Maggie and the Empty Noose Page 7

  "Who owns this toolbox?" Ibarra asked.

  "I do," the electrician said.

  "May we open it?" he asked the electrician, with a smirk at Viola.

  "Yes," the man said. "Search anything I own. I'm not going to jail for this jerk."

  The officer opened the toolbox. It was filled with the battery-operated candles.

  Ibarra turned to the electrician. "Thank you for your cooperation. Please go wait for us in the café. We'll be in to take a statement."

  "Have a cruller," Maggie said sarcastically. "It may be your last one for a while."

  He left the room, head down, dejected.

  "Dishonest creep," Maggie muttered after him.

  "Settle down, Maggie," Ibarra said.

  He bent down to look over the candles. Then stood up again. "So what's the deal with these?" Ibarra asked, looking at Maggie, not Viola.

  "I'm guessing at least one of those is a hidden camera," she said.

  "A camera?"

  "Somebody was tracking Reese, and keeping an eye on all his movements. Somebody recorded Reese and Shane playing piano and singing in the coffee house. This is where that viral video was filmed."

  "That was some of my best work," Viola said with pride. "4K ultra-hd video from hidden cameras, with hi-fi 24-bit audio. All of it streamed live to my computer back in the hotel room. You should hear the original. Incredible audio and video quality. You could release it as an album now and sell a million copies."

  "You're not her boyfriend," Maggie said to Viola. "You're her accomplice."

  The man's eyes widened. "Oh, no. I didn't break any laws. You can't accuse me."

  "Right," Ibarra said. "This is a pretty elaborate setup. Why were you doing this?"

  "I was supposed to follow Reese Stevens and get photos and video she could use against him. She was after him for money, and hoped to find something that would make him give in to her demands. It was great for me, because he was way off here in Carita, and so there wasn't any competition."

  "Competition?"

  "Other paparazzi. Nobody else bothers to come to this little town. It's not worth it to travel all this way just on the off-chance of getting a decent shot, so I could get tons of exclusive footage. I got Olivia all the photos and video she wanted, and I was able to sell the extra on the side to the tabloids—Reese Stevens on the beach through a telephoto lens, him working out, stuff like that. It was a sweet deal all around."

  "So why this setup in the coffee house?" Maggie asked.

  "I was in here one time watching him, and he sat at the piano and played for a while. Everybody was kinda pretending they weren't noticing him. But, I mean, he used to be a big-time rock star and now he never plays concerts anymore. I figured people would pay to see it. So I set up a dozen cameras here to cover all the angles, and then I could tap into the signal and download whatever got recorded."

  "Did you record the argument last night?" Ibarra asked.

  "Yeah. There's not much there. I rewatched the video before I got here this morning. Just them yelling at each other about the kid, and then her leaving. I thought I could sell it to the tabloids, though. Make a little money."

  "That's evidence."

  "Oh, man, you're not going to confiscate it," Viola said. "What about free enterprise? Can't I at least make a copy of it before I turn it over? I could get six figures for that when he's convicted."

  Ibarra glared at him.

  "Did you record in the house as well?" she asked him, wondering if he could have caught the murder on video.

  "No way. I don't do private homes. That would be breaking and entering. This is a public place. I don't break laws."

  "Right," Ibarra said. "You're an honorable stooge."

  "How could you know Reese and Shane would play music together and it could make Shane famous?" Maggie asked him.

  "The music video was just a lucky break. She wanted me to get blackmail material, but what I captured was better. She wanted to make her son a viral media star, so she ran with it."

  "She paid you," Maggie said.

  "Of course she paid me," Viola said. "That's my job."

  "You're a paparazzo."

  "Yes," he said with pride. "I'm the best."

  "So if the recording was streaming to your computer, why did you need to remove the candles? Couldn't you just keep them here and see if you caught any other incriminating video?"

  He shook his head. "When I heard she was dead I figured the gig was done. I had to remove all the traces of what I'd been doing so no one would connect me to her. I didn't want to get mixed up in her murder."

  "Yeah," Maggie said. "Total failure at that, dude."

  "If you hadn't run into us on the street, I would have been in the clear."

  "Well now you're not," Ibarra said. "Stand up. We're taking you in for questioning."

  "Wait," Maggie said. "I've got a bunch more questions."

  "You think he'd tell you the truth?" Ibarra said. "He's not going to confess to killing Olivia to you. This is a job for the professionals."

  "What?" Viola said, sounding panicky. "Confess?! Wait a minute! I didn't kill anyone."

  "Why would anybody believe you?" Maggie asked with a scowl. "You're a dishonest creep who stalks people for a living. What happened? She stiff you on the payments or something?"

  "No!" he said frantically. "I'm innocent, I tell ya. I have an alibi."

  "Sure you do, dude," Ibarra said skeptically.

  "I do," Viola said. "I was way up on Archer Peak last night until almost four in the morning. I uploaded pictures from there to the submission box at the Inquisitor. I know electronics. You can confirm my phone pinged off the cell tower up there. Date and time and location," he said. "I've got an airtight alibi."

  Maggie felt a wave of excitement pass through her, like the thrilling sensation of diving into icy water.

  "Sure thing, buddy," Ibarra said. "We'll be checking your alibi. Now get up. We're taking you in."

  "Ibarra!" Maggie said. She'd meant to say it softly, but the adrenaline coursing through her body made her shout his name.

  He turned to her, startled. "What? What's wrong?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong." She was crying, but ignored it. She felt her whole body trembling. All the pressure of the last day was hitting her at once, and she had to take a couple of deep breaths to regain control.

  "What's wrong?" Ibarra asked again. He grabbed onto her. "Maggie, sweetheart, what is it?"

  She kept shaking her head and laughing and crying. "Archer Peak," she finally said. "It's the state park where Reese goes to look at the stars. Ask him. Ask him."

  Ibarra looked confused, so she turned to Viola, who was staring at her like she was nuts. "Why were you up on Archer Peak?" she asked.

  "I already told you. Olivia paid me to follow Reese Stevens. So I followed him. I spent the whole boring night freezing my buns off in a parking lot, watching that overgrown Boy Scout look at the stars through his telescope."

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a few hours later, almost time for one of Carita's gorgeous ocean sunsets.

  They sat in O'Riley's, which Brooke had closed to keep out the press and gawkers. All the lights were off inside. This time not because of the crooked electrician, but because the darkness made the front windows look like mirrors from the outside, blocking the view into the coffee house. But periodically someone would lean up against the window glass, attempting to figure out if anyone was there.

  Brooke worked away behind the counter, mixing up a batch of muffins. She beat the eggs so hard they spilled all over the counter. She sighed, threw the whole thing in the sink, and then started over again.

  Nora and the attorney sat with Reese at one of the café's tables, while Maggie stood back and let them bring him up to date on what was happening.

  The attorney confirmed that all charges had been dropped. "The police are pursuing other leads now, Mr. Stevens," he said. "They've returned your passport and I've gott
en your bail money refunded to your account."

  Reese sat there, eyes bloodshot, tapping his foot nervously and making the rickety table rattle with his fidgeting.

  Maggie sat down next to him and covered his shaking hand with her own. "This is good news, Stanley," she said.

  He pulled his hand away from Maggie and stared down into the empty coffee cup in front of him. The hand that gripped the cup wasn't completely steady.

  "Don't you see?" she said. "It can't be you. We have proof now. You're not a murderer."

  "I guess."

  Nora coughed. "I can get you into Betty Ford with one phone call, kid," she said, her voice sounding rough.

  He glanced her way and shook his head. Then he stared at her, startled. "What happened to your eye?" he asked, as if suddenly noticing her appearance.

  Nora touched her cheek, where her black eye had swollen up to a lovely purplish-yellow. "You slugged me," she said.

  "I—what?"

  "When the paramedics were trying to treat you," Maggie explained. "You punched Nora in the eye, and you barely missed flattening me."

  He stared at her. "I did? Are you okay?" He looked back at Nora. "Are you both okay?"

  They both nodded. "We're fine," Maggie said. "I'm better at ducking than Nora," she added, trying to make it light.

  "And I needed a few days off from videoconferencing anyway," Nora said with a smile, but he didn't smile back.

  "I was wasted," he said. "I hurt people."

  "You were drugged, Reese," Maggie said. "You were attacked by someone who poisoned you and tried to kill you."

  He shook his head and looked down at the table.

  Maggie glanced at Nora and the attorney.

  "Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Dave," Nora said to the lawyer, and they headed to the counter.

  Maggie leaned close to Reese. "Come on! Snap out of it! You did not kill Olivia. We know that. We've always known that. But now we know somebody drugged you. Somebody set you up to take the fall for this murder. This is good news. Now we just need to figure out who did it. And why."

  "Why," he mumbled. "Yeah. Why?"

  "You're a target," she suggested. "Maybe that's enough reason. You're famous. You're rich. That makes a lot of people jealous, hateful, looking to tear you down. It might be that simple. Someone was angry that you made it back to the top. They want to stop you."

  He shrugged. "I guess." He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and tried to light one with a match. His hands shook and he couldn't get the match to strike. Those graceful, talented hands that could bring music to life on a keyboard couldn't even get a match to light properly.

  She took the little book of matches from him and tore one off. Then struck it for him.

  He leaned forward and lit the cigarette from her match, then leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

  Brooke cleared her throat from across the room.

  Maggie glanced her way, and mouthed an apology, but then Brooke just nodded and turned away.

  Normally Maggie would find someone lighting up a cigarette in a non-smoking restaurant to be rude, but it was hard to be mad at Reese right now. It wasn't a deliberate act of rebellion against the rules. He clearly wasn't even thinking about it. He needed the hit of tobacco, so he went for it.

  Like an addict.

  As if reading her mind, he whispered, "I don't know if I can do it a second time."

  "Get sober?" she asked.

  "Yeah," he whispered.

  "But you've been clean for so long." She thought about it. "Since New Year's Day about… eleven-and-a-half years ago."

  "4234 days," he mumbled. "All gone now."

  "Don't say that!" she scolded him. "You didn't fall off the wagon. You were pushed. You're acting like you're giving up."

  "I just—I don't know if I can make it."

  "Of course you can make it. You haven't taken a single drug in all that time."

  "Until yesterday," he said.

  "And since then? You haven't taken any more, have you?"

  He waved his left hand in the air, the cigarette smoke arcing around his head. "This is a drug. I'm chain smoking again. First thing I did when I woke up was ask the cop guarding me for a cigarette."

  "So stop."

  "I…." He stopped speaking. Took a long drag on the cigarette. Blew out the smoke. "I used to be like this. Just like this. Chain smoking to calm down when I was racing."

  She bit back what she was going to say. Scolding him wouldn't do any good. He was back on a cycle of stress and fear and addiction, all because of one awful drug slipped into his orange juice.

  "I want the heroin, Maggie," he whispered. "I want it like nothing I've ever wanted before. What am I going to do? I can't think of anything else. It's like it's stalking me."

  "Nora can get you into a rehab clinic. It's not weakness to ask for help."

  He shook his head, more forcefully this time. "I'm not ready. Rehab is—it would be admitting I lost this battle. I'm just not sure I'm ready to do that."

  "But if you're sick…?"

  He shook his head. "No. I have some prescription medicine for the withdrawal symptoms. I was released from the hospital. I'm not going to drop dead or anything."

  "Thank God," she whispered. "But you're hurting, and you can't just tough it out on your own."

  He rubbed his face with his free hand. "That's pretty much the only thing I can do. This is physical." He raised his head and looked at the piano across the room, grounding himself in a familiar, comforting sight.

  His tone became clinical when he spoke again: "This is a physical reaction to the drugs leaving my nervous system. I will get through it. This sensation will end soon. I just need to hold on until the symptoms pass."

  He was obviously quoting something he'd been told before. Probably in rehab, eleven years ago.

  "That's right," she said. "It's just physical. You can do this. And you'll see Shane soon. Hold onto that idea. It will help you focus."

  He finished the one cigarette and put it out in his empty coffee mug. Then pulled out another, but she shook her head and he paused, as if suddenly realizing it was inappropriate.

  "Oh," he said. He put the pack back in his pocket. "Sorry." Then he nodded. "You're right. Shane is all that matters now. I need to tell him it's going to be okay. I can't imagine what he's going through. His mother's dead. And I couldn't even tell him how sorry I am about it, not until I knew—I knew I wasn't the one who—"

  "—I understand."

  His gaze finally met hers. She was glad to see his eyes were clear, but the haunted expression in them made her want to cry. "I'll tell Nora to get him on a plane back here." He swallowed hard. "The most important thing I need to do now is talk to him."

  "No," Maggie said, seeing a better option.

  "No?"

  "The most important thing we need to do now is get you out of here," she said firmly.

  "I don't have to come along," Maggie had said, preferring to stay in Carita and dig for clues.

  "Please," Reese had said, with that anguished look in his eyes. And so she had agreed. She would go up with him, get him settled and feeling more stable, and then she'd come back home and hunt for all the signs she was sure the arrogant Lieutenant Ibarra was walking right past.

  So late that evening they headed out. She spent the whole trip to the airport hunkered down in the back of Nora's VW Beetle, trying to calm down her father on the phone.

  "I'm sorry I didn't get your messages before," she said appeasingly. "I was a little distracted. Yes. Not responding to eleven messages when Carita was all over the news was inconsiderate of me. I'm sorry."

  The car was almost pitch dark inside, so she'd had to put her project case with all her beads back into her carry on bag. She couldn't even see the beads to work on them.

  There was a ghostly movement from Jasper's white ruff next to her, and up in the front passenger seat there was an occasional glow from Reese's cigarette.


  But other than that, there was only the evening sky outside, and the air whistling through the open windows, and the humming of the car's tires on the asphalt, and the sound of her father's frantic voice in her ear.

  She settled back in her seat. "Of course I'm fine, Dad. I'm all fine now." She let him talk on, unable to get through to him that now everything was okay. That the last two days had been a nightmare, but now she was feeling giddy with relief.

  She listened to the putter of the Beetle as Nora shifted gears. The car turned off the coast highway onto the frontage road. Soon they spotted the lights ahead from the small executive airport tucked away in the middle of an artichoke field.

  She told her father about the trip to Deep Creek.

  "Is it safe?" he asked.

  "Way better than here," she responded. "It will be so much more peaceful."

  "I mean, is it safe to be alone with him?" her dad said.

  "Oh." She took a breath, and ran her fingers through Jasper's fur. "Yes. Now that Reese has been 100% vindicated he can leave town and go heal up from what was done to him."

  There was a silence, and she waited, worried he would demand some sort of reassurance that would be hard for her to articulate with Reese in the seat just in front of her.

  But the next thing he asked shook her up: "Do you love him?"

  "Dad!" Then she thought of everything that had happened since she'd first heard Reese's desperate gasp for help. How hard it had hit her, and how convinced she'd been of his innocence when all the evidence pointed to his guilt.

  "I don't know, Dad," she finally said. "I'll have to get back to you on that."

  Chapter Twelve

  Reese headed up the steps into the plane as soon as they got there, but Maggie stayed behind on the tarmac to say goodbye to Nora.

  The Gulfstream Nora had hired to take them to Deep Creek was small, for a luxury jet. Nora explained that the little country airport they were flying into couldn't handle anything bigger than this plane.

  She said it with a wistful smile. "I wish I were going with you," she added, and Maggie suddenly remembered that Nora was from Deep Creek, too, and had discovered the teenaged Reese during a trip back to her hometown one long-ago summer.