Maggie and the Inconvenient Corpse Page 3

  Virginia winced at hearing Maggie called Mrs. McJasper, a title she clearly coveted.

  Well, it was a title Maggie didn't give a rat's behind about, so she gratefully grabbed the lifeline Abby handed her. "I'd better get back to work," she said to Virginia. "We're so incredibly busy here. But give me a call when you pin down your dates, and I'll see if I can fit you into the schedule."

  Virginia picked up her bag and left with a final cheerful goodbye.

  Once she was out of sight, Maggie sagged against the counter. "You deserve a raise."

  "I do," Abby said with a grin. "I really do. It's three o'clock, by the way," she added.

  "What a relief," Maggie said. "I need a break."

  Chapter 4

  They locked up the shop, flipping the sign on the door to Coffee Break, and headed across to O'Riley's.

  When they got there, Maggie felt herself begin to relax. That was the effect O'Riley's had on her.

  The big plate-glass windows offered views of the endless stream of cars passing on the boulevard outside, but once they stepped inside, it felt like another world.

  O'Riley's was an oversized, industrial-looking place, with high ceilings seamed with ductwork, glaring overhead lights, and aged brick walls.

  Rickety wooden tables and chairs were scattered around, most of them claimed by locals getting their afternoon caffeine fixes.

  A scratched-up piano stood against one brick wall, and an ancient brown sofa of uncertain provenance was pushed into a corner to keep it from wobbling.

  The place was casual, and a bit run down, and the air smelled of coffee beans and chocolate and yeasty rolls fresh from the oven. It was heavenly.

  Behind the counter, a beautiful, amply padded brunette with pale gray eyes and a joyful expression was frosting a chocolate cake.

  Maggie and her assistant claimed a couple of empty stools at the counter where they could perch and watch her work.

  "Hi, Brooke," Maggie said, and Brooke looked up from the cake to give her a big grin.

  Brooke Riley grinned all the time now. It was a drastic change from the serious thespian she'd first met back in Hollywood. Back then Maggie had been a secretary at the studio, and Brooke had been an actress who booked jobs constantly, based in part on her talent, and in part on her waiflike figure and a heart-shaped face topped by a platinum blond pixie cut.

  "I spotted you on TV again last night," Abby told Brooke, continuing a game they often played.

  "What are the clues?" she replied.

  "Cop show," Abby said.

  "Cop show?" The spatula Brooke was holding waved in the air as she pondered the clue. "The one where I was an innocent teen accused of murdering her teacher after he broke off their affair?"

  "Nope," Abby said with a grin.

  "The one where I was a young war widow who was being scammed by a fake veteran's organization?"

  Abby shook her head.

  Brooke put the last swirl of frosting on the cake and then cut a slice and slid it onto a small plate. She headed to the freezer and came back with an ice cream container. "Give me another clue."

  "You wore a purple wig," Abby said.

  Brooke stopped, the ice cream scoop poised over the chocolate cake. A drip of vanilla cream landed on the frosting. "Hmmm. Purple. I don't remember that. Wait! I've got it! I was a serial killer, right?"

  "Yeah. You were evil. It was so good."

  Brooke laughed. "I loved doing evil parts. It was a great break from playing the pretty blond. I don't mean that as a brag—that's literally what the call sheets would say. Pretty blond who says three lines or something like that."

  "It's hard to believe you were the pretty blond—" Then Abby stammered, "I mean, I'm sorry…."

  Brooke laughed, a big, hearty laugh. She finished scooping the ice cream. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad I don't look like that any more. The peroxide fried my scalp. The thick makeup made me break out. And to stay that skinny—ugh. I starved myself for ten years." She looked around the café with a contented smile. "I promised myself when I left Hollywood I would never go hungry again."

  She grabbed a fork and took a big piece of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream and put it in her mouth. She hummed contentedly. She swallowed. "Just right," she said with a happy sigh. "Want some?"

  "Not me," Abby said. "I've got to get back to work. Just black coffee in a mug, okay?"

  Brooke served it up. Then she raised an eyebrow at Maggie.

  "Sure," Maggie said. "I'm in a self-indulgent mood. Give me a slice to go with my coffee."

  "Coming right up."

  Abby grabbed her mug and turned to go. Then she paused and turned back to Brooke. "Ask her about Virginia Foley," she said, and then headed out.

  "I should fire you," Maggie called after her.

  "I've got job security," Abby responded with a grin. "If you fire me, who will rescue you from predatory bimbos?"

  Maggie wrinkled her nose at her. "Go mind the store, kid."

  Abby laughed and left.

  Maggie told Brooke about Virginia's visit, and Brooke cut a huge slice of cake and gave it to her. "You deserve this for not strangling her."

  She handed Maggie a fork, and Maggie took a big bite of the cake. "I do deserve this," she said. "Oh! Is that mocha filling?"

  Brooke grinned. "Yup. I just made up the recipe. What do you think?"

  "I should have married this cake instead of Big Mac."

  "You would have been happier," Brooke agreed.

  "I know," Maggie said. "I should have known I was making a mistake when my veil caught on fire at the reception."

  "I put it out for you," Brooke said.

  "I appreciate that. But you didn't tell me to get the marriage annulled."

  Brooke poured her a coffee and gave it to her. "Would you have listened?"

  "Of course not," Maggie said. "That level of stupidity must be experienced before it sinks in." She took another bite of cake, reveling in the mixture of pure dark chocolate, sweet mocha, and vanilla ice cream. "In my defense, he was mostly very kind to me. He even moved to our house in Carita when he found out how much I loved it here. It made for a hard commute to LA for him."

  Brooke's expression was totally neutral.

  "What?"

  "That was always suspicious, Maggie. His secretary had her own apartment in Carita, and you never noticed?"

  "Mac was doing a lot of work in his home office here. He said it was because he knew I loved Carita. I believed him. Why would I even pay attention to where his staff live?"

  Brooke gave her a pitying look.

  "Fine. I was stupid. I actually thought our marriage was based on trust. I wasn't looking for signs of him cheating."

  "There were some pretty big signs, Maggie."

  "I thought he loved me. Live and learn."

  Brooke took her empty plate. "A second piece?"

  Maggie felt her stomach. "I'll explode."

  Brooke wiped a speck of chocolate off the counter. "Well, personally, I'm glad they’ve finally made it official and started shacking up. Her apartment is very comfy."

  "Don't be gross. I can't believe you're living in Virginia's apartment."

  "It's hard to find a good rental in town." Brooke topped off Maggie's coffee cup. "I grabbed it as soon as she moved in with Mac."

  "You could have picked somewhere else to live."

  "It doesn't have cooties, Maggie. It's a nice little studio apartment, in a vintage court, only five blocks to the beach. For Carita, it's a steal. You might consider it."

  "Consider what?" she asked.

  "There's another one vacant in the court. We'd be neighbors. You could hang out with me. The manager holds barbecues on the weekends, and snarky little Abby and all her college kid friends show up, and even Ned comes by for margaritas."

  "Ned?"

  "Pool Boy Ned. Too bad he's gay. He's not bad-looking."

  "If you like tattoos. But why would I want to move there?"

  "Because you're liv
ing in a trailer in your driveway, Maggie."

  "It's not a trailer. It's a tiny house. And I love it."

  Brooke rolled her eyes at her. "I tried to use your bathroom last time I was there, and I had to stand in the shower to turn the toilet paper roll."

  "Stop exaggerating. It's not that small."

  "It's tiny. Ergo, Tiny House. It's ridiculous. Get a real apartment, Mags."

  "Nope. I like The Row. I like the beach. I like my tiny house. It's all mine. I love my beach bum lifestyle."

  Brooke shook her head. "You're nuts." She wiped the counter some more, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she said in a musing tone, "that billionaire's wife was all over the news for getting a quarter of his fortune."

  "Don't start with me," Maggie said. "They were life partners. They were married for twenty-five years and had four kids. They also probably didn't have a prenup that said if she slept with another man she lost everything."

  "But you didn't sleep with another man."

  "I know that. And you know that. And the man in question knows that. But do you know how hard it is to prove you didn't sleep with a platonic friend you see at every one of your husband's parties, especially when he just happens to be the sexiest man on the planet?"

  "It's hard to argue with a photograph," Brooke agreed.

  Maggie grimaced. "Yeah." A paparazzo had snapped a picture of Maggie and Reese sharing a brief, platonic kiss at midnight last New Year's Eve.

  But there was no way to tell in the grainy telephoto pic that the kiss was either brief or platonic, and Big Mac's publicist had run with it straight to the tabloids, where her reputation had been smeared before she'd even hired a divorce attorney.

  She was portrayed as the cheating gold digger who broke her prenuptial agreement. She could have spent years fighting Big Mac over the terms of the divorce, but she'd just signed off on the prenup deal: she got one house, one car, and all the clothes she'd acquired during the marriage, and that was it.

  "It's unfair that you got nothing in the divorce," Brooke said.

  "I got a Mercedes and a ton of designer clothes, most of which I've sold to buy my shop and my tiny house. I didn't get nothing."

  "But you didn't get a house."

  "I've got Casablanca. At least for now."

  "The part the bank doesn't own. You should have contested the agreement. You would have won."

  Maggie frowned, remembering her relief at getting it over with. "No, Brooke. Once he framed me with a fake affair, I knew it would be a big public mess and I'd be dragged through the tabloids and never get a moment's peace. I knew the terms of the prenup and I had no problem agreeing to it: one house, one car, and all my clothes."

  "But you didn't read the fine print."

  "And that's on me," Maggie said. "I should have read every single word of the legal document instead of taking it at face value." That little paragraph about her getting the house with all its encumbrances was worth more than a quick glance.

  "Your lawyer should have told you that you were taking on a mortgage bigger than Casablanca was worth."

  "He also should have told me that prenups about fidelity are unenforceable in California. Next time I marry a rich older man I'll be sure to find out all the legal ramifications first."

  "But your lawyer must have known that."

  "My divorce lawyer also must have known that he played golf with Big Mac, but there you go."

  "You need to hire a new lawyer, tear up that divorce, and sue Mac for everything he's worth."

  But she shook her head.

  "I could. If I want to spend the rest of my life in court. He covered his tracks. There's no way to prove Mac bribed that lawyer to lie to me. The lawyer would be disbarred if he admitted it, so it's not like he's going to confess. So I just sound like the bitter ex who got caught cheating."

  "You're just going to walk away from a fortune."

  "No. I'm walking away from an endless fight over a possible fortune. Mac has a bottomless pit of money to hire lawyers and drag it out forever."

  "But you could end up filthy rich."

  "Or I could end up ten years older and stuck in the same spot I'm in now. It's not worth it to me."

  "But there's still a chance you'd win in the end. Most Hollywood wives would sue," she pointed out. "There's a lot of money at stake. You should keep fighting."

  "For how long, Brooke? Until I'm old and gray? I married him when I was 25. Divorced him at 35. Do I want to still be obsessing over my marriage at 45? No. By then I want to be…." She let it drift off. Where did she want to be?

  "Yes?" Brooke prompted.

  "I want to be running my business. Living my life. Doing my own thing. Just like I'm doing now." Maggie finished her coffee and handed Brooke the mug. "Don't you get it? This is how I win. By not caring. By walking away. This is how I take away his power over me." She looked around the coffee shop. "By living my life on my own terms. Sure, I'm broke. But I have everything I need in this beautiful beach town. What more could I ask for?"

  "Money," said the willowy blond who slid onto the stool next to her. "You could ask for money, Junior."

  Nora McJasper nodded to Brooke, who grabbed a mug and filled it with straight espresso.

  "Don't start with me, Senior," Maggie muttered. "I'm having a rotten day."

  Maggie was Mrs. McJasper, Junior. Nora was Senior, the first Mrs. McJasper, who married Big Mac when they'd both been young and idealistic and were just starting to conquer Hollywood.

  They'd both succeeded. Mac had become a successful producer, and Nora had become a sought-after talent manager.

  Sought after because she discovered a teenage rock band playing at a county fair over twenty years ago, and spotted something in a blond boy sitting behind the piano.

  His name was Stanley Tibbets, and he was a bit shy, very young, but possessed the It Factor that could catapult a small town boy to the top of the charts. So she'd dragged him out in front of the band, renamed him Reese Stevens, and made him a star.

  Nora and Big Mac had been a power couple in Hollywood for years. Until she got sick of his cheating and divorced him.

  Now she was married to a younger man who worshipped her. And Nora somehow possessed the ability to remain friends with everyone she met along the way, from her cheating ex-husband to the younger woman who had replaced her.

  Though when Brooke filled her in on Virginia and the bridal party class, Nora got a very unforgiving expression on her face. "That little—" She let out a string of invective that made the customers at the other end of the counter turn and stare.

  "She's not that bad," Maggie said.

  "I'm not talking about his bimbo girlfriend. You've always been too soft, Junior. Mac is taking advantage of your kindheartedness."

  "You think he put Virginia up to it?"

  Nora clenched her espresso cup. "I wouldn't put it past the jerk."

  "What about your policy of never holding grudges, Nora?" Maggie asked.

  "I'm not holding a grudge from the past," Nora said. "I'm freshly mad, right now. Mac should be struck by lightning or something else suitably karmic for the way he's treated you."

  "Smothered in honey and tied to an ant hill," Brooke offered.

  "Ooh," Nora said. "That's a good one. Let's go with that."

  "Calm down, you two," Maggie said. "Brooke, give her a slice of that cake. That'll fire up those endorphins."

  They sat there for a while, Nora digging into the giant slice of cake Brooke brought, and Maggie just chatting about her work and the bead shop.

  She glanced out the window and noticed a bright orange vintage VW Beetle parked directly in front of the coffee house door.

  "How do you do that?" she asked Nora.

  "Do what?" Nora replied, scraping the last of the frosting off her plate with her fork.

  "How do you get a parking space right in front of O'Riley's? You always do that."

  "Parking app." She pointed to the phone she'd set on the counter
next to her. "You pay online for it. Didn't you notice the sign saying Reserved Parking?"

  "I just figured that was for delivery drivers or something." Maggie sighed. "Do you know everything in the world?"

  "You will too by the time you're an old broad like me. You're still a kid."

  "I just got dumped for a younger woman. I'm not a kid anymore."

  "Compared to me, you are."

  Brooke came back and took Nora's plate. "All better?" she asked.

  "Oh, yeah," Nora said. "You have a gift."

  Brooke beamed. "So no more fussing about Virginia and Big Mac and divorce and all that?"

  "Yeah," Maggie said. "But I still haven't decided if I'll let Virginia take the class. She said they're marrying next month, so I need to make up my mind soon."

  "They aren't wasting any time planning the wedding," Brooke commented. "I wonder if she's knocked up." She noticed Nora and Maggie's expression. "What?"

  "Nothing," Maggie said softly.

  The customers at the other end of the counter wanted more coffee, so Brooke walked away then.

  "If Virginia's pregnant…," Maggie muttered. "After putting me off for ten years and refusing to have a child with me, if he's gotten her knocked up…."

  Then she realized who she was talking to. "Sorry," she added.

  "It's okay. I understand." Nora unconsciously touched the gold ring on her right hand with her late daughter's opal birthstone. "I always felt sorry for you about that. It wasn't your fault our daughter had died."

  "Now I understand how you must have felt," Maggie said. "With me stealing your husband, and I was all happy and looking forward to my future. That's why I'm being patient with Virginia."

  "You didn't steal my husband, Junior," Nora said. "We were over by then. We just didn't know it. By the time you met him, I wouldn't have cared if he fell into a volcano."

  "Still, you should have hated me."

  "And you should hate Virginia," Nora noted. "But there's no point in it, is there? You'd only hurt yourself if you obsessed over her."

  "And I don't want him," Maggie said. "That's the part that surprises me. After fighting all those years to save my marriage, now I'm done. Seeing him getting cozy with Virginia was like turning off a switch. I don't want that man I saw. She can have him."