Cookie was silent. Finally, she asked softly, “Do you realize how many laws Aaron has broken?”
Maggie nodded, sniffing.
“Do you realize it could mean that you won’t inherit after all?”
Maggie stopped sniffing. “What?”
Cookie sat up a little straighter. “Depending on what laws he broke and how he broke them, if it involves the way the monies in the will are distributed, it could throw the whole thing into a jumble. And you know Korie is going to contest the will. Even if the trust is secure, it’ll be a long time before everything is settled.”
Maggie nodded.
Cookie shook her head sadly. “Baby, you’ve got to get Fletcher involved with this. And you both need to talk to Aaron’s lawyer. You are in way over your head.”
Maggie’s hands went limp in her lap, the cookie hanging loosely from her fingers. Pepper, sensing an opportunity, waddled over and relieved her of it. Maggie didn’t protest.
Cookie looked her over carefully. “You really thought Lily might have killed him, didn’t you?”
Maggie raised her eyes. She didn’t even want to admit it. “That night. When I first saw him. I thought—”
“That she’d had it with him.”
Maggie nodded. “There’s something else I didn’t tell Fletcher. I don’t think Aaron was killed as he was leaving. I heard him fighting with Scott on the back steps, and they both stomped off in different directions. I went downstairs to clean up. Aaron had to have been coming back. I don’t know why.”
“Maybe to apologize?”
“Did you ever know him to apologize for anything?”
“Then what do you think?”
“I think he was coming back to fire me—maybe even hurt me.”
Now it was Cookie’s turn to look surprised. “Are you serious?”
This hurt, even to say it. “I didn’t want to think so, not at first. But after what I found…after the fight. He almost hit me, Cookie, and he’d never done that, either. He knew Tim was out on his rounds, that everyone had left. And it’s pretty clear from what I found that his plan would succeed better if I weren’t around.”
“Do you really believe this? The man adored you, Maggie. More than you realize.”
“I knew he hadn’t been acting much like Aaron lately. I knew he was desperate—Oh, I don’t know what to think anymore!” Maggie put her hands over her face and bent forward, the sobs threatening to come out again. Her body ached and her mind was a mass of confused and whirling images.
“Come here,” Cookie demanded.
Maggie looked up.
“Now.”
Maggie got up and went to Cookie, kneeling on the floor beside the old woman’s chair. Cookie reached for her, and Maggie let Cookie draw her in close. She rested her head on Cookie’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around the warm, broad back of the concentration camp survivor. Cookie grabbed the back of her head and hugged her close.
“Maggie,” she whispered. “Listen to me. You’ve not slept. You’re not eating. You’ve been hurt. You’re grieving. And you’re falling in love.”
“Humph,” Maggie protested into the soft robe.
Cookie tightened her grip. “Hush. Don’t argue. Just listen.”
Maggie felt her body start to relax as Cookie talked. “It’s a wonder you’ve not completely lost your mind. You ever hear Dr. Phil say that you’ve got to ‘behave your way out’ of something?”
Maggie almost laughed, a bit of hysteria slipping over her. Instead, she just nodded.
“Then you know what you have to do. You have to sleep, even if it means taking a sleep aid. You need to drink more water so your brain will work. Eat better. Pray more.”
Maggie slipped away from the hug. “You sound as if all I need to get out of this is to be practical.”
“And?”
Maggie dropped her head and rocked back on her heels. “I think it’s more complex than that.”
“Is it? Baby, you’ve got some hard stuff in front of you. The will. The accusations. All the stuff about the money and Aaron’s deceptions are going to come out. Right now, it looks like you’re involved. You’re not, so you’ve got to figure out how to make it not look like that by solving the puzzle. Clear up the misunderstandings. You think you’re going to be up to it if you’re a mess of raw nerves, numb ganglia and red eyes?”
Maggie looked away, then down as Pepper came over and nuzzled her hand, wanting a pet. She scratched the old dog behind the ears, and was rewarded with a satisfied series of grunts. She sighed. Cookie’s advice had so much “rightness” in it that she felt almost overwhelmed. Finally, she looked up.
“Got any chicken soup?”
Cookie grinned. “Don’t I always?”
“It has cabbage in it, too, doesn’t it?” Maggie stood up and offered Cookie her hand as the older woman struggled to get out of the chair.
“It wouldn’t be the good stuff without it.”
An hour later, with her stomach full of chicken and cabbage soup, homemade bread and butter and two cookies, Maggie started back to the lodge. Maybe Cookie is right, she thought as she picked her way over some logs on the way to the path. She did feel lighter—despite the food in her tummy—and warmer, ready to slip into sleep. Tonight, she would pray. Tomorrow, she would lay everything out before Fletcher. Be honest with him, Cookie had said.
Maggie rolled her shoulders, trying to stave off her exhaustion, and pulled her coat a little tighter. Her gut still clenched a bit at the idea of opening up to the detective. She’d have to tell him about the suspicions she’d had, true or not. But there was no way she was going to dig her way out of this by herself, and everything would come out anyway, if he kept digging.
If only Aaron hadn’t made me look so guilt—
Maggie jumped as a branch to her right broke loose from its tree and slid fifteen feet or so to the ground. She stared at it, vaguely aware of a fog of leaves and dust that were settling with it. She looked around again. The moon had passed beyond its peak and was slipping down behind the trees, and the shadows around her had deepened without her really noticing. She wasn’t that far from Cookie’s, but the woods had already closed around her.
Too much thinking. She balanced the flashlight in her hand and snapped it on, its sharp yellow beam now oddly comforting. She stepped off again in the direction of the lodge.
The two blows came sharply, barely giving Maggie time to scream in surprise. The first knocked the flashlight clear of her hand, sending it bouncing into the thick carpet of leaves. The pain that shot up her arm was matched when a gloved hand slammed into the side of her head. Maggie crumpled but found her voice. Her shrill scream echoed a second time through the woods before a boot connected with her ribs, shutting off her air and her voice.
The fist landed again, this time between her shoulder blades. Her face went into the debris on the ground, and a knee planted in the middle of her back pinned her. A wave of pure panic surged through Maggie, adrenaline putting every nerve on edge. She planted her hands solidly against the ground and shoved upward, twisting her hips as she did.
It worked, catching her assailant off guard and off balance. He stumbled back, and she rolled over, kicking out with her legs. One toe connected with bone, and he grunted, fighting to keep his balance. He reached down, his hands closing on a branch, which he raised over his head, rushing toward her. Maggie tried to scramble away, to get to her feet, but her heel caught on her long coat and she dropped to the ground. At the last minute, she threw up her arms to protect her head, and he crashed the branch down on her ribs. The pain was like a shot of fire through her body. He threw away the remains of the branch and got his balance, preparing to kick her again.
The shotgun blast scared both of them and caused her attacker to trip and almost fall over her. They both heard the sound of the gun being pumped, and her attacker bounded up and away, racing through the woods and disappearing into the darkness. The gun blasted again, and Maggie could hear pel
lets raining down in the direction he had run, but there was no sign of him.
Maggie sat up, panting, looking toward the shooter.
Out of the darker shadows slid the short, round bulk of a Polish widow, her sixteen-gauge pump-action shotgun grasped firmly at hip level.
“Cookie!” Maggie gasped.
Cookie’s expression was somber. “How bad?”
Maggie fought to get her breath. “I don’t know. My ribs—”
“Can you walk?”
Maggie nodded.
“Let’s go back to the cottage. I’ll call Tyler.”
This time it was Maggie who needed help up. She clutched Cookie’s arm as they headed back to the cottage. The old woman walked sideways, keeping sharp eyes scanning behind and around them.
SEVENTEEN
Lee found Judson in the gym, soaked in perspiration. He watched as the older detective finished working out with the punching bag, bouncing around it as if he were twenty years younger. Afterward, Lee threw him a towel, and Judson mopped his face and scrubbed his blond hair vigorously. “I’m surprised,” Lee said. “I didn’t realize you ever broke a sweat.”
“Ah, dear partner,” Judson replied. “If you haven’t learned it yet, you will. Physicality will clear the mind, as will a good night’s sleep. Never underestimate the value of taking care of your body. It’ll take care of the brain.”
Sunday morning, Fletcher woke up without an alarm or sleep-shattering phone call. He stretched and took his time getting out of bed. He dressed in sweats, then stretched and went downstairs for a quick run. Ten blocks out, two over, six back. He slowed then, listening to the bells of a neighborhood church and watching the parishioners trickle in under the arched and carved wooden front doors.
He stopped, thinking about the glimpses he’d seen of Maggie’s faith. She’d not said anything about her relationship with God, but there was the Bible on her desk, and he’d seen her pray. That could simply be for show, but he didn’t get the feeling it was. It was well used, the spine creased and the pages heavily fingered. And there was her refusal to sleep with Aaron, which mystified him and, he was sure, had frustrated Aaron to no end, as had her opposition to his drinking. Fletcher smiled, remembering her comment that not everyone coming out of New York was a heathen.
Hardly, he thought, watching the smartly dressed worshippers greet each other, mentally comparing their friendly warmth with screeching, maniacal street preachers he’d had to deal with as a beat cop. New Yorkers were about religion the way they were everything else—private yet inclusive. Dedicated to their own but tolerant, for the most part. There were exceptions, always.
His mind drifted to Aaron and his up-and-down spirituality, then to Jason and Cookie and their recent words to him about his own faith. They didn’t understand; they’d not been there in that dark alley. Still, he admired that they had stood fast, even in the face of their own life trials.
Yet Fletcher had not met anyone who seemed to live the faith as much as Maggie did, without proselytizing. Just being who she was. It was part of what drew him to her, but he couldn’t let it blind him to the facts of the case.
Would this woman kill?
His gut said no.
His head unequivocally reminded him that he’d seen all kinds of people kill, even the unlikely ones.
His heart…
Fletcher turned and resumed his jog. He wasn’t ready for whatever his heart had to say just yet. Not yet.
Back at his apartment, he lingered in the shower, letting the hot water scald his back before scrubbing down. He shaved, then made coffee and a breakfast of eggs and toast.
He felt better than he had in more than a week. Rested. The talk with Jason had helped him understand that his confusion was just a lack of information. Sipping on the last of his coffee, he reviewed the notes he’d made on the case and made a few more. He’d decided that Korie’s accusations against Maggie were mostly dramatic hysteria, but he’d ask her about them anyway. As Jason said, people don’t always know what they know.
Just after ten, Fletcher placed a call from his apartment to Susan Thomas. She answered with a low, soft alto, and Fletcher identified himself. “Do you want to talk now?”
There was a silent pause. “Can you come here? I don’t really want to be out.”
“Sure.”
She gave him the address, which was only a short cab ride away. It was a doorman building, but she’d left his name with the guy on duty, so he entered without a problem and took the elevator to the seventh floor. Susan welcomed him into a stylish, immaculate apartment with a large living room and adjacent dining room. She obviously saw the surprise on his face at the size and luxury of her home.
“My father,” she explained simply. “He bought it, not Aaron. He’s in banking and likes to think I’m safe.” She motioned toward a plush sofa. “Please. Sit.”
He did, then waited.
She sat stiffly on the edge of a wingchair opposite him and took a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to do this. I’m not even sure what it is I want to tell you.”
“Why don’t you tell me about the first time you went out with Aaron?”
Her eyes lost their focus. “It was a few months ago. Maybe a year. I’m not sure. We’d been doing a lot of PR for his last book. I’d been squiring him around, making sure he showed up for interviews, stayed sober.” She folded her hands primly across her lap. “What happened was very unprofessional. I’ve never crossed the line before.”
“Why did you this time?”
“Aaron is very persuasive.” Susan turned her focus on him. “Was.”
He nodded. “So you gave in to the affair.”
She was silent, still looking at him. He could almost see her processing past events, deciding what to tell him. After a moment, she blinked hard, and he could see the film of tears. “Not exactly.” She swallowed. “I fell in love with him. We spent a lot of time together. He told me that he was planning on leaving Korie. That he wanted to be with me, even though we never—” Susan shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.
“You never slept with him?” Fletcher’s surprise showed in his voice, and he cleared his throat to get his emotions back under control.
Susan shook her head. “He…um. At first I thought he was just trying to be honorable. And I think he was, at least in part. He would occasionally mumble something about ‘never dishonoring her in kind.’” She sniffed lightly. “I thought he meant me. Now I’m not sure. But he also…couldn’t.” Her face reddened and she looked away for a moment. “Some medication he was taking.” She sat straighter, clearly wanting to move on as she looked back at Fletcher. “I knew about the prenuptial. He’d complained a lot about it, especially when—when he…wasn’t quite sober.”
“You didn’t believe divorce was an option?”
Susan stood up and went to a French Provincial secretary against the far wall. She pulled a disk out of a drawer. She handed it to him. “I saved two of his e-mails to me. He confessed that the prenuptial would take too long to break off legally, and he didn’t want to spend what was left of his life shackled to Korie.” She stopped to wipe her eyes and take a deep breath. She waited, then her eyes seemed to clear. Her voice was even as she continued, and her shoulders had a firmer set to them. “He told me that he was going to disappear. That he had a plan for, as he called it, ‘revenge and glory.’ And he wanted me to go away with him.”
“Did you want to go?”
“No. Mr. MacAllister, despite this apartment, I’ve worked very hard to get out from under my father’s shadow. I’m thirty-two, and I look to make VP of the firm next year. I have a life. A good one, as you can see. I loved Aaron, but I was not about to leave all this, my family, my friends, cause them grief, just so I could run off to some desert island to be in yet another man’s shadow.”
“How did he react?”
“He was furious. Called me names I usually hear in the street. Told me I’d ruin everything. Ruin all his p
lans to get away from Korie. To get even. I don’t know what he meant by that.” She paused thoughtfully. “He raged, Mr. MacAllister. I had never seen him do that.”
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, focusing again on the wall to Fletcher’s left. “No. Although I think he wanted to. He left. I didn’t see him for a week, then he called, wanting to make up. He was very enthusiastic, said his plans were almost complete. He told me some of them. I was appalled. They would seriously damage the reputations of some people close to him. I realized he was hurting, that he was desperate, but not that much.” She returned her gaze to Fletcher. “Mr. MacAllister, he planned to steal other people’s work, their identities. This was not the man I had fallen in love with. Over the last few weeks, he had changed dramatically. I have no idea what had happened to him, but everything he said went against what I believe, what I thought he believed. I told him I couldn’t see him.”
“And that was it?”
She nodded. “That was it. The next thing I knew, my boss called to tell me he’d been murdered. I can’t say I was surprised.”
“Whose work was he going to steal?”
She looked down at her hands. “I thought you needed to know these things, but I have no proof of anything he told me. It’s all hearsay. You couldn’t use it in court.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Scott Jonas.”
EIGHTEEN
Lee nodded. “I can understand where having a clear head could help when deciphering all the work on the investigation. But I’ve questioned witnesses when I was so tired I could barely stand up.”
Judson frowned. “You shouldn’t. You never know where questions are going to lead you. Stay on your toes. Listen for fresh clues. Witnesses sometimes drop information that’s important, things you never expected. An interview should be fluid, organic.”
Lee almost smiled. “Organic.”
Judson was not amused. “Pay attention to everything they say, every nuance. And never let them surprise you. Even if they drop a new motive, a new perp, and positive proof right in your lap, never let it show.”
A Murder Among Friends Page 16