CODE WORD: COWGIRL

CODE WORD: COWGIRL<= /b>

A Maggie O’Shea Mystery

by

© David W. Christner 2000

CHAPTER I

SIMMER IN THE CITY

        &= nbsp;         Maggie O'Shea looked at the phone, but didn't answer it. No need to. It wasn't ringing. That was beside the point, however= . If it was ringing, which it wasn't, and hadn't for a long time, she wouldn't have answered it either. She had more important things on her mind. Scotch for one thing. The heat for another. Not that either of them was all th= at important; they weren't. But = their presence was pervasive, and you couldn't help but have them on your mind. Take the heat.

        &= nbsp;         In mid-July Newport wasn't supposed to be hot, and it probably wasn't. But then this wasn't Newport; this was Boston, the heart of the city, and it was hot, hot and sticky. Great for barbecue, but lousy for a summer in the city. Hot and s= ticky; either one, by itself, was manageable.&nbs= p; But in conjunction, forget it.

        &= nbsp;         From her office on the 14th floor of what was supposed to be a state-of-the-art commercial building in the so called "Hub-of-the-Universe," she h= ad a view of Filene's downtown to her left and Chinatown to her right, both sweltering in the heat below while she sweltered in the heat above. Around Christmas and New Years the= air conditioning worked fine. Seventy-two degree Fahrenheit was no problem, noooo problem. Bu= t in July with the Super in Maine<= /st1:place>, probably wishing he'd packed an extra sweater, and a bank of computers regulating what was advertised as an "ideal environment," the tem= perature inside exceeded that outside by an easy 15 degrees. And without the means to open or c= lose a window--another technological innovation--there was not even a chance of catching an ocean breeze, however potent, coming off the country's most pol= luted harbor.   In certain Boston circles th= e harbor was referred to as the "Rub-of-the-Hub." Boston harbor was a political as well as an environmental liability for many a Massachusetts liberal. And rumor had it tha= t the Republican National Committee had in mind to rename it the, "Willie Horton National Memorial Harbor." Maggie didn't care one way or the = other, not today. =

        &= nbsp;         What she had on her mind instead, other than the heat, was the bottle of scotch = on her desk; what she had on her body was a half-slip and a French bra, the la= tter being more fractional than functional, both gifts from her mother in Newpor= t, who was concerned that her daughter, although twice engaged, had so far bee= n, as far as Maggie was concerned, spared the altar and the somewhat dubious benefits of marital bliss. The chambray skirt and print cotton blouse she had started the day with lay in a heap at the foot of her desk along with her pumps and an attache case full = of old business, professional as well as personal. If she had known where to draw the= line between the two she might--no, probably would--have been twice divorced instead of= twice engaged. Luck of the Irish she decided.
        &= nbsp;         Although she hadn't yet been married, she was sure that she enjoyed engagements a lot more than she would have enjoyed marriage.= Marriage was a fine and functional social and religious institution,= but as a practical way of life, it had its drawbacks. Love and marriage, as far as Maggi= e was concerned, did not go together like a horse and carriage. Not that she wasn't in love with h= er prospective grooms, at the time; she was, at least insofar as she could determine just what being "in love" entailed. Of course she was well aware of the "physical" requirements. <= /span>Her fiancees had been willing to go to almost any lengths to accommodate her smallest whims, which was very pleasant.&n= bsp; However, she found that many married men with whom she came in conta= ct were more than willing to do the same thing for her, while they were quite unwilling to satisfy the whims of their own wives. The subtle meaning of this message= was not lost on Maggie, who, in spite of her boundless good nature, had develop= ed a healthy skepticism for the motives and sincerity of the opposite sex. And it was just that incertitude t= hat frequently troubled her. Whic= h is why her mind was on the scotch, when it wasn't on the heat.

        &= nbsp;         There were about three fingers of Dewars left in the bottle on her desk. There was little doubt that she was going to drink it; what remained to be settled was whether to add ice or not. Adding ice would necessi= tate a move to the portable refrigerator located over the bubbler against the far wall. Bottled water from a spring-fed lake in upper Main= e came with the territory; Moose droppings were extra. However, using spring-fed lake wat= er from the state of Maine would further necessitate opening the refrigerator door, removing a tray of ice, cracking the tray open and depositing the contents in a glass. Tall orders on a hot day. Deciding not to let the scotch age= another second, she emptied the bottle into her coffee cup, inhaled the fragrant va= pors and sipped it slowly and swallowed, letting the warm liquid tingle inside h= er mouth, on her tongue and all the way down her throat. She didn't miss the ice, much. Just as she started to take a seco= nd sip the door swung open and the phone rang simultaneously.

        &= nbsp;         "Christ!<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I thought I locked it!" She r= eached for her skirt and blouse and in the process spilled the scotch. "Dammit! Right on my blouse." The phone rang a second time.

        &= nbsp;         "Hi, Maggie. Well, don't you look--comfortable."

        &= nbsp;         "Michaela= !"

        &= nbsp;         "Bad day?" The phone rang again. "Want me to get that?"

        &= nbsp;         "No, the machine will get it; it 's probably Mother anyway." Maggie took a deep breath and drop= ped the blouse. No need to dress = for her twin sister. There was re= ally nothing to hide. <= /span>

        &= nbsp;         "You have reached Maggie O'Shea, Inc. Attorney-at-Large, Private Investigator and New Age Designer. After the tone state your business, leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you. Thanks."

        &= nbsp;         "Maggie, this is your mother, and I know you're there. Pick up the phone." Maggie smiled at Michaela and shoo= k her head. "It's about your s= ister; I think she's in some kind of trouble." Michaela's eyes widened, but she shrugged and forced a smile. = Her sister and her mother were trouble all right. Double trouble. Maggie gave Michaela a questioning= glance and grabbed the phone. <= /o:p>

        &= nbsp;         "Hello, Mom."

        &= nbsp;         "I knew you were there; I just knew it. Why didn't you answer? You should be ashamed of yourself, putting your mother off like that. "

        &= nbsp;         "I did answer," Maggie said.= "You can't just pick up the p= hone in this business, Mom."

        &= nbsp;         "Which business are you talking about? You've got so many dif= ferent things going that I hardly know what to tell people about you."

        &= nbsp;         "And you can't be too careful in any one of them, either, let me tell you," Maggie said impatiently.

        &= nbsp;         "Well, you just did tell me, and I appreciate it.= But that doesn't mean I didn't detect a note of sarcasm in your response. Well . . ."

        &= nbsp;         "Well?&qu= ot;

        &= nbsp;         "Yes, well. I'm not particularly, if that's what you're asking, which I'm sure it isn't. How are you?"

        &= nbsp;         "Well,&qu= ot; Maggie said. She didn't mean = to be cruel, especially to her own mother, the woman who had carried her for nine= and a half months in her womb, rai= sed her, nurtured her, loved her, and who was forever concerned about her welfare. Too concerned!

        &= nbsp;         "Well, I'm glad to hear it. You know= how I worry about you up there all alone in that awful city."

        &= nbsp;         "Mother, please. There are worse place= s in the world than Boston" Michaela started to laugh quietly as she sat down across from Maggie. "Why did you call?"

        &= nbsp;         "Darling, I called because I love you. I called because you are my first born child, a child I carried for nine and a half--

        &= nbsp;         "Aside from that Mother. Why did you call?"

        &= nbsp;         "Do you remember Nick Adams?"

        &= nbsp;         "Mother!&= quot;

        &= nbsp;         "Don't worry. I'm through trying to interest you in a man. I only brought him up because he's--dead; I thought you'd want to know. They found him floating face-down = under the Newport Bridge. Suicide." Maggie clutched the phone to her b= reasts and shook off a sudden chill. This just wasn't possible. "A= re you still there? Maggie?"

        &= nbsp;         "Yes, still here," Maggie managed to say.&n= bsp; She looked at her sister.

"Nick's--dead?" Michaela nodded then looked away.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Nick was an old and once a very cl= ose friend. Her first real high s= chool boy friend. After leaving high school they had stayed in touch for years, dated off and on through college, and remained lovers until Nick married a strikingly beautiful Amerasian whi= le serving as Operations Officer on a destroyer in Yokosuka, Japan. He had returned to Newport a year or so earlier with his bride for duty at the = Naval War College, and as far as she could t= ell, and had heard, he couldn't have been happier. Funny thing about other people's happiness; you can't really tell much about it from the outside. And if you're not even sure of you= r own, how the hell can you judge somebody else's? "Are you sure, Mother?"<= o:p>

        &= nbsp;         "About what?"

        &= nbsp;         "All of it--any of it, I don't know."

        &= nbsp;         "I know what I've heard. And wha= t I've heard is that Nick went off the bridge sometime early this morning. Why? Who knows? But he's dead; that's a fact. And it certainly looks like suicide. It's just awful, and with a young wife, a stranger to this country."

        &= nbsp;         "Where is she?"

        &= nbsp;         "At their--her--home now. But the= Navy has made her pretty inaccessible, I understand--security reasons; Nick was involved in something very sensitive at the War College."

        &= nbsp;         Maggie fought back her tears and said, "What does Michaela have to do with an= y of this?"

        &= nbsp;         "Michaela= ? Nothing that I know of."

        &= nbsp;         "But you said she was in some kind of trouble?"

        &= nbsp;         "Not this kind! Michaela's just in her usual mess = of men and magistrates. That weasel = of a second husband of hers is trying to get out of paying alimony. I want you to get something on him." =

        &= nbsp;         "Mother, Michaela can take care of herself."&n= bsp;

        &= nbsp;         "You know, that's just what you told me about Nick when you turned down his prop= osal not so many years ago." =

        &= nbsp;         "Mom, give me a break! I feel awful= about Nick, but my turning down a proposal of marriage years ago has nothing to do with what happened to him last night. And Nick did take care = of himself."

        &= nbsp;         "What an awful thing to say!"

        &= nbsp;         "I didn't mean it like that. I mean--before; he had a good life. I--

all right. I'll talk with Michael= a; she's sitting right in front of me this very second. If she needs me, she knows I'll help."

        &= nbsp;         "Michaela= 's there now, in your office?"

        &= nbsp;         Maggie handed her sister the phone. "In the flesh, Mom. And I really can take care of myself."&nb= sp;

        &= nbsp;         "God, you sound just like your sister; I'm not sure who I'm talking to anymore.&q= uot;

        &= nbsp;         "It doesn't matter anyway; you tell us both the same thing," Michaela said, handing the phone back to Maggie.

        &= nbsp;         "Well, I never thought I'd hear that kind of talk coming from you, my second born child--"

        &= nbsp;         "First born, Mom, it's Maggie again. And I really do appreciate it. And = if you want, you can carry my children."

        &= nbsp;         "God, you're both so ungrateful!"

        &= nbsp;         "Mom, listen, find out what you can about Nick.&= nbsp; I'll come home with Michaela to--pay my respects. I just can't accept the fact that = Nick would kill himself."

        &= nbsp;         "Don't you come down here snooping around young lady; that's the last thing we need."

        &= nbsp;         "Mom, a close friend of mine is dead. I want to know why."

        &= nbsp;         "I never should have told you."

        &= nbsp;         "Then why did you call?"

        &= nbsp;         "Because I thought you should know."

        &= nbsp;         "Thanks.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Now I'm going to get dressed, buy = my twin sister a drink and find out all about her troubles."

        &= nbsp;         "Get dressed?" Why aren't you dressed in the middle of the day? What do you have on?&qu= ot;

        &= nbsp;         "The beige half-slip and lace bra you had sent from Victo= ria's Secret; they're very nice and perfect for the hot Boston afternooners--noons."

        &= nbsp;         "You don't fool me one bit young lady. We both know you're too smart to be loose with your favors. Now take care of your sister; I'll= find out what I can about Nick. I = love you."

        &= nbsp;         "We love you too, Mom. Bye."=

        &= nbsp;         Maggie placed the phone back in its cradle and leaned back in her chair, thinking. Michaela got up, cr= ossed to her and touched Maggie's flushed cheek with her finger tips. "Get dressed; I think I owe y= ou a drink."

        &= nbsp;         Maggie smiled, sighed heavily and reached for her blouse. "What you owe me," she s= aid, "is an explanation."

        &= nbsp;         "Right, I find you sitting in your office in the middle of the afternoon in a French bra and half-slip, and I owe you an explanation!"

        &= nbsp;         "The explanation is quite simple; I've been too busy to do my washing, or shop f= or new underwear, so, in spite of how uncomfortable, not to mention useless these--things--really are, I had no choice but to wear them. And I have my clothes off because = it's hot as hell. Now, let's get a drink, so you can tell me all about your troubles."

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