"But not today," she told her other two boys. "Right?" she said.
Hendrix and Jasper looked at each other and she could have sworn they rolled their eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
A customer finally came in late in the afternoon. It was her old nemesis Mrs. Hightower, a very rich and very spoiled lady who loved to do beadwork, as long as it was simple and didn't require any manual dexterity.
She had bailed on Maggie's last class because she'd been forced to wait five minutes before the shop opened, but now she was back, and Maggie was ready for whatever new trouble she would manage to get herself into. None of which would ever be her own fault, of course.
Mrs. Hightower was fresh from the spa, and she had the relaxed and half-asleep expression she usually sported after being primped and prodded and massaged by her favorite service providers, none of whose names she could remember. All of them, Maggie was sure, remembered Mrs. Hightower very, very well.
But she lost her sleepy expression when she saw the dogs lounging under the work table. She sniffed the shop, as if suddenly noticing it smelled a little off. "Perhaps you should use a bit of air freshener, dear," she said to Maggie.
Maggie knew Jasper had been bathed last weekend with a coat-conditioning shampoo that left only the faintest trace of vanilla scent. And Hendrix was clean as he could be, with a shiny and well-maintained coat. So it was unlikely Mrs. Hightower had even noticed them, until she spotted them lying asleep under the table.
"Thank you for the suggestion," Maggie said, working hard to make sure she didn't sound at all sarcastic.
"You're welcome," Mrs. Hightower said obliviously. "I'm glad to help you with your little business." She seemed to think the bead shop was a hobby, not Maggie's livelihood. She confirmed that when she said, "so why aren't you in LA with your handsome boyfriend?"
News travelled fast in Carita. At least she didn't mention the tabloid photographs. She probably thought that would be gauche, though she had no problem smirking at Maggie to let her know she'd seen them.
"So how can I help you today?" Maggie asked her, pretending not to hear all the innuendo.
"I want to make my granddaughters charm bracelets for Christmas."
"What a wonderful plan!" Maggie said, and she meant it. She was thrilled at the idea, since it only required Mrs. Hightower to buy the charms and stick them on a chain bracelet.
Even she couldn't cause too much damage with a project like that. It might even turn out cute.
So Maggie got out all her finest charms and spent a solid hour helping Mrs. Hightower decide which ones would be best for little Amy and little Sue and little Jenny, all of whom Maggie knew were actually teenagers and probably not quite as babyish as their grandmother pictured.
But it was a pleasant project, and the older lady picked out several hundred dollars' worth of sterling silver charms, which made up for an otherwise pointless day at the shop.
Maggie listened to an explanation of the meaning of each charm, and nodded her head at the story of how Amy broke her ankle skiing, and how Jenny's horse won the blue ribbon for show jumping, and little Sue (who was actually part of the goth community with Willow), well, she got some daisy and puppy charms because her grandmother remembered her liking those when she was about five years old.
Once Mrs. Hightower finished making all her selections, she checked out, and Maggie gathered all the charms from the countertop and began to package them up for her to take home.
"Ugh!" the old lady said in disgust. "Not that big one."
"Oh, sorry," Maggie said, realizing she'd started to add the large angel focal piece to the mix. She set the angel next to the cash register and finished wrapping all the charms in purple tissue paper.
Then Mrs. Hightower left, and Maggie picked up the ruby angel again.
Poor Lauren. That nice young woman with her secretive nature and her love of pearls was gone. It was still hard to believe. Hard to believe anyone could have hated her enough to kill her.
A tear dropped onto the angel, making the red ceramic body shine. She wiped the wetness off with her finger, and she felt a crack in the angel's body.
"Oh, no," she said. It was damaged. The pair of angels had come in an assortment of miscellaneous charms, and she wasn't sure she could buy any more. If it were broken that would be a real shame. Now that Lauren was gone Maggie had been toying with the idea of using this duplicate charm to create some sort of memorial to the young woman. But if it were damaged that wouldn't be possible.
She took the ruby and gold pendant over to the window and held it up to the light, looking for the crack in the angel.
There was a line running along the side of the angel's body.
But it wasn't a crack. It was a straight line, a seam, nearly hidden in the folds of the angel's robe.
She'd been mistaken. She'd assumed the angels were made of ceramic and glass, like the other charms in the assortment pack it had come with. But the body of the angel was enameled metal, and it was in two parts seamed together.
She put her fingernail in the seam and then jumped back, startled when it popped open.
She squeaked in surprise. Jasper growled at her distress and she had to hush him and tell him she was okay. "Honest, boy. I was just startled." He lay down again.
She opened her hand that still held the angel. It had popped open to show there was a space inside, just big enough to hold a tiny picture.
"It's a locket," she whispered. "A hidden locket."
At the police station she waited for the officer on duty to buzz her through to the back room. But when he did, she found Chief Randall on the other side of the door, talking with Officer Drake.
"Ms. McJasper?" he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Maggie hesitated.
"I'm sorry," Randall said honestly. "I didn't mean to make that sound like an accusation. I know we tend to rub each other the wrong way."
He walked over to where she had come in, and then just stood there, looking apologetic.
She was taken aback. This was the second time she'd been forced to see Randall as a human being, and not an egotistical jerk.
She smiled weakly at him. "I know," she said. "I was just going to visit Lieutenant Ibarra. As a friend," she added quickly. "I'm not investigating Lauren's murder, I promise."
She clutched her purse closer to her side when she said it, patting the closed flap. She wasn't exactly investigating. Not really.
He smiled at her. "Of course you can see your friend. Again, I didn't mean to make it sound like you were in the wrong. I…." He hesitated, then said softly, "this case does have everyone in the department on edge."
"I know," she said. "I'm sorry."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You do know Ibarra isn't working on the case, right?"
She nodded.
Still that hesitation from him. Then he said, slowly, "and you know why."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded.
He pursed his lips together. Then said, "I wouldn't want you to be hurt by—anything that comes out during the investigation." He was watching her closely, clearly trying to gauge how much she knew. How much she suspected.
"If you're suggesting Will has done anything wrong—why, that's impossible," she said, bristling at the very thought.
"I'm not saying anything of the kind," he said quickly. "But I like you, Ms. McJasper. I don't want you to get hurt."
She was speechless. He had never seemed interested in what she thought before. She stammered out, "I—I—I'm not going to get hurt. I didn't know Lauren that well. I'm just here to see Will Ibarra. That's all. I'm not interfering with the case."
"Of course not," he said. He was speaking softly, and now glanced over his shoulder at the squad room, though no one seemed to be within earshot. Officer Drake was still working at the closest desk, and he was studiously typing away on his keyboard. But still, the chief took a step back from Maggie, as if he had been caught speaking out of turn. "I jus
t…." The chief cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, I won't keep you, Ma'am."
She said goodbye to him and headed to Ibarra's office, wondering just how much Will hadn't told her about what was going on.
Chapter Sixteen
"Just how much trouble are you in?" Maggie asked Ibarra.
Ibarra sat behind his cluttered desk in his converted closet office. He was working, or appearing to, with a stack of case files in front of him and his ever-present coffee mug filled to the brim with life-giving elixir. He was trying his best to ignore her. But he finally gave up when she put her hands on her hips and glared at him long enough.
"Trouble?" He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "What makes you think I'm in trouble?"
She stood in front of him, tapping her foot impatiently. "I just had a little talk with Chief Randall outside."
He laughed. "You had a talk with Randall?"
"Don't laugh. He hinted that you were in trouble and I should stay away from you."
He stopped laughing. "Now you're sounding crazy, Maggie."
"Am I?" She frowned at him. "Will, tell me the truth. Are they investigating you for the murder of Lauren Douglas?"
He sat up straight and put his hands on the desk in front of him. "No." He said it firmly, but there was something there. Something he was still hiding. She was sure of it. So she just stood there, tapping her foot, and waited.
After about a minute of this, he shook his head. "You'd make a good cop, Maggie. Okay, yes, there's a little something going on. But it's not that serious."
She didn't move or speak. She just waited for him to cave. And he did.
"Fine," he said, exasperated that she'd beaten him at his own interrogation game. "I didn't want to tell you. Lauren and I dated a bit more than I told you before. It got a little more serious before we broke it off."
"Oh," she said softly, totally surprised by this. "How serious?"
"Do you want me to go into detail?" He looked embarrassed.
"Not really," she said dryly. "But you'd better explain anyway."
"Fine," he said. "We weren't in love or anything. But she dated me for a while. And that's how it was. She dated me. I always felt she was choosing to be with me for some reason." He smirked. "Some reason other than my obvious charms."
She wasn't in a mood for his kidding. "What does that mean?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. She had an agenda. Like she was investigating me, maybe. That's the vibe I got from her. That she trusted no one and nothing. And when she got what she wanted from me, whatever it was, then she was done with me."
"And what did she want?"
He shrugged. "I have no idea."
"That doesn't sound like Lauren."
"You didn't know her."
"I guess I didn't. But what do you mean by an agenda? What could you have that she wanted?"
Again he shook his head. "I don't know. Really, I don't," he added at her skeptical expression. "Maybe I'm putting totally the wrong spin on it and it meant something else. But I just felt like there was a wall between us, and yet she wanted to go out with me. When we broke up, it was like she'd decided she didn't need to put herself through it anymore. At least that's how it felt."
"How bad was the breakup?" she asked. She crossed her arms, and tapped her fingers on her elbow.
"No, Maggie," he said, giving her a slanting glance. "You're taking this too seriously. It wasn't some dramatic scene like you're picturing. It was just her saying she didn't want to go out anymore. And me accepting it, because it seemed to be for the best. We weren't getting anywhere."
"But it was more than a single date."
"Yeah. A few more."
"How many?"
He looked at the file in front of him. "Ten or twelve," he muttered.
"Why did you lie to me? Why did you say there was only one date? Why minimize it if you have nothing to hide?"
"Don't you know?" he asked.
She stood there. Was this about the kiss? About him not wanting to talk about dating another woman? Or was it something else? Was he hiding something else from her?
But he just motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "Now I'm sure this isn't why you came to see me. So what's up?"
She stood there for a moment. "Is there anything else you need to tell me, Will?"
"Don't be so serious, Maggie. You make it sound like I've got deep, dark secrets. There's nothing."
"You sure?" she asked.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. "I'm positive. Now what brought you here? You promised you weren't going to investigate Lauren's murder."
"I didn't exactly promise," she said. "Not technically promise, anyway. And I do need to see some of the evidence."
"Can't do it," he said mildly. "Don't be ridiculous."
That mild amusement of his was back. He motioned again to the chair. "You gonna stand there tapping your foot at me all day?"
She sat down. The broken spring on the chair cushion poked her in the back, and she sprang up again.
Ibarra laughed. "You're on another one of your investigative kicks, I can tell."
"It's not a joke, Will. You're a suspect and I have to clear your name."
"I see," he said, still amused. "I'm a suspect, am I?"
"That's the impression I'm getting."
"Well, your impression is wrong." He sighed. "And even if it were right, do you think you're more motivated to clear my name than my fellow cops, most of whom I've known for a dozen years?" He took a sip out of his garish coffee mug. "I'm not a suspect."
"You sure?"
He shrugged. "I'm a person of interest, at least peripherally. But it's nothing. I'll be fine. There's a big difference between knowing a person and being accused of murdering them. And the squad has my back. They care about clearing me."
"Do you think they care more about you than I do?" she asked, her foot back to its impatient tapping.
He stopped smiling. "I don't know, Maggie," he said softly. "How much do you care about me?"
She froze there. That was getting a little too close to the truth for her. "I—I—I'm not sure," she stammered.
"I see," he said. "You asked why I wouldn't want to tell you about dating another woman." He frowned. "I suppose it's crazy for me to think I could compete with a handsome movie star."
Maggie was taken aback by his words. "It's not a competition," she said. "I'm not a prize you're trying to win."
He smiled. "You underestimate yourself." He cleared his throat. "But if there's no chance…."
She looked at Will. Really looked at him. Saw a man who was smart, and funny, and kind, and handsome, in a real-person, non-celebrity way.
Ibarra's fingernails tapped on his coffee mug while she stood there. He was waiting for a response.
"Maybe there's a chance," she said, very quietly.
He nodded. "Then how about dinner tonight?"
"Dinner?"
"Yeah. We can talk over your latest theories." He sounded sarcastic, but there was longing in his eyes. "And other things."
She nodded. "Okay. Not a date," she clarified. "But we can talk." Then she shook her head. "But we need to talk about the case right now. Not later. It's important. I need to see something."
He set down his orange mug. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but I seriously doubt it. They've been over the crime scene with a fine-toothed comb. What can you see in the evidence that they haven't?"
"This," she said, pulling out the angel charm.
"I just need to take a look at it," Ibarra was saying to the property clerk.
"But it's not your case, Sir," Officer Ramirez said. She looked supremely uncomfortable, but stood firm. "I'll have to call my supervisor."
"I'm your supervisor, Ramirez," Ibarra said patiently.
"But you've been removed from this case," she said. "You told me that yourself, Sir."
Ibarra waved over someone else. "Drake," he said. "I need you to sign to open
an evidence envelope."
Drake nodded. "Whatever you need," he said. Drake was about Ibarra's age, a serious man with a lot of gray hair and the paunch that came from riding a desk every day.
Ibarra gave him the case number and soon the envelope was there and opened.
"Don't touch anything, Maggie," Ibarra told her. "Now what do you need to see?"
She pointed to the angel charm on Lauren's mourning necklace. "There's a little seam along the side of that charm. Open it."
Ibarra nodded to Drake, then stood with his hands behind his back as Drake, with big, clumsy fingers, tried to open the little locket.
"Let me try," Ramirez said. With her slim, nimble fingers she was able to manipulate the latch and it sprung open.
They all crowded around to see.
The picture in the locket was of a little boy, ten or eleven years old. He wore a red polo shirt with some sort of school logo on it. He had short-cropped curls, oversized clunky eyeglasses, and a sensitive mouth. He was a nice boy. A sweet boy. And Maggie had no idea who he was.
"Could he be Lauren's younger brother?" Ibarra asked.
Maggie shrugged. "I don't know. She told me she made the necklace for someone she cared about who was dead now."
"The murder victim said that?" Drake asked.
"Yes," Maggie answered, not looking his way. She itched to put her fingers on the locket, to pull out the picture. But she couldn't. "She never would say more about it. But it was clearly on her mind a lot. She changed the necklace several times over the last months."
"Changed it how?" Drake asked.
"She put different beads on it. And that clasp looks different, too." She examined it more carefully. "Originally it had crystal black pearls, and then she changed them to these rose ones. And it looks longer, too, to sit at the perfect spot on her neck—" She gasped, remembering the last time she'd seen it.
Ibarra put his arm around her, then realized the others were staring and pulled his arm away. "Anything else, Ma'am?" he asked gruffly.
Maggie and the Whiskered Witness Page 10
