used her fingers to comb out the tangles in her hair as she walked to the baggage claim, where she took a seat. While she waited, she took out her phone and searched Facebook for Heather's profile, but as she did, an alert popped up that Heather beat her to it and requested to be her friend. Maggie looked around for her new friend, but she didn’t see her.
Maggie’s bag was one of the first to hit the carousel. She struggled to pull it off, almost losing her balance but recovered quickly and headed outside toward the rental car shuttle, where she was hit in the face with a 53 degree drizzle as she waited until the bus arrived. She had help lifting it and finally was seated across from the bags.
She looked forward and noticed their driver’s name was Dwayne. Maggie recognized Dwayne from the last time she was on the shuttle to the airport terminal. He was about her age, bald, and wore a blue and green Seahawks #12 Jersey. She wouldn’t usually remember a shuttle driver, but this one saved her life, not her actual life but a lot of agony and frustration. It was only 4 a.m., and she was tired when Dwayne started their five-minute journey to the airport with a good morning and a reminder to check that all three passengers had their cell phones, purses and that they left the rental car keys at the facility.
Maggie located her phone in her inner coat pocket. Since she had it, she would do a quick e-mail check. Her cell phone case was also her wallet. She rarely carried a pocketbook, so it was just so convenient. The problem was that the individual slits that hold credit cards and driver’s license separate stretched out, so she had the whole batch shoved into one of the slits, but they were all gone when she opened the case. Her memory was interrupted by the familiar voice over the intercom.
“Welcome to Seattle. The weather is a nice 53 degrees at the moment, but the sun might peek its head out tomorrow with a high of 62. Our next stop is at the parking garage, where you will pick up your rental car. Remember, folks, if it’s your first time when you exit, do not turn at the light or you will find yourself right back in the parking garage. If you need the freeway, take the first right after the light,” he paused. “Hey Maggie, is that you?” Dwayne said looking in the rear-view mirror.
Maggie waved and caught the attention of a few of the other riders who were uninterested and returned to the distraction of their cell phones.
As soon as they reached the first stop, everyone on the bus exited, leaving Maggie and Dwayne alone. Dwayne was standing, helping unload bags to the curb.
“Thanks for helping me out last time.” Maggie stood at the front door as Dwayne grabbed her bag from under the rack and delivered it to the curb. He motioned to the bus behind them to go around, so the next load of passengers headed to the airport.
“It was my pleasure,” he smiled. “A lot lighter bag this time.”
“It’s still pretty heavy,” she said, “but how could you remember that?” she asked.
“I felt sorry for you that you had to lug it back downstairs to the Budget lot and back up. Honestly, you were pretty quick finding your cards.”
“The bag had three bottles of wine that my friend Kat and Sue gave me for my birthday the night before. I didn’t have time to drink them, and I wasn’t about to leave them behind.”
“Do you want to know what a small world it is?” Dwayne asked, waving the next bus around.
“I went to school with your friend Kat. We were at our 40year high school reunion a few months ago, and she was talking about her friend Maggie McFarlin. I told her I met you on my bus.”
“That is a coincidence. I didn’t even put that together when you told me you went to Mt Tahoma. I should have asked if you remembered her. I was just so panicked about my ID. You were such a savior.”
“Honestly, Maggie, anyone would have done the same thing.”
“It wasn’t a specific thing you did. It was your attitude, your calm assuring manner, and the fact you took the time to remind us to check for our phones that made a difference.”
“You are too kind, but thank you,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a business card. “If you need anything, let me know.”
Maggie took her bag and walked it to the escalator, turning back as Dwayne drove around the building to pick up his riders back to the airport.
“There are good people in the world,” Maggie said out loud as she put the card into her jacket pocket and pulled her suitcase onto the escalator behind her.
Chapter 2
Maggie woke up the next morning at her waterfront hotel in downtown Port Orchard. The low clouds and fog made it hard to see the shipyard from her second-floor window looking across the Sinclair Inlet at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. The Logistics Building, where Chase worked as the Senior Manager, looked like a ghost of a building looming at her from across the water.
Maggie made a cup of coffee and turned on the local news. She wondered if Chase’s murder or Liza’s incarceration would be a featured headline, but luckily the story was already a week old and wasn’t even mentioned. Maggie took a long shower letting the hot water hit her middle-aged neck and back that were still stiff from the long plane ride. She pulled on a pair of black yoga pants and a long bulky sweater. She didn’t have boots, so she put an extra set of socks in her backpack. This is the town she grew up in, so she knew how to prepare for the weather.
Maggie put the address Kat sent her into her phone. The office was less than a mile away and it would have been a pleasant walk if it wasn’t for the chilly wet weather. It probably took more time to get in the car and park than just walk, but she was okay with that. She quickly found a parking spot behind the sizeable two-story turn of the century home now converted into Brooks and Cohen's Law Offices. It was conveniently located just a few
blocks from the courthouse downtown. This home must have belonged to one of the first settlers in the area, people with money considering the size and the unobstructed view of the Sinclair Inlet.
Maggie walked through the heavy solid oak door into a large reception area. It was a warm space, expensively decorated. The couch and chair along the front wall looked like the original furniture of the house. The heavy curtains filtered the outside light, but the chandelier overhead provided a soft, warm glow.
“May I help you?” called one of the three women sitting behind the extensive solid-oak reception desk. It spanned the entire width of the room. Maggie walked to the receptionist sitting in the center position.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked again, looking up at Maggie with a friendly smile, her voice muted by the plexiglass screen that shielded her from the waiting area. It was either a bulletproof precaution because of their prevalent clientele or only a germ barrier leftover from the last COVID outbreak.
"I'm here to see Daniel Cohen," Maggie said almost two loud.
The woman typed on the computer before looking up at Maggie. "The second or the third?" she asked.
"Gee, I'm not sure," Maggie said, looking confused.
"Who is the client?"
"Liza Dawson," Maggie said.
The woman typed the name into her computer. She paused, shaking her head. "I don't see her listed in our client database." She paused, then flipped through several manila folders stacked in a tray. "Josie, do you have a file for a Liza Dawson?"
"I do. I was just about to enter the client's information." She motioned for Maggie to her area of the desk, holding up a manila folder.
"I have an appointment with Daniel Cohen," Maggie repeated.
"And you are?"
"Maggie McFarlin, Liza's sister."
"Aw, yes. I have you right here. You will be meeting with Trey."
"Trey?"
"It's Daniel's nickname. His real name is Daniel Francis Cohen III. His father is well, you know the Second. We use his nickname; it's less confusing," Josie explained, now standing. She pointed to the door with a placard marked PRIVATE. Maggie waited while Josie disappeared and opened the door for Maggie. "Follow me."
Deception Trail: A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Page 1
