Maggie Box Set

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “And this is Maggie,” Charlotte says. “Have the two of you met face-to-face yet?”

  “Maggie.” Leslie makes a face like she’s sucking a raw turnip.

  Maggie returns a bared-fang smile. “Leslie. Are you packed up to go yet?”

  Leslie stares into her eyes without a flicker of response.

  Edward ends the awkward moment. “My dearest, we’re the guests of honor.”

  Charlotte takes Edward’s arm. “Of course.”

  The two continue to the school, the site of their reception.

  Leslie turns away, shaking a cigarette out of a pack as she walks to the parking area.

  Maggie whispers to Michele. “Crazy-ass bitch.”

  “You’ve had a contractual misunderstanding. This is why it’s worth it to pay those online VRBO sites their cut. It’s a little something we savvy folks call ‘arms-length transactions.’”

  “Bite me. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “No way, new sis. We’re going to celebrate the union of our families.”

  Rashidi steps between them. “Give me the honor of escorting the two most beautiful women in Lee County.”

  “I’ll take my daughter. You take her sister,” Boyd suggests.

  “Perfect,” Rashidi replies.

  Maggie grumbles but takes Boyd’s arm and allows herself to be pulled along. Inside the school, they stop for punch and a cookie. Sugar to mask her breath, and damnation to Boyd for pointing it out.

  Chewing a snickerdoodle, she looks across the room. The pastor is holding court with Charlotte and Edward. The look on Edward’s face as he gazes down at her mother stops her heart. Dead stop. No beats for three seconds, she’d swear it. Edward loves her mother. And her mom? She’s lit up like a supernova, leaving a trail of sparkles in the wake of her every movement, her face ethereal.

  “They’re happy.” Michele bumps a shoulder against Maggie’s bicep. Punch sloshes out of Maggie’s cup.

  Maggie holds her punch higher, dodging the spill. She smiles at her best friend and new sister. “They are. Like you are.”

  And like I pray I’ll be someday, dammit. If it’s not sacrilegious to pray drunk. In a church. With profanity.

  As if she can read Maggie’s mind, Michele says, “You will be, too.”

  “May not be in the cards for me.”

  Michele gives her head a stubborn shake. “You’re a treasure. As soon as you realize that, good things are coming your way. Believe it.”

  “From your mouth past Satan’s ears.”

  “Stop it.”

  Maggie scans the room. “Hey, I don’t see Lumpy.” And she hadn’t seen him at his house that morning when she picked up the goats and fixed his fence. He and her mother are friends. No way he wouldn’t come to this if he’s in town.

  “I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days either.” Michele leans closer to Maggie to whisper. “I got your texts. We’ll talk lawsuit later. You have plenty of time to think about it. Right now I’m more troubled about the source for the TMZ story.”

  “My new friends aren’t so friendly.”

  “Could it be anyone else?”

  “Zero chance.”

  “Have any of them fessed up?”

  Maggie looks at her phone and scrolls through the new texts in the string.

  Wallace: OMG!

  Ethan: So sorry, Maggie.

  Michele: We’ll talk.

  Emily: Oh, Mags, that’s terrible.

  Maggie almost laughs. Mags. The name of her favorite bad gal in her favorite TV show. Justified. She misses Timothy Olyphant, who looks more like Hank than any person she’s ever seen. Only Hank, unfortunately for her, is even sexier and harder to wash from her mind. “Nope.”

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Except be more careful about who I open up to in the future. I’m not interested in facilitating someone’s fifteen minutes of fame by association.”

  “I’m really sorry. I’ll let you know if I hear who did it.”

  Maggie downs her punch and sets the cup on an empty table. “Ready to go congratulate the crazy kids?”

  Michele nods. They get in the long line behind Boyd and Rashidi to hug and kiss each parent and new stepparent. Charlotte smushes Michele and Maggie together in a group hug with her.

  She draws back. “Do I smell alcohol?”

  Michele shakes her head. “Listerine. Sorry. I have a toothache and didn’t want to have bad breath.”

  Maggie pats her mother’s back. “You guys have fun. We’re going to get out of the way of your admirers.”

  Charlotte releases them, and Edward beams at the women. Maggie blows her mother a kiss.

  As Maggie walks away, she talks out of the side of her mouth to Michele. “Thanks for the save.”

  “Don’t get used to it. I’m cutting you a break because you’re going through tough times, but I’m about to be all over your ass if this keeps up.”

  Maggie stiffens. “I’ve got me under control.”

  “It would be a first.”

  Stopping, Maggie scowls at her friend. “I’ll slow down. On my terms. Soon.”

  “I’m holding you to it.” Michele rolls her eyes. “Loving you is hard work.”

  Maggie’s short snit breaks apart. She smiles, until her phone rings with an incoming call from the Lee County Sheriff’s Department.

  Nineteen

  It’s a miracle Maggie makes it to Flown the Coop alive after the call from Junior.

  Her shop is on fire. Completely ablaze. Her barn is burning, too. The house is safe at this point, but that’s small consolation. According to Junior, firefighters are on scene, trying to salvage something, anything, but there are no guarantees.

  Her entire livelihood is burning to the ground. Her entire identity, since she gave up the music world.

  She smells smoke and hears sirens and the roar of the fire beast before she clears the last corner to the house. Turning into her parking lot, she drives helter-skelter through a barricade, jerking Bess to a stop beside Junior. She jumps out, but forgets to take the truck out of gear. Bess lurches and jerks to a halt, then stalls bare inches short of a big red fire truck with an enormous hose snaking from it. Two firefighters in full battle gear wrestle the hose like an anaconda as it spits a thick spray of hissing water at the shop. Junior leaps into Bess and sets the brake.

  “Ring of Fire” loops in Maggie’s head as she runs toward her Coop. Her heart seizes. Her father—she doesn’t remember him fondly most of the time, but does now. Overspray and ash rain down on her. Visions of the burning woman return to her. Her eyes comb the windows, afraid of what they’ll find there.

  Strong arms arrest her flight. “Ma’am. No.”

  She struggles to break free. “My store. My stuff. All of it.”

  “I understand.”

  She continues fighting. “You don’t.”

  Junior arrives and helps restrain her. “Maggie. Listen to me. Stop it. You can’t do anything but hurt yourself. Let them do their job.”

  Maggie’s knees buckle. Only Junior’s grip on her arms keeps her from puddling on the ground.

  “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Two times in three days. I don’t understand.”

  Junior hauls her up and shakes her gently. “Come on. Let’s go talk.”

  Somewhere in the back of her brain she knows she should resist. Michele would tell her this conversation should wait for her to get there. And she’ll be here soon, Maggie knows. Michele ran fast as a NASCAR pit crew to get Rashidi after Maggie repeated Junior’s horrible news. They can’t be far behind her.

  But Maggie follows Junior anyway. She’s too defeated to resist. He leads her to his Tahoe, parked perpendicular to the yellow tape barrier she’d run over with Bess. They pass county employees restringing the tape from sawhorses.

  “Sit inside.” He opens the back door of the Tahoe.

  She crosses her arms, cradling herself. �
��N-no. Outside. I need to see. I need to hear.”

  “I think you’ll be happier inside.”

  She shivers. “I’m c-c-cold.”

  “Shit. Okay, yeah, shock. Let’s get you to the EMTs.”

  At the ambulance, they take Maggie through the familiar drill. Shock blanket. Loosening her clothes. Getting her to lie down. Junior keeps stealing glances at an unmarked vehicle next to the fire truck. It’s an SUV with a light on top. Maggie follows Junior’s gaze to Karen, the fire marshal, and the tall Fayette County sheriff. They’re leaning against the SUV, watching her.

  “Oh no. No, no, no.” She stands, dropping the blanket. “No way.”

  Junior puts a hand on her forearm. “Maggie, wait.”

  But she takes off toward the fire, not listening to Junior. Junior isn’t her friend. He’s a deputy. This isn’t the same young man she’s known since before he joined the Lee County Sheriff’s Department, back when he was just a local boy trying to find a decent job in a small town. Who she has always treated kindly—for her, at least—because of his not-so-secret crush on her. Either he’s in on it, or he’s being used. Either way, Fayette County thought they’d catch her with her guard down with her store burning before her eyes. Get her to incriminate herself while she’s vulnerable.

  Like that would make a difference. She’s the victim here. The victim.

  When she reaches the reconstructed barrier, there’s a cluster of official personnel ten feet past it. Beyond them, the Coop is still ablaze, but the barn is only smoldering. Flames are no longer leaping for the sky and lunging out the windows.

  She calls out. “Excuse me. I’m the owner. Can I get a status update?”

  A female Lee County deputy looks over her shoulder. She walks to the barrier and faces Maggie across it. “Long way to go.”

  “Did they catch it in time?”

  “If you mean in time to save the building or the contents, I’m afraid not. Most of the roof fell in before the firefighters got here. Not sure if there will be anything salvageable inside.”

  Maggie sucks in a breath, long and whistly.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “What about out back? The barn.”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll ask.”

  The deputy works her way over to a firefighter. Maggie watches the two converse, the firefighter removing his helmet and unzipping the neck of his jacket while they speak. The deputy returns to Maggie.

  “They’ve got that one out. And the damage back there isn’t as bad.”

  “Did my renter call the fire in?”

  “Who?”

  “I have a short-term renter in my house. It’s the building off to the side, between the store and the barn. Her name is Leslie DeWitt.”

  She rubs her forehead, leaving a red mark. “It wasn’t her. A rancher saw it when he drove by and called 911. I don’t remember his name.”

  “Have you seen Leslie?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone that isn’t from Giddings PD or Lee or Fayette County. Except for you.” She gestures toward a line of vehicles on the county road in front of Maggie’s house. “Although it looks like people are starting to gather.”

  “Can someone check on Leslie?”

  “We knocked. No one answered.” The deputy puts her hand on Maggie’s arm. “Why don’t you get off your feet. You look beat.”

  Maggie jerks away. She moves in a tight circle, then points to the little silver sedan in the parking area. “That’s her car.” As much as she dislikes the woman, she won’t be able to live with herself if she bears any responsibility for her being injured. “She was at St. Paul Lutheran earlier, but she must be back. I saw her leaving.” She rewinds their conversation outside St. Paul. Leslie heading toward the parking area. Possibly leaving.

  The deputy pulls a radio from her lapel. With her back to Maggie, she speaks into it. Then she turns to Maggie and says, “You’re giving us permission to enter your home?”

  “Of course. It’s a life-or-death situation.”

  “It is in the shop. Not in your house.” She leans in. “I shouldn’t tell you this. But do you understand that anything in plain sight is fair game and could lead to a search warrant for the entire property?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “What is it with you people? I’m the victim here. And I haven’t been in my own house for weeks. I told you. There’s a renter in there. Leslie. Let me call her. If she answers, there’s no need to go in. If she doesn’t, then, yes, break down my goddamn door and make sure she’s okay, because there’s a fucking fire back there.”

  Maggie can’t take any more death. Gary, killed in a fire. Chet, beaten to death. Patrick, dead, and Hank, injured, from gunshots. No more death. Please, no more death.

  She pulls out her phone and finds a number for Leslie in the call log. She presses it, then chooses call.

  A commotion at the front of the Coop draws her attention. The firefighters are agitated about something. The deputy moves in front of her like she’s trying to block her line of sight and directional hearing, but Maggie moves stealthily along the barricade until she can hear the phone ringing in one ear and the firefighters in the other.

  “. . . body . . . charred past recognition . . . female . . . no identification or clothing survived the fire . . .”

  Her hand drops to her side. She feels limp. She stares at the Coop. A dead body in the Coop. More death.

  “Hello? Hello?” There’s a voice coming from Maggie’s hand.

  Like a sleepwalker, she stares into the distance, but she lifts her phone as she does. “Hello.” Her voice is dull.

  “Is this Maggie Killian?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “Oh, Leslie. Fire at the Coop. Making sure you’re okay.”

  “What?”

  “My shop burned down. Your car is here. The deputies knocked at the house and you didn’t answer. I’m making sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m on the way home from your mother’s church reception, where I’ve been, unlike you.”

  “I was—” Maggie shakes her head. Not relevant. “Whatever. There’s a fire. You’re all right. When you come back, expect a whole lot of law enforcement activity.”

  “Great.”

  Maggie hangs up on her.

  The female deputy has her head together with Junior. They look up at her.

  Maggie shouts, “She’s fine.”

  The deputy returns to Maggie. “What?”

  “I just talked to Leslie. She’s on her way home from the church. She’s fine.”

  “So, to be clear, do we have permission to enter your house?”

  “No. You do not.”

  “You wanted us to a moment ago.”

  “As I said a moment ago, only if I didn’t get confirmation she is okay, which I now have. It’s rented to her. I can’t give you permission to violate her privacy without a good reason.” As much as she’d like to.

  “We’re going to need to talk to her.”

  “That’s between you guys and her.”

  A small, warm hand grips Maggie’s shoulder. “Oh God, Maggie. All your hard work. I’m so sorry.”

  Maggie lets Michele rotate her into an embrace. Maggie leans on her shoulder.

  Michele whispers, “Not another word to anyone in law enforcement. We’ll talk to them all together tomorrow at our scheduled interview. Nod if you understand.”

  Maggie nods.

  “Good. I need to get you out of here. Rashidi and I will take you back to your truck.”

  Another warm hand lands on Maggie’s back. She doesn’t have to look to know that it’s Rashidi. She allows herself to be trundled away from the scene, but her eyes keep cutting back to her shop. Her livelihood. Her identity. Her light after darkness. Who is she without it anymore?

  “Hold up, Maggie.” Weaselly Rickey Sayles is fast-walking toward her, dragging a woman along by the hand.

  Maggie doesn’t give the woman a second glance. “Come
to gloat, Rickey?”

  “Of course not. But I did want to make sure I withdrew my offer. In front of witnesses. I would, however, be happy to take any remaining inventory off your hands for an acceptable markdown off wholesale. Say, fifty percent.”

  “I wouldn’t sell anything to you at any price. Not before, not now.”

  The woman steps between them. “Are you sure? You don’t have your famous fuck buddy around to prop you up anymore.”

  Maggie stares at her. She shouldn’t have discounted the woman in the beginning, because the curvy redhead is a woman scorned. Jenny.

  “My new offer expires at noon tomorrow. The next one won’t be so generous.”

  She jerks her attention back to Rickey. “Get lost, Rickey.”

  Rashidi is suddenly in front of Maggie. “Leave her alone and get out of here. Both of you.”

  Jenny pops a bubble in her gum.

  Rickey laughs. “Call off your dog, Maggie. I know you can’t be a stupid woman, no matter what I read about you.”

  Rashidi’s fist strikes Rickey’s jaw, spinning him sideways and to the ground. Jenny screams and huddles over him.

  “Oh, Rashidi,” Michele says. “Not good.”

  “No, it was bad. As in badass.” Maggie steps over to Rickey and Jenny. “What he said.”

  Michele marches ahead of Rashidi and Maggie toward Rashidi’s Jeep, which is parked on the side of the road facing away from the house, like it’s ready to drive toward Michele’s. “You’ll be charged.”

  “Well worth it,” Rashidi says.

  “For you. Now I’ll be defending both of you in court instead of working on my next book.”

  Just as they reach the Jeep, an SUV pulls to a stop in the middle of traffic. Leslie hauls herself out. For a moment, with the way the light falls on the woman’s face, Maggie gets a strong sense of déjà vu. Has she known Leslie in some other part of her life? Before she can place the memory, it’s gone, leaving only the wooden-faced woman she’s come to loathe.

  “Leslie,” she calls.

  The woman slams the door of her ride, and the SUV speeds away. “What?”

  “The deputies over there.” Maggie points. “They need to talk to you.”

  “Why me? I wasn’t here.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger.”