CHAPTER SIX

ONE STEP FORWARD, TWO STEPS BACK

The aroma from the bucket of fried chicken filled Maggie’s car, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since morning. She’d picked it up at a drive-thru and sat it on the passenger’s seat with a side of slaw, some potato salad and a buttered biscuit. Her stomach growled. Maybe a real meal would ease the hunger pains that gnawed away at her gut, keeping uneasy company with the mystery of her unsolved murder. One out of two. She would fill her stomach tonight and let the murder at The Mosaic Gallery take a back seat until tomorrow.

The glare of the setting sun reflected its blinding light across her dusty windshield as she headed west toward home. She reached over and turned on her windshield wipers, squirting water across the glass as the blades did their best to scrape away the dirty film. Beads of water splashed into the open driver’s side window and slapped against the side of her face. She ran her hand across her wet cheek, turned off the wipers, rolled up the window and jacked up the air conditioning.

The melody and lyrics of Caliente de Muerte played over and over in her head. The warmth of death fought its battle against the Tucson heat and the hum of the air conditioner.

Maggie pulled into her driveway, turned off the ignition, grabbed the bag full of chicken and headed for the front door. As she shoved her house key into the lock she noticed a note tacked onto the door with a purple push pin.

Written across the bright yellow envelope, perfectly centered in a familiar script, was her name. She’d know Marty’s handwriting anywhere. Small, precise and scratchy. Damn near obsessive/compulsive in its neatness, as straight as if it had been written on perfectly lined paper. She pushed her way through the door and walked to the kitchen, Prowler fast on her heels, meowing in unison to the beat of her footfalls.

“You could at least welcome me home,” she said. “It would be nice to know I’m wanted for more than just filling your gut.” She reached into the bag and removed a chicken breast. She pulled off a chunk, tore it into bite sized pieces and threw it into Prowler’s dish. He started attacking it before the dish hit the floor.

“Where are your manners? Were you born in a barn?” Then she smiled to herself. Prowler had indeed been born in a barn. She’d picked him out of an abandoned litter at a crime scene, the only kitten who still had a spark of life in him. She had patiently hand fed him with an eye dropper, slowly nursing him back to health. You’d think he would show some gratitude, she thought, but what can one expect from a cat? “You’re lack of breeding is showing,” she said as he gulped down the last of the chicken.

Maggie walked back across the living room to the front door, opened it and pulled the envelope from where it was pinned. On the corner of the envelope was a floral sticker. What’s with Marty and his damn little pink flowers? Slamming the door behind her, she sat the envelope on the side table and returned to the kitchen. Prowler was on the counter, half way inside the bag of chicken. She pulled him out and he growled in protest as she wrestled away the thigh that he held tightly between his sharp teeth.

“This is my dinner, you little brat,” she laughed, throwing the piece of chicken back into the bag. “First things first,” she said to herself as she opened a can of cat food for him. He looked at the sloppy tuna in his dish and up to the counter, disappointment registering in his stubborn green eyes.

Maggie placed her food in the oven, out of his reach, then changed into the comfort of her ratty bathrobe before returning to the kitchen. She dished out a heaping plateful, flipped on the television, and settled into her chair.

“Bad boys, bad boys,” droned the television with the theme song of COPS. “Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?”

“You’re gonna cower and cry for your mother,” Maggie said to the set.

She worked her way through the cole slaw, potato salad, and chicken, tossing pieces onto the floor to appease Prowler while she ate. She’d forgotten how good a full stomach felt, but there was still a corner of her gut that churned restlessly as she thought of the handsome corpse that lay on the gallery floor. And something else was stirring too. Something she preferred not to acknowledge. She pushed it from her mind, returned to the kitchen and emptied the bones into the trash can under the sink, out of her cat’s reach.

Maggie poured herself an Irish, threw in a few ice cubes, and settled back into her chair. She reached over to the side table, pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit it, inhaled and sighed. She put her feet up on the ottoman and settled back. The yellow envelope sat by the pack of cigarettes silently demanding her attention. Might as well get it over with she thought, reaching over and lifting it from the table. She tore it open. It was one of those mushy greeting cards with a muted photo on the front of a couple walking along the beach at sunset. All in shades of gray and ochre and brown. Give me a break, she thought. As if it couldn’t get worse, inside was a silly verse about love and missing you and somehow the hack poet had managed to make the thoughts rhyme. Love and above. Romance and dance. Miss you and kiss you. It was almost as pathetic and irritating as that little bouquet of flowers he’d left at her doorstep.

How in the world had she ever hooked up with him? But she remembered exactly how. How easy it had been for two mismatched souls to think they were right for each other in the midst of passion. It had worked just fine. For a while. The memories of their lovemaking made her uncomfortable, not because it wasn’t good, but because it was. It had been close to magical. But everything else in their relationship was off-kilter. Oil and water. Square pegs and round holes all the way.

But even so, she found herself yearning for the comfort of a body next to hers.

The sound of the telephone ringing snapped her back from her reverie.

“What?” she said into the receiver.

It was Marty, his voice soft and seductive.

Maggie felt the same fluttering below her waist that had been bothering her intermittently ever since she had left the gallery. It had been fairly easy to push it aside until now. The sound of Marty’s voice brought it all to the surface despite her efforts to ignore it. She cursed those sneaky hormones, knowing they’d get the best of her. They were nothing but nature’s little dirty trick to keep the world populated. Well, a good supply of birth control pills had outsmarted nature on that one!

“I’ve missed you so much,” he was saying. “If we could just talk, maybe we could work this out.”

She didn’t say much as she listened. She was too busy trying to fight the temptation with his blonde hair and irresistible blue eyes and perfectly toned body. And memories of him lying naked next to her.

“Maggie, are you still there?”

“I’m still here, Marty.”

Pause.

“Marty? Come on over and we’ll talk.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Give me an hour, okay?”

“If I have to,” he said, his voice reflecting his unwarranted optimism.

“And Marty....”

”Yes?”

“It’s only to talk. You got it?”

But they both knew better.

* * * *

Maggie cleaned the cat’s box in the bathroom, poured in fresh litter and kicked it below the pedestal sink. She carried the bag of stinky, urine soaked sand outside to the trash bin and tossed it in. The sun had lowered itself beyond the far side of the mountains. Bats were flitting erratically in the semi-darkness above her head in their nightly search for insects.

Despite not being frightened by them, she couldn’t help but duck with their every passing swoop. It was instinct. Nothing more. She ran back into the house and took a quick shower, then slipped into something that didn’t say ‘I have to have you’ but would be easy enough to slip off if her hormones out-witted her common sense. If instinct overcame reason. She still hadn’t come to terms with her true motive in inviting Marty over. Why she was caving in after she’d made it clear to him, as well herself, that their relationship was over. It was only to talk, she told herself as she sprayed his favorite perfume between her breasts.

* * * *

Maggie and Marty didn’t talk very long before they were headed to the bedroom, tearing off each other’s clothes in a frenzy. She climbed on top of him and came in record time, then had to pretend she was still in the moment while he caught up with her. She was already having regrets. Why, while they were in the throes of passion, was she fantasizing about another man? A man with a scruffy beard and arms covered in tattoos. In the looks department there was no comparison, but Rocco La Crosse kept wedging himself into her thoughts nonetheless.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling while her perspiration soaked into the sheets beneath her. She didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit. She didn’t like having Marty back in her bed nor did she like having thoughts about someone she could never get involved with. At least she still had that much sense about her.

Marty was settled in next to her, lying on his side, already half asleep. She nudged him.

“Huh?”

“You have to go now.”

“But I thought we....”

”It’s getting late and I’m tired.” Already he was starting to suck up all her oxygen and she was finding it difficult to breathe. Why did he always make her feel like that? Like he’d chained her inside a tiny cage and wouldn’t let her escape. As if he’d never be content unless he totally possessed her.

“Marty,” she began, then stopped mid-sentence. She never should have asked him over. She was stirring up the same mess that she’d put behind her. And for what? A few moments of pleasure and release? She’d have been way ahead of the game if she’d just settled for an alternate, and far safer, method. No strings attached.

“You really need to go now.”

Reluctantly, he got out of bed, dressed and left.

* * * *

About three in the morning, Maggie awoke with a start to a rustling sound coming from the kitchen. Cautiously, she slid out of bed and reached for the revolver on the night stand. She slipped silently into her robe in the darkened room and tiptoed towards the kitchen. As she entered the room she flipped on the light and cocked her gun, aiming it in the direction of the sounds.

“Darn you,” she said, uncocking the gun and setting it on the kitchen table. Prowler looked at her from where he sat by the open cabinet door beneath the sink. He was scrunching chicken bones with a look of smug defiance. “Don’t you know those things can kill you?”

Maggie stooped down and shoved the scattered bones back into the trash bag as Prowler fought her for one more piece. And failed. She should have taken them out when she went out earlier.

But her mind had definitely been elsewhere.

She pulled a tiny piece of remaining meat off a leg bone and tossed it across the floor. Prowler attacked it as if it were a mouse and gobbled it down with a growl. Maggie slipped out the back door, trash bag in hand and threw it into the trash bin. Slamming down the lid she looked up and was awed at the sight. A million stars splashed across the night sky like scattered diamonds shimmering against a black velvet backdrop. It was beautiful, she had to admit.

But her practicality won out. She’d have preferred seeing clouds. No such luck. There wasn’t a hint of monsoon rains in the sky. And that meant another hot day with no relief in sight.

She turned to head back into the house when a sound from the alleyway caught her attention. It sounded like it was coming from just beyond her back fence. Like footsteps. But who would be out walking in the middle of the night? Unless they were up to no good. She wished she’d brought her flashlight out with her. As well as her gun. She walked across the rocky yard toward the fence, dodging the random cactus that lurked along the pathway. When she got to the fence she stopped and listened, holding her breath.

All was silent.

Slowly, she raised herself on her tiptoes and peered over the wall.

There was nothing there.

Nothing but the darkness below and the stars overhead.

Maggie Reardon kicked herself for being so jumpy and headed back to the house. It was probably nothing but some horny old stray looking for a little action. There seemed to be a lot of that going around tonight. Maybe it had something to do with the position of the stars or the stifling heat. Well, whatever the cause it was contagious and running rampant. She smiled, hoping the old guy would find what he was looking for.

She still had time for a few more hours sleep.