Act Two

by Denise Grover Swank

  “What time did you start cooking to get this ready?” I asked.

  “Five.”

  “If you need me to come earlier next time, I’d be more than happy to.”

  She gave me a sideways glance. “What about your evening activities? Won’t they interfere?”

  Her tone of disapproval summoned images of wild parties and orgies. “No. As I said, I’m not much of a socializer.”

  She pursed her lips, looking like she was in deep thought. “We’ll see how today goes, then discuss it later.”

  Based on the elaborate setup, it was easy to see Miss Ava was a perfectionist; but then, so was my mother. I took it as a good sign that she gave me direction and had few corrections.

  Once the guests arrived, my job was simple—stay behind the table as much as possible, greeting everyone with a pleasant smile and a “salutation.” I was to learn their names so I could greet them personally in the future (if this worked out, Miss Ava added). I was to make sure there was plenty of food and drink, and when the Bible study began, I was to remain in the kitchen until called upon to return to the table to clean up.

  “Do you have all of that?” Miss Ava asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.” Just as I said the words, the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, dear. I forgot to tell you about the special drinks.”

  “Special drinks?”

  “Have you ever bartended, Magnolia?”

  I blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looked pained when she said, “There will be a few guests who wish to have their drinks doctored. I trust you to keep it discreet, and not to overindulge them. Only procure the special libations for them if asked. The alcohol is in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

  Who drank at a Bible study? At nine thirty on a Thursday morning, no less. But then again, Colt and Alvin had both implied there wasn’t anything sacred about Miss Ava’s meetings. “Yes, ma’am,” I said with a nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I guess we’ll see if you do,” Miss Ava said.

  The guests arrived in a trickle, then a gush until there were fifteen women—sixteen, including Miss Ava. When the first guest approached the refreshments table, an elderly woman in an expensive silk blouse and linen pants, she gave me a wary once-over.

  I greeted her with a bright smile. “Good morning. I’m Magnolia, and I’m helping Miss Ava today. If you need anything at all, be sure to let me know. Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee?”

  She looked a little taken off guard by my chipper attitude. “What happened to Lori?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl who used to do this before you? Lori.”

  “I’m not sure. But I’ll be more than happy to help you. Would you like coffee or tea? Miss Ava also has some fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

  She looked irritated. “She always has orange juice. I’ll need a little vodka added to mine.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I hurried to the back and poured vodka into her juice glass, then, reflecting on her curtness, poured a little extra. When I handed it to her—adding an orange slice for a garnish—she took a sip and broke into a wide smile. “Better than Lori’s.”

  “Thank you.”

  I’d won one woman over. After Miss Ava’s pronouncement of “we’ll see how it goes,” I was fairly certain this was an audition. At over fifteen dollars an hour, I was going to give it my all. Which meant I had fourteen women left to charm.

  The women—most in their sixties and seventies, although a couple looked to be in their fifties—made their way to the table. While they all helped themselves to plates of food, well over half requested mimosas, screwdrivers, or Bloody Marys, all of which I had to make one by one. The odd part was that none of them ever asked for the drinks by name—instead asking for tomato juice with “a wee bit of alcohol” or an orange juice “that special way.” Unfortunately, there were a few ways to make orange juice “special,” so I began to ask if they wanted the kind with bubbles or without, which seemed to earn brownie points with some of the women.

  I ran myself ragged getting their drinks, but all with a smile on my face and a cheerful attitude. The women stood around talking and eating, making no move to actually start their meeting. Thankfully, none of them seemed to make the connection of who I was. I learned about half of the women’s names by eavesdropping on their conversations, and when some of them returned for refills—drinks, not food—I was able to call them by name.

  At first I was an oddity, but within a half hour, most had accepted my presence and had begun to act like I wasn’t there. I was rearranging a tray of mini quiches when I heard one woman say, “I can’t believe what happened to Walter Frey. What’s going on in our town?”

  “It’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket,” the woman beside her said.

  “They’re saying it was a robbery,” a woman named Blanche said.

  “I don’t believe it for a moment,” the first woman announced, louder than she’d probably intended, because she lowered her voice to continue. “I heard he was mixed up in some sort of mess.”

  “What kind of mess, Gretchen?” Blanche demanded.

  “I don’t know, but I suspect Ava does.”

  Ava stood several feet away, talking to a small group of women, so Gretchen patted her arm. “Ava, what do you know about Walter Frey?”

  Miss Ava gave her a disdainful glare, then shot a sideways glance in my direction. I was still straightening the table, thank goodness, so she didn’t realize I was paying attention. “We’ll discuss it later. It’s on the end of the agenda.”

  At the meeting.

  Finally, around ten thirty, Miss Ava announced it was time to start. While the women made their way into the living room, she told me to clear all the savory food dishes from the table and start cleaning the kitchen.

  I cast a curious glance toward the living room while grabbing a plate of mini quiches and a breakfast casserole. The women were seated in multiple rows of dining room chairs, and Miss Ava stood in front of them. I’d been to enough Sunday school classes as a kid to know this wasn’t the usual way to conduct a Bible study. Most were conducted in a circle. But then our snacks had been Goldfish and Kool-Aid. Maybe this was the sophisticated version.

  After bringing the plates into the kitchen, I came back for two more, dawdling longer than necessary in the hopes I’d hear them discuss Walter Frey. But Miss Ava saw me and shot me a glare. “Magnolia, you may remain in the kitchen until we call you out.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as I took the plates into the kitchen. I spent the next five minutes putting away food and washing the dishes while periodically approaching the swinging door to the dining room. But all I could hear from my vantage point was murmuring. I had to get closer without being seen. The dining room was too dangerous; there was a sliver of a wall to hide behind, but I’d be discovered in an instant if someone headed to the kitchen. I considered going outside to listen under a window, but I doubted I’d hear anything, and I could only imagine what Ava would say when her neighbors told her a woman in a pink dress had been seen prowling around her bushes.

  But I had another idea.

  When I was a girl, I had a friend who lived in an older house in downtown Franklin. One of my favorite things about going to her house was using the hidden staircase. It wasn’t really hidden, but its door was a panel in the dining room that popped open to reveal a spiral staircase the servants had used back in the day. I’d seen a door in Miss Ava’s dining room, and while it could have been anything, the way it fit into the wall led me to believe it was a secret staircase.

  Think about what you’re doing, Magnolia. If I got caught, I had no doubt I’d lose both my job and my apartment. I’d be forced to move back in with Momma.

  But Ava knew something about Walter Frey. I was sure of it. And that meant it was worth the risk. I only hoped I hadn’t missed their discussion.

  Slipping off my shoes to avoid making noise, I l
ooped the backs over my fingers, then crept through the door to the dining room, making sure to stop the door from swinging shut when I was on the other side. I pressed my back to the wall with the panel, waiting to hear if I’d been noticed. Ava’s voice continued in a low tone, too low for me to make out her words, but her tone led me to believe they were discussing something important.

  I only hoped I wasn’t too late.

  Holding my breath, I pushed on one side of the panel. Nothing happened. Had I been wrong? But then I pushed on the other, and it sprang open, making a tiny squeak.

  I froze, but there weren’t any changes in the low murmuring in the other room. I needed to get the door closed before someone saw it and came to investigate.

  After I shut the door behind me, I hurried up the tight circular staircase and then pushed another door open at the top. It revealed a hallway that ran through the middle of the house, ending at a semi-circular staircase in front.

  I tiptoed to the end, squatting down when I got close to the staircase. I pressed my back to the wall and sat far enough away from the edge that I could make out the room and the backs of the women. Miss Ava stood in the front, but she was no longer talking. A woman in an Easter-egg-blue suit was standing and addressing the room.

  “I can’t believe we’re discussing a Mother’s Day tea when we should be discussing the murders in this town.”

  “Murders aren’t new, Georgine,” the woman who’d ordered the first screwdriver said. “They’ve been around since Cain and Abel.”

  Georgine turned to stare at her. “You can’t tell me that these murders are run-of-the-mill crimes.”

  Ava gave Georgine a stare that would have made most people wither. “We will discuss it after we finish the arrangements for the tea.”

  Georgine sat down, but if her back hadn’t been to me, I was sure I’d have seen her spitting nails.

  They spent the next five minutes discussing some mother-daughter tea before Ava stood in front of the group and cleared her throat, giving the group a stern look.

  “As you are all aware, a respected member of the Franklin community was tragically murdered two days ago.”

  Murmurs of sympathy spread across the room.

  “We need to keep Ruby in our thoughts and prayers.” She turned to face a woman in the front row. “Eddy, will you set up a covered dish plan? I think two weeks will suffice.”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, of course. Consider it done.”

  “The funeral is tomorrow, and I think we ought to show our support. Ruby Frey has asked that money be donated to the Boys and Girls Club in lieu of flowers.”

  Ava folded her hands and held them at waist level. “That just about finishes our new business. Does anyone have anything to add?”

  Georgine shot out of her seat. “You can’t be serious.”

  Ava’s eyes narrowed. “You disapprove of donating to the Boys and Girls Club?”

  “I have no problem with the donation. It’s the fact that you refuse to discuss Walter Frey’s murder that I object to.”

  “And what more is there to discuss?”

  “You know that Walter was mixed up in some sort of messy business. Ruby admitted to as much before she quit last year.”

  “Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. That’s for the police to decide,” Ava said airily.

  “Then why did you try to handle that situation yourself two years ago?” Georgine demanded. “You know something you’re not telling us.”

  “What I may or may not know is none of your concern,” Ava said in an icy tone.

  “This is not a dictatorship, Ava Milton,” Georgine shot back. “You owe us answers.”

  A collective gasp shot through the room, but there were also some murmurs of agreement.

  To her credit, Ava didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled.

  “Ava’s got things under control,” another woman called out.

  “I’m not so sure she does,” Georgine said in a snooty tone. “When she handled that problem two years ago, it sprouted two more.”

  “Both manageable,” Ava said in a stern tone. “You can’t expect to take care of messy situations without a touch of cleanup.”

  “So we’re expected to just take your word for it?”

  “No. I expect you to judge the results.”

  Miss Ava turned to the side, glancing out the window, and let out a long sigh. I looked out the window over the front door and saw a man in a suit approaching the house. “And there’s Reverend Brown,” Miss Ava said. “Mabel, will you go to the kitchen and ask Magnolia to make him a cup of coffee?”

  Crap.

  I got to my feet and padded down the center of the hall, staying on the rug to muffle my footsteps, then made my way down the steps as slowly and carefully as possible. I had no idea how I’d make it in time, and as I pushed open the door to the dining room, it became painfully obvious that I hadn’t. Mabel’s eyes widened as she just barely escaped being clocked with the panel door. Thankfully, she didn’t give me away. Not yet, anyway.

  “Do you know where the bathroom is?” I asked, giving her an embarrassed look. The role came to me in a moment—new girl, naïve and confused but very, very innocent. “I’m so lost, and I really have to go.”

  She pointed over her shoulder while giving me an assessing look. “It’s by the staircase.”

  “Well, no wonder I couldn’t find it,” I whispered with a tiny laugh, then pushed open the door to the kitchen. “I guess I’ll have to hold it so I don’t interrupt the meeting.”

  Mabel followed me through the door. “Ava has sent me to get Reverend Brown’s coffee.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t dump the rest of the pot.” I reached for it, trying to sound breezy.

  “Aren’t you renting the apartment over the garage?” she asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go over there?”

  I hadn’t heard anyone mention my living situation, but I wasn’t surprised she knew. It was obvious they were all fond of gossip. And if they knew who I was, I was like a juicy Georgia peach they simply couldn’t resist.

  I gave her an intimidated smile. “Miss Ava told me to stay here in case someone needed something. I worried I’d get in trouble if I left.”

  “She also told you to stay in the kitchen.”

  “I know, Miss Mabel,” I said, adding worry to my voice. “That’s why I tried the door that was actually a staircase.” I grimaced like I really had to pee. “It won’t happen again.”

  She moved closer, studying my face. “Why are you working for Ava?”

  I poured the coffee into the cup. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Black.”

  I extended the cup to her and gave her my best innocent look. “I’m working for Ava because I need a job.”

  She didn’t take the coffee. “But you’re—”

  “Magnolia Steele. Which is exactly why I need this job. It hasn’t been easy for me to find work in this town.”

  The look of surprise on her face told me that hadn’t been her objection. But she also didn’t look surprised to hear my name.

  “Please don’t tell Miss Ava,” I begged. “I really need this job and the apartment. I promise to stay put from now on.”

  I forced my eyes to well with tears, and her whole stance relaxed.

  “I realize you’re new, but Ava doesn’t give second chances. You’ll do best to remember that.” While her face had softened, her voice was firm. She took the cup from me, then headed out the door.

  As soon as she left, I dug out my phone to search for Walter Frey’s obituary notice. His funeral was at three o’clock the next afternoon at Williamson Memorial Funeral Home.

  Did I dare go to Walter Frey’s funeral? Mr. Frey hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who frequented dive bars on weekday nights. His wife had seen us together at Mellow Mushroom—had she tied his presence at the Embassy that night to me?

  The last thing I wanted to do was upset her, but it might be an opportun
ity to find more information. What if people involved in my father’s disappearance were there? I ignored the fact that I wouldn’t know they were the culprits even if they walked up and shook my hand. Sure, it was a long shot, but other than the dentist, it was all I had. But if I was going, I needed a car. I sent Colt a text.

  I’m only working at the store for two hours today. Can you pick me up and take me to Momma’s house to look at my car before we start at the catering shop at four?

  I had almost finished cleaning up the kitchen before he texted back.

  Sure. Meet you in the parking lot at 2:15?

  I’ll be there.

  If my car wasn’t fixable, I was sure Tilly would let me borrow hers.

  I pulled up the information for Geraldo Lopez, then called his office before I could chicken out. When prompted, I pressed the extension for the appointment desk. “I need to schedule an appointment as soon as possible,” I said when a woman answered. “I have a tooth that’s killing me.” I’d have a better chance of getting in to see him if I claimed to have a bad tooth. I’d deal with the fact that my teeth were healthy when the time came.

  “Are you a patient here?”

  “No,” I said. “But I’ve heard great things about Dr. Lopez, and my tooth hurts so much I can hardly stand it.” I made my voice crack to convey my distress.

  She was silent for a few moments before she said, “If you can be here first thing tomorrow morning at eight, we can fit you in then.”

  Eight? Well, crap. Considering the hassle of Nashville’s rush-hour traffic, I’d have to be up by six thirty at the latest to be ready in time. But I really wanted to talk with him. “Yeah. That’s great.”

  I couldn’t give them my own name. What if Geraldo Lopez recognized it and canceled? I definitely needed the element of surprise. So I gave them the first name that came to mind, then instantly regretted it. “Tilly,” I said. “Tilly Bartok.”