She started to turn, but the second sound stopped her. It was the click of a gun, and she stood paralyzed in fear, like a rabbit in a hunter's target.
Then she felt something ice cold in the small of her back.
"Drop the phone," the voice said behind her.
Maggie dropped the phone. It hit the sand with a whisper, sinking down in the soft powder. She could see the glow of the screen facing up at her, Ibarra's number brightly outlined in pixels as the call quietly rang through.
She could see on the screen when he picked up, and talked loudly, hoping to drown out the sound of him saying hello.
"Kira," she said clearly and loudly. "What are you doing with that gun?"
Chapter 23
The phone screen went dark, saving energy.
But Maggie still spoke loudly, hoping the phone was still on and Ibarra had gotten the message and was listening in.
"Why are you doing this, Kira?" she asked.
Maggie turned around, very slowly, keeping her hands in plain sight. She still held Jasper's little sheeple in one hand, and the damning papers in the other.
Kira Menendez was wearing pink, this time a darling Dolce & Gabanna flowered dress Maggie had almost bought herself just before her divorce, back when she'd drop thousands on clothes monthly.
"Was it about the money?" Maggie asked the girl.
Kira just glared. But her eyes looked frightened in the moonlight, and Maggie thought the hand holding the gun wasn't all that steady.
"Move," Kira said softly. "Go that way." She motioned with the gun toward the stairs that led up the cliff to Casablanca.
They headed that way, leaving the phone, and its link to help, on the sand behind them.
Maggie thought frantically as they climbed the stairs. At the landing she stopped, acting as if she were out of breath.
She leaned against the railing and stared at Kira.
"Were you sleeping with my husband, like everyone else?" she asked, pretty sure Kira had a very different motive, but trying to get her to talk.
It worked. "Ew!" the girl said. "Don't be gross. He was an old dude."
"Old enough to be my husband," Maggie said dryly. "So why did you kill him?"
The gun wavered then. "Kill him?" she asked in a scared little voice that went with the pink flowered dress and the sparkly pink sneakers and the cute teenager with the big gun in her hand.
"Yeah," Maggie said firmly. "Two people are dead. Murdered in cold blood. Did you do it, or are you just an accessory after the fact?" She was pretty sure which one it was, but she needed to be positive. "You don't need to go down with Patrick," she said. "If he wants to commit murders to protect his mother, that doesn't mean you have to throw away your life, too."
Kira motioned with the gun again. "Keep going."
Maggie had only about a dozen steps before they reached Casablanca, and things got even more complicated. "You can still get out of this," she pleaded with Kira. "It's not worth it to go down with Patrick."
But the girl said, "worth it?" in a contemptuous voice. "You're living in a trailer and you're telling me it isn't worth it? I'm not going to be poor. I'm never going to be poor like you."
And Maggie realized she still didn't understand what this was all about.
At the top of cliff, she found pretty much what she'd expected to find.
All the lights were on in Casablanca's back yard.
Reese stood next to the rusting wave sculpture with his hands up, looking just like the handsome spy in a movie, cool and sophisticated in his dark clothes, and with a controlled anger radiating off him.
He had Jasper's leash looped over his right wrist, and he held his arm still. Jasper barked and lunged toward the man standing opposite Reese, and only the leash held him back from attacking. But Reese stood rock-solid, not wavering even with the pull of the big dog against his arm.
Jasper's behavior seemed odd to Maggie. She had never seen Jasper act hostile to anyone, from the smallest bird to the largest person. He was the gentlest of souls, despite his size and pushiness. But there was no mistaking his intent. He wanted to stop the man with the gun.
Even though he knew him. Even though he'd seen Patrick Queen, Mrs. Queen's teenage son, so many times as he visited his mother's workplace and chatted with Big Mac and Maggie about his school work and his surfing and his life in Carita.
But Patrick just glared at the dog. Glared at Reese. And then glared at Maggie when she came into his line of sight.
"Stand there," he said firmly, gesturing with the gun to where Reese was pinned in place by the weapon.
She followed directions, moving slowly. Kira stayed close to her, the gun still trained on Maggie's midsection.
"Can I take the dog's leash?" Maggie asked Patrick, but he shook his head.
"Just stand there and shut up. I need to think."
In the bright light of the patio, their guns were easy to identify. Big Mac kept guns in his office. Maggie had never touched them, being freaked out by guns, but clearly Patrick and Kira had no such qualms.
But Kira was beginning to waver.
"This is too much," she said to Patrick. "What are we going to do now?"
"Shut up!" Patrick said, grabbing at his head with his free hand as if he wanted to knock some sense into his own brain. "Let me think. I need to think."
But he wasn't going to have time to think.
Mrs. Queen toddled out of the sliding glass door onto the patio. "Ah," she said, her soft Irish brogue a reminder of the immigration papers Maggie still clenched in one hand. "I knocked on the door at your wee house and there was no answer, so I thought I'd come here to give you a hand with the pup. You said you hadn't slept a wink."
The older lady prattled on, wandering closer.
Patrick had lowered his gun to his side when she'd appeared, and he motioned to Kira to do the same.
Mrs. Queen spoke to Jasper, who had stopped barking at her approach. He wagged his tail at her, and pulled to the end of the leash that Reese still held by his upstretched arm. "How's my lad?" she asked Jasper. "You need to let the mistress get her sleep."
Then she finally realized how odd it was that her son and his girlfriend were in Casablanca's yard in the middle of the night. "What are you doing here, my boy? You said you couldn't drive me over because you were with your girl."
"I'm not your boy," Patrick said bitterly, and finally Maggie got it.
"Oh," she said softly. Finally understanding what was going on brought a huge sense of relief, even though at that point Patrick stopped hiding the gun and raised it again.
Chapter 24
"Over here, Mrs. Queen," she said softly to the old woman, who was only a few feet from her.
But Mrs. Queen was turning pale green eyes to her son. "Oh, no, Patrick. My lad?!" Mrs. Queen had realized the truth, too, and Maggie watched the woman's heart break right in front of her. "Not my boy. You couldn't."
"I'm not your boy," he repeated.
Maggie noticed Jasper wagging his tail toward the stairs, and she quickly spoke up. "Jasper!" she said firmly. "Hush!"
The dog hadn't barked, and he looked at her in shock, putting his head down at being scolded.
But she kept on with her act, trying to distract from the big man who had ducked down on the beach stairs when she'd noticed him.
"No more fussing," she said to the dog. "Jasper, Sit!"
The dog sat, and stared at her like she was nuts.
She was nuts. But she had to keep him from giving away the location of Lieutenant Ibarra on the beach stairs.
She glanced at Reese, and saw that he had assessed the situation, too. He pulled on the dog's leash. "Now settle down, boy," he said firmly. He made a slight motion of his head for Maggie to get out of the way.
She took a step back, to stand next to him, out of the line of fire.
But she realized that wouldn't help Ibarra get a clean shot. Mrs. Queen was standing between the cop and Patrick.
The old
lady was crying.
"Come here, Mrs. Queen," Maggie said.
But Patrick pointed the gun toward her. "No. Stop moving around. Everybody stay where you are."
"What are we going to do?" Kira moaned.
Mrs. Queen sobbed and looked like she might collapse, the same way she'd looked when she'd walked into the house next door a few days ago and saw her benefactor dead. I've lost them both, she had said to Maggie. Both her husband and her boss, in less than a year. Now she only had her son, and she was collapsing because she realized she had already lost him, too.
"You're the fixer," Maggie said to Mrs. Queen. "Whatever the problem, you clean it up and take care of it, don't you? Messy houses. Unruly dogs. Orphaned children. What happened to Patrick's mother?"
"She died in a car accident. She had been his secretary on that film he did in Ireland."
"His secretary. Of course she was," Maggie said dryly.
"He'd been messing with her all through the filming. And then she died and left the little lad all alone."
"And so you were hired to take care of him. That's what you do, isn't it, Mrs. Queen? You take care of other people's messes for them."
"He was alone. He needed a mother."
Patrick took in a breath. It must have been hard to hear of the death of a mother he'd never met. She would feel sorry for him if he weren't a killer.
"And Ms. Nora had just lost her daughter that year," Mrs. Queen continued. "It would have broken her heart to find out her husband had a son to replace their little girl. So it had to be a secret from her."
"I see," Maggie said.
"And then you came along," she added, looking ashamed. "When you married, you wanted a baby of your own, and he wanted no more of that. He made sure he couldn't have any more children."
"A vasectomy?" Maggie sighed. "Of course he did. And never said a word. After all, I was only his wife."
"You have to understand," Mrs. Queen said, still defending him. "His daughter had died, and then he had a boy and he couldn't bring himself to claim him. He didn't want any more. It was too much for him. I'm right sorry about it, Ma'am. It wasn't my place to speak of it. But you knew all along?" she asked.
"I didn't know any of this," she said. "Not until I saw your visa. And your husband's. Just now." She motioned with the papers in her hand.
But Patrick seemed confused by that. "What visas?"
"Einstein visas," she explained. "Properly applied for and granted nineteen years ago for two high-level executives in Big Mac's film company who just had to jump ahead in the immigration line so they could come to America from Ireland and work for him. A couple of Einsteins who worked as a barber and a housekeeper way off here in Carita. With a newborn son. You weren't trying to protect her," Maggie added to him. "I was wrong to think you were concerned about anyone but yourself. You weren't trying to cover up the fraudulent visas that could ruin your parents. So what were you searching for tonight? Your real birth certificate?"
"I have it," he said. "Found it before you came barging in." He curled his lip. "I meant nothing to him. Just a piece of paper he held over the Queens."
"Is that what you think?" Maggie asked.
"It's the truth."
"Did you pick out the new security code for the house, Mrs. Queen?"
She shook her head. "The mister did. That was the code he always used for his office safe, too. I always knew it, but he thought I didn't."
"Of course you did. You know everything. So you could have taken the papers anytime. He wasn't actually holding it over you, was he?"
"It wasn't blackmail," she said. "Of course not. We were bound together."
"A team," Maggie said. "And only you three knew."
"What difference does it make?" Patrick asked. "So she was in on it with him. They're both to blame."
"The code was 100599," Maggie said, and he gasped. "October 5, 1999. That's your birthday, isn't it?" she asked, and he nodded slightly. "I remember, because of course Big Mac always gave you a present, just a little token gift for his housekeeper's son. Last year was that custom surfboard, wasn't it?"
He nodded stiffly.
She added, "Did you think he didn't care? Is that why you tore up the check he gave you?"
"Check?" Kira asked. "What check?"
Maggie ignored her. "He could have dumped you in an orphanage, Patrick. But he didn't."
"Of course he didn't!" Mrs. Queen said, outraged. "The mister wouldn't do that."
"Why did you want your real birth certificate?" she asked. "Did you plan to file a claim against the estate? Did you really think a truckload of money would fill the hole in you from killing your father?"
"Big Mac owed Patrick!" Kira shouted. "He owed it to us."
"Us, right," Maggie said. "Patrick would inherit all that money, and he'd be a rich heir, and you'd never be poor and have to live in a trailer."
She turned back to Patrick. "When did you get engaged?"
"Engaged?" he asked, confused. "We're not engaged."
"We will be!" Kira said.
"You decided to marry him when he told you he was the son of a rich man. But did you think you'd have to go this far to marry a rich man, Kira?"
"I covered for you," Kira said to Patrick. "I said we were together when the police asked for an alibi. I did that for you. You have to marry me now."
"Before the money runs out," Maggie said. "Before you have to find a way to earn a living on your own."
"None of this matters," Patrick said.
"No, it doesn't," Maggie said. "It was never about the money for you, was it?"
"Of course not. I didn't care about that."
"It was about your father. How did you find out the truth?"
"Found a letter in my dad's things after he died," Patrick said. "A letter from the great Big Mac McJasper." He said the name with a curl of his lip. "So I confronted him about it. He admitted it right out. I was his biological son. Then he sat there and wrote me a check." He said it with contempt. "A million-dollar check. He said, sure, he was my father. But he wanted it to be kept quiet because he was marrying that woman and he didn't want her to be mad."
"Just like he didn't want Nora to be mad when he got your mother pregnant. He just wanted it all to go away."
"Yeah. He wanted me to go away."
"Did he say that?"
Patrick shook his head. "He said he'd watched me grow up. He kept me around so he could see me, keep track of how I was doing. But he never told me the truth! And he said no one could know the truth, not now."
"Not now," Maggie repeated. "Not nineteen years ago, because he was married to Nora. Not ten years ago, because he was married to me. And not now, because he was going to marry Virginia."
"It was never going to be now," Patrick whispered.
"And so you tore up the check he gave you to buy your silence. And then you hit him with the pool skimmer. And then you ran away."
"I didn't know he would die. I just hit him and he went in the pool and then I left."
"Maybe," Maggie said, fighting her natural urge to believe him, to take him at face value and believe that he couldn't possibly have murdered his own father in cold blood. "Maybe you didn't know you were leaving him to drown. But you did know you killed Virginia."
"And I'll know when I kill you, too," he said, raising the gun.
Reese had been silent through the entire conversation, just standing there, with his hands motionless, holding the dog's leash and looking elegant and quietly angry.
Now he said softly, "my arms are getting tired. Here, Maggie, take the dog."
It wasn't a request, and Patrick didn't have time to complain. Reese just removed the leash loop from his wrist and handed it across to Maggie.
Then Reese gave the tiniest nod in Patrick's direction.
There was a loud cough from the beach stairs, and everyone turned toward the sound.
Everyone except Reese.
He suddenly pulled two of the rusted iron pieces fr
om the sculpture and twirled them in his hands like the bō sticks he used in his daily workouts with his trainer.
One piece flew across the patio. Maggie watched it like it was a slow-motion action sequence in a movie, the heavy metal pole twisting through the air to land with a sickening crack against Patrick's body. He went sprawling, but held onto the gun and raised it toward them.
Ibarra was there in an instant, and his gun was pointed at the boy. "Do. Not. Move." Ibarra said coldly.
Reese had not released the other pole. This one he held onto as he hit Kira, knocking her down on the lawn, where she lay, out of breath, with him resting the heavy rebar on her chest, pinning her in place.
But before she fell, her hand convulsively clenched on the gun, and there was a horrible bang that was echoed by a cry of pain.
It was a beautiful thing, with the two men smoothly working together, each using his particular gifts.
But Maggie hardly cared. Because Jasper was lying in a pool of red.
Chapter 25
Maggie dropped down beside Jasper. He was moaning softly, and she cradled him in her arms.
"No!" she cried. "Oh, my Jasper."
Her hands felt sticky, and the dog's magnificent white ruff was scarlet with blood. The wound was in his shoulder, and he tried in vain to get up, crying out in agony.
"Hush," she whispered to him. "I'm here. You're safe. Mama's got you."
Jasper sighed and leaned against her as she protected him.
"Don't move, Magdalena," Reese said softly from somewhere far above her. "Stay out of the line of fire."
She put her face down next to Jasper's, and whispered soft words to him.
"Put down the gun, young man," she heard Lieutenant Ibarra say crisply. "You can't shoot your way out of this."
"Please, my Lad," came Mrs. Queen's frantic voice. "Please listen to the man."
"I'm not your lad," Patrick growled, and Mrs. Queen sobbed.
But after a minute, Maggie heard the thunk of the gun hitting the pool decking, and soon after came the snap of handcuffs.
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