She lay down on the daybed, not even bothering to take off her shoes. She hugged Jasper close to her, and cried into his ruff until she finally fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
A little after nine the next morning, Maggie slipped her key in the lock of the door to Carita Beads.
She discovered the door was already unlocked, so she opened it warily and stepped inside. "Hello?"
Her part-time assistant Abby Xiong popped up from where she'd been kneeling on the floor. "Hi," she said, her wide eyes looking bright and cheery behind her black-framed glasses. "What's up? You're in early."
"Um…," Maggie said slowly. "Did you really ask me, what's up?"
Abby grinned. "I thought I was taking the early shift today. I have my summer school journalism class this afternoon. Or did you forget today was Monday?"
Maggie glanced warily to the street outside. All the fog had cleared, and on the sun-drenched street a network news van with a satellite dish on its roof was slowly maneuvering past on its way toward the police station.
"Did you notice any extra traffic on your way to work this morning, Abby?" she asked.
Abby shrugged. She was unpacking a small cardboard box of precut base metal chain, taking the individual lengths of chain out of their plastic wrappers, attaching tiny price tags, then hanging them on the pegboard on the wall. "Nah. I rode my bike today, so I don't care about the traffic jams."
"But you didn't notice all the people around yesterday?"
Again the shrug of her narrow shoulders. "I was busy writing. I have a paper due this afternoon."
"You didn't go out?"
"I got Thai food delivered last night, so I haven't been out at all."
"And didn't watch TV either, I suppose."
Abby shook her head. "I don't have time for TV while I'm taking this class. You know that. What did I miss?"
Maggie shut the door behind her and flipped the open sign to closed.
Abby noticed that. She noticed Maggie's quietness, too. She stood up, holding a handful of chains. "Where's Jasper?" she asked.
"I left him home," Maggie said.
"Why?" Abby asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Because he stands out in a crowd, and I'd be followed," Maggie said.
Abby came over to the front of the store where Maggie was. She was still holding the chains, which dangled from her fingers in tones of rose gold, silver, and bronze. "What are you talking about?"
Maggie realized she'd forgotten her key. She went back to the door to remove the key, and someone burst in before she could get the door closed again.
"Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow!" said the skinny blond with the shiny Botoxed face.
Cassidy Carter took a few steps into the shop, then stood there while Maggie finished closing the door.
"Oh, wow," Cassidy said again.
"Yeah," Maggie replied acerbically. "We got that part."
"But is it true?" Cassidy was a former model turned actress, approaching thirty-five but fighting valiantly to look twenty-five. She was very attractive, in that interchangeable way so many actresses of her type were. She looked a lot like Olivia, Maggie realized with a shudder.
"Is what true?" Abby asked.
Cassidy stared at her as if just realizing she was there. Abby was barely five feet tall, and she looked minuscule next to the statuesque ex-model.
Cassidy dismissed her as unimportant, and turned back to Maggie. "Is he in jail?" she asked.
"Is who in jail?!" Abby asked, getting loud. "What's going on, Maggie?"
"Reese," Maggie said shortly. "Reese is in jail. Or, I think he's not in jail yet. I think he's still in the hospital but under guard."
There was a jingle of metal. Abby had dropped the chains all over the floor.
Cassidy started peppering Maggie with questions, interspersed with more "oh, wows," so Maggie turned the tables on her: "How did you find out about it?" she asked.
"I saw Chief Randall's press conference on TV. He's milking the publicity for all it's worth." She stared at Maggie suspiciously. "So Olivia's really dead, and you found the body. And Reese murdered her. Do you think he'll get the death penalty?"
Abby gasped.
Maggie glared at Abby. Then at Cassidy. "Yes, Olivia is dead. And no, Reese didn't kill her. And they don't actually execute criminals in California—not that Reese would be sentenced to it. Because, again, he did not kill anybody."
"You don't have to get touchy," Cassidy said. "So are you a witness?"
"No," she said shortly. She tried again to get info from Cassidy: "Tell me about Tom Vee."
"Who?" Cassidy looked blank, which to be honest was her usual expression, so it was a bit hard to tell if she was acting. But when Maggie explained, Cassidy swore she'd never heard of Olivia's new boyfriend.
When it became clear Cassidy couldn't offer any new information, Maggie led her to the door and ushered her outside. "We're closed," she said. "I've got a lot to do. Bye, Cassidy."
"Oh, wow," Cassidy said one last time, and Maggie shut the door on her.
Abby was picking up the chains from the floor.
Maggie headed to the back wall where all the seed beads were hanging in convenient packs and started pulling stock.
Cobalt blue was the color of his eyes, and midnight was the color of her thoughts. No. Gold for his hair. Blue and gold. She resolutely put back the matte coal beads and picked up a pack of gold luster beads instead.
"Sometimes I think you just run this bead shop so you can shop from the inventory," Abby said. "It must be nice not to worry about turning a profit."
"Oh, I have to worry," she said absently, trying to decide whether the sparkling gold faceted crystal looked more like Reese's hair color than the Durakote galvanized gold size 8 rocaille bead. She grabbed two packs of each, just in case. "I'm underwater on the mortgage for Casablanca," she muttered. "If Reese doesn't pay his rent, the bank will foreclose and I'll go bankrupt."
Then she realized what she was saying and had to blink to clear the tears from her eyes.
"How could he have done it?" Abby asked. "I mean, he seemed like a pretty normal guy."
"He's not a killer," Maggie said. "But he's not a normal guy, either. It's going to be a fight to prove his innocence."
"So what are you going to do?"
"First, I'm going to take a few days off. I don't want to short your hours, so we'll make a sign saying TEMPORARILY CLOSED and you can put it up when you can't be here to cover the store."
Maggie selected a spool of Fireline from the rack. "And I'm going to start a new project. I'm going to make a spiral peyote bracelet to give me something to keep my hands busy while I try to figure things out."
Maggie grabbed three packs of the metallic lapis blue size 11 Toho round beads that matched Reese's eyes.
"And then I'm going to figure out who really killed Olivia."
Maggie left the bead shop and headed across the street to O'Riley's.
The bell on the door jingled when she went in.
The coffee shop was pretty jammed up. The usual morning crowd was there, and there were some strangers around as well who could be innocent tourists—or tabloid stringers looking for a scoop.
O'Riley's was a big, open space, a converted warehouse that still had all the industrial trimmings. The tables were rickety, the walls were of red brick with chunks of the mortar missing, and there was a beat-up black piano off to the side that showed the scratches from a dozen moves. The voices of the customers echoed up to the ductwork in the ceiling, and the concrete floors bounced the sound back around, creating a cacophony.
Two men in overalls and baseball caps with the Carita Electric Service logo were across the room, near the piano. One was standing at the base of a tall ladder, steadying it. The other was on the top rung, up near the ceiling, working on the overhead lights. All the lights in the coffee house were off while they worked. But the sunlight streamed in the big windows that faced the street, and each little table
had a battery-operated candle that flickered to add a bit of glow.
Brooke Riley was behind the counter, brewing coffee on the big gas range, taking orders, and making change by hand, since her cash register was turned off with the electricity.
She lifted her eyebrows at Maggie when she spotted her. There were no empty stools in front of the counter, so she motioned with her head for Maggie to come behind the counter.
Maggie perched on a chair to one side and watched her friend work. Brooke was a gorgeous brunette with an ample figure that showed she enjoyed her own cooking. And she had the blissful air of someone who was living exactly the life she wanted to live. Ironically, after spending a decade as a sought-after waiflike actress with a platinum pixie cut, the comfortably padded and dark-haired Brooke was not only much happier, but Maggie thought she was prettier, too. Contentment suited her.
She bustled around her funky coffee shop, offering coffee refills, jokes, and delicious pastries to all and sundry.
She kept glancing back at Maggie, obviously dying to talk to her about what was going on. But there were too many people around.
At one point she handed Maggie a cup of coffee. "How are you?" she whispered, barely audible with the noise of the customers.
Maggie shrugged, that simple question bringing a wave of melancholy crashing over her. "I'm holding it together," Maggie said.
"Talk to me," Brooke said.
Maggie shook her head. "It's chaos in here."
Brooke looked around. "Yeah. The electricians are working on the lights, and it's messing up my whole morning routine."
"Again?" Maggie asked.
"Yes. Again. The lights have been flickering for weeks. They've been out twice and can't seem to find where the wiring is broken."
"Oh," Maggie said absently. She stared out at the room. The piano stood off to the side, reminding her of the viral video of Shane and Reese playing there just a couple weeks ago. They'd never found the person who recorded the video. Maybe that was an angle to check out. After all, even though Olivia had surely been the person to upload it, she couldn't have recorded it, since she wasn't in the cafe that night. She had to have an accomplice. She said so to Brooke next time she came by.
"But we looked at all the customers who were in the café at the time. I know all of them and they weren't recording. I was watching them like a hawk that evening. We went over that. You want some chocolate?" she added, offering a muffin.
Maggie shook her head. "Not in the mood. I'm just thinking…."
Brooke stood there, coffee pot in hand, and waited. "Thinking what?" she finally asked when Maggie didn't go on.
Maggie counted off on her fingers. "We don't know who filmed the video for Olivia. That's one. We don't know where she got the oxycodone. That's two. And we still haven't found Tom Vee. That's three."
"Who's Tom Vee?"
"Her boyfriend." Maggie continued, "He might know about the drug angle, too. I just thought she was being greedy when she was always bugging Reese for more money, but if she was an addict, she could burn through a lot of cash. Maybe she really didn't have enough money to support her habit. She could have made someone mad, stolen from someone—who knows? It's something to check out."
Brooke set down the coffee pot. "So you think it's one of the people you mentioned?"
"I don't know. I'm sure there are more suspects I haven't even thought of yet. The drug dealer might be the key to this whole thing."
"But Maggie…." Brooke stopped before she finished the thought.
"What?"
"Nothing."
But Maggie saw the doubt in her eyes.
"Yeah, I know," she said. "Everyone's sure Reese did it and so they don't believe I should even be investigating."
"The police are investigating. It's not your job."
"You don't think the police ever make mistakes?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Yeah," Maggie said. "That's pretty much what everyone is saying. Reese is so obviously guilty that there's no point in even looking for another explanation. Well, I think there is a point to investigating. I think he is innocent until proven guilty. And I don't think they've proven anything yet. He wouldn't pour crushed oxy into his own orange juice and drink it. If he wanted to get wasted, he would pop pills, or shoot it up, or whatever addicts do. So that means someone poisoned him."
"I guess. I hadn't thought about that."
"Yeah. Well, I did. And that means everything else in that house is suspicious, too. And that includes Olivia's body."
Brooke went back to serving customers. Maggie sipped her coffee and watched the people in the café.
The electrician had come down from the ladder and was messing with the wires on the light he'd removed. His assistant was going around and removing the little battery-operated candles from each table and putting them into a red metal toolbox.
When he passed her on the way to the utility room, Maggie took a good look at him.
She got out her phone and texted Ibarra.
The assistant came back out of the utility room without the tool box and headed over to his boss. The electrician went up the ladder again to reassemble the light, and the assistant waited at the bottom.
Maggie motioned Brooke over to her. "Do you have any duct tape?" she asked.
"Um, yeah. On the top shelf in the utility room. Why?"
"Tell you in a minute." Maggie went into the utility room and then came back a minute later.
She got back just in time to see Ibarra come in the door with a uniformed officer.
The officer stood in the doorway and Ibarra scanned the room, looking for Maggie.
When he spotted her, he made his way over to the counter.
"Where?" he asked.
She nodded her head to the electricians. "The one at the base of the ladder."
"What's going on?" Brooke started to ask, but Maggie shook her head. "Hold on a second."
Ibarra tapped the electrician's assistant on the shoulder and he turned to him. Ibarra whispered something, and the man put his hands up.
But then the man thought better of it, because he ran. First he headed for the front door, but seeing the officer there, he headed for the utility room, Ibarra scrambling after him.
"I blocked the door to the alley," Maggie told Ibarra as he passed, getting up to follow.
"Stay back," Ibarra ordered. He pulled his gun and slowly opened the utility room door, then went inside, the other cop heading in right behind him.
Chapter Ten
Maggie hunched her shoulders, waiting for the sounds of crashing, smashing, gunshots. There were none.
The rest of the people in the coffee house were murmuring about the chase scene they'd just witnessed, but Brooke spoke, projecting to the rafters with the voice of a seasoned actress: "Settle down, everybody. That's what happens when you forget to tip your server."
There was scattered laughter.
She lifted her coffee pot high. "Next round's on me."
People clapped, then everybody went back to their own business.
After a minute, Ibarra poked his head out. "Maggie? Come in here."
The electrician's assistant was sitting on a box, handcuffed.
The uniformed officer was standing next to him.
The outward-swinging door to the alley had a broom duct-taped across it, with an old power cord tied from the door handle to the broom, keeping someone from pushing the door open.
"Pretty ingenious set-up," Ibarra said. "How did you figure that would block the door?"
"I read a lot of mystery novels," she said.
"Don't worry," Ibarra said, noticing her wariness toward the seated man. "He wasn't armed. And he didn't put up any struggle once he realized he didn't have time to dismantle your contraption and escape." He grinned at her. "Good thinking, by the way."
"You're welcome," she said shortly, staring at the man, who glowered back at her.
"Is this him?" Ibarra asked.
Ma
ggie reached out and removed his baseball cap.
"Hello, Tom Vee," she said. "It's nice to see you again."
The man looked down at his feet. "Just terrific," he grumbled.
Ibarra read him his rights.
"So how do you spell your name," he asked the man. "V-E-E?"
"Viola," the man said sullenly. "Tomas Viola."
"Ah. Olivia called you Tom V.," Ibarra said. "Got it."
"So what are you doing here?" Maggie asked, staring at the man who must be Olivia's killer.
"Maggie, please. I'll ask the questions."
"Well, then?" she said, motioning to the man.
"So what are you doing here?" Ibarra asked, then glanced sheepishly at Maggie.
The man shook his head. "I want my lawyer."
"Fine." Ibarra sent the officer to fetch the electrician. When the electrician came in, Ibarra asked him, "Does this man work for you?"
The electrician looked embarrassed. "Well, not exactly."
"Then what, exactly?"
"He paid me a hundred bucks to tag along while I worked."
"While you worked everywhere," Maggie cut in, "or just at O'Riley's?"
"Just here." He hesitated, then said, "he paid me to short out the light in the coffee house, and then to keep the light malfunctioning so we would have an excuse to keep coming back."
"Why?" Ibarra asked.
The electrician shrugged. "No idea. But a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks."
"Did you find the candles?" Maggie asked Ibarra.
"Candles?"
"He was taking the battery-operated candles from all the tables and putting them in a tool box. Where are they?"
"He said he was going out to my truck," the electrician offered. "It's parked in the alley out back."
"Do you give us permission to search your truck?" Ibarra asked.
"Sure," the electrician said. "Of course. If he was stealing stuff, I don't want any part of it."
"Wait!" Viola said. "I don't give you permission to search the truck."
"Too bad it's not your truck," Ibarra said sarcastically. "What a bummer for you."
Maggie dismantled her improvised door blocker, then the cop went out to search. He came back with the toolbox, and set it on the floor.
Maggie and the Empty Noose Page 6