Maggie and the Mourning Beads Read online

She went up the four wooden steps to the front door to talk it over with him. She swung the door open and went in.

  "Did you hold down the fort while I was gone?" she asked the eighty-pound dog sprawled on a plush shag rug.

  Jasper's tail thumped against the floor and he lifted his long head up to bark his hello to her.

  She put her hands over her ears, but not quickly enough to keep them from ringing from the 100-decibel bark.

  "My fault," she said to him. "I should never say hi to you until I have my ears covered."

  He struggled to his feet, and she rushed over to help him get up.

  Jasper was a huge dog, big boned, oversized for his breed but with the elegant look of a purebred Rough Collie. "Lassie!" tourists would shout when they saw him on the beach, and she'd have to explain over and over again that he was a boy, not a girl, and no, he didn't know how to save Timmy from the well.

  But he hadn't been mistaken for his famous lookalike in a month.

  First, because he wasn't taking the long set of stairs down to the beach for daily runs where strangers could shout to him.

  And second, because he wasn't quite Lassie's twin at the moment. His impressive sable-and-white fur was no longer perfect. There was now a narrow bare patch across his shoulder, following the path where a bullet had plowed its way through his muscle. It had been a month since his emergency surgery, and the fur was beginning to grow back. But the new hair was coming in white, like a pale lightning bolt zig-zagging its way across the rich chestnut and russet tones of his magnificent coat.

  "There you go," she encouraged him when he made it all the way to standing. He grinned at her, pleased with himself. The vet said he would soon be able to run, but his muscles had to knit together a bit more before that happened. In the meantime, he had to take things slowly.

  "Jasper, Sit," she said firmly, and he obediently plopped his hindquarters to the floor. "Let's change your shirt," she said, and she pulled at the extra-large T-shirt that was covering his front half.

  The dog helpfully lifted one paw, and then the other, so she could get the stretchy T-shirt off him. Then he ducked his head so she could pull it completely off.

  She checked his shoulder, where the ugly scar still made her cringe. But there was no sign of redness, and he wasn't licking at it anymore. He seemed to be more bothered by the itchiness of the stiff white stubble than by the wound itself.

  She got a fresh shirt for him from his drawer and put it on him to protect his tender skin, just in case he got the idea to scratch himself.

  He ducked his head, lifted each paw, and then stood to let her pull the shirt down over his midsection. "You are such a good boy," she told him, and he licked her face in reply.

  "We'll be twins today," she said, picking out a lavender flowered T-shirt that matched the purple-striped one he was wearing. Then she quickly washed up and changed, and they were ready to go to work.

  "Time for a car ride," she said, checking the parking app to make sure she'd be able to get the coveted prime spot on Main Street.

  Jasper limped over to grab his leash off the hook and brought it to her in his mouth.

  She hooked it on his collar. "Thank you, roomie."

  But then she sat down on the stool by her craft table and stared at the big bead loom on its tripod stand next to it.

  Jasper cocked his head to the side, giving her a quizzical look.

  "I know," she said. "I should work on this more." She had been so excited about her loom project. She was making a giant beaded tapestry she'd wanted to do as long as she could remember, a project that would take her the next few years to complete. But even though she was all set to start it now, she hadn't even beaded the first row.

  She just looked at the strung loom, with all those empty threads lined up perfectly, waiting for the tiny seed beads to be woven into a shimmering fabric. The beads sat in their clamshell cases on the table. Stacks and stacks of them. Somehow she just couldn't seem to get motivated to start.

  "You are depressed," she said aloud.

  Jasper shook his head.

  "Not you," she said. "You're not depressed. You got shot in the shoulder, and are limping, and your owner died, and you're stuck in this tiny house with me. But you're not the least bit depressed. You're happy as a clam."

  He grinned, agreeing with her.

  "But I am. Reese was right. I'm depressed."

  Jasper muttered something doubtful.

  "Oh, I agree with you," she said. "I'm not clinically depressed. I don't have a medical condition or anything. There's nothing wrong with me at all. I'm just down in the dumps. I'm having trouble moving on from everything that happened last month."

  She turned away from the beadwork and nodded to Jasper. "You're right. I have nothing to be sad about. I have to remember that I won't ever have to deal with anything as awful as murder again. Life is going to be peaceful and fine now. I'm done with violence and crime, and I'll never, ever have to look at a dead body again."

  Jasper gave her a look she couldn't interpret.

  Or maybe she didn't want to interpret it.

  Because his expression seemed to be saying, "are you sure about that?"

  Maggie parked her Passion Berry Pearl Honda Fit in her favorite prepaid parking space next to a sagging palm tree on Main Street.

  Then she helped Jasper out of the back seat, and shut the door on the little dusty purple car.

  Jasper limped across the boulevard to a big barber pole in front of a storefront. He sat down next to it and waited for Maggie to meet him there.

  Carita Beads: Supplies and Classes, read the sign in the window of the former barber shop.

  She unlocked the purple door and went inside. She flicked on a switch and the overhead lights came on, while the barber pole out front, on the same circuit, began to turn.

  Her bead shop was a tiny hole in the wall, but it was in a prime location on the main drag, and she owned it all, from the cheery purple door in front to the dented old steel door in back that faced a grungy alley where stinky trash cans lurked and delivery drivers tossed packages of delicate beads without a thought for their value. But it was all hers, every inch of it, and as she looked around at the cheerful, colorful clutter, she couldn't help but smile.

  Her shop was a small space with not enough room for storage, so the walls were covered with her entire inventory of beads and findings, all hanging from hooks on the pegboards she'd had installed. Every color and shape was represented, from big chunky wooden beads perfect for retro macrame projects, to delicate little pearls the color of an abalone shell. She was still filling gaps in the inventory, but she was pretty close to having every type of bead and finding represented, and it gave her a childlike sense of wonder to know that she now owned pretty much every bead she'd ever desired, in multiple colors.

  There was a cash register on a counter to one side, and she'd managed to clear a spot in the middle of the space where she'd set up a big redwood table that had once graced Casablanca's formal dining room. Now the glossy table was surrounded by a motley assortment of chairs she'd scrounged, and it was piled high with boxes of supplies she'd yet to organize.

  "Jasper, Bed," she said, and the dog went to his orthopedic bed under the table and plopped down to rest.

  She quickly grabbed boxes from the table and started stacking them in the least-cluttered corner of the shop. She needed the table clear for her 10:00 AM class, which thankfully had four paying students signed up.

  The door opened and her assistant Abby Xiong came in.

  "I'm glad you're early," Maggie said. "I need help with these boxes."

  "Uh huh," Abby said. She stashed her daypack behind the counter and came to help.

  "Wait a minute," Maggie said when she got a good look at her. "What on earth are you wearing?"

  Abby was a petite young woman with sleek black hair to her shoulders and black-framed eyeglasses, and she always wore black. Head-to-toe black. In a very stylish way, but as unvarying as the n
ight.

  She wore black, and her partner Harper Higgins, the young fashionista owner of Harper's Yarn down the block, wore white. Head-to-toe white. In a very stylish way, but as unvarying as the dawn.

  But today Abby was wearing a blue skirt. And a yellow blouse. And red earrings. And green shoes.

  She picked up one of the boxes and took it over to add to the growing stack in the corner.

  She didn't say anything, but just came back to the table to get another box.

  "So what's Harper wearing today?" Maggie asked with a smile. "Orange, purple, and teal?"

  "It's not my concern what she wears," Abby said shortly. She picked up another box and carried it over to the corner, holding her head up defiantly while she did it.

  "I see," Maggie said. "You're upset, I take it."

  "I'm not upset. I don't care."

  The wide eyes behind the glasses showed that to be a lie, but Maggie just stood there helplessly, having no idea how to comfort her.

  A motion caught her eye and she looked out the front window to see Harper Higgins, dressed in her usual white, walk firmly past the bead shop without looking in.

  "What's going on?" she asked Abby.

  "What do you mean?" she replied.

  "Harper just went by and didn't even turn her head."

  "Why should she?"

  "Are you two fighting?"

  "No."

  "No?"

  Abby gripped the box until her knuckles turned white. "We're not fighting," she said. "We're just not seeing each other anymore."

  "You broke up?" Maggie had never been a fan of Harper, who she thought was a bit full of herself. But still she was surprised. "You want to talk about it?"

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  "Okay."

  "I mean," Abby said, "if a person is trying to be a supportive person, and the other person doesn't even care about the first person, then there's no point in a person even being with another person, is there?"

  "You lost me."

  "It doesn't matter. It just doesn't even matter." She marched over to the corner and plopped down the box. "What else do you need me to do?"

  "Unpack that set of Halloween charms for me," Maggie said. "We'll use them in the class."

  "Fine," Abby said. She didn't even ask why they needed Halloween charms for a class in the middle of summer. She just put her head down and worked.

  Jasper looked from Maggie to Abby and back again. She shrugged at the dog and he let out a big sigh.

  Chapter Three

  Maggie's phone beeped and she checked for a text. "Got a package," she said.

  "Want me to get it?" Abby asked, but Maggie shook her head.

  "Nah. You finish this and I'll see what it is. Hope it's something cute," she added, and that got a wan smile from her assistant.

  Maggie headed for the alley, where packages were delivered by the back door. She still got a little thrill out of deliveries. Opening up boxes of wholesale beads and seeing the vibrant colors and fun shapes hadn't gotten old yet. It was like Christmas every day, even if she was the one paying the bill.

  She opened the big door to the alley and it started to swing outward with a screech of hinges rusted by the ocean air. It struck something heavy and stopped, halfway open.

  The door was heavy, and it muffled sounds, but as soon as the door came open she could hear the loud argument taking place out in the alley.

  She groaned to herself. Great. Her next door neighbor was at it again. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Alexis Norris was the most annoying business owner on the block. Probably the most annoying in town.

  She owned the very chic Carita Art Gallery next door, and despite being surrounded by beautiful artwork all day long, she was the most unhappy person Maggie knew.

  Alexis hated everyone and everything, and Maggie tried hard to avoid her. But she wasn't going to be bullied out of going in the alley the businesses shared, so she pushed the door all the way open and stepped out to get her package.

  She felt the door resist opening, but pushed harder, and heard a familiar crash.

  Alexis!" she said, when she came out. "Did you put my trash can in front of my door again?"

  There was only a narrow space between their two back doors, and the two trash cans for the shops had to nestle up close to each other to fit in the small gap of wall space there.

  It was one of those stupid, pointless neighbor disputes that should have been easy to resolve.

  But with Alexis, nothing was ever easy.

  Maggie dragged the garbage can over a foot so it cleared her door. That made it bump the art gallery's overstuffed trash can, and Alexis shot her a glare.

  But she was too busy arguing with someone else to fight with Maggie right now.

  A teenage girl with purple hair, a spiked collar, and heavy white makeup was Alexis's current target.

  "Drop it!" she was snarling at the girl.

  "No, Mom!" the girl snarled back.

  "I said, drop it."

  The girl was holding what looked like an original painting on canvas, of roses in soft pastels.

  She wasn't holding it by the frame, but by the handle of a big knife which was stuck into the center of the painting, right in the middle of the beautiful rose.

  The girl threw the stabbed painting on the ground.

  Alexis's garbage can was stuffed with more paintings, similarly lovely and fresh and filled with a soft, gentle charm—and every one had been slashed and destroyed.

  "Willow!" Maggie said to the teen. "How could you do this?"

  The goth teen turned an injured expression her way. "Why is everybody always blaming me?"

  Maggie could have pointed out that dressing like she was headed for a vampire funeral and moping around sullenly all the time might lead adults to assume the worst, but she didn't. The girl got enough grief from her mother. Maggie didn't need to pile on.

  "Stay out of it," Alexis said to Maggie. "This is none of your business." She turned back to her daughter. "You need to stop interfering."

  "But you didn't have to slash them all," Willow said to her. "Not every one."

  Maggie's jaw dropped open. "You slashed the paintings? But won't the artist sue you or something?"

  "She painted them," Willow said. "A big bunch of lies about sunshine and flowers from the Queen of Evil."

  Alexis's expression changed then, with a suddenness that shocked Maggie. There was pain there, grief, even fear. "Please, Willow. Things will—"

  "Don't you tell me things will get better soon!" Willow shouted at her. "Don't you dare say that. It's too late for you to change, Mom."

  It was obviously a phrase she'd heard often, and Alexis reacted to Willow flinging it back to her like she'd been struck.

  Maggie raised her hands up. "Come on, everybody. Let's try to calm down. Willow, you're supposed to be in my class in five minutes. Why don't you come inside and have a drink of water and settle down."

  "I'm waiting for Grey," she said.

  "You stay away from that filthy boy," Alexis started.

  "I will not," Willow said with a stubborn set to her jaw. "I will see him any time I want. If you try to stop me, I'll… I'll… I'll slash you just like those paintings!"

  Maggie gasped, but Willow just stalked past her into the bead shop.

  Alexis turned away then, bending over to finish putting her ruined paintings in the garbage can in a neat stack.

  "Alexis…," she said, but the woman acted like she wasn't even there.

  Maggie went over to her and touched her arm. "Alexis, please. Can I help?"

  But the woman reared up at her like she'd been struck. She shied away from the touch like human contact was painful. "Don't touch me," she snarled. "Don't ever touch me!" She lifted her hand as if she wanted to strike Maggie, but held herself back. "Stay out of it, you busybody."

  "Fine!" Maggie yelled back, hating herself for rising to the bait. "That's just fine. But don't ever move my garbage can again!"
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br />   She stalked back into her shop with every ounce of dignity she could muster, but then realized she hadn't picked up the package she'd gone out there for.

  She turned around and went back to get it, but paused at the door when she heard soft sobbing. She peeked out and saw Alexis standing there, holding a painting of a rose the color of her daughter's hair, and using a knife to slash holes in it, over and over.

  A little while later the whole class was seated around Maggie's old dining table.

  Willow's boyfriend Grey had shown up wearing four rings on his fingers, five earrings, a nose ring, and a ripped black T-shirt sporting a pair of romantic kissing skeletons, in case all the piercings hadn't made it clear he was a goth kid to the core. Maggie resisted smiling at the two teens' over-the-top rebellion. She'd been young once, too, and remembered wearing a belly-baring bandana top when she was fifteen that had almost given her father a heart attack, just to get a rise out of him. Willow and Grey would find a balance for themselves one day, and outgrow the need to fight so hard to prove their independence, just like she had.

  Lauren Douglas was seated at the end of the table, near Jasper's orthopedic bed, which was luckily big enough to hold both him and Lauren's dog, a German Shepherd named Hendrix who Jasper worshipped like a big brother. The two big boys lay together on the soft cushion. Hendrix, being an impeccably trained canine, was practicing his down and stay command. Jasper wasn't practicing anything, but was happily lying there and grinning at his best doggie friend.

  Abby had also taken a seat at the table. She was playing with the jet black beads, onyx crystal focal stones, and assorted Halloween charms that had been spread out on the table.

  The final student was Nora McJasper, an older woman Maggie had known for many years, who shared her last name, the topic Maggie was talking about at the moment.

  "I can't even bring myself to take back my maiden name," she was explaining. "It feels disrespectful now, after my ex-husband's death."

  "I'm not one to advise, Junior," said Nora, Big Mac McJasper's first ex-wife. "I kept mine for professional purposes. Everyone already knew me as Nora McJasper when I divorced Mac, so it seemed like too much bother to change back to Eleanor Kaufman and start over."