But now she cried for the loss of her faith in human beings. The sadness of finding out that someone she'd liked had been a terrible person. The sorrow for Alyssa Douglas-Jones, who had lost her sister, first with her death, and second, with the awful news that Lauren had cut off ties with her own family because she was a criminal.
And Maggie cried for herself, too, at the realization that she wasn't nearly as clever and insightful as she'd thought herself to be. She'd totally gotten this all wrong.
Her phone rang, and she checked it impatiently, figuring it was Ibarra with more bad news. But it wasn't. She hit answer.
"Oh, Reese!" she gasped into the phone.
"What is it, honey?" he said. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not okay at all," she sobbed. "I'm terrible."
"Are you hurt, Maggie? What is it?" he asked, and the frantic tone in his voice pulled her out of her sadness.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Totally okay. Just sad. Just upset about Lauren."
"I'm sorry," he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. "Want to talk about it?"
"Oh, Stanley, I wish you were here!" she said, totally breaking down. She told him all about it, and he listened, making sympathetic noises every time she let him get a word in edgewise.
When she finished telling him everything that had happened, he didn't say anything except, "I'm sorry, Maggie."
"You don't sound surprised," she said to him.
"I'm hardly ever surprised by what people will do," he said in that cynical way of his. She felt mad that he just accepted the evil in the world as a normal thing. But he'd seen so much more than she had, and often called her naïve. "So you're going to let this go now," he added, and she could tell he was relieved. Not that she'd had the wind knocked out of her sails, but that she wasn't going to get involved in solving another mystery.
"There's nothing I can do," she said. "Even Ibarra doesn't have access to the case now, and so without him, or Lauren, I don't have any connections to the police department."
"Good," he said. "You need to think about something else instead."
"Got any suggestions?" she asked, and he laughed that deep laugh of his.
"I can think of a couple things," he said in his seductive rumble.
She mustered up her best disapproving tsk-tsk, and he laughed again.
"How's New York?" she asked.
"Great Chinese food. Good wi-fi. Terrible traffic."
"When will you be back?" she asked.
"Two days," he said. "Will you be there?"
She sidestepped the question with a breezy, "of course" that didn't answer his real question, and he accepted that.
After they hung up she lay on the bed with Jasper resting his nose on her feet. He did that whenever he was worried she was going to go away and leave him. "I'm here, boy," she told him. "I've got no plans to go anywhere."
The dog didn't seem to believe her any more than Reese had.
The storm brewed up overnight, just as Ibarra had predicted, and with the morning the rain started. Maggie had slept on the daybed with Jasper, and she lay there after waking up, listening to the rap of the rain on the roof and the tapping of the drops against the windowpanes. It was going to be a gray, sodden day.
She dressed quickly and fed the boys, then took them out into Casablanca's back yard to do their business. The two big dogs didn't seem to mind the wet at all. She stood just inside the big open sliding doors and watched them ramble about the yard.
She left them out there for a couple of minutes and went and made herself a mug of excellent coffee using her espresso machine in Casablanca's kitchen. She'd never moved the machine to her tiny house because it was larger than the countertop there. But every once in a while she'd come to the big house and brew herself a mug of real gourmet coffee. And today seemed to be the kind of day when real coffee was necessary.
She came back, mug in hand, to see how the dogs were getting along with their morning adventure.
Jasper ran around in the yard, his big paws kicking up splashes of water all over him as he trod through the wet grass. She half-expected him to actually roll in the puddles, but luckily he didn't go quite that far.
Hendrix, on the other hand, thoughtfully plodded from one bush to the next, sticking his head in as if thoughtfully examining each one's structure before pulling out his head, soaking wet, and then moving to the next one.
The swimming pool was uncovered, and the rain pattered on the surface. The patio pavers were slick and glossy, too, as the rain kept falling on them. It looked like it was going to keep raining all day.
Her phone beeped to tell her she'd gotten a text. She leaned against the door frame and pulled out her phone. She opened it to find a picture of a plate of eggs and bacon on a balcony overlooking Central Park, with Reese's white Vans sneakers tossed on the floor under the breakfast table.
PICK UP YOUR SHOES, she texted back, and he sent a smiley face with its tongue sticking out.
She texted him a picture of the view out Casablanca's sliding glass doors, the gray sky and steel-gray sea a backdrop for the deep blue of the swimming pool and the lush plantings and the beautiful dogs.
He replied with YOU WIN, and she smiled.
WHEN ARE YOU FLYING BACK TO LA? she texted.
He replied with MONDAY MORNING. SEE YOU WHEN I GET HOME?
Her finger hovered over the keypad. She still had no idea what she was going to say to him when he got here. YEAH, she texted, and left it at that.
He didn't reply, apparently willing to leave it there, too.
She put away her phone and sipped her coffee and looked out at the winning view of Carita Cove.
The waves surged against the shore, battering at it and leaving piles of kelp on the sand. It wasn't a big storm, but it was enough for the wind to create a mournful howling noise through the old iron wave sculpture next to the swimming pool. The rusty sculpture, looking like a drowned buzzard at the moment, groaned as the wind tore through it, and she stood there half-wishing the storm would destroy the ugly thing so she'd finally have an excuse to get rid of it.
But it didn't. The sculpture just groaned and complained and stayed firmly planted in its spot, while she stood in the protection of the house, with the wind occasionally washing a bit of mist across her face. And she drank her coffee, and watched the dogs, who were having fun getting messy and barking at the storm.
"That's enough, boys," she finally told them, but they didn't hear, so she repeated it, and called them to her.
Hendrix had his head in another bush. He pulled it out when he heard her call, but got stuck. She watched him pulling, his collar caught on the escallonia thorns. She almost started to run out into the wet to get him loose when he shook his head, breaking free.
He immediately ran to her, his tags jingling. When he got to her he sat neatly at her left side, and he seemed more sheepish than anything. He appeared embarrassed by his mishap, and at the loss of dignity of having his collar on crooked and his fur all messy. "You look fine," she told him reassuringly. "I'll dry you off in a minute."
Jasper took longer to come in, of course. He had to think about whether he really wanted to give up the joy of making a mess and chasing the raindrops around the yard, and she had to tell him a second time to "Jasper, Come," before he obeyed.
She took them back through Casablanca's living room and over to her tiny house to dry off. They left a trail of muddy paw prints across the big house's oak floor on their way out, but she knew Reese's housekeepers would be there today, and they always mopped every inch of the floor, so it wasn't any more work than usual.
At her tiny house she toweled off both dogs. The job took three full-sized beach towels, and about half an hour, but finally they were reasonably dry and mud-free, and her arms ached.
Then she washed her own face, and put on a fresh T-shirt to replace the one covered with wet dog hair, and got ready to go to the bead shop.
She pulled out a transparent plastic rai
n poncho that she hadn't used in a year, and slipped it over her head.
Then they piled into her car and headed in to work.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was a quiet day at the shop. The rain continued to pour down, and she tried to keep busy with projects.
The dogs snored, and the raindrops dripped off her poncho, which was hanging from a hook behind the counter. And nothing much happened.
It was cozy and peaceful, and she could see the warm glow through the windows of O'Riley's coffee shop across the street. But she didn't go over there, and no customers came in to her shop, either.
Mrs. Queen stopped by late that afternoon. She had on a bright yellow slicker and pink orthopedic shoes that matched her pink plastic rain hat.
Maggie helped her take off her slicker and hat, and hung them up to dry next to her poncho.
Mrs. Queen was dressed in a button-down blouse in her favorite rose pink, with gray polyester pants. Her hair was a cloud of wispy white curls that flew around her face when the plastic rain hat was removed. She was carrying a big tote bag quilted from flowery fabric.
Hendrix had stayed where he was on the big cushion under the work table when she arrived, though he gave her a respectful nod to say hello.
Jasper, on the other hand, immediately ran to greet her. The old lady bent down and patted him and told him what a good little laddie he was, and he ate it up, prancing and bumping her and enjoying every bit of the attention. Then she told him to settle down and he sat nicely for her.
She went over to Hendrix. She called him to her, and he came, still with that slight limp.
She bent over and patted him on the shoulder and told him what a good boy he was, and he closed his eyes, as if deciding whether to accept the compliment.
Then he licked her hand and sat down next to her. When she came over to the counter to speak to Maggie, Hendrix followed at her heel.
"He likes you," Maggie observed.
"Aye, and I like him. Does he still need a home?"
"Really?" Maggie asked. "Would you consider adopting him?"
"Now that I'm alone, I've been thinking of getting a pet," Mrs. Queen said.
Maggie looked from the tiny old lady to the massive dog. "I can picture you with a Yorkie or a Chihuahua. But a gigantic German Shepherd?"
She smiled. "I didn't have any problems with Jasper." Just then, Jasper decided to fuss and bump against Hendrix, and Mrs. Queen gave him a firm, "now that's enough of that, Laddie," which made him sit down quietly, illustrating her point.
Maggie laughed. "You're right. If you want him, I think he'd be happy with you. But you may want to change his name to something more suitable. I can't picture you with a dog named after Jimi Hendrix."
Mrs. Queen laughed and patted Hendrix on the head. "Really? Why, my husband used to sing The Wind Cries Mary to me when we were young." Her blue eyes twinkled."
"He did?!" Maggie said, astonished. She didn't ever think about Mrs. Queen being young like that.
"Aye," she said. "He'd say, and here's one for you, Mary my dear lass." Her smile was wistful, but then she brightened up and said, "but enough of that. Today I was thinking I'd come by and see how you're doing in your little shop."
"I'm doing all right," she replied, mustering up some cheerful energy. "This is my first winter, and I don't think I realized just how slow things would get when the tourists are gone."
"Aye," Mrs. Queen said. "My Sean used to say he could hear himself think during the winter time. But he never minded it."
"I don't mind it too much, myself," Maggie admitted.
"Yes," Mrs. Queen said. "You're a thinker, too. Like my late husband." She had her big quilted bag over her shoulder, and Maggie could see some pink yarn peeking out.
"Is that your beaded crochet project?" she asked.
"Want to see it?" Mrs. Queen asked.
"Of course."
They sat at the work table.
Hendrix had followed her, and he lay down on the cushion at her feet. Jasper pushed in, trying to stick his long nose in her lap.
"And now you go to bed, young man," she said firmly to Jasper, and he immediately went to lie on his cushion next to Hendrix.
"He listens to you," Maggie said.
"That's because you're too gentle. I'm tough." Her pale eyes twinkled in her lined face. "He knows I mean it." She smiled fondly at the two dogs. "So I'll have no trouble with old Hendrix. We'll get to understanding each other right soon enough. He'll soon realize I'm tougher than him."
Maggie laughed. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too, young lady." She pulled out her crochet project and handed it to Maggie. "So what do you think?"
"It's so pretty," Maggie said. "What is it?"
Mrs. Queen laughed. "It's going to be a purse when I finish it."
The project was a long rectangle made of pale pink cotton thread. On one end, the design formed a triangle. The design was striped, with rows of bright pink pony beads running in rows down the long way of the rectangle.
Mrs. Queen folded it in half, showing how, once the sides were seamed together, there would be a little square purse, with the triangle forming a flap.
"This is so clever," Maggie said. "It's simple, but it looks so complicated when it's done."
"I'm trying to decide whether I want to crochet a flower for the flap, or put some big beads on it."
Maggie jumped up and fetched a tray of focal beads.
"Here's a pink one," she said, handing it to Mrs. Queen. "It's actually a Czech glass button. What do you think?"
"It's got a butterfly on it!" Mrs. Queen said happily. "Just the thing."
Mrs. Queen looked about the shop contentedly. "I like it here. It's different from when my Mister was here, but I like it."
Maggie laughed. "I suppose it is a bit different from when it was a barber shop." She glanced at the barber pole out front, spinning away. "But I kept that much, at least."
Mrs. Queen smiled. "He was so proud the day he had the pole installed. His very own shop, all his own."
Her expression grew wistful again. "I suppose I should go." She started to gather her things.
"Please don't," Maggie said. "At least stay until you dry off—unless you have somewhere you need to be?"
Mrs. Queen set down her bundles. "I haven't a place in the world to be, now that I'm retired." She got out her ball of thread and her crochet hook. "I could just sit here and do a bit on the purse strap, then. If you don't mind."
Maggie grinned. "I don't mind at all. I'd love it."
The old lady stayed for over an hour. Maggie got out her Christmas tree earring project and they sat together and worked and chatted.
Mrs. Queen talked about the meat pie she was making for her supper, and Maggie astonished her by telling of her latest attempt to follow one of her dad's Instant Pot recipes (Mrs. Queen having a great deal of trouble believing Maggie had managed to make an edible meal, with or without instructions), and they laughed a lot and got a lot done on their projects.
When Mrs. Queen finally got up to leave, Hendrix stood up with her. "I'll take him along with me then," she said, and just like that, it was done.
"I think that would be lovely," Maggie said, "if Hendrix agrees."
The old dog sat in the heel position at Mrs. Queen's left side, ready to go.
"I think he's made up his mind," Maggie said, and the old lady and the old dog headed toward the door.
Jasper stood up and whined at seeing his favorite friends leaving, and Mrs. Queen smiled at him. "We'll be back again, my lad. Don't you worry." She looked at Maggie. "If the mistress will have us."
"I'd love to have you here, any time." She hesitated, then said, "as a matter of fact—" She paused, unsure if she should even ask the question.
"—you need an assistant in your shop," the old lady finished for her, saving her the bother.
"How did you know?"
"I saw Willow and her boyfriend walking in the rain when I was
on my way here, and since she usually worked at this time of day, I figured you had lost your employee of the month."
"Employee of the month," Maggie said. "Right. She didn't last much more than a month."
"She's young. She's in love. She's got plenty of time to grow up and learn responsibility."
Maggie smiled. "Thank you. For saying that. For reminding me not to take it personally. And for your offer. I would love to have you work in the shop."
"Oh, I don't want to work for you," Mrs. Queen said, shaking her head firmly.
"You don't?" Maggie felt a surge of disappointment. She had enjoyed this visit so much she had begun to daydream of having the old lady here every day, keeping her company and chatting about projects, and even bringing Hendrix with her to give Jasper time with his best friend. It would make this little shop feel more homey and fun than ever, and the customers would love her as much as Maggie herself did. But it had been too good to be true.
"I understand," Maggie said. "You deserve to retire after working all your life."
"No," Mrs. Queen said. "You don't understand." She smiled. "I don't need a job. When I was housekeeper for your dear late husband for all those years, he promised he'd leave me a little something in his will. He made good on that. I'm quite well-set now. Extremely well off, one might say."
Maggie's mouth dropped open. Her not-so-dear, no-good, philandering ex-husband had actually kept a promise. Not to her, but at least to someone.
Mrs. Queen looked a bit sheepish. "I didn't want to mention it, because I knew he hadn't done right by you in the divorce."
"To put it mildly," Maggie muttered. Her ex had forced her into bankruptcy, just because he could. "But that has nothing to do with you."
"No. It doesn't. But I've been waiting for you to ask me to come work for you so I could tell you."
Maggie furrowed her brow. "You've been waiting for me to offer you a job so you can turn it down? I don't get it."
Mrs. Queen laughed. "I told you. I haven't a place in the world to be. I have no one who needs me. No one waiting for me at home. And this little shop reminds me of my late husband. And then there's you, who've always been a darling to me. And Hendrix may be a good pet for me, but he'll still need the companionship of your laddie dog to keep him happy. And I need a place where I can sit and do my crocheting."
Maggie and the Whiskered Witness Page 14