Maggie and the Inconvenient Corpse

by Barbara Cool Lee

  And what about the pregnancy? Brooke had assumed they were rushing into marriage because Virginia had gotten pregnant. Was she actually pregnant? Was that how she had convinced Mac to marry her so quickly? Or was she just rushing because she wanted the payday? And if she was pregnant, who was the father? Big Mac, or her secret husband?

  A pregnancy seemed like one more reason to keep Mac alive. A short marriage of a year or so, with a baby born in wedlock, would lead to a huge divorce settlement without any complications. Virginia would surely not have made the same mistake Maggie did, taking the terms of a prenup at face value. And a baby would set her up for life, since the law would require Mac to take care of his child, no matter what he thought of its mother.

  And Virginia's behavior at the murder scene didn't make sense either. The way she had stood with the pool skimmer, and then wiped off the fingerprints, made it seem like she was the killer.

  But she had been talking to someone on a burner cell phone in a calm voice when Maggie arrived on the scene. What had she said on the phone? I have no idea what happened. That's not what you say to your co-conspirator after you plot your victim's death.

  Maggie still had so many questions.

  Ibarra had been appreciative, praising her for noticing the details that had led to the solution of the crime. She also got the impression that coming up with a solution that Chief Randall had never even considered might get Ibarra out of his closet purgatory.

  But still….

  It just didn't sit right with her. It was probably just that she hated being wrong. But this was one time that being wrong was definitely better. If she were right, if her original theory that Virginia had nothing to do with the murder was true, it meant one of her friends could be guilty.

  A couple walked by, holding hands. They were sunburned and grinning, happiness radiating from them like a flame.

  She should be happy, too. The murder of her ex-husband had hit her far harder than she would have expected. Now she could let it go. Move on with her life.

  It was for the best, really. No more conflicts with Mac. Nothing to prove. No more Virginia Foley. No more fussing about her divorce. It was all done with, and she could get on with the new, fun phase of her life.

  She could let go of the idea of relitigating her divorce. That was over. She could let go of telling off Mac. It was too late for that. She could let go of all her conflicted feelings toward the woman who had stolen her husband. That no longer mattered. Everything was settled now.

  Except Jasper.

  She was walking on The Row now, and had to move to the side to let the Aston Martin owned by the European prince pass her. It was only his mechanic driving, so she waved, and got a cheerful grin in return.

  What was she going to do with Jasper? She admitted to herself that she had toyed with the idea of keeping him. He was sweet as could be, and it would be tempting to let him stay. But he was not working out. She hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since the murder. And neither had he. He was obsessed with trying to find his missing owner, and it was making her miserable. Jasper needed a clean break from his past. He needed to live somewhere else. But what could she do? Technically, he wasn't her dog. She supposed he legally belonged to Mac's estate, but it could take years for that to be settled.

  She would have to handle the situation herself. It would help if she had his papers. Mrs. Queen probably knew where they were, but she was still not answering her phone.

  She called Patrick, and he picked up right away. "Hi, Mrs. McJasper. What can I do for you?"

  She asked after Mrs. Queen, and he explained that she had turned off her phone because she was so upset about her boss's death, and that reporters had been calling her and making her cry.

  "I'm so sorry," Maggie said. "Please give her my condolences. But if you would ask her to give me a call, I'd appreciate it. I have the dog, and I need some information from her so I can take care of him. He won't sleep at all, and I need to get his registration papers. I need to give him to a rescue group so he can find a new home."

  He said he'd talk to his mom and see if she was up to chatting, and then Maggie let him go. She felt a bit better after the call. It wasn't like she'd actually suspected little old Mrs. Queen of being a cold-blooded murderer, but her silence had been bothering Maggie, even though Lieutenant Ibarra had questioned the housekeeper and dismissed her as a suspect. She had to admit she'd been a bit suspicious about Mrs. Queen's lack of communication, and now it made a lot more sense.

  She realized she was almost home, and was walking by the house next to Casablanca. Mac's house.

  Virginia's car was parked there, and she remembered that Lauren had told her Virginia had made bail.

  Maggie stopped there in the street and looked at the house, a low-slung modern place with dark block walls on each side. Virginia's car, baby blue and shiny, stood in the driveway.

  Virginia would probably know where the dog's papers were. Maggie hesitated about speaking to a murderer, but then realized that Virginia couldn't possibly know that Maggie had figured out her plot.

  And she needed to get the dog's status settled. Both Jasper and she were exhausted. Something had to give, and she had no idea how long it would be before Mrs. Queen felt up to talking.

  So she walked up the driveway, past the convertible, and knocked on the front door.

  When she knocked, the door moved. It wasn't all the way closed.

  Maggie pushed at it a bit, and saw that the heel of Virginia's shoe was caught in the doorway.

  The shoe was still on her foot. And she was dead.

  Chapter 19

  She walked home a couple of hours later when the police let her go, just as it was getting dark.

  So it was really over now. All that was left was to find Ned. Ibarra had told her that an APB had been put out on the flamboyant pool boy. It was now a double homicide, and the murder of Big Mac McJasper and Virginia Foley was an open and shut case of a jealous husband who caught his wife sleeping with another man.

  That made no sense to her. Of course Virginia had slept with another man. That was the whole point of the charade. She had pretended to be single, had pretended to be in love with her target, and her true husband had pretended to be a gay pool cleaner to stay close to the woman he loved while she slept her way to the top.

  Why would he kill his wife when he must have known all about her escapades?

  Unless Virginia had really fallen in love with Big Mac. Maybe she had decided to dump Ned and stay with her sugar daddy.

  That seemed unlikely. But she supposed it was possible.

  Maggie went into her tiny house and found Jasper whining. She looked around but luckily he hadn't destroyed anything in her absence.

  "I'm sorry I took so long, boy," she said to him. "More dead bodies keep showing up everywhere I go." She fastened his leash onto his collar and took him out for a quick potty break.

  When they came back inside she lay on the daybed and watched the dog pace back and forth, still searching for something.

  She hadn't turned on the lights, and the room got darker and darker as the sun sank below the horizon.

  She could see Jasper in the moonlight, his white ruff like a cloud moving around the room in the darkness. He gave off soft cries of anguish, and she couldn't seem to comfort him.

  He was a shepherd who had lost his flock, and his worry just made her feel even more unsettled about the whole situation.

  She finally got up and turned on the lights. Both she and the dog had to blink in the sudden brightness.

  "We'll walk around a little more," she said to him. "I'll get your leash."

  Jasper went over to where she'd hung the leash over the back of her craft stool, anticipating her next move. "Leash?" she said again, and he mouthed the webbing of it, making it clear he knew what the word meant.

  "How clever you are," she told him, wondering how many other words he had learned along the way.

  She put the leash on him and took him o
utside.

  They paced in the driveway for a while. The house next door was barely visible through the bougainvillea vines. She took Jasper out to The Row itself and they paced along the aged brick sidewalk a while, passing Big Mac's house.

  The driveway was empty of police cars, and there was no crime scene tape on the door, so the police must have finished their processing of the murder scene. The second murder scene at that house in a matter of days.

  Ibarra had said Virginia had been hit over the head the moment she came in the door. It was a brutal crime, Ibarra had said. The kind of crime committed against a family member. Out of malice.

  Maggie turned around on the sidewalk to head back to Casablanca. Maybe Ibarra was right. Maybe the silly, tattooed pool boy was really a master criminal, a talented actor, a clever plotter who had planned this double murder as revenge against his cheating wife and her lover.

  But in her gut she felt there must be something more motivating him. Something she was missing.

  She suddenly reached in her pocket and grabbed her phone. She stood there in front of the dark looming shape of Big Mac's empty house and listened as the phone rang at the police department. "Lieutenant Ibarra?" she asked when he picked up the phone. "Was Virginia Foley pregnant?"

  Reese's car purred past her in the darkness.

  "Got it. Not pregnant," she said to Ibarra. "Oh, no reason. Just personal interest. Thank you."

  She led the dog back toward Casablanca.

  Reese pulled in to the driveway and turned off the engine. He was alone, as he always seemed to be when he went driving. The car window was down. She led the dog over to him.

  "How was the microwave brie?" Reese asked.

  "I forgot to have it. How was the caviar?" she asked in reply, knowing the critic's never-changing party menu.

  "Fishy." He got out of the car with an In-N-Out bag. "I had to get something decent to eat on the way home."

  "You are such a California boy," she said with a faint smile.

  He shut the car door and turned to face her. He looked sharp, even for him, wearing ink-dark jeans, a blue silk T-shirt that hinted at his six-pack, topped with a black cotton Hugo Boss blazer with sleeves pushed up to show his gold Rolex. He must have been the hit of the party, but as usual, ended up alone.

  "Where's Eva?" she asked.

  "I was bored, but she wanted to stay longer," he said indifferently. "Last I saw her, she was chatting with an agent who was promising her the moon."

  He crouched down to pet the dog, getting his dark clothes covered in sable fur. As usual, he didn't seem to care. He gave the dog big hugs and roughed up his fur while Jasper bumped against him and grinned and licked his face.

  Reese laughed.

  "You need a dog," she said in a burst of inspiration. "That'll solve the problem."

  He stood up, brushing off his jeans. "No, it won't. I'd be as bad as Big Mac, abandoning him to the staff when I travel. You have to keep him yourself."

  "I would love to, honestly, but it's not working out. He's so unhappy with me."

  Reese furrowed his brow. "Unhappy? He loves you, doesn't he?"

  "I don't think so. He won't sleep with me. He just paces around the house all the time, looking for Mac. I haven't had a good night's sleep since I got him."

  "That's hard to believe," Reese mused. "Most males would be happy to sleep with you."

  He said it deadpan, and she must have looked startled, because he quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I was just teasing. I didn't mean to get out of bounds."

  "It's not that," she replied. "I know you're a tease. Usually you make me laugh. It's just been a really rough day. I'm getting tired of seeing dead bodies."

  "How many have you seen?" he asked with a confused expression, and she realized he didn't know what else had happened.

  "Virginia was murdered," she blurted out. "I found her a few hours ago when I went next door to talk to her about the dog."

  "What?!"

  "You didn't see any police next door when you left for the party?"

  He shook his head. "It was all quiet when I went by. I just assumed Virginia was still in jail."

  "No. She got out earlier today. And she was there, in the doorway when I…."

  He nodded. He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. "You okay?"

  "Yeah. It's just… it's not like in the movies. That's a real person, and even if she and Ned were conning Big Mac, she didn't deserve to die."

  "Wait. Back up. She and Ned who?"

  "Pool Boy Ned."

  "My Pool Boy Ned?"

  "Yeah. Your not-so-secret admirer. That was an act. He's straight."

  "Well, I've been known to turn a few men gay…." He was being deadpan again, but this time she couldn't even muster a smile.

  "I'm sorry," he said again. "No more joking." He clicked the button on his remote and his car locked with a flash of the lights.

  Then he put his arm around her. "You've had a rough day. Come on in, eat some french fries, and tell me all about it."

  Chapter 20

  They sat in the lounge chairs out by the pool.

  "Have a burger," he said. "I got two, but I'm not that hungry."

  "You know I don't eat beef."

  "I know," he said. "No beef. No dairy products. No sugar. But I thought you were done with all that extreme dieting now that you're not trying to be so skinny."

  "I've gained enough weight," she said. "I'm getting too round."

  "I wouldn't say that," he said. "I like your curves."

  "Says the guy who dates models."

  "There's no comparison between you and them. Have a french fry," he said, offering her the bag.

  They lay in their lounge chairs and ate, and he slurped on his milk shake. They looked up at the stars while the metal rebar in the rusty sculpture rattled and moaned in the ocean breeze, and Jasper wandered back and forth from the lawn to the patio, searching.

  "Jasper!" she called to him, and he barked in reply.

  "Hush!" she said, and he put his head down.

  "Sorry, buddy," she said, and he wagged his tail, then went back to his searching.

  "That sculpture is falling apart, by the way," Reese said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, a piece of rebar fell off and hit my foot this morning when I was working out."

  "Where is it?"

  "I stuck it back on. Probably in the wrong place, but who can tell? Lucky it didn't break my toe. You should dump the thing in the ocean."

  "That's water pollution," she said, glaring at the stupid sculpture in the dimness. "Anyway, what would I say if some art critic asked where it went? I misplaced a thousand pounds of scrap metal?"

  He shrugged and ate another fry.

  The stars overhead glittered in the firmament. "There are so many," she said, feeling the smallness of the lives and deaths she'd been obsessing over, compared to the vastness of the universe.

  "This is nothing," Reese said. "Back home we'd see the whole Milky Way arcing across the sky. You never see that here on the coast."

  Home for him was Deep Creek, California, way up in the farthest northeast corner of California.

  "Why are there more stars there?" she asked.

  He finished his burger and crumpled the paper into a wad. "It's the high desert, about 5000 feet above sea level. There are no city lights, and the air is crystal clear, so the sky is pitch black. You can see everything."

  He leaned his head all the way back in the chair to look straight up. "When I was a kid, Frank and I would lie on hay bales out in the field and count the stars, and talk about how we were going to be astronauts."

  Frank was his older brother, the drummer in the band Deep Creek. She'd never met him, but remembered what he looked like in the posters. Another tall, handsome boy, almost, but not quite, as beautiful as Reese.

  "You wanted to be an astronaut? How old were you?"

  "Yeah, astronauts," he said softly. "We were both going to sign up f
or the Air Force as soon as we graduated. There was no money for college, but we could join the military and get an education and learn to fly planes. That was the plan. Frank wanted to be an airline pilot, and I was sure I was going to be an astronaut and visit the moon." She could see him smile in the darkness. "I don't know when we first talked about it, but we both still believed that was going to happen, right up until we got the Grammy for Best New Artist. We celebrated that night by shooting up heroin for the first time. All of us. That was the end of everything."

  She closed her eyes and listened to his voice, wistful in the dark. "I could name all the stars. Knew the constellations. I'd read astronomy books and was a total nerd. They called me Moon Boy in school because I wouldn't stop talking about it. We had it planned out, Frank and me. I knew just where I was going."

  "What about the music?" she said.

  "My parents made me take piano lessons, and my best friend David Zimmer played guitar. And we wrote songs about the girls we knew. And David's brother Eddie learned bass and my brother Frank learned the drums, and it was fun. We played at school dances and county fairs, and it was a way to get girls to like us and to hang out together. And then one day, it all just blew up."

  He'd become world-famous when he was only sixteen.

  "I never even graduated from high school," he said. "Did you know that?"

  "I didn't. You still read a lot, though."

  "Yeah. I read books. Scripts. All kinds of stuff. But no school. When we got our record contract, the first thing I thought was, this means I don't have to take that algebra test next week."

  She laughed. Then asked, "do you ever regret it?"

  He shrugged. "I can't go back. This is my life now." He stared at the moon, glowing full and white against the dark sky. "If I had joined the Air Force, I probably wouldn't know what caviar tastes like."

  "Right. Or wear a Rolex or drive a Spyder."

  "Choices," he said. "Life is all the choices we make." He stared up at the sky. "But still, seeing the stars up close would've been something."