Jasper ran away from her then, and she went to follow him. He went in the French doors to the living room, but a cop barred her way when she tried to follow.
"Please stay out on the patio, Ma'am," the young officer said.
"But the dog—"
Jasper came back, following at the heels of Mrs. Queen.
The older lady had red hair faded to a cloud of white, and soft wrinkles. She was shorter than Maggie, and quite a bit rounder, and the soft Irish lilt was still strong in her voice though she'd lived in the U.S. for decades.
She didn't say anything. She was carrying a bag of groceries in a quilted fabric bag Maggie knew she'd sewn herself from scraps of old dishtowels, and the red-flowered shirt she wore emphasized the lack of color in her face.
She took a few steps onto the patio, and then dropped the bag. She only had eyes for the body lying by the pool.
She covered her face with her hands, and swayed on her feet.
"Sit down, Mrs. Queen," Maggie said. She took her by the hand and put her in one of the chairs by the table.
The officer dusting for fingerprints frowned at her touching the chair, but she just gave him a glare.
"It's over," Mrs. Queen sobbed. "My dear husband and now my dear Mr. McJasper. I've lost them both."
Maggie patted her hand. "I'm so sorry," she said.
"I met him at the golf course when he visited Ireland that time," Mrs. Queen said. "Me and the mister came to California here and never looked back. He was a right fine employer, he was."
Maggie held her tongue. He had been a "right fine" employer to Mrs. Queen. He'd just been a terrible husband.
"You had your differences," Mrs. Queen said, "but he was always good to me."
Virginia had been more than a difference, but again, Maggie kept silent. But she couldn't help nodding toward Virginia, who stood across the yard, flanked by two cops. "Do you think she wanted him dead?"
"No one would want my dear Mr. McJasper dead!" she cried, and then she began to wail.
Maggie patted her back and tried in vain to comfort her.
Ibarra came over. "I need to speak to you, Mrs. Queen," he said. He'd met her once before, months ago, and they hadn't exactly hit it off.
But the old lady just looked up at Ibarra with the tears swimming in her pale green eyes, and he dropped the tough cop demeanor and crouched down next to her. "Take deep breaths," he said softly, patting her hand. "Breathe in and out. There you go."
Maggie got out her phone and called a number. "Patrick?" she said when Mrs. Queen's son picked up. "You need to come to Mr. McJasper's house and get your mom. No, she's okay, but Mr. McJasper has passed away, and your mother's very upset."
Ibarra gave her an appreciative glance, and kept patting the lady's hand softly and reminding her to breathe.
"No," Maggie said to Patrick. "It wasn't a heart attack. I just need you to come and take your mother home. Okay."
She hung up and told Ibarra that Patrick was on his way.
Someone called Ibarra's name. It was Chief Randall. Ibarra stood up. "Stay with her," he said, and went over to talk to his boss.
Maggie knelt next to Mrs. Queen and held her hand. Jasper huddled close to her and put his head on her lap.
After a minute or two, Mrs. Queen put her wrinkled hands on Jasper's long snout. "Oh, you good little laddie," she said. "You're upset, too."
She finally looked up at Maggie. Her eyes were still watery and reddened from crying, but she looked a bit calmer. "I was getting the fixings for his roast beef and there were all the cars parked in the street and so I knew something was wrong…." She began to cry again, and Maggie put her arm around her.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Queen," she said. The housekeeper had been with Big Mac since before Maggie had met him, and she probably was the only one who was truly hurt by his passing. It was hard to see the pain in her eyes.
"Where is she?" came a familiar voice.
Patrick knelt by his mother's chair and hugged her. He was a handsome boy of nineteen, tall and muscular. He had a fair complexion, and so, after spending his teen years surfing daily, his skin had taken on a ruddy tone that gave him a rugged look. Patrick had always effortlessly straddled the line between the haves and have-nots in Carita. His dad had owned a barber shop, and his mom was a housekeeper, but he'd gone to the top-rated schools in town and won surfing championships and had always been a popular and well-adjusted kid. But he was at a total loss when trying to comfort his grieving mother.
Kira Menendez was with him. The bubbly girl looked absolutely stricken by the news, and all her cheerful self-absorption had been shocked out of her. "He's really dead?" she whispered to Maggie while they both watched the Queens. "I only met him a couple of times, but he seemed to be pretty healthy, for an old dude."
They clearly hadn't realized that all the police and crime scene tape and chaos at the house meant that this wasn't a natural death.
Maggie went over to where Ibarra was still talking to the police chief.
Randall was a fit-looking cop who always looked like he was ready for his close-up, with a pressed uniform and a swagger that set Maggie's teeth on edge.
The chief gave her a quick smile, which faded when he remembered she was no longer one of his wealthy constituents.
She turned to Ibarra, ignoring Randall. "Mrs. Queen's son is here to take her home. Is that okay?"
Ibarra looked over at where Patrick and Kira were helping Mrs. Queen to her feet.
"Yes," he said. "She's not in any condition to give a statement. Tell them I will come by to interview her tomorrow, after she's had a chance to calm down."
"Thank you," Maggie said.
Randall cleared his throat to speak, but she just walked away before he could say anything. If she talked to the supercilious jerk right now, she'd probably say something she regretted.
She told Patrick that the police cleared his mother to go, and she and Jasper stood there and watched the kids lead her away.
Jasper leaned against her side. She reached down to pet him. "I know. She's hurting. It's hard to see."
The dog went over to a man who was dusting for fingerprints. He stuck his long nose over the man's shoulder to watch him work. The man shooed him away.
"Sorry," Maggie said. She felt around in Jasper's thick ruff until she found his collar, then led him away from where the police were working.
He pulled away from her, and she couldn't hold onto the narrow leather collar through all the fur.
"Hey," she said to an officer who was headed past her toward the beach stairs with a big roll of crime scene tape. "Can I go in the house and find the dog's leash?"
"I'm afraid not," the man said. "We're processing the scene. We need you to stay right here until you're cleared to go."
"Then can I have a piece of that tape?" she asked. She held out her hands about four feet apart. "About this much, to hold onto the dog."
He cut off a piece for her.
She fashioned it into an impromptu leash, tying it to the ring on Jasper's collar.
"Now at least you won't get into any more trouble," she said to the dog.
He whined in reply. He pulled at the leash, now trying to get to Virginia, who was sobbing.
"No," she told him. She held him back, wrapping the slippery tape around her wrist to keep him still. "You're not Lassie. You can't rescue her."
She stood with the dog and watched the police take the sobbing Virginia away in handcuffs.
Jasper bumped against her, making her take a step sideways.
"Hey, buddy," she said to him, suddenly realizing she had a new problem. "What's going to happen to you now?" If she left him here, the police would take him to the pound. She couldn't let that happen. She held tightly to the improvised leash. She would just walk out of here with him, and hope none of the cops noticed and stopped her for walking away with a dog that didn't belong to her.
Randall said a few words to Ibarra, then he left, already straightening his
tie and smoothing his hair in anticipation of the news crews that must be waiting out front for a statement.
Ibarra spotted her standing by the pool and came over.
"They're arresting her?" Maggie asked, and Ibarra nodded. "That didn't take long."
Ibarra looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just glared at Randall's retreating figure. "Just in time to get on the evening news," he muttered, then caught himself when he realized he'd said that aloud.
"Am I free to go?" Maggie asked him, and he nodded.
"You're free to go, Mrs. McJasper. But I'll be back in touch with more questions."
"Of course," she agreed. She suddenly realized how tired she was.
Ibarra must have noticed it, too, because he said, "get some rest."
She nodded. "I've never seen… he was too heavy… I couldn't pull him out…."
"Of course." His eyes looked sympathetic. "You did the best you could, Ma'am. There was nothing you could do to save him. Now go home and try to relax. But if you think of any more details, anything that could help us, let me know."
He handed her his business card, and she stuck it in her pocket. "But, Virginia—" she started, then stopped, not knowing what else to say.
He gave her a funny look. "You're not glad about it." He seemed surprised.
"That my ex-husband is dead? Or that the woman he was shacking up with is being arrested for his murder? No, Lieutenant. I'm not glad. I'm not getting any satisfaction out of this."
He smiled faintly. "You're not like them," he said. "I noticed that the first time I met you."
"Not like who?"
"The esteemed citizens of The Row." The contempt dripped from his voice. Then he seemed to remember himself, because his expression grew serious. "Virginia will be charged in the morning. You will have to testify against her. Is that going to be a problem?"
"If she didn't do it, then yes, that's going to be a problem."
"That's not your call." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you think someone else killed him?"
"I told you, Lieutenant. I don't think she'd kill him while she was planning her wedding to him. Even if she was a gold digger, she'd wait until she hit the jackpot before she'd get rid of her meal ticket."
He smiled. "I agree. It doesn't make sense. I think—" Then he cleared his throat. "Go home, Mrs. McJasper. The police have the case under control."
It was her turn to look skeptical. "Do you, Lieutenant? Do you really?"
Chapter 10
She went out the front of Mac's house. The police let her past the crime scene tape and she walked back to Casablanca along The Row, her clothes, by now dried, feeling stiff against her skin.
Jasper followed along, not trying to pull on the tape she was using as a leash or sniff at the ice plant growing along the side of the road, but just walking beside her, dejected. She wondered how much he understood about what had happened.
Big Mac had been a terrible dog owner. He'd completely ignored this lovely dog, who just wanted his love and attention. They'd hardly even had a chance to bond in the months he'd belonged to Mac. But Jasper seemed stunned and confused just the same.
She would find him a good home. Maybe a family with kids who lived in the country. Somewhere he could run around, and play, and be loved as the big, messy, rambunctious animal he was.
In the meantime she would keep him for a day or two, until she could find someone who would take him off her hands.
He looked up at her, and she almost could believe he knew what she was thinking, because there was betrayal in his brown eyes.
She crouched down with him and hugged him. "I'm not abandoning you," she whispered. "Honestly. But you'd never fit in my house. And you need someone who understands dogs. I have no idea how to take care of you."
He leaned into her, but without the enthusiasm she was used to seeing from him.
"I'm doing the best I can," she whispered to him. "Please don't hate me."
Then she stood up and they walked the rest of the way to her tiny house.
She heard the purr of Reese's Spyder as he pulled into the driveway next to her, parking sideways and hogging the driveway as always.
"Hey!" he called when he got out. "What's with the police next door?"
He noticed the big dog and did the thing she'd always seen him do with dogs: knelt right down on the ground and made a fuss over the animal.
Jasper licked him and rubbed against him, but still acted a bit subdued.
Reese stood back up and brushed off the knees of his jeans. He touched the crime scene tape leash with a curious expression on his face. "What's wrong with the dog?" he asked.
"He witnessed something," she said. "Well, I'm not sure if he actually saw it. But he was there when—"
She stopped when her throat caught.
Reese put his hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong? What is it?"
"Mac's dead. He's dead, Stanley," she said, slipping and calling him by his real name, the name hardly anyone knew.
But she knew who he really was, though they rarely spoke of it. He was Stanley Tibbets, just a small-town boy who'd hit the big time and left everything behind, including the name he'd been born with.
And he knew who she really was, too. Knew she'd actually loved her husband, and been faithful to him, and tried to make a marriage to an older, selfish man work. Reese had even been there the moment she caught her husband messing around with his secretary. And he'd held her hand and let her cry then, too.
Just like he did now, when she collapsed against him and just sobbed.
He patted her back and held her, and said nothing at all.
And somehow that helped. She didn't have to explain why she was crying over the death of a man she hated. A man she should be happy was dead.
But it hurt, still. Despite what she knew about Mac.
She finally got herself together enough to stop slobbering all over Reese's chest.
She pulled away and wiped at her eyes.
He let her go once he saw she wasn't going to collapse, and he put his hands in his jeans pockets and stood there. And watched her.
"I'm a mess," she said.
He laughed. "Yup. You sure are."
She managed to smile at that.
He bent down and hugged Jasper. "I'm sorry you lost him, pup," he said, petting the dog.
Jasper licked his face and bumped against him.
Reese stood up. "And I'm sorry you lost him, too, Maggie," he added to her.
She shrugged. "No need to be sorry. We were divorced. I don't care. I don't—"
She started to lose it again, but then pulled herself back from the brink of tears. She blew out a big breath, feeling frustrated that it was getting to her so much.
"Better?" he asked with a faint smile.
"Yeah. I don't know why I'm reacting like this. I was so angry at him. He treated me so badly."
"But you can't turn off your feelings like a faucet. You're human."
"I guess," she said reluctantly.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure you're human."
She wiped her running nose. "Thanks, Stanley."
"You're welcome, Magdalena. You okay now?"
"Yup," she said. "Thanks. I'm all done crying."
Then she realized, in her shock over what had happened, that it must be hitting Reese hard, too.
"You okay?" she asked.
He nodded, a bit hesitantly. "I've known him since I was a kid. It's a weird feeling to think he's gone, just like that." He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess, at his age, I shouldn't be surprised…."
"His age?" she asked, confused. Then she realized that she hadn't told him how Mac died. "It wasn't a heart attack, Reese. Somebody bashed him in the head with a pool skimmer and he drowned. He was murdered."
He took a step back. "Murdered? That's why the crime scene tape?"
She nodded.
"But… I just assumed… Who killed him?"
"They arrested Virginia," she said.
He shook his head. "That's hard to believe."
"I thought so, too. I don't know why they think she's a killer."
He glanced at her, a bit skeptically.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm not surprised at the idea of her being a killer," he explained. "I'm surprised she'd do it before she got the payoff."
Maggie nodded. "She loses everything because he died before they got married. But you think she's capable of murder?"
He smiled, a bit faintly. "Maggie, I think pretty much everyone is capable of murder, with the possible exception of you."
Maggie wandered around her tiny house for a while. The dog followed everywhere she went, sticking so close his wet nose kept bumping her.
She finally went in the bathroom to put on her pajamas, and Jasper tried to come in, too. "No way," she said to him. "We can't both fit in here."
Unfortunately, the bathroom didn't have an actual door. It had a curtain over the doorway, and that wouldn't keep the dog out.
So she ended up standing on top of the toilet, pulling off her jeans and then pulling on her sweatpants. She had to duck her head to avoid hitting the ceiling, and it felt ridiculous, but she was cornered by a furry beast.
The dog stood in the bathroom, and watched her with his head cocked to the side.
"Yeah, I know," she told him. "It looks nuts. But you're hogging all the space."
When she got down she had to push him out of the way so she could brush her teeth. He tried to put his head between her legs to get a better view of what she was doing at the sink, and she shoved him back, rather forcefully.
It didn't seem to bother him. He just came around to the side and stood his front paws up on the pedestal sink and watched her in the mirror as she brushed.
"Move your nose," she scolded. "Unless you want toothpaste on it."
He put his paws down on the floor and she was able to rinse her mouth. "Thank you."
She went to sit on the daybed, and of course Jasper came, too. He jumped up onto the cushion. When she was sitting and he was standing, he towered over her. She patted the cushion, and he took that as an invitation. He turned around three times and then plopped down next to her.
Maggie and the Inconvenient Corpse Page 6