A Salacious Scandal and Steak Sizzlers: A Maggie May and Miss Fancypants Mystery, #8

By Aleksa Baxter

Just when Maggie May Carver thinks her life is finally going to settle into happy newlywed bliss, a very scary man finds her and asks for her help in solving a thirty-six-year-old murder.

 

While a smart person would say no, Maggie feels compelled to at least give it a chance.

 

And good thing, too, because she's going to need the distraction given the other things that are disrupting her bliss…

 

Join Maggie, Fancy, Matt, and crew as they dive into yet another situation that they should have left alone but that's ultimately better for their involvement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aleksa Baxter
• Release date: Dec 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201777500

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I was snuggled up on the couch, my laptop balanced on my lap, clicking away, when Fancy, my four-year-old Newfoundland, came up to me, her rainbow-colored stuffed unicorn in her mouth, amber eyes sad and pleading.

I knew what that meant. The only time she grabbed one of her toys and brought it to me was when she wanted to go outside. Easy enough for her. She was a-hundred-and-thirty-five pounds of well-insulated black fur who could prance around in three feet of snow without batting an eye.

I, on the other hand…

Even with my more-than-normal padding (because it seems I eat my feelings during stressful events that impact the entire world for months on end), I needed about a dozen layers before I’d even dream of stepping out that front door. Colorado winters are no joke.

Fancy. I’m working. I nodded at the computer, but she wasn’t fooled. She can tell the difference between when I’m actually working and when I’ve gone down a Twitter/Facebook/email death spiral of doom that never ends.

She continued to stare at me with those big amber eyes of hers, adorable toy dangling from her mouth.

Fancy…It’s cold outside, I pleaded.

She settled in at my feet, never taking her eyes off my face, a small sigh of disappointment huffing out of her mouth as she continued to stare me down.

I glanced at her and then towards the door and then at my computer where I’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying to figure out what someone’s weird Twitter apology about not knowing they were supporting someone harmful was actually referring to.

One of my favorite pastimes on Twitter is Guess the Subtweet. Made especially difficult when there’s more than one scandal going on at once, or when the keywords behind the scandal lead to other, more dubious tweets.

(Some of the things I’ve seen on there when searching for the wrong words…My eyes are scarred for life.)

Fancy didn’t care about any of that, she just wanted to go outside. She continued to stare me down as I frantically tried to find that one, last tweet that would clue me in.

I was so close.

But what mattered more? My adorable dog, or knowing what random person out there in the universe was considered bad this week?

Fine, I said as I dumped my computer on the end table. You’re right. I’m sorry. You are far more important than figuring out who said what about something I really don’t even care about just because some random person I don’t know on the internet definitely does care about it but apparently not enough to actually just come right out and name names. Okay, let’s go for a walk.

She jumped to her feet and ran down the hall to my room, waiting for me to catch up because she knew there was a whole process that needed to happen next.

See, it’s easy for a Newfoundland to get ready for a walk, even in winter. All Fancy had to do was grab her favorite toy and wait by the door for me to put her collar on.

But me? In the mountains of Colorado? In November? After three inches of snow had fallen the night before? It was a process.

First came the long underwear and the sweat pants. Next came the sweatshirt that went over my t-shirt. Then the incredibly warm Peruvian scarf. Then the winter coat. Then the baseball cap and the ear warmer headband. And don’t forget the gloves. Good gloves when walking a dog in the winter are key. None of those flimsy knitted things that pretend to be gloves but let your fingers turn to ice after five minutes.

Not to mention good socks. And winter boots.

Plus I needed to gather up the usual supplies which were always required when walking Fancy, like a phone to call for help if she decided she wasn’t going to go home. (That had only happened once or twice, but it’s good to be prepared, especially when the alternative is to wait in freezing temperatures until she’s sufficiently enjoyed herself.)

And, of course, the most important part of it all: the treats. The only way I ever manage to get Fancy to do anything I ask her to do is with treats. Because for Fancy treats trump everything. For a treat the size of a dime she’ll ignore another dog, a rabbit, a deer, and probably a nuclear holocaust, although I have sincere hopes I’ll never have to test that.

More importantly, a treat is just enough distraction to get her turned around and headed towards home instead of continuing in whatever direction we’re going.

Because if Fancy had her druthers she’d probably keep walking until she collapsed in the middle of the road. At which point she’d take a nap for a few hours and then get up and keep walking.

So treats were a definite must if I ever wanted to see my home again.

Which I did. Because it was cold outside. And cold is not something I enjoy. Which meant that my living in the Colorado mountains didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But it was where my grandpa was. And my pregnant best friend. And the man I’d inadvertently fallen in love with and married.

I was stuck. In a good way. Don’t get me wrong. I was happy. Very, very happy. Life was good.

And I loved Fancy. (Still do.) Loved her to death. I just wished I could love her from inside a nice warm house.

But since that wasn’t possible I’d bundle up and go out in the snow for her, because she was my world.

(Yes, even more than my new husband, Matt. Although please don’t tell him that because he’s pretty special, too, and I already worry that he’ll wake up one day and realize what an incredible fool he was to marry me at which point he will run away and settle down with someone who is actually nice. And sane.)

Anyway. It took a bit to get out the door, but then Fancy, her rainbow unicorn, and I were on our way, me wrapped in approximately eight zillion layers of clothing that still weren’t going to be enough to keep me warm, Fancy in her collar and nothing else.

Off to explore the vast reaches of Creek—a town where the trees outnumbered the people by about a hundred to one.

CHAPTER TWO

Honestly, it wasn’t that bad once I wrapped the scarf around my face so that only my eyes were showing.

I mean, really, there isn’t much in the world that is more breathtaking than the Colorado mountains in winter. The way they reach towards a clear blue sky that’s dusted with that perfect amount of fluffy white clouds. And the air (when it isn’t freezing your nose hairs, hence the scarf) is so clear and crisp and clean. You can’t get that in some big city. (I know. I’ve tried.)

The mountains are special.

And I had Fancy to thank for letting me experience it. Without her I would have been curled up inside with my computer or a book until spring finally arrived. So not only had she brought me unconditional love, but she’d also brought me sunrises and nature. How cool was that?

We made it a whole four blocks before she finally dropped the unicorn toy in favor of sniffing a bright yellow patch of snow.

At least I managed to rescue it before she stepped forward and peed right where she’d dropped it. I’d learned to move fast over the years. Not her fault really. She just gets distracted by an interesting scent and completely forgets that her toy exists and then goes to pee on the interesting scent without thinking about the fact that she dropped the toy where the scent was in order to better smell it.

And, of course, I enable her by swooping in to grab her toy before she actually pees on it so she never learns her lesson, which, I mean really, she’s a dog. That sort of thing doesn’t work well with them anyway.

So.

I had just swooped in and grabbed her toy before she could pee on it when I realized we weren’t alone.

There was a very shaggy, large, scary man standing about four feet away from us.

Hello, he said in a deep voice.

Hello, I replied with false cheer as I casually looked around to see if there was anyone around, anywhere at all. (There was not.)

I tried not to flinch as he took a step closer, holding out a hand for Fancy to sniff, and I recognized him.

Creek is a small town. Even if you don’t know someone, you know them. And the man who I was suddenly very alone with, Owen Browers, was someone my grandma and grandpa had told me to avoid from the time I could first leave the house on my own.

Even before that, really. Because I’d never seen my grandpa talk to the man and you have to understand that my grandpa is an ex-con, so he’s not exactly the look-down-on-others type. He’s seen rough times and is far more likely to put a hand out to lift someone up than to push them down. So the fact that he avoided this man meant something.

I hadn’t actually grown up in Creek so I didn’t know precisely what he’d done, I just knew he was the embodiment of Stranger Danger and I was suddenly all alone with him.

Fancy, being Fancy, had proceeded from sniffing his hand to licking his beard, which meant there went my I have a big scary dog you better back off plan.

He stood back up and stared at me a little longer than was polite. You’re Maggie May Carver.

I am.

My instincts were saying run away screaming but my polite upbringing was saying that would be an awfully rude thing to do especially when I didn’t even know what he’d done. Maybe he wasn’t a killer. Or a rapist. Maybe he was just some weird man with bad social skills who rubbed people the wrong way.

And maybe there was nothing to the fact that he’d randomly chanced upon me when I was all alone. He could be perfectly harmless.

Yeah, right. That was it.

(I was so dead.)

He took another step closer and I could smell a slight whiff of mustiness like he’d put on clothes that had never quite dried out. Eau de backpacker. I need your help, he said.

It took everything I had not to step back. "Mine? What for? What can I do to help you?"

I mean, I was a former barkery owner and future pet resort owner. Not exactly help someone professions. And I was pretty sure he didn’t need my consulting skills. He didn’t look like the type who needed a hundred-page written report with fifty bullet-pointed items for improvement ranked from essential to nice-to-have.

He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. I want you to investigate the murder of Mary Diever.

Oh, that made more sense. I had sort of solved a handful of murders and found a kid’s missing mom. And it had been written up in the local paper so it made sense that he’d know about it. Which meant maybe I was going to survive until dinner. How nice.

Mary Diever? Who is that? I tried to think if I’d heard of any murders recently, but drew a blank.

Mary Diever is the woman everyone thinks I killed thirty-six years ago.

Oh.

Well, that explained why everyone stayed away from him.

So you didn’t kill her? I asked.

He stared at me for a long moment, but this time it wasn’t the stare of a man with bad social skills. No, it was the stare of a man wondering just how stupid I was. No. I didn’t kill her.

But then…I mean, thirty-six years. Why now? (And why stop me in the freezing cold of November to ask about it. I mean, seriously. My toes were turning into little rocks.) And why me? Why not just ask the cops to take another look?

He shoved his hands into his pockets. You know what, forget it. I thought you’d be different, not having grown up here. But, just… He shook his head and started to turn away.

I knew I was going to regret it, but I’m a sucker for people in need. Even big scary men who could snap me in two with half a thought and who I’ve been warned are dangerous. (I tell ya, I would’ve so fallen for Ted Bundy’s help me with these groceries bit.)

Wait, I said. "Do you want to come back to the house and tell me what’s going on? I have coffee. Or