Maggie and the Mourning Beads Page 4

  "What kid?" Ibarra asked, though he obviously knew who.

  "That George creature," Keith said. "Grey, he calls himself. He corrupted her. He made her do this. She's not to blame."

  "We don't know they did it," Maggie said. "It could have been anyone."

  "Stay out of it, Maggie," Ibarra said.

  "I should have been here," Keith said. "I should have realized. They fought all the time. It's my fault it got to this point. I always tried to make peace. But Alexis…."

  He let it drift off, but Maggie had the feeling he was about to say something.

  So did Ibarra, because he prompted, "Alexis…?"

  "She never loved the child," Keith said. "I shouldn't say that. But maybe if you knew. You'd understand. Willow isn't a monster. It isn't her fault. If she did this, she was driven to it by her mother. The woman had no maternal instinct." He pursed his lips. "And that boy. That awful boy." He turned his head away. "I should have divorced her. I shouldn't have let this go on. She was horrible. I'm sorry. It's my fault for letting it get to this point."

  "No. Don't blame yourself," Lieutenant Ibarra said. "You aren't responsible."

  "Did their arguments ever get physical?" Maggie asked, but Ibarra glared at her.

  "Maggie! Let the police handle this."

  Despite that, Norris seemed to be about to answer her, but then he appeared to suddenly realize he was standing in a crowd of police, because he said firmly, "No. Never. Willow is never violent. I'm sure she's innocent."

  "That's fine, Mr. Norris," Ibarra said. "Come with me now, and we'll take you downtown."

  He led the man away to the nearest police car, and Maggie watched them go, her fists clenching as she realized the police had already decided they knew who had committed the murder, despite Norris's protestations to the contrary. Keith was sure of it too, sure his own daughter had killed her mother. How could a father be convinced of that when Maggie saw such a different side to Willow? Was she wrong to doubt the kids' guilt? Everyone else seemed so sure.

  Another man had gotten out of the BMW during all this, and he wandered over to where she stood on the sidewalk. "Where are they taking him?" he asked.

  "To the police station," she answered. "I'm Maggie McJasper, by the way," she said, holding out her hand.

  "I'm Charlie Vidal."

  They watched the police car pull away with Norris and Ibarra inside.

  "I work with him," Charlie explained as they turned away from the crime scene and moved aside to let the police continue working.

  "Oh?" Maggie said. "I thought he worked alone. He did the plans for my last remodel. Are you new with his firm?"

  "No. I work in Los Angeles. Keith runs the branch office here in Carita. So I only see him once a week or so when he comes into the main office for meetings."

  "Is that where you were when he got the news?"

  Charlie shook his head. "We were at an architecture convention in San Francisco." He gave her an assessing glance. "It's okay if you ask."

  "Ask what?"

  "You want to ask if he has an alibi, don't you?"

  "Am I that transparent?" she asked.

  "It's a natural question. And yes, he has an alibi. You don't really suspect him, do you?"

  "No, of course not," she said quickly, though she knew that spouses were the first place the police looked when someone was killed. The second was other family members. Like children who joked about killing a parent.

  "He must have taken it hard," Maggie said. She carefully asked, "so what time did you find out about the murder?"

  "About four. We were working on our presentation and he got a call. I didn't think he was in shape to drive himself here, so I brought him."

  "I imagine not. It was nice of you to drive him home."

  The man shrugged.

  "Do you know the family well?"

  Charlie shook his head. "I've never met his family. But he talked about them all the time."

  "Oh, yeah? What did he say?"

  They had stopped in front of the bead shop, and he looked in the window. "I can't imagine what it would be like to lose my family like this. My wife is my whole world. Her and the kids." Then he pulled himself back to the conversation. "We have three. All boys."

  "How old?" Maggie asked.

  "Seven, five, and four."

  "You must be busy."

  He smiled fondly. "They're a handful. But I love them more than life itself. If something like this happened…." He shook his head. "I don't think I could live if something happened to my family."

  "I can't imagine it," Maggie said. She asked him about what they had been working on, hoping to confirm that Norris hadn't left the convention at any time.

  Charlie was positive. "He was with me from the time I got there this morning until he got the call from the police. He arrived at the hotel earlier than I did. We ordered room service and were working in my suite until presentation time, which would have been right about now. We were supposed to give the keynote lecture at dinner on—" He hesitated, then said softly, "on designs that make a house a home."

  "You're sure he couldn't have left the hotel at any time in the afternoon?"

  "Left the hotel? Of course not. He was with me. I just made the drive from San Francisco, and there is no way he could have come all this way and back without being missed." He shook his head firmly. "It would be impossible."

  "I'm glad," she said. "I didn't want to think it was possible. But I had to ask." And she was glad. The thought of a husband murdering his wife was horrible. But even worse was a daughter murdering her mother, and this information didn't do a thing to prove Willow's innocence.

  "Did he talk to anyone else? Or get any calls? Maybe from his daughter?"

  But Charlie shook his head. "We talked to room service workers and the people at the conference. That's it." He thought about it. "No, I don't think he got any calls. He could have gotten a text I suppose. I might not have noticed that. But the police will check the phone records, won't they?"

  "You're right. I'm sure they will."

  He nodded. "Now I need to rent a car to go home. I drove his car here and I'm stuck."

  She started to give him directions to get a ride-share to the airport, where rental cars were available. But a police officer came over then and asked him to come to the station and give a statement.

  So he said goodbye to her and left.

  She opened the door of her shop and went inside.

  Jasper limped over to greet her and she sat with him and gave him a hug. Abby had gotten back from her afternoon class, and she peppered Maggie with questions. She tried to answer them, but all the time her mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had happened.

  Alexis's husband was innocent. He had an airtight alibi. A husband was the first person to suspect in any case like this. But now that he was eliminated, there had to be another suspect. There just had to be someone who could have done this. Someone other than the girl with the sorrowful eyes and the sarcastic, bitter comments about a mother who didn't even love her.

  After just sitting there staring at the walls for a bit, Maggie told Abby she was closing up the shop early. They made sure the doors were locked, then they both left, Maggie holding Jasper's leash and Abby taking off on her bicycle.

  Maggie was going to head for her car to drive home, but she saw two people standing on the sidewalk down the block. She walked over to them, Jasper following along beside her. When they reached the two women, the dog sat and grinned at the group, the only one not upset about what had happened in their little business community.

  Paige Zimmer and Harper Higgins were the other business owners whose shops accessed the alley. The four of them had been neighbors, so to speak, and now one of them was dead.

  Maggie said hello to the pair, who were a study in contrasts.

  Paige owned the Seva Yoga Studio, housed in an old building that had been the town's feed store back when Carita was a simple country town. Now the little stu
dio was a light-filled space with bleached wood floors and serene nature prints on the walls, and its back door was only a few feet away from the Carita Art Gallery's alley space.

  Paige was the wife of a retired rock star who had become a major philanthropist. Maggie didn't know if Paige had met her husband after he'd gone all New Age guru, or if she was the one who had motivated him to give up the sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, and instead take up a more healthy and philosophical lifestyle.

  She was wearing a red cotton Peruvian tunic with gray leggings and sneakers. Some people dressed that way because it was simple and affordable, but in Paige's case, it was a deliberate statement, rejecting the ostentation of showing off like the millionaire she actually was. She was a skinny woman around Maggie's age, with long brown hair that was unabashedly graying, and she always exuded a calm presence.

  Even now. Her soulful eyes looked sad, but guarded, as they talked about Alexis Norris's death. When Maggie showed surprise at her expression, Paige said softly, "I'm ashamed that I don't feel bad. I have to work on that."

  It was a normal reaction after the constant conflicts they'd all had with Alexis, but right now Maggie was suspicious of everything, and couldn't help wondering whether Paige was being honest—or was making an excuse for her cold reaction to the news.

  "The police say it happened around 2:00," Maggie said, trying to broach the subject of alibis. "I didn't hear a thing. I had a class when the murder happened, and none of us in the class noticed anything. How about you?"

  "I was meditating between classes," Paige said.

  "Alone?" Maggie asked, and Paige shot her a look that was anything but zen.

  "I usually meditate alone," she said. "It's a private thing."

  "Of course," Maggie replied, trying to stop acting like a detective.

  Harper hadn't said much during this exchange, just standing with her arms crossed and looking stern, which was her usual expression anyway.

  Jasper leaned over and bumped Harper affectionately, since he'd met her many times. She took a step back. He left a trail of russet fur on her white trousers, but she didn't notice.

  Like Paige, Harper had gotten the money to start her business from family. In her case, her mother had made a fortune with a beauty supply company. So Harper was able to start her own upscale yarn shop in her early twenties with a cash infusion from her mom.

  Pretty much the opposite story of Maggie's assistant Abby, whose parents were first-generation immigrants working multiple jobs to help their daughter work her way through college. Maggie wondered if that was the conflict behind Abby and Harper's breakup.

  Harper was dressed in her usual all white, with impeccably cut silk trousers (now marred by Jasper's trail of fur), a plain cotton T-shirt, and a gorgeous white crocheted vest in a modern pattern of overlapping circles.

  "We should talk about getting a security camera installed in the alley," Maggie said, and Harper reacted to that.

  "Security camera?" she replied, acting shocked.

  "Don't you think it's a good idea, after this happened?"

  Harper shrugged. "Don't you think this was a one-time thing?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, there must be a hundred people who wanted to strangle Alexis Norris, don't you think?"

  Like you? Maggie wanted to ask, but stopped herself in time. Instead she asked, "when did you get the news?"

  Harper didn't answer, instead blurting out: "Was Abby at your bead class?"

  "Huh?"

  "You said no one heard anything. Was Abby there?"

  "She was at the university at the time," Maggie said. "And you were—"

  "—But she's back now, isn't she? I saw her bike parked out front."

  "She just left to go home. But you—"

  "—Was she upset about it?"

  "I think we're all upset about it. So—"

  "—I have to go," Harper said suddenly, and she headed back to her shop.

  "She's all out of alignment," Paige said in her usual soft way.

  "Aren't we all?" Maggie asked.

  Chapter Six

  At O'Riley's Coffee Shop the next morning, Maggie was still trying to make sense of the crime.

  She went over everything she'd learned with her friends Nora and Brooke.

  Brooke Riley, owner of O'Riley's, was folding dough to make peach turnovers while Maggie perched at the counter and watched her. "Oh, really?" Brooke was saying, with the perfect touch of asperity she'd perfected over years as a TV actor. "You have to investigate the murder?"

  "Of course," Maggie replied, trying not to sound defensive.

  "No, Junior," Nora said firmly. "You don't." The willowy fifty-year-old with pure white hair, short cropped in the latest style, sat next to Maggie while they watched Brooke work.

  Nora fiddled with her platinum keychain as they chatted. The keychain was monogrammed NM, for Nora McJasper, and it matched one Maggie's ex-husband had carried, his marked MM for Michael McJasper. Nora and Maggie had bonded over their mutual disgust for the man they'd each married and divorced, and Maggie was used to her blunt advice. Now she sat and explained about discovering the dead body while Brooke's eyes grew wider and Nora gave her doubtful looks.

  Nora had completed her simple mourning beads bracelet last night, and it now adorned her wrist. At a pause in the conversation, Maggie put a hand out to touch it, and Nora jingled it and smiled.

  "So go back," Brooke interrupted. "You never explained. How did you get involved in a murder again?" She tucked the pastry dough around the fresh peaches she had dusted with cinnamon sugar. "I would think you'd had enough of that kind of thing after last time."

  "I didn't get involved. I discovered the body."

  "And you know the killers."

  "I do not," Maggie said quickly. "They are not the killers."

  Neither of them believed her. "Then where are those kids, Mags?" Brooke asked. "The police have been looking for them all night. If they were innocent, they'd come out of hiding."

  "I don't know where they are." Maggie frowned. "But that doesn't mean they killed her. At least, I don't think they did it."

  "What do the police think?" Nora asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "They were wrong last time. I'd think you two would give me a bit of credit after I solved the last murder."

  "Okay," Nora said with a smirk. "Who did it?"

  "I don't know. But it's not an open-and-shut case like the police believe. Just because those teens wear goth clothes, the police assume they're murderers. It's unfair."

  "The woman's dead, Maggie," Nora pointed out. "That's unfair."

  "Makes me glad I don't have kids," Brooke said.

  Nora sat silently, her fingers straying to her new bracelet. The pain of losing her daughter was still there, after all these years, and it was hard to see.

  Maggie squeezed her hand. "Hey, Senior."

  "I'm fine, Junior," Nora said quickly. "Just wishing I weren't too old to have a baby with my boy toy. How's your plan going?"

  "What plan?"

  "I seem to recall you saying that you could get Reese to be a sperm donor for your theoretical baby."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Nora!" Maggie blurted out. "That was a joke. How could you even think I was serious?"

  She felt herself blushing. It had been a joke. Of course there was nothing romantic between Reese and her.

  "We're friends," Maggie said quickly. "Platonic friends. You know that."

  Brooke and Nora looked at each other.

  "Maggie," Nora said, "if you are platonic friends with the sexiest man on the planet, you must be gayer than a rainbow."

  "No. I'm rational. And being more than friends with Reese would be irrational."

  Brooke smirked. "Then call me a fruitcake, honey, because it looks like a good idea from here."

  Nora and Brooke high-fived each other, a cloud of dust lingering in the air from Brooke's flour-covered hand. She went over to the sink and washed up, then came back to finis
h her pastries.

  "Cut it out, you two," Maggie said. But she laughed at the teasing, glad to change the subject from the gloominess of yesterday.

  "Fine," Nora said. "But the point is you need to stop focusing on dead bodies, and focus instead on the very live body of that man, before all of that"—her hand waved over Maggie's curves—"starts heading south."

  Maggie laughed. "You are outrageous."

  "Now I've got to get to work. You think about it, Junior." Nora went over to the nearest table and set up her laptop. And Brooke went back to folding the peaches into little packets of pastry dough. And Maggie sat at the counter and thought about things.

  Brooke finished the last turnover and looked up. "You thinking about jumping Reese's bones, or about the murder?"

  "The murder, of course," Maggie replied. "And about the kids. I really didn't see that side of them yesterday. It's hard to believe they could act violently. I think I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I saw kids who were unhappy, but not evil. I really felt for them. They're young, and all alone with no one who believes in them."

  "Maybe she pushed them too far," Brooke said. "She was horrible, you know."

  "She was a bit rude," Maggie agreed.

  "A bit rude? She was some kind of nutcase, Mags."

  "I wouldn't go that far."

  "I would," Brooke said shortly.

  She went over to the stove and got a little copper pan filled with melted butter. She took out a pastry brush and brushed the tops of the turnovers with butter, then sprinkled coarse sugar crystals on top, making the pastries shimmer like glitter.

  "I'm not just saying that," Brooke said. "About her being crazy, I mean. I set her off once myself."

  "Set off Alexis? What do you mean?"

  "I walk by their house on the way to work every day. At least I used to, until I started taking a different street to avoid Alexis."

  "To avoid her?"

  "Yeah." She looked down at the baking pan.

  "Tell me about it," Maggie prompted.

  "Well, you know they have that modern place on Sea Hollow."

  "I've seen it." The Norris house was a sleek building straight out of Architectural Digest. It wasn't on The Row, the fancy street where Casablanca and the other millionaire's houses were, but it stood on a big corner lot near the center of town, with a lush yard that curved around the corner.