Maggie and the Black-Tie Affair

by Barbara Cool Lee

"Of course," she said. "But that don't take no more than a minute each time."

  "That's fine, ma'am," Ibarra said. He turned to Abby. "All right, young lady. Do you want to sit here while I wake up the judge to get a search warrant for that bag?"

  Abby reluctantly handed over her pack and the lieutenant spilled the contents on the bar counter: a physics textbook, wallet, hairbrush, set of keys, and a notebook that fell open to a page with numbers written on it.

  At first Maggie assumed the numbers were schoolwork, but then saw they were income and expenses, with frantic scribbling as Abby had tried to work out how to make up a $500 shortfall in tuition payment.

  The notebook lay open on the counter like an indictment. They all stared at it.

  "I didn't steal anything," the girl said. "I didn't."

  "But the earrings have to be in there," Felicia said. "They have to be!"

  "Maybe they're just lost," Abby said.

  "Lost where? I left them in the bathroom." Felicia's hands were actually trembling. "I can't lose them. They're worth a fortune."

  "All right," Ibarra said. "I will get someone out here to check for fingerprints in the bathroom. In the meantime—"

  "There aren't any fingerprints in the bathroom," Mrs. Queen said.

  "Ma'am?"

  "I said, you will not find a fingerprint in that bathroom. I always follow up on temporary workers, and that bathroom is clean."

  "But, Ma'am, there still could be—"

  "I said I cleaned that bathroom," Mrs. Queen said. "That means it is clean. There will not be a fingerprint in that room."

  "Maybe you missed a spot."

  Maggie shook her head at the detective. "Um, Lieutenant, I wouldn't…."

  Mrs. Queen drew herself up to her full five-foot-two height, cloaked in the disgust of a twenty-year veteran of the housekeeping wars. "I. Don't. Miss. Spots." The temperature in the room dropped by ten degrees at her tone.

  "Fine," he said. "And no one else was in this part of the house except Ms. Dalton, Ms. Xiong, Ms. Queen—"

  "—Missus Queen." Her voice was still icy as the tundra.

  "Mrs. Queen," he corrected himself, "and Mrs. McJasper and Mr. Stevens."

  "Not that we know of," Maggie said. "But maybe—" She stopped herself. She hated to even suggest another of the locals could be involved. "Give me a minute," she said to the cop.

  She quickly found the caterer and asked him a question, then came back into the hall, thinking furiously.

  "The caterer had all his staff in his sight in the main room and kitchen for the last hour," she reported to Lieutenant Ibarra. "Nobody's unaccounted for."

  "Except for Ms. Xiong," he said.

  Maggie nodded reluctantly.

  "And how about the others?"

  She knew what others he meant. The only others who were in the house this evening were the carefully curated guest list of big shots. She pursed her lips, knowing Big Mac would throw a fit if she even suggested a party guest could be a thief.

  "Maybe there isn't a thief at all," Abby said desperately. "Maybe the earrings are just lost. Maybe they're just stuck in the towels. I left them in the laundry basket."

  "I put them towels in the wash," Mrs. Queen said. "I shook them out. There was nothing in them towels."

  "Maybe you missed—" Lieutenant Ibarra began, but stopped when Mrs. Queen shot him a glare. "Okay, so you didn't miss them."

  He tapped his notebook with one finger and gave Maggie a sideways glance, and carefully broached the unasked question. "I don't suppose you'd let me talk to the guests about this?"

  He said it with just the tiniest query in his voice. Clearly Lieutenant Ibarra knew how Carita worked.

  The big shots on The Row would not react kindly if he interrupted their party to interrogate them.

  Maggie knew how unfair it was, but she couldn't quite bring herself to face the consequences of telling him, Sure. Question this group of very rich, spoiled, fussy people. It's not like you wanted to keep your pension or anything.

  Ibarra closed the notebook with a snap and put it in his pocket. "Then we're done here. I need you two young women to come downtown with me."

  "But you can't charge her based on this," Maggie protested. "This isn't evidence."

  "I'm not charging her. I am taking her in for questioning. You too," Ibarra said to Felicia. "I'll need you to sign a statement."

  "Fine," Felicia said. "But where are my earrings?"

  "I have no idea," he said. "But she'll tell us."

  Abby sobbed. "My parents will die of shame."

  "Is this really necessary?" Reese asked.

  "Well, Sir, since I am not allowed to question the guests, and I've been notified that there aren't any fingerprints at the alleged crime scene, yes, I would say the next step is to get official statements from the two parties involved."

  Ibarra saw Maggie about to protest, and he said, "Ma'am, I'm not enjoying this any more than you are. I was looking forward to a bowl of chili and the late-late show. But a complaint has been made, and I have to investigate." He frowned. "As much as I am allowed to."

  "Chili?" Maggie said thoughtfully.

  "Yes. Chili. It's what those of us who aren't rich eat sometimes."

  "I know. My dad's Chile Verde is to die for. But I was just thinking…."

  "Yes?"

  "Mrs. Queen, I don't suppose there's much of that prime rib left, is there?"

  "Oh, I believe there's a goodly amount still out there," she said. "They've probably finished packing away the charcuterie, but the big dinner display is all there."

  "Prime rib?" Lieutenant Ibarra asked.

  "Prime rib," Maggie said. "With fingerling baked potatoes," she added. "Stuffed with brie and bacon."

  The lieutenant gazed down his ample nose at her. "Are you suggesting I can be bribed with prime rib, Mrs. McJasper?"

  "Of course not. But I am suggesting that you should probably eat a little something to tide you over until you can get home."

  "Because you're so concerned about my growling stomach?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Because it would give me time to talk to the guests, and to check out the laundry, and to see if the earrings fell into a floor vent, and—"

  "Exactly how long do you think it's going to take for me to eat a little piece of prime rib?"

  "With baked potatoes," Reese said. "Stuffed with brie and bacon."

  "And chocolate cake for dessert," Maggie added.

  "One hour," Lieutenant Ibarra said. "It will take me one hour. No more."

  Without a word, Mrs. Queen had gotten a lint roller out of a drawer, and turned Reese around to remove every bit of dog hair from his tuxedo.

  "That's good enough, Ma'am," he had said while she fussed over his suit. "You can stop."

  "I don't miss spots," she said, giving his once-again immaculate tuxedo an approving nod.

  "Thank you, Ma'am," he said very seriously, barely stifling a grin.

  "Now," Mrs. Queen said, turning to Maggie, "I'll check the bathroom again, just to make sure."

  "No," Maggie said. "I will search, and talk to people, and all that."

  "What should I do?" she asked.

  "You keep those two women on those stools in opposite corners."

  Jasper leaned against her leg, pushing her up against the wall.

  "And you keep the dog here out of the way."

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  "Yes," Maggie said. "You keep that man's plate full while I try to figure out what happened."

  Reese followed her down the hall. "So what do we do first?" he asked.

  "We?"

  "Yeah. We. This is way more interesting than the party. You're not going to leave me out of your investigation. So where do we start?"

  "I figured I'd retrace Felicia's steps," Maggie said. "She took the earrings off in the bathroom. We'll start there. See if they fell down a vent or under a cabinet or something. Then I'll check the laundry room. Then check the laundry itself
."

  "You're assuming they just fell into a crack somewhere," he said.

  "I'm not assuming anything. I'm trying to figure out what happened without jumping to conclusions like Lieutenant Ibarra."

  They headed down the hall, looking along the baseboards for any telltale glimmer of diamonds.

  "I don't believe her," she said.

  "You just said you weren't jumping to conclusions," Reese said. "Now you sound just like the cop."

  "No," she corrected. "I wasn't talking about Abby. I'm trying to figure out if I automatically disbelieve Felicia because she's an entitled little brat, or if I think she's lying."

  "Oh. Well, I'm with you there. I don't believe a word she says either."

  "She's your girlfriend," Maggie pointed out.

  "Date. Not girlfriend. We don't even like each other."

  "Why do you hang out with someone who doesn't like you?"

  "Well who does like me?" he asked.

  "I do."

  He smiled that devastating smile. "Wow. That means something."

  "Charmer," she said sarcastically.

  "No." He stopped smiling. "It means something. You aren't a phony like most of these people. I like you, too. And not in a getting-in-your-pants kind of way, either."

  His gaze roved over her glimmering gown. "Though I'd like you that way, too, if you weren't married."

  She laughed. "You are absolutely incorrigible."

  He sighed. "I like literacy, too."

  "Literacy?"

  "You use words like incorrigible. I miss the lost art of intelligent conversation."

  They reached the bathroom. He gestured her inside. "We'd better get this search done quickly, before they start a rumor about us."

  "They won't start a rumor about us," she said. "I'm old enough to be your—"

  "—equal?"

  "Yeah." She laughed. "But about Felicia. I think she's a conniving little—" She stopped. "You know. But I do believe she's genuinely worried about losing those earrings."

  "She's not a good enough actress to act that scared if she's not really upset," he agreed.

  "Of course you actors are good at faking sincerity."

  "The key thing to being an actor is honesty," he said. "Once you can fake that, you've got it made."

  She laughed.

  "I can't remember who said it, but this party is living proof."

  "If you hate Mac's parties, why did you come?"

  "Because I couldn't picture spending this particular night alone at home, staring at the walls."

  "Yeah," she agreed. "People like to get all dressed up and party on New Year's Eve."

  "New Year's Eve. Right," he said softly. Then he clapped his hands together. "So what do we do first?"

  Maggie let Reese get down on his knees and check all the spots in the bathroom where the jewelry might have fallen.

  "Nothing," he said, after feeling around under the cabinet, and even putting his hand behind the toilet to check if the earrings had rolled back there.

  "Ugh," Maggie said. "You don't have to go quite that far."

  He stood up and brushed off the knees of his tuxedo trousers, which didn't show the tiniest speck of dirt from his exploits, proving Mrs. Queen's point about her housekeeping abilities. "Why not? Do you think the old biddy was lying about the room being all spit-and-polished?"

  "No," she said. "A speck o' dirt wouldn't dare land here while she's on duty."

  Maggie stood there in the spacious guest bath, her arms crossed in front of her and tapping her elbows with her fingertips. She stared at the silver fish pattern on the custom wallpaper. The koi stared back, mocking her.

  "Maybe they'll just charge the girl with a misdemeanor," Reese said hopefully. "This might not be such a big deal."

  "It is a big deal. Those Miyamotos are worth about a quarter-million dollars," she said. "And Mac is going to kill me if this whole thing ends up in the press."

  "Not really," Reese said.

  "Of course not really," she replied. "But he'll be disappointed in me for not managing the problem and for allowing it to turn into a scandal."

  "Too bad, because the earrings are definitely not in this room," he said.

  She sighed. "I miss the good old days."

  Reese leaned against the bathroom counter. "The what?"

  "You know. Haven't you read any Agatha Christie novels?"

  "I've always been more of a Raymond Chandler type, actually," he said.

  "That figures. But in all the old mysteries, the detective would search the room where the crime took place and there'd always be a monogrammed handkerchief or an engraved silver compact with the initials HB, and he'd immediately know that Hildegard von Bingen was the dastardly killer."

  "Yeah," he said. "Monograms have gone out of style. Also, people maybe aren't that stupid."

  "I'm just saying, we've got nothing. A good monogrammed hanky would be helpful right about now."

  Reese smiled. "Let's assume for the moment that old Hildegard didn't do it. It's got to be someone at the party. So let's line them all up and search them."

  "Yeah," Maggie said. "And we would be pariahs in Hollywood forever."

  "You say that like it's a bad thing," Reese said with a raised eyebrow.

  "Mac would kill me," she said. "We can do that as a last resort. But for now, let's keep this under wraps so I don't have to sleep in the guest room with the dog tonight. If the thief is smart, they'll have hidden the jewels where no one would stumble across them."

  "So let's do some stumbling," he said. "We can search all the places they could be hidden. I've got nothing better to do. Have you?"

  "Nope. I don't have any better idea, anyway."

  Reese motioned to the doorway. "Let's leave Saint Hildegard in peace and try the laundry room."

  They took turns pulling wet towels out of the washer and going over them, inch by inch, looking for any jewelry that might have gotten snagged in the fabric.

  "How are you so sure the earrings are worth that much money?" Reese asked.

  "Jewelry is my hobby," she said.

  "Good thing you married rich," he said.

  "Not this kind of jewelry." She motioned to her diamond earrings. "I mean, Mac's given me a lot of pretty things over the last ten years. But I'm more into beadwork, creating designs out of crystals and beadweaving and things like that. Not real jewelry. It's too boring."

  "Boring?"

  "Yeah. Anybody with money can buy incredible earrings. But if you create a design yourself out of beads, it's more interesting."

  "Big Mac must be thrilled to save all that money."

  "He forbids me to wear my boho designs in public. Says it's not fitting for someone married to him to wear cheap stuff."

  Reese opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. He focused on the towel he was holding for a minute, then changed the subject by saying, "means, motive, and opportunity."

  She glanced at him. "I guess you really did read those Chandler books."

  He shook his head. "I played a cop in a Law & Order: SVU episode. I spouted stuff like that."

  "I remember. Your big comeback. You won an Emmy."

  "Yeah," he grimaced. "They love to give awards for autobiographical parts like that."

  "Autobiography? You played a cop."

  "I played a junkie."

  "Right," she said quietly. "So how close are you to the EGOT?" The EGOT was the ultimate awards grand slam: Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony.

  He shrugged. "I'll never get that. I'll forever be just an EG." He pronounced it egg.

  "You've got time. Why not go for it?"

  He shook his head. "Big Mac talked me into playing king of the vampires in that reboot. I don't think the Academy is going to be impressed by the fangs."

  She laughed. "I suppose not."

  He dropped the last towel into the dryer. "Nothing here. So let's see: our thief needed to have opportunity. That points back to the girl. She was the only one in the bathroom
."

  "But I just realized something," Maggie said. "Mrs. Queen thought nobody could have gone past her without being seen. But she didn't see us come into the hall because she was busy answering the door. If she got that detail wrong, maybe she missed other people wandering around where they shouldn't be."

  "Or maybe she's lying," Reese pointed out. "What if she took the jewelry?"

  "Mrs. Queen? Of course not."

  "Why not? The butler always did it."

  "We don't have a butler."

  "Exactly. You have the perfect suspect: the housekeeper. A sweet round Irish lady who no one would ever suspect. We missed these." He leaned over the washer and pulled out one more towel and a washcloth. He handed the washcloth to Maggie, and continued, "If we accuse Mrs. Queen, she'll probably say, faith and begorra, I never heard o' such a thing!"

  He added the last in an exaggerated brogue.

  "You're right," Maggie said. "Don't hold your breath waiting for that Oscar."

  He laughed. "So what about the housekeeper? Why should we assume she's forgetful and not nefarious?"

  "She's not a movie character, Reese. Mrs. Queen has worked for Mac for about twenty years."

  "Maybe she has a hot young boyfriend. He stole the jewels and she's covering up for him."

  "Mrs. Queen is a widow with a teenage son. Her husband owned the barber shop in downtown Carita."

  "You mean the hole-in-the-wall on the main drag with the big barber pole out front? I was going to stop in and say hello while I was in town, but it looked empty."

  "It is empty. He died months ago. Mr. Queen cut hair for all the old geezers in town. Don't tell me you went to him."

  "Of course not. Ramos does my hair. My stylist would have a fit if anyone else touched it. But I remember Mr. Queen. He had no idea who I was, but he was a nice old guy who said hi every time I passed. So maybe his son's a crook."

  "You are so cynical. Patrick is at a party with his friends."

  Reese threw his last towel into the dryer. "Nothing here. So where do you think the girl hid the jewelry?"

  "No," Maggie said firmly. "I just don't think it is Abby."

  "Why?"

  She stopped there, holding the final wet towel at arms' length so it wouldn't drip on her dress. She pondered the question for a bit. "I don't know why. Maybe it's me. Maybe I just remember being her. Working my way through college. Maybe that's affecting my judgment. Maybe it is as simple as it appears: broke student steals to cover her tuition."