Behind The Gates (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 1)

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Behind The Gates (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 1) Page 3

by Charisse Peeler


  The limo driver walked into the bar where the three women were sitting. A single glass of wine stood in front of them. They agreed that one drink wouldn’t affect their interviews: it was more a liquid confidence builder.

  They took the final sips of the wine then followed the driver to where he had parked the limo-style, black Sprinter van pulled in front of the club.

  “Why such a big car?” Maggie asked Britney.

  “It was the same price as a regular limo. So why not? If we pick up some men tonight, there’s lots of room.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Alex said.

  She climbed aboard, taking the driver’s hand as assistance.

  The ladies sat on the limo’s lowest level, a narrow table between them. Three glasses of champagne, each filled nicely, were arranged neatly on the table.

  “Why not?”

  Britney grabbed the glass closest to her then raised it to offer a toast. The other two women followed suit.

  “To Marco, may he rest in peace,” Britney said.

  The three friends clinked glasses then each took a drink.

  The forty-five-minute drive to the Palm Beach County sheriff’s department gave the three women time to finish off the bottle as well as discuss their characters in Maggie’s book.

  “I’ll be Nancy Drew,” Maggie said.

  “I’ll be Miss Marple,” Alex said.

  “Who should I be?” Britney asked.

  “How about Veronica Mars,” Maggie said.

  “I think she’s a teenager,” Britney said.

  “So is Nancy Drew. I think we’re focusing on era not age. Can you think of someone else you would rather be?” Alexandra asked.

  Britney stayed quiet for a minute, contemplating. “Fine, I’ll be Veronica Mars. At least she’s young.”

  “I wonder if we can record our interviews?” Maggie said.

  “I’m pretty sure that would be a ‘no,’ ” Britney replied.

  “Okay, but just try as hard as you can to remember everything they say,” Maggie suggested. “We should come up with a suspect list. Who do we know who would have a reason to kill Marco?

  “I’m sure it’s someone we don’t know,” Alex said.

  “We’re three smart ladies,” Maggie observed. “I bet we could figure out who killed Marco.”

  “Rodney, Alan, all of the card ladies…” Britney said as Maggie typed the names into her phone.

  “We’re here,” the driver announced from the front seat. He pulled in front of the station.

  The building was more depressing than Maggie had imagined—more so as they walked through the door, where they were greeted by Detective Marker. He was now dressed in a uniform instead of the suit he had worn to the club. Maggie thought the dark green uniform made the detective even more handsome. His detective’s star was pinned to one side, and an American flag was pinned on the other side. Maggie was sure his rank among the other detectives in the department must be high, because several stripes decorated his sleeve.

  “You’re late, ladies,” Detective Marker said, looking at his watch. “But thanks for coming in.”

  “Not our fault,” Britney said, “the traffic sucks this time of day.”

  The detective turned and motioned them to follow him. He opened a beat-up metal door and gestured for them to step inside.

  The ladies stood frozen. They faced a solid white table in the center of the room. The table was bolted to the floor. There were four metal chairs.

  “Please, take a seat,” Detective Marker said.

  The three women looked at each other. Shrugging, Alex pulled a chair out. She carefully inspected it before she sat down. Britney and Maggie followed suit. Detective Marker handed each of the women a clipboard and a pen.

  “If you ladies could just fill in what you can on these forms, it will save us some time. I’ll come back and take you one at a time for a short interview.” He looked at each of the women. “Is that okay?”

  The girls silently nodded.

  After the detective had left, Britney looked around the room. “What do you think that is?” she said, pointing to a long brown smear on one of the walls.

  “Oh my God,” Maggie exclaimed, “what are we doing here?”

  “I don’t know…why are we here?” Britney echoed.

  “Obviously they think Marco was murdered—and they believe we can provide some information,” Alex said. As a CEO, Alex was obviously used to handling uncomfortable situations. She sat up straight, her hands folded on the table in front of her.

  “Well, I doubt it was an accident,” Britney said. “The guy was connected.”

  “What do you mean ‘connected’? Like ‘mob’ connected?” Maggie asked.

  “Seriously, Maggie? Can you be this naïve at fifty-five years old?”

  “Remember, I’m from a po-dunk town in Washington State. We still believe in Bigfoot.”

  “It just happens that he lived in the same neighborhood as my ex-boyfriend in New York,” Britney said. “I think I told you about the guy that just went to prison. He owned that cigar bar down on Military Highway.”

  “Why did he go to prison?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m not really sure, but the other night at O’Malley’s, Marco brought me a green tea shot…it was obvious it wasn’t his first shot of the night. He said he knew Brandon. I pretended to not know what he was talking about. He said Brandon was a rat and he was going to get what he deserved. It freaked me out. I haven’t had anything to do with Brandon since college! I knew he was doing some things a little unsavory and didn’t want it to affect my business. As a matter of fact, a few years ago, the FBI came and asked me some questions, but I didn’t know anything.”

  “Wow, Britney.” Alex shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you never told us about this.”

  “I have no idea how Marco knew I had anything to do with Brandon,” Britney insisted. “I don’t want to get mixed up with these guys. I called my dad, he knows people. He made some calls and said I was safe.”

  “Your dad knows Mafia people?”

  “I never said Mafia.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Maggie said.

  “I was seeing him,” Alex said all of a sudden.

  “Who?” the other two said in unison.

  “Marco.” Alex shook her head.

  “What?” Maggie tried to imagine this sophisticated older woman actually on a date with Marco. “How?”

  “Why?” Britney wanted to know, narrowing her eyes.

  “He was a good-looking guy,” Alex explained simply. She obviously wanted to defend herself, although she knew she didn’t have to. “We just happened to be the only two people at the bar for lunch one day. We started discussing business and ended up discussing our favorite Italian restaurants. We decided to try out. We even golfed a couple of times.”

  “How long had you been seeing him?” Maggie asked.

  Alex shrugged. “A year.”

  “A year?” Maggie and Britney asked in unison.

  Alex leaned back with a Cheshire Cat smile.

  “How did we not know about this?” Britney asked.

  “I can’t believe you never said anything,” Maggie added. She smiled, forgetting the guy was now dead.

  “I thought he had a wife?” Britney said.

  “The woman that lives with him is his sister,” Alex said. “Her name is Angie, she’s going through a divorce. Apparently, her ex is a big asshole and was stalking her—so she moved in with Marco.”

  “Did you sleep with him?” Maggie asked.

  Alex sat back in her chair with an overexaggerated shocked look on her face but her tight lips soon melted into a smile.

  “A lady never tells,” Alex said, exposing a New York accent that she usually had under control. They all broke out into laughter.

  “They say Latin lovers are the best,” Maggie said.

  “He’s Italian,” Alex said.

  “I thought he was from Argentina…or Brazil…or
some country like that,” Britney said.

  “He was actually born in Brazil. His parents were some kind of diplomats. But he’s definitely Italian,” Alex said.

  Maggie raised her left eyebrow. “I guess you would know.”

  Just then the door burst open. The tall detective moved into the room, shutting them into a dead silence. He looked at each of them for a moment with his piercing blue eyes, as though he were trying to decide which of them looked the most guilty. Or maybe he was merely contemplating which of them he would take first for an interview? His gaze finally settled on Maggie, who seemed to be nearly jumping out of her chair to go first.

  The detective must have noticed her excited state. He pointed his index finger at her, curling it, motioning for her to follow him. Maggie stood and headed out the door, pausing for a moment before turning around and giving the other two ladies a small wave. She flashed a huge smile. Alex shook her head but gave her a small wave in return. Brittany gave her a double thumbs-up.

  As Maggie followed the detective, she couldn’t help looking at his left hand, saddened to see the detective’s ring was still there. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. Even if this guy wasn’t married, he definitely would have a girlfriend. One thing she had realized at fifty-five years old, if a handsome guy with a real job wasn’t attached in some way, there was definitely something wrong with him. That was the reason Maggie had stopped internet dating. The last handsome man she had met online and had actually started dating lived with his mother…and her twenty cats. When he told her he didn’t have a job because he was taking care of his mother, she was impressed—until, that is, she found out his mother was actually supporting him because he didn’t have a job.

  They finally reached the door at the end of a hallway that seemed to never end. The detective opened the door and motioned Maggie in. As she entered, she got a whiff of the clean scent of Detective Marker’s aftershave. It made her knees buckle a bit.

  The room was the size of a janitor’s closet. It had been transformed into an office: an old wooden desk piled with files sat in the center. Detective Mike Marker took a seat in the desk chair. It had a worn green cushion that didn’t look comfortable.

  Maggie sat down in a chair that looked like an old dining room chair; it did not have any padding. “They ran out of real offices and put you in a broom closet?”

  “How’s your day so far?” the detective asked, ignoring Maggie’s comment. He shifted a pile of loose files, moving it atop another pile to clear a spot in front of him. He took a yellow legal pad out of a side drawer and moved his glasses from the bridge of his nose closer to his light blue eyes. He had dark grey hair cut short on the sides, possibly to hide the fact he was completely bald on top.

  “Name?”

  “Maggie.”

  He looked at her sideways “Full name.”

  “Oh, of course. Margret Anne McFarlin.

  “Can you spell each name?”

  Instead of answering him, she dug through her purse and handed him her driver’s license. He looked over his glasses but didn’t object. He probably knew it was a good idea.

  He gestured to the license. “Is this your correct address?”

  “Yes, it is,” Maggie said.

  “So how did you know Mr. Escobar?”

  “He was a member of our club.”

  “How long had you known him and when was the last time you saw him.”

  “He came to my house over a year ago, when I first moved here. He picked up some old furniture. And then I saw him a few times at O’Malley’s. We had a few conversations here and there. He seemed like a nice guy, just a little rough around the edges.”

  “Who were his friends?”

  “I only know the people at the club…but I’m not sure if they were his actual friends.”

  “Would you know of anyone at the club who might have a problem with him?”

  “No,” Maggie said, but in her head she had a two-page list.

  “Have you ever seen him get into an argument or disagreement with anyone.”

  “I’ve heard second-hand accounts of disagreements with some of the people at the club,” she said.

  “Have you actually witnessed any of these disagreements?”

  “Yeah, one.”

  “Can you tell me about it?” Detective Marker asked. He positioned his pen over his legal pad. “Try not to leave anything out, I want to hear even the most insignificant detail.”

  “It was probably a month after I moved here, and I didn’t really know anyone yet,” Maggie began. “I went to the club bar for lunch. Marco was sitting in his normal spot with his back against the wall, facing the door, and Mr. Byron, not sure of his first name but he’s a long-time member, sat at the opposite end of the bar with another man I didn’t recognize. Marco’s cell phone rang and he answered it. He wasn’t really talking, mostly listening, but it bothered Mr. Byron. He actually got up out of his chair and stood right behind Marco then tells him to get off the phone. Marco just waves him off. Mr. Byron didn’t move but started raising his voice, telling Marco to get off the phone. Marco just took the phone away from his ear and said, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ That’s when Fonzie, the bartender, saw the trouble and came over to the two men.”

  Maggie paused, shifting in the chair. Then she continued: “Mr. Byron starts yelling at Fonzie, ‘It’s your job to enforce club rules at the bar. You’re not allowed to be on your cell phone when you’re sitting at the bar, so tell him to get off the phone.’ Marco finally pulled the phone away from his ear and stood up to face Mr. Byron. He said, ‘I don’t know what your problem is, pal, but you need to get out of my face and out of my business.’ Then Mr. Byron said something like, ‘Your kind don’t belong here. I’ve been a member for thirteen years and I’ve seen your kind come and go. It won’t be long, you’ll be gone.’ Then Marco laughed and said, ‘Over my dead body.’ ”

  Detective Marker wrote down notes as Maggie spoke but didn’t react.

  “What was the bartender’s name again?”

  “Fonzie,” Maggie said.

  “Fonzie?”

  “Yeah, that’s what we call him. I don’t think that’s his real name but that’s what everyone calls him,” Maggie told the detective again. “I think it’s because of his hair. You know, kind of greased back and combed up, like Fonzie from that show Happy Days.”

  “Okay, Fonzie.” Detective Marker wrote a few more notes as Maggie stayed silent. “Did you know the other person sitting with Mr. Byron?”

  “No. I don’t remember seeing him again, but I was distracted by the whole confrontation.”

  The detective riffled through one of the piles of folders. From somewhere in the middle of the pile he brought out the club directory and handed it to Maggie. “Look through that and see if you recognize him.”

  Maggie flipped through the pages, looking at each of the members’ photograph. She did not see the other guy who had been in the bar.

  “No luck?” the detective asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope, sorry.”

  “If you think of anything else, even a small thing, please give me a call. My cell number is on the back of the card I gave you this morning.”

  “Yep, got it.”

  Maggie nodded then stood up, ready to go. Detective Marker opened the door and let her walk ahead until she reached the room where the other two were sitting. Then she took a deep breath.

  “Next,” Detective Marker said. He motioned to Alex, who stood and followed him back to his so-called office. Fewer than ten minutes later, Alex came back and sat down. Britney was led back.

  “Well, that was fast,” Maggie said.

  “I asked for a lawyer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can,” she said confidently.

  “Did he ask you about dating Marco?”

  “Shhh. No,” Alex said, looking around. “I just wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions. I learned a long time ago, never give infor
mation too freely.”

  “Probably a smart idea.” Maggie nodded. “Good thing I don’t know anything.”

  “You were gone a long time for not knowing anything,” Alex said.

  “I told him about that guy that got in a fight over a phone call. He’ll probably ask Fonzie about it,” Maggie said.

  “Why Fonzie?”

  “He was there.”

  “Fonzie probably hears a lot behind that bar; but I guarantee he won’t remember a thing.” Alex smiled with confidence, having let her accent free again.

  Finally, Britney came bouncing down the hall.

  “Let’s go,” she said, heading for the door.

  “Ladies.” Detective Marker had followed them to the front steps. “I’ll let you know if I have any further questions. Don’t leave town.”

  Maggie turned back to look at him. “Seriously?”

  “No, you can leave town”—he smiled—“but I’ll be in contact.”

  He watched the driver open the door and help all three women into the black Sprinter that had been waiting nearby. He shook his head as they ducked behind the dark tinted glass.

  *

  “Where to, ladies?” the driver behind the wheel of the Sprinter called back to the three women.

  “Let’s go back to Boca and stop at Casa Tequila instead of Moscow Mules,” Britney suggested.

  “Sounds good to me,” Alex said. “Close to home.”

  When they entered Casa Tequila, they saw all the seats at one end of the bar were open. Fortunately. Then again, it was early. They took their seats, Britney already busy texting on her phone. She had been busy texting ever since leaving the police station.

  “You okay?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Britney said. “That was just crazy. I need a drink!”

  “That was intense,” Maggie agreed.

  “Seriously?” Alex looked over the menu she held calmly in front of her face. “It was nothing. I don’t know why he brought us down there at all. A total waste of time.”

  “I thought it was sort of fun,” Maggie replied. “I’ve never been interviewed. Especially by such a hunky cop.”

  “You really need a date,” Britney said.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” Maggie said.

 

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