50% off Murder Page 4

  In spite of herself, Maggie took in the sight of Sam, noting that the years since she had seen him last had hardly left a mark on him. He was as tall as she remembered, with the football-player shoulders that had left most of her high school classmates panting after him like a pack of rabid dogs. His wavy brown hair was still thick and full, with just traces of gray in it.

  He wore the sheriff’s uniform well, the starched white shirt with his badge pinned above the left pocket with a narrow dark tie over dark pants. He looked every inch the head of the sheriff’s department, and Maggie wondered how the deputies were adjusting to having a new boss.

  Sam still had the stubborn jaw and sharp blue eyes that when he was younger had given him a rough-edged masculinity beyond his years. She wondered if his tough-guy look had helped his career over the years. She imagined it had, but this wasn’t Richmond, this was St. Stanley. Memories, particularly hers, were less impressed with appearances than with substance, which if she remembered correctly he had little of.

  “Maggie.” He said her name in his familiar low drawl, and she felt it reverberate right through her chest.

  Dang it! How had she forgotten about his voice? And why hadn’t he gotten fat or bald? Why was he even better looking than she remembered? It wasn’t fair.

  “Sam,” she said. She was pleased that her voice didn’t betray the emotion she felt at seeing him again.

  “I have some questions for you, ladies,” he said.

  Claire turned her head so that only Maggie could see her. “Don’t tell,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Maggie looked at her friend, and then at Sam, and then back at Claire. Oh, she really didn’t like this. She studied Claire’s face. Behind the narrow glasses, she looked dead scared. There had to be a reason she was asking Maggie to keep her secret.

  Maggie nodded. She would keep quiet until Claire could tell her what was going on. She owed her friend that.

  Claire had been the one who’d found the best tutor in St. Stanley for Laura when she needed to bring up her math grades to get into Penn State. And Claire was the one who had helped Joanne and Michael find the best doctor to assist them in their quest for a baby. Claire was always there to help others. If there was history between her and the dead man in the basement, Maggie could wait to hear what she had to say.

  Of course, the fact that Maggie detested Sam Collins helped, because no matter how good-looking he still was, she was pretty sure she’d rather Zumba in bare feet over hot coals than talk to him.

  Claire rose slowly and extended her hand to Sam, shaking off her fainting spell like a duck flapping water off its wings.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Collins,” she said. “I’m Claire Freemont. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Preston said you fainted.”

  “I’m fine now,” she said. “Luckily, Maggie broke my fall, so no damage was done.”

  Sam looked past her to Maggie as if verifying what she said was true. Maggie gave him a curt nod but found she couldn’t maintain eye contact.

  Maggie had known Sam since they were both Josh’s age. Even as a kid, Sam had been the smartest kid in the class, the fastest runner and the quickest with a joke. Every girl in St. Stanley had worshipped Sam Collins from afar, and some from not so far. Every girl, that is, except for Maggie. Maggie couldn’t stand him.

  Mostly, it went back to their elementary school days. As Ginger had reminded her, her hair back then had been the unfortunate shade of orange found mostly on carrots, and Sam Collins had teased her mercilessly about it. Maggie had never forgiven him for that, among other things.

  “How have you been, Maggie?” he asked, forcing her to look at him.

  “Fine, thanks,” she said with a sniff, refusing to acknowledge that he affected her in any way.

  “Can you wait here while I go check out the basement?” he asked. His gaze fastened on Maggie as if he knew she was the flight risk. “Both of you.”

  “Yes,” they agreed.

  He left the room, pulling a pair of blue latex gloves out of his back pocket as he went. As his footsteps faded away, the only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.

  Claire sat back down next to Maggie and rested her elbows on her knees, then she lowered her head and blew out a breath.

  “Thanks for not saying anything,” she said.

  “No problem,” Maggie said. “You will explain it, though, won’t you?”

  “Yes, just not right now,” Claire said with a worried glance at the door. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the feeling you don’t like Sheriff Collins.”

  “What makes you say that?” Maggie asked.

  “Please, if looks could kill, there’d be more than one dead body in the library,” Claire said.

  “Huh,” Maggie grunted, opting to remain noncommittal. She glanced at the clock and realized story time would be ending shortly.

  “I have to go collect Josh,” she said. “If Sam returns before I do, tell him I’ll be right back.”

  “All right,” Claire said.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Maggie asked.

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” Claire said.

  Maggie could tell she was trying to look brave. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  Maggie hurried down the hall and back into the main part of the building. She slipped into the story-time room right as the kids were getting their hands stamped. Josh toddled over to show her the train stamp he had on the back of his hand.

  She crouched down next to Linda, who was rolling to her side in order to get to her feet. Maggie hurriedly gave her a hand.

  “Thanks,” Linda said. “I swear this baby grows a pound a minute.”

  “Thanks for minding Josh for me,” Maggie said. “I was unexpectedly delayed.”

  “No problem,” Linda said. She held her hand out to Freddy, who slipped his small hand into his mother’s. “Say, bye to your friend.”

  “Bye,” Freddy said and reached out to hug Josh.

  “Bye-bye,” Josh answered and hugged him in return.

  Maggie watched Linda and Freddy go, and said, “Let’s go say hi to Auntie Claire, Josh.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  They had to work their way across the wooden bridge again. Josh held on to Maggie so as to make sure she didn’t fall into the water. They crossed the large open space of the main library and made their way to Claire’s office in the back.

  In the few minutes Maggie had been gone, several more officers had arrived. The hallway to the basement was now crowded with people, including Sam and what looked to be several of the state’s crime lab personnel.

  Maggie scooted around them and slipped into Claire’s office. Claire was still sitting on the couch looking lost amidst the flurry of activity happening around her.

  Maggie sat beside Claire and pulled Josh up into her lap. “How’s it going?”

  “It looks like it’s going to be a long day,” Claire said.

  “Will you have to stay here for all of it?” Maggie asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m thinking we should close the library, but I don’t know how Carlton would feel about that. He doesn’t even like to close on Sundays or holidays.”

  “Well, this is a little more serious than that. I’m sure the investigators can make a recommendation if you think Carlton would need justification to close.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt,” Claire said. “They’re going to block off the hallway to the basement. Maybe that will be enough.”

  “Bill, I’m warning you!” a stern voice shouted in the hallway.

  Maggie looked at Claire and she explained, “Bill Waters from the St. Stanley Gazette is out there asking questions, and I heard Sheriff Collins threaten to toss him if he tried to get into the basement one more time.”

  “Auntie Claire sad?” Josh asked, and he reached out and patted her cheek.

  “A little,” Claire sai
d, and she pressed his plump hand to her face and gave him a small smile. “Would you like to color, Josh?”

  His eyes lit up and he hopped off of Maggie’s lap and followed Claire to her desk, where she always kept a stash of crayons and coloring paper for him. He set busily to work, completely disregarding the lines and blithely coloring every inch of the paper in black, his most favorite color.

  Claire sat back down with Maggie, and she said, “I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

  “Have they asked you any questions?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I think the sheriff has been too busy directing the crime scene investigators. He doesn’t seem particularly happy with them.”

  “Yeah, he’s so conceited he probably doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to solve a crime in St. Stanley before he became sheriff,” Maggie scoffed. “And I’m sure he’s probably afraid the state’s investigators are going to steal all of his glory.”

  Claire blanched, and Maggie felt her scalp prickle.

  “He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?” she asked.

  Claire gave a tiny nod of her head. Maggie felt her face get warm, but then she refused to feel ashamed. Her grandmother always said that eavesdroppers seldom hear anything good about themselves, so it served Sam right—or so she tried to convince herself.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Sam. His face read not happy and was doing a quick slide into really irritated.

  “That probably came out harsher than intended,” she said.

  “Really?” he asked. He didn’t look like he believed her.

  “Yes, really,” she said. She sounded impatient, and she glanced away before she made a bad situation even worse. Oh, this man just rubbed her the wrong way. She was normally such a nice person. How, after all these years, did Sam Collins still manage to bring out the absolute worst in her?

  “I find that hard to imagine,” he said. “Don’t hold back, Maggie. Why don’t you clear the air and say what you really feel?”

  Chapter 7

  “Did you have questions for us?” Maggie countered. She was not about to be intimidated by Sam. “Because my nephew is rapidly approaching his nap time, and it won’t go well for anyone if he misses it.”

  Sam glanced at Josh, happily drawing at the desk. “He looks fine to me.”

  Maggie narrowed her gaze at him. Oh, she’d give almost anything for Josh to pitch a fit right now, if for no other reason than to prove her right. But of course, he didn’t, making Sam think he was right. How very annoying.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

  “In fact, I do need to ask you ladies some questions,” Sam said, ignoring her dire tone.

  “Certainly,” Claire said.

  He asked them each to recount the details of finding the body in the basement. They took turns. Claire went first and described what happened up until she fainted, then Maggie finished the tale. Sam said nothing but made notes on a small pad that he took out of his shirt pocket.

  “Do either of you know the identity of the man in the basement?”

  “No,” Maggie said. She looked at Claire, whose face had gone white.

  “Actually, yes, I know him,” Claire said.

  It sounded as if every word was being dragged out of her by force. Sam’s gaze sharpened on her face.

  “Who is he?” he asked.

  “His name is John Templeton,” Claire said. “I knew him when I lived in Baltimore.”

  “How well did you know him?” Sam asked.

  “He was an acquaintance,” she said.

  Sam looked at Maggie. He gave her a look that told her he hadn’t missed the lack of surprise on her face. She stared back. She had only found out that Claire knew the man a few minutes before he did; surely, he couldn’t blame her for that.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He frowned at her, then he turned to Claire, and said, “Ms. Freemont, I’m going to need you to come down to the station.”

  “She’d be happy to,” Maggie said before Claire could respond. “We’ll just call her attorney and meet you there, shall we?”

  Claire reared back and stared at Maggie in surprise. Sam glowered and looked like he wanted to slap handcuffs on Maggie just for kicks and giggles, but she didn’t care. She’d watched enough episodes of Law & Order to know that you never let the police question you without an attorney present, whether you’d done anything wrong or not.

  “Fine,” Sam snapped. “Have your attorney meet us there in fifteen minutes. Ms. Freemont, however, will ride to the station with me.”

  As he stomped away, Claire said, “I don’t have an at-torney.”

  “You will,” Maggie said. “Ready, buddy?”

  She hustled over to the desk and gathered up Josh, who wrapped his arms about her neck with a whoop of delight.

  “I have to get Josh back to his mother, but I’ll meet you at the station with representation. Do not say a word without an attorney present. Clear?”

  “But doesn’t that make me look guilty of something?” Claire asked.

  “No, it makes you look smart,” Maggie said. “Remember, not one word.”

  “But where are you going to find an attorney?” Claire asked.

  “The Frosty Freeze,” Maggie said. “Where else?”

  Chapter 8

  Maggie pedaled as fast as possible. She was relieved to see Sandy’s car in the driveway, and she hustled Josh into the house as fast as she could.

  “I have to go,” she said as soon as she handed Josh to his mother. “Claire. Jail. Attorney. Back later.”

  “What?” Sandy asked. She had her school books open on the kitchen table. and she hugged her son close while she stared at Maggie with her head to one side like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle.

  Maggie was out of breath from the bike ride, however, and couldn’t explain any more than that. She tossed her helmet aside and grabbed her keys. She hustled out to her Volvo station wagon and started it up.

  The Frosty Freeze sat on the edge of the center of town, just off of the town square on a small side street. When the local veteran’s organization put on their summer band concerts in the gazebo on the square, the Frosty Freeze did a bang-up business. Maggie was pretty sure it was the profits from the concert series that kept it afloat for the rest of the year.

  The Freeze, as it was called, was a vintage building from the fifties, which boasted the classic long front windows and squared-off edges popular at the time. Maggie remembered what a special treat it had been when she was a kid to go and get a cone at the Freeze. She had always ordered a soft vanilla ice cream dipped in cherry coating, a candy-like liquid that hardened around the cold ice cream, while her older sister had gotten soft chocolate dipped in chocolate. To this day the taste of candied cherry on vanilla reminded her of summer.

  Now that it was late August and the hot summer was departing like a going-out-of-business sale, the Freeze wasn’t as busy as usual, so she only had to wait for the man ahead of her to get his double-dip cone and get out of her way.

  “Welcome to the Freeze, what can I get you?”

  Maggie hunkered down to peer through the small window used for placing orders. Most of the large windows on the front of the building were taken up by huge faded posters of ice cream sundaes, cones and milk shakes. In order to be seen, she had to practically stick her head inside.

  “I need an attorney, Max.”

  The young man, who hadn’t been looking out the window, raised his head up so fast that he smacked it on the glass partition.

  “Ouch! Maggie!” he said, rubbing the spot on his head that had connected with the glass. “Way to scare a guy.”

  “Sorry, but this is an emergency,” she said. “I need a lawyer who specializes in criminal law.”

  “Did you try the phone book?” he asked. “How about a Martindale-Hubbell directory? I hear they put out a fine list of attorneys.”

  “Maxwell Button,” Maggie said in her most threaten
ing, scary-mom voice. “Don’t you get smart with me.”

  “Aw, Maggie, you know I don’t practice law for real,” he said. “I only sat for the bar exam because it was something to do that summer.”

  “Well, you didn’t spend those years studying at the T. C. Williams School of Law for nothing. The time to use that degree is now,” she said. “This is an emergency. Now come on.”

  “I can’t just close up the Frosty Freeze,” he said. “Hugh will kill me.”

  “Claire is in trouble. Big trouble.”

  Max blew out a breath. “I’ll get fired.”

  “Good,” she said. “You’re wasting your potential in there. Now lock up and let’s go.”

  To the grating soundtrack of a lot of male muttering, which Maggie pretended not to hear, the window slammed shut and the open sign was flipped to closed.

  In a few minutes, Max came around the building and Maggie took in the sight of the knock-kneed, greasy-haired, pimple-ridden, twenty-year-old boy genius who had tutored Laura to outstanding grades in math, all while studying for the Virginia State bar exam in his spare time.

  “So, how is Claire in trouble?” he asked. His voice cracked when he said her name, letting Maggie know he still had a powerful crush on the librarian.

  She led the way to her car and said, “A man was found murdered in the basement of the library.”

  Max’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

  “It gets worse,” Maggie said as they climbed into her Volvo station wagon. “Claire used to date him when she lived in Baltimore.”

  Max let out a low whistle. “That’s bad.”

  “Get your game face on,” Maggie said. “She needs you.”

  Max ran a hand through his long hair as if trying to give it some sort of order. Maggie would have told him not to bother, that it was his mind that they needed, but she knew he was trying to get himself into lawyer mode.

  Maxwell Button was a wunderkind. In addition to his law degree, he also had an advanced degree in physics and was currently studying for his doctorate in art history. If it was true that human beings only used 10 percent of their brains, Maggie was pretty sure that Max was the exception to the rule and was operating at 80 percent capacity at least.