Maggie and the Whiskered Witness

by Barbara Cool Lee

Meanwhile, she lived in her own house. All 240 square feet of it.

  She still automatically broke out into a big smile whenever she saw her tiny house perched on its fat tractor tires at the far end of the driveway, all purple-painted wood siding and white porch railings and pointy roof, a snug little self-contained cottage on wheels, about as different in style from the modern beachfront mansion of Casablanca as it could be.

  Her tiny house was a symbol of her new life. The bohemian, barefoot, no makeup, no worries new life she had begun when she left behind her shallow trophy wife days to start over in Carita, the little tourist town on the California coast known as the Playground of the Stars.

  And she didn't regret the change for an instant. Except now she found herself pausing in the driveway to look around warily for lurking paparazzi. She smoothed her hair down, then sucked in her stomach before she strode purposefully across the pavement.

  And then she got mad about it, and let her stomach out, and slowed down, refusing to be bullied by some jerk photographer who had turned his lens on her after stalking Reese for months.

  While she was debating exactly how to walk across her own driveway, a vehicle pulled in. It was a battered green pickup truck, and it had dried mud splashed on its sides.

  Maggie stopped and watched as the truck parked and the driver got out.

  "Hi, Lauren. You're early," Maggie said with a smile.

  Lauren Douglas smiled back, but didn't say anything. She was usually friendly, but very reserved, and today was no different. Lauren was a younger woman in her twenties who loved big dogs and fine beadwork, two of Maggie's favorite things in the world. And that should have made them natural bosom buddies.

  But there was always a barrier there, a wall that Lauren kept up, guarding herself from getting too close.

  Maggie figured they had time. Some people just took longer to open up.

  Lauren went around to get her dog out of the passenger seat.

  Maggie stood watching her. She noticed Lauren was wearing her mourning beads necklace. "So that's what you did with the Swarovski pearls you bought last week," she said, and Lauren nodded.

  She had added rosaline pearls to the design. The soft ballet pink of the glass pearls was the perfect complement to the rich topaz tone of Lauren's skin. The necklace still had some of the original black pearls she'd used when she first made the necklace, but now the interspersed rosy tones lightened the piece, and highlighted the necklace's focal point, a large angel figure in onyx black, posed with crystal wings outstretched. This lay against her neckline as a reminder of the necklace's purpose as a memorial, created in Maggie's mourning beads class last summer.

  Lauren had never explained who the necklace was for, just "someone she'd lost," and Maggie had given her the space to keep its true meaning to herself.

  "Ready for our walk?" Maggie asked her, and Lauren didn't answer.

  Though they'd taken the dogs out many times, she still felt like Lauren was in some ways a stranger. She was a very private person, not bubbly and talkative like Maggie herself tended to me. She often wondered what had drawn Lauren to her profession, and where her wonderful dog Hendrix had come from, and other things. But Lauren tended to parry any personal questions, much preferring to talk about beadwork, and dog training, and other more neutral subjects.

  And today Maggie was fine with that. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the awful tabloid photo that she was sure everyone in town must be laughing about.

  But Lauren didn't seem to have seen it. Or at least she was polite enough to not mention it. She just got Hendrix out of her old pickup truck and brought him over to say hello.

  "I'll get Jasper," Maggie said, after giving Hendrix a pat. Like his owner, Hendrix was a very dignified and reserved being, a handsome older German Shepherd with impeccable manners who had little to say, but seemed to observe everything.

  Maggie went up the stairs to her tiny house to fetch her dog. Inside, the piercing bark of her own boy made his impatience clear. Maggie wondered if she was as much like her own dog as Lauren was like hers.

  If that were true, she wasn't sure how flattering a comparison that was. She opened the door and almost got knocked over by her enthusiastic young dog.

  She had to take a step back to keep from getting trampled by the big sable and white Rough Collie. He had all the elegant look of Lassie, but unfortunately very little of the training.

  She supposed, if she were being honest, she was a lot like her dog. He was pretty, but sloppy; bouncy, but skittish; talkative, but impatient with pointless chatter.

  Jasper jumped all around her, barking excitedly in that eardrum-piercing way he had, while play-bowing and prancing and letting out intermittent growls that let her know he was barely suppressing the urge to barrel past her and run his fool head off.

  She ordered him to sit, which he did, barely. He plopped his furry buns down on the floor, but then wiggled and wiggled, unable to keep himself in one position.

  She tried to look stern and failed.

  She knew she was supposed to insist on obedience, but Jasper made her giggle with his little boy antics.

  So she just said in her most serious voice, "Jasper, Leash!" And he ran to fetch it.

  When he returned she took it from him and snapped it to his collar.

  He tried to run past her out the door but she successfully wrapped the leash around her wrist before he got away.

  Jasper, Heel!" she said, trying to sound firm.

  But he'd seen Hendrix, and squealed in delight in his excitement to say hello to the dog he seemed to view as his big brother.

  While all this was going on, Hendrix sat at heel on the pavement, perfectly positioned at Lauren's side. He gazed up at the prancing, barking Collie on the porch as if Jasper was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen.

  Maggie managed to get the door locked and shove her keys in her pocket before getting dragged down the stairs.

  Jasper pulled her to Hendrix, where he then lowered his front end, wiggled his back end, and wagged his tail so violently the slaps against Maggie's legs hurt.

  "Oh, Jasper!" she said in exasperation. "You'll never be Lassie!"

  Lauren usually had something wise to say at this point, about how to take Jasper in hand, using firm but gentle commands to teach him how to obey.

  But Maggie noticed she didn't say anything this time. She seemed distracted, as if hardly noticing they were standing in front of her.

  Hendrix had turned to her, too, gazing up at his owner as if concerned, sensing something off about the feel of her touch on his leash.

  "Lauren?" Maggie asked. "Are you okay?"

  Lauren pulled herself back to the present and smiled automatically at Maggie. "Of course. I'm fine." Then she hesitated. "But," she added. "I was wondering if you would do me a favor?"

  "Of course," Maggie said. Lauren had never asked her for anything. "What can I do for you?"

  Lauren held out Hendrix's leash toward her. "Could you take the boys for their beach walk?"

  "Um…," Maggie said, as Jasper pulled her forward so he could sniff Hendrix's nether regions. "Stop that, Jasper!" she admonished him, and of course he didn't listen.

  "I won't be long," Lauren said.

  "Sure," Maggie said, taking the leash from Lauren. She noticed the woman's hands were cold. "Is anything wrong?"

  She shook her head. "No. I'm fine. Thanks."

  Lauren shoved her hands into the pockets of her trousers. She was dressed for work, in a white blouse, navy jacket, and navy trousers with flats. But she was wearing the mourning beads necklace. Lauren was very color conscious, but she was wearing navy and white with a black and pink necklace that didn't really match her work clothes in either color or style. And she never wore such an elaborate piece of jewelry to work. Maggie had always assumed there was a dress code and she wasn't allowed to wear beadwork. So today was different. For some reason. As was her request, for the first time ever, that Maggie take care of Hendrix for
her.

  All this was going through Maggie's mind as she watched Lauren. The young woman looked back at her steadily, as if she were fully aware of what Maggie was thinking, and stood there deliberately to give her a minute to take note of every detail.

  "What's going on, Lauren?" Maggie asked.

  "Nothing," she said, but she still had that steady, serious gaze, and Maggie didn't believe her.

  Then Lauren opened the door of her truck and got in. She rolled down the window and said, "I'll be back to pick him up in an hour, okay?"

  She started her truck.

  Maggie pulled Jasper over to the driver's side. Hendrix of course, obediently followed, ignoring Jasper's bouncing and prancing.

  Maggie put her hand on Lauren's arm. Lauren's arm felt icy through her sleeve. "You can tell me if something's wrong," she said. "You know you can trust me."

  Lauren glanced at her then. Her deep brown eyes were bloodshot in a way that made Maggie wonder if she'd slept at all last night. But she just said softly, "I know, Maggie. I know you can be trusted."

  "Then please talk to me," Maggie said. "I can see you're upset."

  "You always notice things."

  It was an odd statement, and Maggie waited for her to continue.

  Lauren hesitated, as if considering saying something else, but then just pursed her lips together.

  So whatever it was, whatever was going on in Lauren's thoughts, Maggie wasn't going to be allowed in.

  "Please let me help," Maggie begged. "I can see there's something. Please tell me what I can do to help you. Are you okay?"

  Lauren shook her head and withdrew her arm from Maggie's touch. "I'm fine. I just have something I need to do." She paused, then added, "thank you, Maggie. Take care of Hendrix for me. He's a good dog."

  Then she put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the driveway and was gone.

  Maggie stood there with the two dogs and wondered whether it had been her imagination, or whether that had sounded an awful lot like a farewell.

  Chapter Three

  They had a good run on the beach. She let Jasper and Hendrix off leash since there wasn't anyone around on this chilly morning.

  The sun had gotten higher in the sky, and most of the clouds had cleared, but the warmth didn't seem to reach them the way it did in the summer, and the sand was cold. Maggie wished she'd worn her jacket, but she just had on her usual t-shirt and jeans. She followed briskly behind the dogs, trying to keep warm.

  The two big dogs ran along the hard-packed sand, and she walked behind them, letting them stretch their legs and bark and play.

  Maggie coiled the two leashes in her hands. Jasper's was purple, her favorite color, and the webbing was ragged on one end where he'd gnawed on it when he got bored one afternoon and needed something to do to entertain himself. Hendrix's leash was round black leather, simple and clean, and she was sure it would have been beneath the big dog's dignity to even think of putting tooth marks on it.

  Both dogs got wet. Hendrix ran a while, more of a steady lope than a full-out dash like Jasper's. But he still splashed into the water, getting his thick black and tan coat soaked. He went in up to his belly and no higher, which seemed to be his personal limit. He carefully shook himself dry each time he got out of the waves, then, once he was sure his coat had returned to its normal form, he trotted back in.

  "Watch out, Hendrix," Maggie called. "One of these times you're going to get your back wet, too." But he didn't. He was very careful and watched the waves and never let himself go too far.

  She had always assumed the dog was named after Jimi Hendrix, and didn't see the connection between the calm, steady dog and the long-dead wild rock guitarist. She wondered why she had never asked Lauren if that were so, or if she was a fan of his music, or if there was some other reason for the dog's unusual name. She thought of other questions she'd never asked Lauren, as well.

  And then her thoughts turned to the paparazzo who always took pictures of Reese whenever he jogged on this beach, though Reese had never been able to spot the photographer lurking. And she wondered if he was the same jerk who'd snapped her in the alley behind her shop a few days ago, when she was bending over near the trash cans. Or if there was someone else who managed to stay just out of sight, while always waiting to catch them in an unguarded moment. And about how all this was now her problem, when it used to be just Reese's.

  While she mused, Jasper went all the way in the ocean up to his neck, making a mess of himself and getting his beautiful white ruff coated with wet sand. She knew from experience that when it dried, all the sand crystals would drop off in piles on her nice clean floors, scratching the wood.

  But the dogs enjoyed themselves, and so she let them play and get dirty until they both got tired.

  The Pacific Ocean was cold, especially at this time of year, but the dogs didn't seem bothered by it. When they finally slowed down she called them back to her.

  She put their leashes on and led them back to the beach stairs that climbed up the cliff to Casablanca.

  As they walked back, she decided to stop thinking, and instead enjoy the fresh cool air, and the antics of the dogs, and the pleasure of living in this wonderful natural environment.

  But when they got to the top of the cliff, and she led the dogs through Casablanca's living room and back out the front to her tiny house, she saw there was no battered green truck in the driveway there to pick up the dignified old German Shepherd who sat quietly by her side waiting for his owner with a wise, sad look on his face.

  She pulled out her phone and texted Lauren. It was a bright, cheery, and casual little text: DOGS ARE SOAKING WET. HAD A GREAT TIME. HENDRIX READY FOR A NAP! LOL.

  But somehow she wasn't at all surprised when she didn't get a reply.

  She decided to bring both dogs to work with her. There didn't seem to be anything else to do.

  There were two cars in the driveway, now that Reese had left in his sleek Porsche. One was her trusty Honda Fit, in a color called Passion Berry Pearl. It huddled up close to her tiny house to make room for the new addition.

  A big royal purple Jeep sat on massive off-road tires next to it. It was fresh off the showroom floor, glossy and gorgeous, loaded with every bell and whistle and option, and it had been a gift from Reese. She had driven it a few times, out to the country, where Reese had bought a ragged old campground only reachable by a rutted dirt road. She loved the Jeep. She did, really. But somehow she still couldn't quite bring herself to get rid of her old car.

  Her little dusty plum car was all bound up in the burst of happiness she had felt when she'd first broken away from her overbearing husband and set out to create her own simple life, with her tiny house and her little car and her escape from the pretentiousness of the world of Casablanca and millionaires' row and its movie stars.

  She felt poised between the two cars like she was poised in her life. She couldn't have it both ways forever. She would have to decide. Move forward or back. Stay where she was, in the world she had painstakingly created for herself, or become part of Reese's world, where he told his assistant to find him a purple Jeep, and it showed up in the driveway an hour later.

  But for today, she would leave the fancy Jeep home and take the old Honda to work. So she opened the back door of the little car.

  Jasper hopped up and lay down in his usual spot in the back seat. "You have to leave room for your buddy," she scolded him, but Hendrix just walked on top of Jasper's body to find a spot on the far side of the seat. There was barely room for the two of them to lie down, but they managed.

  "Good enough," she muttered.

  They drove through quiet streets to the downtown shopping district.

  She parked in front of a storefront on Main Street that had a big barber pole marking its entrance.

  It took a bit of maneuvering to get the two big dogs out of the car, but she managed, and then unlocked the shop door and led them inside. She flicked on the lights and the pole began turning outside,
calling attention to the sign on the glass that read: Carita Beads. Supplies and Classes.

  She sent the two dogs to lie down on the dog bed under her big class table in the center of the room. Hendrix obediently went straight there and lay down. Jasper decided he needed to do a tour of the whole shop first. It took him several minutes. He examined all the strings of beads hanging from hooks on the walls, and made sure there was nothing interesting in the waste can, and checked out the spot behind the counter where Maggie's former assistant, Abby, used to keep a tuna sandwich for her lunch. He sniffed appreciatively at the whiff of fishiness that must have still lingered in the spot, then finally realized he was missing the chance to cuddle with his big brother, and trotted over to the dog bed to force his way onto the cushion next to Hendrix.

  Hendrix grunted his disapproval at his young buddy's pushy ways, but then gave up and went to sleep.

  Maggie would have smiled at their antics, but she was getting worried. She pulled out her phone and texted Lauren again. Again, no response. She called. She had already called once, and left a message.

  But she did it again, as if that would help. She watched the barber pole out front spin as the call went straight to voicemail, and this time she felt herself shudder at the calm, disembodied voice of the young woman saying, "I can't answer right now. Leave me a message."

  She left another message.

  She checked the time. Lauren had dropped off Hendrix over two hours ago.

  She called another number, that of Lauren's boss. It also went to voicemail, and she changed her mind and hung up before leaving a message. She shouldn't get Lauren in trouble at work just because she was feeling jumpy.

  She stood there at the shop counter, tapping her fingers.

  The door opened and she glanced up expectantly, then must have looked terribly disappointed, because little Mrs. Queen toddled in and said, "what's wrong, lass?"

  "Nothing," Maggie said brightly. She shoved the phone into her back pocket and came around the counter to greet her.

  Jasper had jumped up to say hello as well, and he fussed over the old lady, bumping her and rubbing against her and prancing all around to let her know she was one of his favorite people.