50% off Murder

by Josie Belle

  “Sorry, not so much,” she said.

  She saw his jaw clench as if he knew she was lying, but didn’t know how to prove it.

  “So, if I owe you,” he said, ignoring the open door. “What do you want?”

  “I want to see Claire tomorrow,” she said.

  Sam crossed his arms and considered her. Gone was any remnant of the past between them. He was looking at her now with his sheriff face on, considering how he could grant her request and make it work for him.

  “I want you to tell me everything she says,” he said.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t, she’s going to go to jail for murder,” he said.

  He stepped out the door and the dark night absorbed him like a raindrop vanished into the ocean.

  Chapter 20

  Maggie spent more time than usual on her appearance the next morning. She told herself it was because she had to go into the office to work on billing for Dr. Franklin after she stopped by the jail to see Claire. But given that she was known to work at Dr. Franklin’s in a jean skirt and sandals, this was a blatant lie and even she knew it, although she refused to acknowledge it.

  In her own defense, she felt that looking professional would make Sam respect her more, but that wasn’t it either. Having been hit by the blinding realization that Sam was still hot, Maggie was determined that he should feel the same way about her. Level the playing field as it were, not that she had any interest in playing on any field of his, however. Right.

  When she entered the kitchen, Sandy stared at her over the rim of her coffee cup. Then she let out a low wolf whistle.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked. “Is someone getting married?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Maggie said. She poured a cup of coffee and perused the bananas.

  “Oh, please. That’s your Sunday best to the tenth power,” Sandy said. “The only time I have ever seen you pull out your Steve Madden peep-toe pumps and your Nanette Lepore sheath dress is when you were going on a date. And look at your hair. It’s all loose and wavy. You never take time with your hair. So, who is he?”

  “Who’s who?” Maggie asked. She could feel her heart thump in her chest. Was it possible that Sandy knew what she was up to?

  “Who do you have a date with?”

  “I don’t have a date,” Maggie said. “It’s just been a while since I’ve worn this outfit, and you know my rule.”

  Sandy shook her head in exasperation. She knew the rule well: “If you don’t wear something at least once a year, you need to get rid of it.”

  “Exactly,” Maggie said. She could feel her pulse decel-erate.

  “Has it really been a year since your last date?” Sandy asked.

  “Something like that,” Maggie said.

  “Well, that’s ridiculous,” Sandy said. “We need to get you hooked up. I mean, look at you: You’re beautiful, too beautiful to be sitting at home every Saturday night.”

  “And that is why I love you, niece of mine,” Maggie said. She gave Sandy a kiss on the head. “Don’t worry about me. I like my Saturdays just the way they are.”

  Maggie grabbed a banana and glanced out on the porch. Josh had finished breakfast and was already hard at work on the railroad. She gave him a kiss on the head, too, and he beamed at her. Reaching up with a chubby hand, he pulled her face down to his and kissed her cheek.

  “Aunt Maggie pretty,” he said.

  “Thank you, Josh,” she said. Somehow when a child paid a compliment, it seemed so much more valid than when it came from another grown-up. Probably because kids were unfailingly honest, even when you’d rather they weren’t.

  “I’m off,” Maggie called as she headed through the living room toward the front door.

  “It’s pizza night,” Sandy said. “Josh and I’ll do the pickup. He likes to watch them twirl the dough.”

  “Take a twenty out of my stash,” Maggie said. Sandy waved her off, and Maggie gave her a firm look. “That’s not negotiable.”

  “Have a nice day,” Sandy said. “Hey, maybe you’ll meet someone, since you’re all dolled up.”

  Maggie gave her a small smile and shut the door behind her.

  The drive to the sheriff’s department was short. When she parked, she noticed her palms were damp. Not wanting to ruin her dress, she grabbed a hand wipe out of the case she kept in the car for post-playground cleanup with Josh.

  She wished the little thing was big enough to run over her whole body, because what had seemed like a good idea in her bedroom this morning, now just seemed obvious and ridiculous. She almost put the car in reverse and left without going to see Claire, but she couldn’t do that to her friend.

  With a muttered curse, Maggie got out of the car and strode up the stone steps and into the red brick building, trying to look like a woman on a mission.

  Deputy Wilson was manning the front desk today, and she glanced up at Maggie with a polite smile.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Claire Freemont,” Maggie said.

  Deputy Wilson narrowed her eyes at her. She was wearing her standard-issue uniform of dark brown shirt and light brown pants. Her hair was scraped back in its usual bun. She pursed her lips as she looked Maggie over. Then she blinked as if the light of recognition had hit her like a camera’s flash.

  “I remember you,” she said. “How’s the cat?”

  “The who?”

  “The cat,” Deputy Wilson repeated. Her eyes still narrowed in suspicion.

  “Oh, yeah,” Maggie said. “He’s good, great, really good.”

  Oh, crud. Maggie knew she sounded like a big, fat liar, which she was.

  “Uh-huh.” Deputy Wilson crossed her arms over her formidable chest. The she leaned close to Maggie and sniffed the air.

  “Something wrong?” Maggie asked.

  “Are you wearing perfume?”

  “Yes, why? Am I not allowed to wear perfume in here?”

  “Women only wear perfume when they are looking for a man.”

  “Oh.” Maggie wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Your perfume is the good stuff.” Deputy Wilson smiled. “And you are definitely on the hunt.”

  “I am not,” Maggie argued.

  “Oh, please, a woman only wears the good perfume if she’s trying to impress that special someone,” Deputy Wilson said.

  “Or if she knows how to get the good stuff on the cheap,” Maggie said.

  “Do tell.” The deputy leaned her chin on her hand and studied Maggie.

  “Samples,” Maggie said. “When you go to the department store, always be sure to see if they have samples of the good stuff at the makeup counter.”

  Maggie opened her purse and unzipped the small side pocket on the inside. She kept part of her stash in her purse. She took out three small vials of perfume.

  “Here,” she said. “You can have these.”

  “We’re not supposed to accept gifts.” The deputy shook her head with a sigh.

  “These aren’t gifts, they’re freebies,” Maggie said. “Look, I have Joy, Beautiful and Lovely.”

  “So, how do you get them to hook you up?”

  “Well, over the years, I’ve become friends with one of the ladies at the makeup counter. I used to go in with my mother when I was a girl, so she’s seen me grow up. Now I have to buy my mother’s anti-wrinkle cream for her. She’s in Florida with my sister, but they don’t have the stuff she likes, so when I pick up her cream, my pal always hooks me up with whatever perfume samples she has. I haven’t bought perfume in years.”

  “That’s very…thrifty,” the deputy said.

  Maggie shrugged. “I try.”

  “Thanks for these,” the deputy said. She sniffed each one appreciatively. “But I still say you’re looking for a man, because you’re wearing the most expensive of the three.”

  “Good nose,” Maggie said. “But really, I was just i
n the mood for that one today. I really am on my way to work, and I’m just stopping here to check on my friend first.”

  “Uh-huh,” Deputy Wilson said. “Sheriff Collins is out.”

  “I don’t care!” Maggie said. The deputy’s eyebrows lifted, and Maggie knew she’d been too fast. She glanced at her watch. “Really, I just have to get to work.”

  Deputy Wilson hit the buzzer on her desk and the half-gate latch popped. Maggie hurried through it before the woman changed her mind. She left her purse behind the counter, and Deputy Wilson led her through the door at the back.

  She looked at Maggie over her shoulder, and said, “If it’s any consolation, the sheriff had to leave on a call. Before that he was pacing the lobby like a caged cougar.”

  “I really couldn’t care—”

  “And he was wearing aftershave,” the deputy added. “He’s never worn aftershave before today.”

  Maggie met Deputy Wilson’s knowing brown eyes, and she felt the corner of her mouth quirk up. “Aftershave, huh?”

  “The expensive kind.”

  “So, when you see him—”

  “Tell him that Mrs.—”

  “You can go with Ms.”

  “That Ms. Gerber has legs up to her neck,” Deputy Wilson said. “Too bad he missed it.”

  “That works for me,” Maggie said with a delighted grin. “What’s your name, your first name?”

  “Everyone calls me Dot, short for Dorothy.”

  “Dot, I think we’re going to be great friends.”

  “Hook me up with a pair of those shoes on top of the perfume, and you’ve got yourself a lifer in the gal pal department,” Dot said.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Maggie smiled and slipped through the open door into the lobby area.

  Another deputy was sitting there. He was older, with a spindly build and thinning gray hair, and he seemed rather cranky at having to put down his newspaper to let Maggie into the back room. The name on his uniform read Deputy Crosthwaite. He walked her down the hall to Claire’s cell.

  “Freemont, you have a visitor!” he snapped. Then he looked at Maggie and pointed to his eyes with his index and middle finger and then pointed the fingers back at her and said, “I’ve got my eye on you.”

  “Okey-dokey,” she said. She wondered how the heel of her peep-toe pump would feel on his geriatric instep, but she refrained from letting him find out—just barely.

  “Maggie,” Claire said as she rushed up from the cot. “How is Mr. Tumnus? How are you? I’m so bored, I think I might go out of my mind.”

  “I’ll bet,” Maggie said. She glanced at the cell behind Claire and desperately wished she could let her out. This whole thing was just crazy.

  “Listen, I have news. Joanne came over to my house last night,” Maggie said.

  “Oh, how is Joanne?” Claire asked. She sounded as if she hadn’t seen her in months, instead of just days.

  “She’s fine. Well, no, actually, she was in tears, but that’s not the point. The point is that she told Sheriff Collins and me—”

  “Whoa, back up,” Claire said. “What was Sheriff Collins doing at your house?”

  “Pestering me about why I had really been here to see you,” Maggie said. “He didn’t believe the sick-cat story.”

  “So, he’s good-looking and smart,” Claire said. “How unfortunate.”

  “Indeed,” Maggie said. “Now here’s where it gets interesting—”

  “Wait, one more question,” Claire interrupted again. “Why are you all gussied up today? Don’t you have to be at Dr. Franklin’s in an hour?”

  Maggie blew out a breath. This was the downside to close friends: They knew you too well.

  “I am just wearing this outfit so that I don’t have to weed it from my closet,” she said.

  “The one-year rule?” Claire asked.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “But you wore that two months ago when we all went into Richmond because we had that Groupon to eat one hundred dollars’ worth of food for only fifty at Chez Nous, that snazzy French restaurant,” Claire said.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Maggie said. She felt her face grow warm, and she was annoyed that Claire was going to figure her out if she didn’t get her distracted and quickly. “Now, do you want to hear what Joanne had to say or not?”

  “Yes, I do,” Claire said. “Sorry. I think being stuck in here is making my brain go sideways.”

  “Okay, Joanne was in tears, because of the hormone shots,” Maggie said, and Claire nodded. “But she told us that John Templeton had approached Michael’s young entrepreneur’s group about investment opportunities and, in fact, Michael used Templeton’s company to buy those two apartment buildings that he and Joanne own.”

  “No!” Claire said. “But this means there could be other investors who have much more reason to kill John than I did.”

  “Exactly,” Maggie said. “I talked to Max last night and, in light of the new information, he thinks he can get the judge to set your bail at a more reasonable sum. You may be out in time for the two-for-one breakfast at the House of Bacon on Saturday.”

  Claire sagged against the bars. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks. Maggie patted her hands where they rested on the bars.

  “Hey, this is good news,” she said. “Come on, chin up.”

  Claire reached under her glasses and wiped her eyes. She snuffled a bit and then turned to blow her nose on a piece of toilet paper, a roll of which sat on the shelf by the severe metal bowl in the corner.

  “There is one thing that will help you to get out faster,” Maggie said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to tell Sam what you told me, about what you saw that night that you fled Baltimore.”

  “I can’t.” Claire shook her head.

  “I don’t think you’re going to have much choice,” Maggie said. “They’re going to keep investigating, and if they link the body you saw being hauled out by Templeton with your flight from the city, it’s going to look very bad. Claire, you have to tell them. You have to tell them what you saw, and you have to tell them what John Templeton was holding over you.”

  “John knew about my past. He knew, and he was going to tell. I would have been ruined,” Claire cried.

  “What happened in your past?” Maggie asked. “I can’t help you unless you tell me.”

  Claire turned away as if she couldn’t face Maggie. Her voice was so low, Maggie had to strain to hear her.

  “I was involved in a robbery, and someone got shot.”

  Chapter 21

  A sucking sound echoed around the sterile chamber, and it was a moment before Maggie realized it was her, gasping in shock. Of all the things she had expected Claire to say, this was not it.

  Claire turned back to Maggie. “When I was sixteen, I got involved with a gang of bad girls. It was pure reckless stupidity, but they decided to rob a convenience store, and I went along with it to fit in. I was the only one with access to a car, and I knew how to drive, so I was the driver.”

  As Claire paused to catch her breath, Maggie could see her reliving the horror of that long-ago day. The painful memory weighed heavily upon her, and Maggie could swear that Claire shrank as she uttered each word.

  “No one was supposed to get hurt, but the girls I was with, well, one of them was wild. When the clerk refused to empty his drawer, she went crazy. I could see her screaming at him and yelling, so I knew something had gone wrong. I left the car and went in to get the others. I figured our bluff had been called, and we needed to get out of there.”

  Claire was silent so long, Maggie asked, “And then what happened?”

  “The wild girl, Rita, she leaned over the counter and shot the clerk in the leg. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even know she had a gun. Turned out it was her brother’s, and it was loaded. The rest of them ran, but I stayed and called nine-one-one.”

  Silent tears slipped down Claire’s face, and Maggie reached through the bars to grab he
r hands. They were cold to the touch, and she wished she could get into the cell to hug her friend.

  “You stayed,” Maggie said, not at all surprised that her friend had done the right thing.

  “Well, if I hadn’t rushed in there, demanding that they all leave, she probably wouldn’t have shot him. I felt like it was my fault.”

  “It wasn’t,” Maggie said. “Yes, the robbery was a stupid thing to do, no question. I mean really, what were you thinking?”

  Claire cleared her throat. “I just wanted them to like me. I was sixteen, remember.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Maggie shook her head. “I got off track there. What happened next?”

  “The ambulance came, and it turned out that it was just a flesh wound. The clerk testified that I tried to get the others to leave and that I stayed with him after he was shot. But still, the other girls’ lawyer pointed out that I was a part of the robbery; I was the driver, so I had to do some time. I was sent to juvie for three months, and because I cooperated, my records were sealed.”

  “And John knew this?” Maggie asked.

  “Apparently he had me investigated when we first started dating,” she said.

  “But your records were sealed,” Maggie said.

  “Not tightly enough,” Claire said.

  “He threatened to go public with it, didn’t he?”

  “Can you imagine, a librarian with a record? It would have ruined me,” Claire said. “I knew I couldn’t trust him not to keep using my past against me, so I called in a silent witness report about what I saw that night and I ran.”

  “Oh, Claire,” Maggie said. “You must have been terrified when he showed up here.”

  “Pretty much,” Claire said. “I tried so hard to cover my tracks. I even took my stepfather’s name.”

  “Your name isn’t Freemont?” Maggie asked.

  “It is now,” Claire said. “But it wasn’t then.”