Maggie and the Whiskered Witness

by Barbara Cool Lee

  Maggie left her to her work. She walked to the end of the driveway, where it petered out into a walking path that headed off into the woods. It would be a good place to take a big dog for an afternoon ramble, and she imagined that was probably why Lauren had chosen to live here.

  Abby was still wandering around, trying to "get atmosphere" for her story, like she'd said she wanted to do.

  So Maggie went into the yard and walked around with the dogs for a bit. She didn't like being here. There was nothing to see. Nothing to learn about the mystery of Lauren's death.

  And it wasn't her problem to solve, anyway. Why had she come? To make peace with what she'd seen, maybe. But there was no peace here. Just emptiness. There were no answers here. Her search for meaning was futile, and she had to just accept that and find a way to move on.

  She walked over to the big redwood tree at the edge of the fenced yard. Its trunk was straight and tall, and she tilted her head back to see the top, but she couldn't. It was a young tree, only forty feet tall or so, but still reached up high into the cool autumn sky.

  She remembered Ibarra standing here with Chief Randall, getting the news that he was being removed from the case. She put out one hand to rest against the thick reddish bark, just like Ibarra had done. It was rough and hurt her palm, but she clenched her fingers on it just the same, wanting some sensation to cut through the numb grief she was feeling. At her feet were cones from the tree, looking like little prickly eggs. The eggs were scattered all over the moss-covered ground that felt squishy under her feet.

  She stood there a long time, listening to the wind in the branches and the rattle of the old gate and Abby's soft footfalls as she wandered around.

  Her phone rang and she reached for it. It was a local number, but not one she recognized. She picked up.

  "Hello?" a man's voice said. "Finally. Your other number didn't work, but this one did, anyhow."

  "What are you talking about?" Maggie asked. "Who are you?"

  "I'm the man who found your dogs."

  She swiveled her head around, startled. The little swinging gate was open, and the dogs weren't anywhere in sight.

  "Where are they?!" she asked, her voice too loud.

  "Ouch!" the man said, and she apologized for shouting in his ear.

  "They're at my house. They ain't hurt none." He gave the address, and when she tried to pin down where that was, she realized it was just on the other side of the little path at the end of the driveway.

  She said she'd be right over and ran that way.

  He said his name was Norton. He was an older man, and he had a lot of prickly gray whiskers and very little hair on the top of his head, and he wore overalls and carried a big walking stick.

  "I was out in my back garden when these fellows showed up," he said, shuffling his feet a bit to keep his balance. Jasper bumped him, glad to find a new friend, while Hendrix sat primly, looking pleased with himself.

  "You shouldn't let 'em run around loose," he said. "They could get hit by a car." He nodded toward his house. "There's a main road just on the other side there."

  She nodded. "You're right. Sorry about that."

  She attached the dogs' leashes to their collars and started to go, then stopped and asked, "have you ever seen the dogs before?"

  "Nope," he said, and she wasn't too surprised. She had the impression Lauren had kept Hendrix close to her at all times.

  "And the young woman who lived on the other side of the woods?" she asked. "Did you ever meet her?"

  "Nope." He shrugged. "I've been in hospital for a bit. So I never did see nobody."

  So someone could have passed this way to get to the cabin unseen.

  "Them police already asked me that," he added, giving her a suspicious look.

  She'd figured they would.

  "Are you another cop?" he asked.

  She shook her head.

  "One of them private detectives?" he asked.

  "Nothing like that," she said, wondering exactly what she would call herself. A snoop? A busybody? "Did you tell them anything else?" she asked.

  "Nothin'. Ain't nothin' to tell. Never saw no girl. Never saw no dog. They asked me that, too."

  Then he looked down at the dogs. "Is this the dog they asked me about? The dead girl's dog?"

  Maggie nodded. "Yes. The German Shepherd. He was her dog."

  "Oh," he said. "That's why I didn't get no answer when I called her number." He shivered. "I ain't never called a dead person before."

  "Yes," Maggie said, shivering right along with him. "Well, thank you for calling me."

  "No problem," he said, leaning on his walking stick. "Too bad about the dead girl."

  "Yeah," Maggie agreed. "It's too bad about her."

  She walked the dogs back through the woods to Lauren's cabin, wondering if the police had found any footprints on this mossy little path, and if so, who they might have belonged to.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day was the same as the previous one.

  Maggie was working alone at the shop all day.

  Again.

  Because Willow hadn't shown up.

  Again.

  "That kid," she muttered to the dogs.

  Hendrix nodded wisely, agreeing with her, and Jasper scratched his ear while grinning, which made him look cross-eyed.

  She texted Willow for the second time, and then stood at the counter, tapping on it with one finger while she waited for a response.

  Willow finally answered: OH YEAH. FORGOT. AT LIBRARY.

  Maggie sighed and checked the time. It was already halfway through Willow's shift, too late for her to come in. OK, she texted back. SEE YOU TOMORROW?

  YEAH, Willow replied.

  Maggie wrote and deleted two texts before typing OKAY. WE NEED TO DISCUSS MY EXPECTATIONS FOR THIS JOB TOMORROW.

  "Does that sound authoritative enough?" she muttered to Hendrix, since Jasper was obviously on Willow's side. The old dog gave her an agreeable stare, so she hit send and put her phone back in her pocket.

  Then she pulled it out again when it beeped.

  I GUESS I DON'T WANT TO WORK THERE ANYMORE. SEE YOU LATER.

  She should have been mad, but she just laughed. At least she hadn't been forced to fire her.

  OKAY, Maggie texted back. THAT'S PROBABLY BEST. Then she put her phone away, and felt a weird combination of relief and sadness. It was going to be a bit lonely working the slow season without an assistant. But it wasn't like Willow had been much help anyway.

  At least she still had the dogs to keep her company.

  "I'm stuck here for the afternoon without a break, boys," she explained to them, and Jasper got up to come rub on her, clearly liking the news. She patted him on the side and he licked her hand. "I wish I could go look for clues," she said to him. "But I can't."

  Which was probably for the best. Because she had been told, not once, but twice, to let it go.

  And anyway she didn't have any clues. She had no idea where to start looking for Lauren's killer. Usually she had an inkling. A starting point. A suspect in mind. Something. But Lauren was an enigma to her.

  All Maggie really knew about Lauren Douglas was that she loved doing beadwork and she loved her dog. Neither of those things had any connection to her murder. So what could Maggie do?

  She picked up her phone to text Ibarra, hoping for the inside scoop. But then she put her phone away again without sending a message. Ibarra was not on the case. He wouldn't have the inside information he usually had, so there was no point in bugging him.

  At least, that's what she told herself. The truth was, he probably knew everything the investigators did. He had been part of the team for years, and they would keep him up to date on their progress. And she was dying of curiosity to find out about what they'd learned so far. Did they know if Lauren had died at the cabin, or in the yard, or somewhere else? Did they have any suspects? Had the forensic team turned up anything significant? Her mind raced at all the possibilities,
and she wanted to mull over their evidence and come to her own conclusions.

  But she didn't want to get in touch with Ibarra. Not after what had happened between them. She had not contacted him at all yesterday. She knew they'd have to talk, eventually. But the longer she put it off, the better.

  She had tried to convince herself it was nothing. Just a quick, passing kiss. They had both been upset. Both leaning on each other a bit for comfort. And so their conversation had taken a briefly romantic turn.

  But it didn't mean anything. "Right?" she said aloud to Jasper, who was still leaning against her.

  He gazed up at her with a grin, as if to say, sure, lady, that's a likely story.

  "Oh, go sit down," she said in a grumpy voice. "Jasper, Bed."

  He trotted over and shoved his way onto the dog bed again, pushing Hendrix aside.

  "What do you know about romance, Jasper?" she said. "All your kisses are platonic."

  As if to prove her right, Jasper stuck his long nose into Hendrix's ear and gave him a lick. Hendrix responded with a patient sigh.

  Ibarra's kiss meant no more than the dog's, she told herself.

  But that was a lie. She felt the lie in her bones.

  There was something there. With Will Ibarra. Had always been, though she'd always kept it platonic with him. Like she had for so long with Reese.

  But with Reese there was a good reason to keep things neutral. His life was messy and exactly the opposite of what she wanted for herself. She and Reese had discussed it many times. Their lives didn't mesh, though he wanted them to. And she was really torn about whether she wanted to try to find a way to work through their problems. The constant push and pull with him was exhilarating, exciting… and exhausting.

  But Will Ibarra? With him there weren't any complications. He was a small-town cop. Low-key and funny. Smart and kind. Honorable and rather nice-looking. And clearly interested in her.

  She could picture it. A simple life. A life of baseball games and barbecues. Fishing off the pier and taking walks in the evening. Being anonymous and normal and having no connection at all to the insanity that went with being part of Reese Stevens' life.

  She went to the door and looked out at the street.

  No one came in to the shop all afternoon. The slow season in Carita had hit town like an earthquake, leaving businesses struggling in its wake. Maggie doodled on a scrap of paper for a while, trying to come up with some holiday earring ideas to fill the time.

  Maybe instead of earrings, she could teach a holiday bracelet class? Ideally, it would be something simple to attract the local customers looking for a quick Christmas gift.

  She went to the charm rack and played with the dangling little charms for a bit, sorting out the ones that would work for winter or Christmas designs.

  She had a few Christmas trees, a couple of bells, and some red and green Murano beads. She didn't want to spend any money on new inventory, so she pulled all of her existing stock that would work for the holiday theme.

  Her hand strayed to the row of angels.

  An angel charm with translucent wings was in the center. It gave her a chill down her spine just to look at it.

  This one was a twin of the one Lauren had chosen for the mourning beads class last summer. This one was the color of rubies, and had golden crystal wings. The one on Lauren's necklace had been identical in form, but the color of black onyx, with clear crystal wings. The colors had given it a bit of a gothic look, which suited its purpose as a mourning necklace.

  Her phone rang while she stood there, and Jasper and Hendrix both barked their heads off to let her know about it.

  "Yeah, I heard it, guys. Thanks," she said.

  She picked up the call, still playing with the angel focal piece, which was about two inches high, with wings spread out about the same width. Then she shuddered as she remembered seeing the charm at the dead woman's throat.

  "Hello? You there?" said a familiar voice in her ear, and she realized she hadn't said a word when she'd answered the phone.

  "Oh, hi, Reese," she said.

  His familiar laugh came through across the miles. "A bit distracted, honey?"

  She set down the charm on the counter. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm just upset about this case."

  "Ah," he said. There was something in that simple syllable, and she forced herself to stop obsessing about Lauren and pay attention.

  "What does that mean?" she asked.

  "Nothing." She heard a creak that must have been him leaning back in his chair. "You haven't seen our favorite paparazzo's latest, then?"

  Maggie realized she'd totally forgotten about that. "What is it now?" she asked, dreading the answer. "Did he catch me cleaning up dog droppings or something?"

  "No," Reese said softly. "Just you and Ibarra on your tiny house porch."

  "How did he get a shot of that?!" she asked. That paparazzo was impossible. There had been no sign of him last night.

  "I don't know, Maggie. How did he get a shot of you kissing Ibarra? Is there something I should know about, honey?" Reese said in his most sarcastic drawl.

  Maggie got quiet. "Oh."

  She could hear him get still on his end of the call. Then he said quietly, "I thought I was joking when I said it, but I guess I'm not."

  She spoke firmly. "Of course it's a joke. Or not a joke, really. Did the story explain why we were sitting with our heads together?"

  "No," Reese said softly. "Just that you were cheating on me with another man."

  "You know how misleading photos can be," she scolded him. "You were accused to having an affair with me when I was still with my husband just because someone shot a photo of us at a compromising angle."

  "It wasn't a compromising angle," he corrected her. "As I recall, I kissed you. And as I recall, I meant it when I did it."

  "Stop being a smart aleck."

  "It's my best thing," he said. "So is the photo misleading, Maggie?"

  She didn't answer directly, since she wasn't sure what the answer was. "Context is everything," she pointed out.

  "Context like what?"

  "He dated Lauren."

  "Oh," Reese said. "The dead girl."

  "Yeah," she said. "He's been removed from investigating her murder case. He was pretty upset, and I was comforting him."

  "There are other ways of comforting people besides letting them check out your tonsils," he drawled.

  "He didn't check my tonsils!" she said, annoyed. "That's your specialty, Charm Boy."

  He laughed.

  "Don't jump to conclusions," she said. "We were talking about Lauren. He was crying. That's all. I was trying to help him. This is a really tough case and we haven't found any clues yet."

  "Oh," Reese said, taking on a very different tone. "You're on another crusade." The relief in his voice was flattering.

  "Yeah," she said. "It wasn't romantic." She said that firmly, as if she meant it. "We were talking about what happened, and he was crying, and so I put my arm around him until he got himself together. I'm sure it looked a lot more cozy than it was."

  "Is he a suspect in her murder?" Reese asked. "If he is, you should stay away from him."

  She ran her finger over the angel charm, feeling the grooved feathers on the wings. "Of course he's not a suspect. How could you even suggest Lieutenant Ibarra is a murderer? You know better than anyone what it's like to be falsely accused."

  "Well, do the police suspect him?"

  She shuddered again. It wasn't cold in her shop. "No…," she said slowly. Did they? Is that what Chief Randall's kindness yesterday had been about? How had she missed that?

  "Maggie?" Reese asked, and she realized she'd gone silent for a tad too long.

  "I need to find out what happened," she said. "If there's any chance Ibarra is actually a suspect, I have to help clear his name."

  "I could argue about that," he said sarcastically.

  "But you won't."

  "No, I won't," he said. "Because it won't do any good."
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  Her fingers traced the outline of the majestic angel and she tried to think back to the way everyone had behaved at the crime scene, and then Randall's attitude at the police station.

  "Why don't you just come to New York with me instead?" Reese said, interrupting her revisit of the last day.

  "No," she said firmly. "I have the two dogs."

  "You can board them."

  "I have my business to run."

  "You can close up for a couple of days."

  "I have to see this through," she said.

  "No, you actually don't," he said. "Every time someone dies you take it on as a personal crusade. You don't need to get involved. It's not your problem."

  She stopped playing with the charms and turned away from the counter. "Yes," she said. "I need answers. Lauren died. I need to know why. And I can't run away from it."

  "Then maybe I should cut this short and come home before you end up getting in trouble," Reese said.

  She responded just a shade too quickly with, "Nah. There's no reason. Anyway, I'm stuck here in the shop all day, so I'm not investigating anything."

  "Good," he said. "Keep it that way until I get back."

  "Let's not talk about it anymore," she said. "Now tell me what you're up to."

  They chatted a bit more, and she promised to watch his recorded appearance on an afternoon talk show where he had fended off the lecherous jokes of the five women co-hosts, which he described as drowning in estrogen.

  "Poor baby," she said with a laugh. "All those women finding you attractive."

  "You're the only woman I want finding me attractive," he growled, and she had to put her hand on her chest to settle down.

  "Stop flirting with me and go do your job," she said, trying to sound gruff and only sounding breathless. "Call me tonight," she added in closing, and he agreed.

  After she hung up the phone she felt guilty. Even though she had nothing to feel guilty about. She and Reese were friends. And she and Will Ibarra were friends. And it should be possible to be friends with both. But she knew she was lying to herself. Sure, she could be platonic friends with both. But they weren't platonic, were they? Both relationships had crossed a line in recent weeks. She couldn't play with their feelings. She had to decide what she wanted.