“When was that first visit?” Junior says. He’s looking a little green around the gills, working side by side with such senior Fayette officials.
“Saturday afternoon.”
“I’ll look into it.” Junior makes a note.
“Go on,” Michele says.
“Tom Clarke came to see me on Saturday, too.”
“Who’s he?” Junior asks.
“Gary Fuller’s manager.”
Karen’s eyes bore into Maggie. “What was that about?”
“I’m not really sure. He said he was in town to meet with Gary on Friday.”
“What?” the Fayette sheriff barks.
Karen puts her hand over his arm. “Sheriff Boland. Please.”
Sheriff Boland. Boland is the asshole’s last name. Maggie doesn’t remember the first, if she ever knew it. “With all that happened, I’d forgotten about it, but Gary told me he planned to meet with Tom Friday. When we talked Thursday night.”
“Did Gary tell you why he wanted a meeting with Tom?” Karen asks.
“He said he was going to fire him.”
Karen and Boland share a long look. Karen doesn’t remove her restraining hand from his arm.
“But when I saw him on Saturday, Tom claimed he was late getting to Gary’s and by the time he got there Friday, Gary was long gone.”
“What did he mean by that?” Karen asks.
“He didn’t say. He was acting crazy. The whole conversation went down on the side of the road near the Coop, and it didn’t last long. I told him he needed to go to the authorities, but he said he couldn’t because people would think he killed Gary.”
Boland smiles at her, but it’s really more a leer. “That’s awful convenient, seeing as he’s not here to confirm your story.”
Maggie balls her fists. “Well, it’s your job to find him and talk to him, not mine.”
Karen says, “Why would people think he killed Gary?”
“According to Gary, Tom is a thief and was putting other clients’ interests ahead of his.”
“Why would Tom do that?”
“You’d have to ask Tom. But if I had to guess, he’s been hedging his bets for if and when Gary’s star falls. Gary was no sellout. Tom’s been on him to become more commercial for years, but he wouldn’t compromise his artistic integrity.” If singing about Lone Star longnecks and Friday night lights is artistic.
“Do you have any proof?”
“Why would I have proof? I’m not a cop and it’s not my business.” Maggie narrows her eyes at the sheriff. “But from what I’d seen and heard, that was my belief, and it had come to be Gary’s. In my opinion, firing Tom was long overdue. It shouldn’t be hard for you to confirm Tom’s been in town, if you don’t believe me.” She takes a deep breath. “I also ran into another person on the outs with Gary. Yesterday. At Los Patrones.”
Boland smirks. “Suddenly no one is Gary’s friend, or so says Maggie Killian.”
“Do you want her help or not?” Michele retorts.
Boland makes a rolling “go on” motion with his hand and shuts his mouth.
“Thorn Gibbons is a musician and television personality. He claimed to me that he came to town to surprise Gary, and that he hadn’t known he was dead. He quizzed me about whether Gary had mentioned him to me, and whether anyone knew how Gary had died yet. That was all weird, because Gary and Thorn weren’t friends and didn’t have business together, but the weirdest part was I saw him Saturday morning, too. I asked him about it, and he denied being in town.”
Boland grunts. “Case of mistaken identity?”
“There’s no such thing with Thorn. He’s very hard to miss.”
“But does he have a beef with Gary?”
“Gary didn’t mention anything, but Google their names. The internet thinks so.”
“Why don’t you tell us about it?” Boland says, his voice rising.
“Because your forty-five minutes is ticking, and I don’t have a lick of firsthand knowledge. And I’m not done.”
“Go on,” Karen says, ignoring Boland’s glare.
“Three things stick out at me from Friday night, as I think back on it, things I didn’t remember in the heat of the moment.”
“Convenient again,” Boland says with a snort.
“Sheriff Boland, you’re not helping,” Karen says.
Maggie tries to block out Boland and focus on saying the things she and Michele planned. “The first was that Friday when I drove from Round Top out to Gary’s, the road was pretty clear. I only saw one car the whole time. It was a silver sedan. I don’t know the type. It wasn’t overly old. It wasn’t overly new. Unremarkable. But given the timing, I wanted you to know. I didn’t notice the driver. The other thing was that as I was running to the back of the house, I tripped over a hose. I was in a hurry, and I didn’t stop to get a close look, but it had a cut in it. A long one. That may not be significant, but, there you go.”
“We found the hose.” Karen nods at Michele.
Maggie hesitates. She’s scared to tell the last thing. She and Michele had talked for a long time about how to spin it.
Michele pats her knee. “One last thing, right?”
Maggie swallows. “Last night at the fire, as I was leaving, there was a woman in the woods across the street from the Coop.”
Junior interrupts. “Who?”
Michele raises a brow at him. “Let my client speak, please.”
Maggie answers anyway. “I don’t know, but I’d seen her at least once before. Here.” Maggie points past the agitated dogs. “In the backyard, looking in the windows at me. That time, I got up to go out and see what she was doing, but she disappeared. When I saw her after the fire, I chased her. But she got away.” She remembers the braided woman in her rocking chair, but she doesn’t mention it. It’s enough that they know about the other times, or so she tells herself, because it had to have been just a dream. She’ll sound crazy if she tells them about a woman who broke and entered just to rock in a chair by her bed. Even Maggie doesn’t believe the woman was really there that time. Booze. Dreams. Hallucinations. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been real. The scarf, yes, it was real, but it doesn’t mean the woman was.
Deafening silence fills the room like a screaming banshee. She’s surprised them, and she has their full attention now.
Maggie clears her throat. “I don’t know who she is. I’d only seen her that one other time, as far as I know. But if she’s following me, maybe she saw something I didn’t. Or, I don’t know, maybe she’s involved somehow.”
“Did anyone else see her?” Junior asks.
“I don’t know.”
Michele squeezes Maggie’s knee again. “Rashidi John and I went after Ms. Killian in the woods and reached her after she’d lost sight of the woman. We didn’t see her, but we can attest that she was running after someone and yelling for them to stop.”
Boland grins. “So no other people saw her.”
Michele’s voice is a whip crack. “Ms. Killian answered that and said she doesn’t know. It wasn’t her job to go look for witnesses. That’s for Lee County to do. Go on, Maggie.”
Karen holds up her hand. “Wait. Can we at least get a description?”
“Gray hair. Long. She wore it in a single French braid the times I saw her. She’s tall. I don’t think she’s old. Maybe fifty, sixty at most? Or prematurely gray. She was medium build. Not fat. Not skinny. Pale. Very, very pale.”
Junior guides the questioning now. The woman is a potential witness to the incident in Lee County. “Eyes?”
“Too far away to see.”
“How did she dress?”
“Jeans and a buttoned shirt, tucked in.”
“Country.”
“Seemed so.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Would you be willing to help with a picture?”
“I can try.”
Junior sits back in his chair.
Maggie looks at Michele, who motions for her to continue. “The only other things I wanted to say are, first, Gary pissed people off. If this fire wasn’t an accident, then you need to know the truth about him. I may have been the best friend he had, notwithstanding our breakup. He was arrogant. He stole girlfriends and wives. He cut people off in traffic. He was ruthlessly ambitious. Second, about the vandalism and fire at my place, please make sure you talk to my vacation renter. Leslie DeWitt. She’s been in my house for the last two weeks, and I have not been in my home at all during that time. More than half of it I was working estate sales in Wyoming. If there was anything to see, she would have been the one in a position to see it.”
“We talked to her last night,” Junior says.
“Good.” Michele smiles at Maggie. “Anything else?”
“That’s all. Other than I’m devastated.”
Karen looks down at a notepad in front of her. “Thank you, Ms. Killian. Deputy?”
Junior stammers a little, then finds his gear. “Um, yes. What can you tell us about the body we found in your shop?”
Maggie’s neck twitches. “It’s awful. Do you know who it is yet?”
“We were hoping you’d identify it for us.”
Michele ducks her chin and looks over her nose at Junior. “Have you checked missing persons?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“No luck?”
“Not yet. Maggie—Ms. Killian—do you know how she got in the shop?”
“It’s a she?” Actually, Maggie had overheard that at the scene when someone in law enforcement mentioned the gender of the corpse. But there was no other way to answer the question.
Junior stares without responding.
“I have no idea. The windows were busted out when it was vandalized. Anyone could have knocked the plywood out and gotten in that way.”
“And the fire?”
“What about it?”
“You have any idea how that started?”
“As I told you earlier and also last night, none.”
He looks at his lap as he asks, “How much insurance are you carrying on the place?”
“I don’t remember for sure. I know it was about half the replacement value of the building and I’d estimate half the rough value of the items I had on hand. I am—was—carrying tons more inventory now than I do any other time of the year. Because of the upcoming show. Anyway, I can call my insurance company and ask. The premiums were really high, that’s all I know for sure.”
“We’ll need you to get that for us. And give us permission to speak to them.”
“Whatever.”
“Is that permission?”
“Sure.”
Junior says, “Your witness, Fire Marshal.”
Karen leans toward Maggie. “I think Junior here gave you a heads-up”—she shoots him a side-eye that isn’t friendly—“that we’re in possession of Gary Fuller’s phone and the texts and emails between you.”
Michele smiles like a crocodile. “You’re in possession of his phone. You’re not in possession of their actual texts and emails.”
“We’ll see about that. We’re in the process of obtaining corroborating records from the phone company now. And here’s a subpoena for Ms. Killian’s computer records.” She pulls a sheaf of papers from a briefcase at her feet and slides them to Michele under two fingers.
Michele ignores the papers. “And we’re in the process of working with a computer specialist to figure out how falsified emails were sent using Ms. Killian’s email address. Meanwhile, we will voluntarily provide screenshots for you of the call logs and full text exchange between Mr. Fuller and Ms. Killian on the day of and the week before the fire.” Michele opens a manila folder and takes out the top two pieces of paper, closes the folder, and hands the pages across the table.
Junior accepts them when Karen and Boland stare Michele down without moving.
“The text string Junior told Maggie about is not correct as represented to her by him. There were confirming exchanges between the two of them that show Gary invited Maggie over and that he was very eager and welcoming. There was also a lengthy telephone call the previous night.”
Junior looks up from his perusal of the papers. “Initiated by Maggie. I mean, Ms. Killian.”
“Correct.”
Karen leans on her elbows, hands clasped in front of her. “So, Ms. Killian, you’re claiming you didn’t send any of the emails to Gary we saw on his phone?”
Michele laughs. “C’mon, Karen—she hasn’t even seen the emails.”
Karen raises a brow. “Did you send email to Gary, Maggie?”
“Very rarely. I can’t remember the last time, actually. We texted. FaceTimed. Talked on the phone. Or didn’t talk at all, for long stretches.”
“Tell us about your relationship.”
“Well, I already have. But we first hooked up about ten years ago, and we were together off and on ever since. I broke things off completely last spring. Then, I had a bad time of it last week, and I called him on my way home from Wyoming. That’s when he invited me over, and I said yes.”
“You broke up with him.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not what he said.”
“Actually, it is. He complained about it to everyone who knew about us.”
“What do you mean ‘everyone who knew about you’?”
“We were very private about our relationship. Only a few people knew about it, until I told you guys Friday night at the fire. Now the whole world knows. Before, most people just thought we were longtime friends.”
“So give me an example of people he told that you broke up with him.”
Michele raises her hand like a schoolgirl. “Me. My boyfriend, Rashidi.” She winks at Maggie. “I’m happy to provide you with affidavits.”
Karen doesn’t look at Michele. “So your only communication to Gary between the breakup and now was the call the night before the fire?”
“And the texts.” Michele points at the paper.
Maggie shakes her head. “I’ve also answered some of his other texts. And I texted him the week after the vandalism at the Coop, because I felt bad he was getting sucked into it. I don’t hate him. I care—cared—about him. I was just . . .”
“Just what?”
Maggie wipes away a tear.
Michele puts her hand out, palm up, and Maggie takes it. “In love with someone else.”
Twenty-One
“That was a shit show.” Maggie ruffles Louise’s ears. The dog won’t leave her side after the tense morning.
“Al contrario, senorita. A huge success. You have witnesses for Gary’s admissions that you dumped him, screenshots of your phone disproving the contents of his, and no one arrested you. You gave them additional suspects. And a potential witness.”
“They’re going forward with the subpoenas, they don’t believe me about the lady with the braid, and in general they have a massive hard-on for me as a suspect. I’ve been down this road before.”
“I know, and me, too, but you do have a great attorney and two tickets to her movie premiere.”
“Two tickets—who’m I gonna take? Louise?”
Michele smiles. “Sell one if you want. Bring a bodyguard. Put your purse in the seat. I don’t care. But you have two. Oh, and you have mail.” She holds out a cardboard envelope.
Maggie snatches it. “T-Mobile? My SIM card.”
“Are you changing your number?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Nunya.”
“Seriously, why?”
“So Hank can’t torture me anymore.”
“Maggie, it’s a breakup. He’ll stop soon.”
Maggie pops out her old SIM card, pockets it, and puts the new one in. “You want my new number or not?”
Michele gets out her phone. Maggie recites the number to her. Then she sends a quick group text to everyone whose number she can remember, announcing her new digits.
“Now, would my client allow me to take her to lunch?”
“Your client would love that. I need strength for this afternoon. And someone to give me a ride back from Brenham after I drop the truck off for air-conditioning repair.”
“I’ll ask Rashidi if he can do it. Are you going back to the Coop?”
“What’s left of it. And afterward, to reclaim my house. Can I get the goats later?”
“They’re no bother.” Michele laughs. “Or very little.”
“Seriously, thank you.”
“De nada. Anytime.”
“In that case, I don’t have to leave. Really.”
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
Maggie crosses her arms over her chest. “Uh-uh. No take-backs.”
That earns her a smile, but it fades quickly to Michele’s serious face. “Speaking of take-backs, I’ve been meaning to ask—did Leslie ever PayPal you for those extra two days?”
“Shit. I haven’t followed up on that. I need to, so I can take it out of her in blood if she didn’t actually pay.”
“All right. Now, can you be ready in five? We have to meet Ava. She’s shopping the stores that have opened early for the antique show. There’s a gallery I’m dying to see. We’ll grab lunch after.”
Maggie’s nonexistent brows rise an inch. “Um, no?”
Michele laughs. “You and Ava. What’s with the two of you? You’ve both grown up. Moved on. Time to get over it.”
“Her massive purchase yesterday at Flown the Coop helped thaw me toward her a little. But I’m still not up for the shopping. Call me when your lunch plans are set. Then, maybe.”
Michele laughs. “I foresee a future where the two of you are best friends.”
“You’re all the best friend I need, amiga. Now go. So I can do the other thing I need to give me strength for this afternoon.”
“Please tell me it’s not Balcones.”
“Nope, although that’s a great idea. It’s . . . a nap.”
“Good. Because we’re out of whiskey, and I’m not buying you any more.” Michele winks as she grabs her zebra handbag and flounces out of the house.
Sick Puppy (Maggie #2) Page 14