Maggie and the Hidden Homicide Page 12

  "Shouldn't you be talking to the police about that?" Maggie asked. "How would I know?"

  Abby gave her a doubtful look. "You found the body."

  "Don't remind me."

  "So—what else do you know?" Abby asked.

  "Not a thing," Maggie said breezily. "Except one very important thing."

  "What's that?"

  "The caterer didn't provide any cocktail weenies. Now you'll have to excuse me while I mingle."

  She left Abby glaring after her and made her way to where Donovan Cruz was still chatting with the young woman in a pink dress.

  She said hello to them. "And that's a great dress," she added to the girl, who appeared to be a fresh-faced college student under all the glamour. It was a great dress, knee length, with a fluttering hemline of watercolor tulle layered over a hot pink silk sheath that skimmed the girl's nice figure. "It's a Cherryvale, isn't it?"

  "Yes," Donovan said with an authority that surprised her. "It is."

  "You know dress designers?" Maggie asked him.

  He laughed. "Only one. Amanda, this is Maggie McJasper. Maggie, this is Amanda Cherryvale."

  "My mom's the designer," the girl explained. "She uses me as her dress form. This one isn't on the market yet. What do you think?"

  She twirled in it and Maggie nodded approval. "It's gorgeous."

  "I'm a walking billboard for my mom's designs," Amanda said, a bit snarky. She nodded to an older woman across the room who was also dressed in a pink dress, but less skin-tight. "She's sold five already at this party."

  "At several grand a pop," Donovan said. He seemed surprised by the figure.

  "These clothes do cost a lot," Maggie agreed. "But I'm sure it's a drop in the bucket for Cherryvale Designs."

  Amanda shook her head. "My mom's business isn't doing so—" She stopped, realizing she was speaking out of turn.

  But Donovan was still shaking his head at the prices. "I can't imagine spending thousands on a dress. My college loan bill is more than that each month."

  "When did you graduate?" Maggie asked, though Susan had told her.

  "A little over a year ago. I was lucky to get this job right after. It was my first choice."

  "This charity? How did you hear about it?"

  "No. Not this particular job. But a job in the nonprofit sector. Working for a charity that helped people. Trying to help an organization grow and do their work."

  "That's nice," Maggie said. "Though I imagine you'd make more money in another line of work."

  He nodded. "If I was into money," he said. "I don't really care about that."

  "As long as you can pay your college loans," Maggie said, and he nodded.

  "I'll never pay them off. But at least I can keep ahead of bankruptcy."

  "I know the feeling," Maggie said. He looked surprised, and she added, "bad divorce."

  "Ah," he said. "Well, I didn't go into the nonprofit sector to get rich."

  "Me, too," she agreed. "I own a craft shop, and as long as I break even I consider it a win."

  Amanda seemed bored by the conversation. It was probably something she'd never even thought about, having a budget and debt and needing to think about earning money. But there seemed to be something more on her mind than that.

  Donovan picked up on it, too. "I'm sorry, Amanda. Can I get you another drink?"

  She shook her head. "I'm fine. It's just…." She glanced Maggie's way, then blurted out, "I just figured out who you are. You're the lady from the bead shop."

  "Yes," Maggie said with a smile, wondering why that mattered to the girl.

  "You found him, didn't you?" Amanda said.

  Maggie stopped smiling. "Ethan Kirby? Yes, I did. But I don't really want to talk about it. It was pretty disturbing."

  "I don't want to talk about it," Amanda said, though she was the one who'd brought it up. "I don't want to talk about it at all."

  "I see," Maggie said. "Did you know him?"

  Tears welled up in Amanda's deep brown eyes, making them shine. She nodded. "He, um… he was my boyfriend."

  Maggie couldn't keep from showing her surprise at that news. "Really?" she asked. "How long had you been dating?"

  Amanda apparently realized she had just connected herself to the murder victim, because she said quickly, "Oh, it was mostly over. He and I had sort of broken up."

  "Sort of? You mean you were still together when he died?"

  "Not exactly."

  "What exactly? When did you break up? When he met Taiyari?"

  "A bit after that," she said sarcastically, her nervousness making her act rude. "He wasn't a one-woman man. He just forgot to mention that to me until I found out on my own. He liked to play the field." She got a vicious look on her face, "or the fieldworker."

  Donovan bristled at that, and Maggie pursed her lips to keep from smacking Amanda. Donovan started to say something angry, but Maggie cut in with, "I wouldn't criticize Taiyari if I were you. It sounds like you have more in common with her than you want to admit."

  At that Amanda wilted. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Yeah. I do. He was probably using that girl as much as he used me. It's not her fault. I might have stabbed him myself if he hadn't ghosted me. The jerk." The tears welled up again. "I don't mean that. I don't hate him. I just wish…." She shook her head. "I wish he was still alive."

  "Don't we all?" Maggie asked.

  Amanda turned to Donovan. "You were there, too. You saw Ethan at the end too, didn't you?"

  He shook his head. "No. He had left the barbecue when I wasn't paying attention."

  Wasn't paying attention? Maggie wondered about that. He had seemed pretty fixated on Taiyari, and on the boy who'd stolen her heart.

  "So you didn't see either of them leave the party?" Maggie asked him. "The people I talked to said they left separately."

  "I wouldn't know," he said.

  "Oh, that's right," Maggie said. "You told the police you had to go wash up after you—"

  "—spilled beans on my clothes," he offered quickly. "Yes. I missed everything. I was with Susan."

  "Right," she said.

  "There's nothing more I can tell you about it." He excused himself then, and walked away.

  Amanda and Maggie stood there and watched him. "He's pretty cute," Amanda said, apparently already having forgotten about her grief for her dead almost ex-boyfriend.

  Cute wasn't the word Maggie would use for Donovan.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Reese came over to stand next to her. She had gone back to examining the pictures on the wall while she thought furiously about her new suspect, and all her old ones.

  "Can we go now?" he whispered.

  "We just got here," she replied.

  "I'm bored," he replied. "This is the same crowd I see at every get-together in Carita. At least your ex-husband used to bring in a few new faces at his parties."

  "You mean like his girlfriends?" she asked.

  "There's the snarky Maggie I know and love," he said with a chuckle. "Come on, Mags, let's go get some In-N-Out and go look at the stars."

  It was a tempting offer, but "nope," she said. "I'm still looking for clues."

  "There aren't any clues here. These people never even heard of Ethan Kirby. He didn't exactly run in their social circles."

  "Little do you know," she said. "I've learned so much I can't keep it all straight."

  "Like what?" he asked, but she didn't want to answer yet, so instead she watched her targets.

  Amanda Cherryvale had quickly recovered from her deep grief over the death of the boyfriend who'd cheated on her. Now she was flirting with the son of the European diplomat who lived two houses down from Casablanca. He was a major step up in wealth and an equally major step down in looks from Ethan Kirby. She wondered which mattered more to Amanda.

  Amanda's mother was watching this development with great pleasure. It was obvious which one she thought mattered for her daughter, and Maggie wondered just how far she would go to secure her
daughter's future success.

  On the other side of the room, Donovan Cruz and Susan Gallegos were engrossed in a whispered conversation. Then Donovan left the party, but she thought he mouthed the words "be right back", so he might have been just taking a smoke break or something.

  Susan moved through the party, saying hello to each person and having serious conversations with a few. Maggie pointed it out to Reese, and he said, "Sure. She's hitting them up for donations. I already heard her spiel and offered her five grand to shut her up. There's nothing wrong with that."

  Maggie watched her. "She's good at it."

  "Yes," he agreed. "She is. She told me about continuing her father's life work. How he'd started the charity over twenty years ago and how she grew up watching him help generation after generation of working people. Quoted statistics at me and everything. She knows her stuff." He leaned over close to her and whispered in her ear: "Let me take you home and quote statistics to you in the moonlight, Maggie."

  She laughed. "Don't you know how to do anything but flirt?"

  He shrugged. "It's my best thing." He frowned. "What exactly do you expect to find here, anyway?"

  "I already found out that Ethan was a playboy." She glanced at him. "Maybe not a Reese Stevens-level playboy."

  "Is anyone?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  She laughed. "No. You can take over any room you walk into. But young Ethan was apparently Carita's resident Casanova among the college-aged crowd."

  "That's a motive," he admitted. "Does he have any rejected lovers in particular?"

  She nodded to Amanda Cherryvale in her bright pink gown. "She told me they just broke up recently. She seemed heartbroken, but it's not like she's going to admit—"

  "—Admit what, Maggie? That a girl who looks more at home on a yacht waded through waist-high thistles to a broken trailer in the middle of the night to stab her ex-boyfriend in the back with Taiyari's knife?"

  Maggie deflated. "Well, when you put it that way…."

  "When I put it that way," Reese said, "it sounds like we should go home and forget about all this." He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Honey, I know you like to help, but this one is out of your hands. There's nothing you can do for these people. The best thing we can do is give a big donation to this charity, and they can do their work. There's nothing else we can do."

  When he'd turned her around, she was facing that door to the private office in the back of the room.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked suspiciously. "You're thinking something, Maggie, and I already know I'm not going to like it."

  She smiled sweetly at him. "You are absolutely right."

  "I am?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why am I not happy to hear that?"

  "You can capture the world's attention without even trying," she said, giving him her sweetest smile.

  "Uh huh," he said, still not buying it. "That's my job. It's what I do. And?"

  "And I need you to do that now."

  "What are you talking about?"

  She gave the slightest nod toward that door marked PRIVATE. "I want to go in there. I want to look at the charity's papers. You said Susan Gallegos is good at raising money. Maybe not all of it is ending up where it's supposed to. Maybe they're cooking the books or something."

  "What do you think? They're going to have a file on the desk labeled CRIMINAL ACTIVITIES?"

  She stuck out her chin stubbornly. "I'm not leaving until I look."

  He sighed, exasperated. "Fine. You go look and I'll wait here for you."

  "I need you to do a bit more than wait."

  He played with the fringe on her shoulder, running the sparkly golden beads through his fingers. "Now we finally get to it. What do you want from me?"

  "I want you to distract everyone so I can sneak into that office without being seen. Do you think you can get everyone's attention focused on you so they don't notice what I'm doing?"

  He laughed. "Can I get everyone's attention focused on me? Seriously?" He straightened up to his six-foot-three height, ran a hand through his golden hair, and smiled that thousand-watt smile at her. "Magdalena, I was born to create a scene."

  She laughed, and stood up on tiptoes in her little party sandals to give him a peck on the cheek. "Go for it, Pretty Boy."

  He headed for the other side of the room, grabbing a brochure off a table on the way. There was a big window in the front of the building, facing toward the parking lot, and he stood in front of it.

  Someone started to speak to him, but he didn't seem to hear. He unlatched the window and slid it open, letting in the cool evening air. He leaned forward, breathing in the fresh ocean breeze. His biceps bulged in the form-fitting jacket.

  He looked hot—in more ways than one. He used the brochure as a fan, waving it in front of his face, ruffling his hair.

  But it wasn't enough to cool his fire. So he took off his jacket, slowly, the muscles in his arms clenching as he slowly shook it off his shoulders. He folded it over one arm, and then stood there, the purple silk shirt skimming over his body like a caress.

  He fanned himself some more. Still that didn't cool him off. So he just had to start unbuttoning his shirt.

  One button. He ran his long, elegant hand across his Adam's apple as he swallowed, hard, trying to cool his fire.

  The people in the room had all seen this display, and eyes had turned his way.

  Two buttons. There was a glimpse of chest hair, shadowy across the defined pectoral muscles. He stretched his arms out toward the window, and the silky shirt strained against his bulging pecs.

  There were a few stragglers who hadn't yet noticed.

  Three buttons. That's all it took.

  Everyone. He had every single person in that room mesmerized.

  Maggie stifled a laugh and turned to her target.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maggie quietly slipped through the door marked PRIVATE and shut it gently behind her.

  It was a small office, crowded with file cabinets and a big old desk that had seen a lot of wear. There was a door that looked like the one in her own shop that led to the back alley, and a barred window also faced that way, letting in a feeble glow from the street lamp outside.

  There was enough light through the window to let her see the room without turning on a switch and giving herself away, so she went to work, looking for something, anything, that might connect the charity to the murder of Ethan Kirby and Taiyari's disappearance.

  Susan Gallegos and Donovan Cruz. Could either of them be up to something? Could there be something about the charity's work that connected it to the murder? Or was she looking in the wrong direction? Was the murder about covering some greedy financial scheme, or was it something visceral and cruel, a gut-level act by a jealous boyfriend or a woman scorned? She honestly didn't know.

  So she was at it for a while, but in the end found nothing. A file in the cabinet was marked TAX - 990, and she went through that carefully.

  But all it showed was that the charity used pretty much all its resources to perform the duties it was sworn to do: helping the poorest members of the community get access to emergency medicine, legal help, and food boxes to tide them over when the work got slow.

  Under SUCCESSES she found a lot of information on their efforts to help the workers' kids stay in school, with every newspaper clipping carefully filed away, marking elementary school graduations and other signs the charity's work had paid off.

  Taiyari was a frequent mention. There had been one other, a boy, about twenty years ago, who had also made it through high school and gone to college. He now owned his own business and employed many of the workers at his organic farm way out in the valley. Clearly they had hoped to see Taiyari follow in his footsteps and be another success story.

  What had gone wrong? Nothing in the office was helping her find out.

  Then she heard shouting and glanced toward the door. Had Reese gone Full Monty out there?

  But she reali
zed the yelling was coming from outside. She went over to the window and peered out.

  Two men were fighting in the alley. It was yelling, mostly, but then one, faster and more slender than the larger one, took a swing and connected to the larger man's jaw.

  The larger man reeled back. The other one went after him, hitting him again.

  Maggie ran to the door and threw it open. "Hey!" she shouted. "Stop that!"

  Both men froze.

  The one who had thrown the punch straightened up. "Go back inside, Maggie," he said. "This is none of your business."

  It was Donovan Cruz, and his nice blue suit was torn at the sleeve.

  The other man got up, a bit painfully. "Peter Valentine, right?" she said. "The manager of the Kirby farm?" Taiyari's hooded-eyed stalker, in the flesh.

  He nodded, then winced and rubbed his jaw.

  "What's this all about?"

  They both looked back at her awkwardly. "Nothing," they said in unison.

  "Right," she replied sarcastically. "Should I call the police?"

  "No!" Donovan said quickly. "That's the last thing we need."

  At her raised eyebrow he added, "the bad publicity will hurt the charity. Please don't say anything."

  Peter Valentine didn't look so sure.

  "Are you okay?" she asked him, and he nodded, again wincing when he moved his head.

  "He just caught me off-guard."

  She crossed her arms over her chest, and the fringe on her gold dress shimmered in the light of the streetlamp. She realized she must look absurd, standing in her skimpy dress, tapping her gold-sandaled foot on the cracked pavement, and glaring at the two men while they stood there sheepishly staring back at her.

  "Spit it out," she said. "If you don't explain what this is about, I'm going to assume it's related to the murder and have you both arrested."

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized she was alone in a dark alley with two possible murderers, but before she had time to worry too much about that, Donovan said, "he was talking trash. That's all. There's no reason for you to get involved."

  "It's not trash," Valentine said clearly. "It doesn't make me happy to say it. But it's the truth."