Act Two

by Denise Grover Swank

  “She lives in Franklin?”

  “Works here too. Last I heard, she ran the daycare on Murfreesboro Road. Tender Darlings.”

  “Thanks, Tilly.”

  “Just be careful, girly,” Tilly said. “You might not like what you find.”

  She wasn’t the only person to have told me that, but it was time to shine some light in the darkness.

  I’d just have to be ready when the monsters charged.

  Chapter 16

  I needed my father’s gun.

  I’d left it at Momma’s when I’d moved to my new apartment, worried that I didn’t have a permit for it, but personal safety trumped following the rules, not that I was much of a rule-follower anyway. If I was dropping by Momma’s to get my car, I might as well pick up the gun.

  Both Momma’s car and my old car were in the driveway, so I parked on the street.

  Tilly and I walked toward the house together, but I could tell our earlier conversation had bothered her, so I stopped her on the front porch. “Tilly, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Worry filled her eyes. “Some things are better left in the past, Maggie.”

  There was that phrase again. While I agreed with her on some things—my own past, specifically—my father deserved to have his name cleared. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I opened the front door, surprised to find it unlocked. “Momma, Tilly and I are here.”

  “In the kitchen.”

  We followed a savory smell and found Momma pulling a casserole from the oven. “You’re both just in time to try my new recipe.”

  “It smells delicious,” I said, grateful I was still in her good graces.

  “Colt came by earlier and said your car’s ready.” She set the dish on a trivet on the counter.

  “He sent me a text.”

  She looked up, holding my gaze. “You two seem pretty chummy.”

  “I already told you—we’re just friends.”

  “Colt Austin doesn’t have friendships with women.”

  “As you’ve already warned me,” I said with a laugh, sitting on a bar stool. “But I assure you that’s all we are. He’s never once made a move on me.”

  She frowned. “Then he’s up to something.”

  “If you question his character so much, then why do you have him working for you?”

  Tilly laughed. “She only questions his character as far as women go. Your mother warns every female new hire about his ways.”

  I grinned. “Does it work?”

  “Hardly ever,” Tilly conceded. “But your mother feels better if she gives them a leg up.”

  “Maybe he’s scared to screw up a good job, so he knows better than to mess with me.” I glanced over at Tilly. “I know he really likes working for you two.”

  Momma grabbed plates from the cabinet. “How was the dentist?” Something in her voice made me wonder if she knew I was up to something.

  “He said that I’ve been grinding my teeth at night, probably from stress. If I keep having tooth pain, he wants me to come back and get fitted for a night guard.”

  Momma’s eyes narrowed as she put the plates down next to the casserole. “I thought it was just a cleaning.”

  I shrugged and took the knife from her hand. “I never said what it was for, and I didn’t want to worry you. But I’m fine. What do you ladies have planned for today?”

  “Lunch. Shopping,” Momma said. “You?”

  I cut each of us a piece and put them on plates. “I’m going to enjoy a day off in my own apartment. I’ve never lived alone before.”

  Both women shot me a curious glance, but they let it go.

  “Momma, while Colt and I were getting my car out of the garage, we couldn’t help noticing that the stuff in the garage looks like it was from a small apartment.”

  She looked up at me. “So?”

  “Colt said he didn’t think Roy ever had his own apartment. He says he moved back in with you, then in with a friend, then in with Belinda.”

  “Colt seems awfully nosy.”

  “I think he was just looking out for me,” I fibbed. “I have a furnished apartment now, but the lease is only good for six months.”

  She turned up her nose. “Don’t remind me. That’s six months too long, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I think he was thinking I might be able to use some of the furniture in the garage to furnish an apartment when I move.”

  She stared into my face. “You’ll have a place to live once your lease is up.”

  My eyes widened. Did she mean the house?

  The lines around her mouth softened. “Roy’s doin’ well for himself, plus I paid for all his college tuition. I didn’t help you when you were in New York, so the house is yours.”

  “Momma. I told you that I don’t want to talk about you dyin’.”

  She shrugged. “Nevertheless, it’s yours free and clear. No strings. No rules. Sell it and move back to New York if you like. Or stay and make a life here.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’d give you more money now . . .”

  “Momma”—my voice broke—“I don’t want your money. I’m used to working hard to get what I want. I only want you.”

  She reached over the counter and covered my hand with her own. “I don’t want to spend the next few months at odds with you. I want you to know that I’m going to make more of an effort to be nice.”

  I chuckled, blinking to keep the tears in my eyes from falling. “Don’t be too nice or I’ll think you had a lobotomy.”

  She and Tilly laughed, and I tried to burn this bittersweet moment into my mind—sitting with two of the adults who had raised me, knowing that Momma would soon be gone.

  We all deemed the recipe a success, and Momma and Tilly decided to add it to their brunch menu. Then we cleaned up the kitchen together, and when Momma and Tilly were ready to leave, I pretended to just then remember something I’d left in my old bedroom. Momma agreed that I could lock up. After Tilly pulled away from the curb, I ran upstairs and opened the nightstand drawer. There, wrapped in the towel I’d found it in, was the gun Daddy had hidden in our basement. I grabbed it and the box of ammunition I’d found with it and stuffed them in my purse, where I was keeping Daddy’s note and the list of serial numbers.

  I was already downstairs again, preparing to leave, when I realized Momma had never told me about the real owner of the things stored in the garage. Had she just gotten distracted? Or had she purposely moved on?

  Maybe I needed to do a little investigating.

  One side of the three-car garage was empty now, making it easier to dig through the stack of assorted belongings. I dragged a sofa and a pair of end tables to the empty spot, trying to uncover the stacked boxes, which were all unmarked. That seemed odd.

  The first few were stuffed with pots and pans, linens, and cleaning supplies. I finally got lucky with box number seven, which looked like it contained the entire unsorted contents of a junk drawer. Pencils, pens, paper clips, plus postage stamps that didn’t look like the current forever stamps in use. I stuffed them into the front pocket of my capris, intending to look them up later. I kept sorting—screws and a couple of screwdrivers, a ball of rubber bands. Then a pad of paper labeled: “From the desk of Christopher Merritt.”

  Was this Chris Merritt who had apparently disappeared three years before? How many men with the same name could possibly be tied to this family? Momma had insinuated that these things had been here for a couple of years.

  What the hell was going on?

  I went through the rest of the boxes, though I found nothing else to tie the contents to anyone, not even clothing. I closed them all back up the best I could, then restacked them and made a halfhearted attempt to put the furniture back. I was too eager to go inside and use Momma’s computer to look up Christopher Merritt to take my time.

  I sat down at the desktop computer in her small home office and searched for Christopher Merritt + Franklin TN.

  He’d been an accountant, but news reports confirmed
that Christopher Merritt had disappeared three years ago, leaving behind a wife and three kids. A few photos of him and his family popped up. They looked so happy.

  It had happened to someone else. Just like us. Geraldo Lopez had already told me that, of course, but seeing his family made it more real.

  I took a moment to let it sink in. Then I reflected on what little I knew. Daddy had been involved in something with Walter Frey and Geraldo Lopez. Somehow Shannon Morrissey had been mixed up in it too.

  According to Dr. Lopez, Walter Frey had felt guilty about not coming forward. He’d planned to bring me information. The paper with those names. Was there anything else on there that I didn’t see?

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about Christopher vanishing without a trace three years ago. Just like my father. What had triggered it? Had he wanted to come forward too?

  I grabbed a pad of paper from Momma’s desk and made a list of people I needed to talk to—Shannon Morrissey’s sister. Christopher Merritt’s widow. Momma about when Roy had brought over the stuff in the garage.

  Ava Milton.

  If Shannon had been active in Franklin society, surely Ava knew something about her. She seemed like she was good at cutting through shit. Maybe she could tell me something about the supposed affair.

  It was a good start.

  I turned off the computer and locked up the house, excited to have my old car back. Just as I turned the key, my phone rang. Belinda.

  “I have most of the afternoon off,” she said. “What time would you like to go to lunch?”

  I glanced at the car clock, which said it was three a.m. Obviously Colt hadn’t set the clock. “I have to run an errand, and I’m not sure how long it will take.”

  “Call me when you’re done. Maybe I can see your new apartment!”

  “Yeah. Sounds great.”

  I hung up, then backed out of the driveway and formulated a plan for talking to Shannon Morrissey’s sister. I didn’t even know her name. What if she didn’t own the daycare anymore? But I’d figure out a contingency plan if I needed one.

  The front door of the daycare was locked, so I pushed the call button, suddenly wondering how I would get access. Should I pretend to be a prospective parent? But I didn’t need an excuse; the door just opened. I walked into a small foyer, and there was a glass window on the wall to the right that put me in mind of the one at the dentist’s office this morning.

  A young woman who looked like she was barely out of high school sat at the counter behind the open window. “Can I help you?”

  Here goes nothing. “Hi.” I gave her a warm smile. “I’m looking for the owner.”

  “Sydney?” she asked. “She’s in her office. Let me get her.” She got up and walked through a door in the back of her small room, then returned seconds later. “She says come on back.”

  A buzzer sounded, and the receptionist gestured for me to go through the door at the end of the foyer. I walked into a large room filled with about thirty toddlers and preschoolers. The women giving them craft supplies gave me a curious glance, and one of the kids started toddling toward me. Being this close to so many small children threatened to make me break out in hives.

  A woman’s head popped out of an open door to my right. “Can I help you?” She was dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt with a pair of yoga pants, and her dark blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked down at herself. “I know I look like a hot mess, but I promise we have our sh—stuff together.” She gave me a grin. “We’re preparing for a state inspection, so we’re kind of in frantic cleaning mode.”

  Talk about bad timing, but I was already here and this would probably only take a few minutes. But right now we were standing out in the open, and I didn’t even know Shannon’s sister’s name. “I’m looking for Shannon Morrissey’s sister. Are you her?”

  The smile fell from her face. “You need to leave.”

  While it appeared I’d found the sister, the woman’s reaction kind of put a damper on things. “I understand your hesitation, but I promise I’m here to help.”

  “I’m not giving any interviews. Not anymore. That’s what all the police and the reporters promised to do, but then they twisted all my words around.” Her angry gaze darted to the tables full of children, then back to me. “It was a long time ago. Let it go.”

  “Sydney,” I said, using the name the receptionist had given. “I can’t let it go. I’m Magnolia Steele. Brian Steele’s daughter.”

  Her mouth closed, but she still eyed me with distrust. “Are you here to chew me out for my sister running off with your father?”

  “No,” I said quietly and took a step toward her. “No. The opposite. I don’t believe they had an affair at all. I think they were involved in something else.” I paused and looked back into the large room. Several of the daycare workers were openly watching us. “Can we discuss this in your office?”

  She studied me for a moment before ducking back into her office. I followed her into the small room decorated with children’s artwork and shut the door with the nameplate Sydney Crowley, Director behind me. She looked up at me with nervous eyes as she sat in her chair.

  “Why are you bringing this up now?” she asked, her tone bordering on hateful.

  I sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk to buy myself some time. Both Daddy and Dr. Lopez had said, “Trust no one.” But I had to give her something, or she wouldn’t tell me anything. “I moved away ten years ago. This is the first chance I’ve had to ask.”

  She was silent for a moment, looking down at her desk. “Are you here because of Walter Frey?”

  I sucked in a breath. “You know about Walter Frey?”

  She glanced up. “You mean that he was murdered?”

  “That too.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

  I leaned forward, resting a forearm on the desk. “I want to know what really happened. Like I said, I know there was no affair. My father loved my mother, and he loved my brother and me. Even if he were having an affair, which he most definitely wasn’t, he wouldn’t have just left his family. Tell me why you think Shannon wasn’t having an affair.”

  She gave me a guarded look. “Because my sister would never do such a thing.”

  “You know something,” I said. “Why else would you have mentioned Mr. Frey?”

  Pushing out a long breath, she shook her head and then held my gaze. “I told the police everything back then . . . Magnolia, is it?”

  “Yes. Magnolia. I did too, Sydney. I told them that my father never came home after he left to meet Walter Frey.”

  “That’s not the story your mother gave the police.”

  I blinked. “What?” Then I remembered what Brady had said—Momma had recanted her initial statement.

  “Your mother told them she knew they were having an affair, and that you were making things up because you couldn’t accept the truth. No one took me seriously. Even when I gave them proof.”

  My heartbeat sped up. “Proof? Proof of what?”

  “That my sister was working with Brian Steele to expose her husband’s money laundering.”

  “Money laundering?” Did that have anything to do with the gold I’d found in the statue? Along with the one million dollars my dad and Shannon had been accused of stealing.

  Sydney looked irritated. “Look, there’s no disputing that Shannon married the shithead for his money. But when the afterglow of having money began to wear off, which happened pretty quickly, she started noticing things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “I told all of this to the police.”

  I leveled my gaze. “Obviously they mustn’t have taken it seriously.”

  “Haven’t you read the police report?” she asked with a harsh laugh.

  “No.”

  “Are you serious?” she asked in disgust. “You just decided to start asking random strangers questions?”

  Basically.

  “Look,” I said
with a defensive sigh. Better to play this totally clueless, which wasn’t that much of a stretch. “I’m not a private eye or anything. I’m just a daughter looking for answers.”

  “Did you stop and think your questions might get you into trouble?” she asked.

  “No,” I lied. “I just want to find out what really happened to my father.”

  “My advice is for you to let it go. No one’s going to take you seriously, and you’ll only end up more bitter and angry in the end. Take it from me.”

  “Come on, Sydney. Give me something. Don’t you want justice for your sister?”

  “The best justice I can give my sister at this point is to let it go. Because stirring it up will only hurt my nephew. Kids telling him that his mother abandoned him because he’s a loser has been bad enough. Besides, I find it a little . . . coincidental that Walter Frey was murdered right after you came back to town.”

  She certainly didn’t need to know that I’d arranged to meet him that night. But something she’d said jumped out at me. “Shannon had a son? Why isn’t he with his father?”

  “Because Steve Morrissey isn’t his father. Nathan was a baby when she got married. His birth father is a piece of shit who never gave a damn.” Sydney leaned forward over her side of the desk. “Magnolia, I know you think you’re doing the right thing here, but just let it go.”

  “I can’t.”

  She stood. “You mean won’t,” she said, her voice harsh. “You need to leave. I have more cleaning to do.”

  Feeling defeated, I stood and moved toward the door, but then I turned to face her. “You know how Walter Frey is connected to this, don’t you? Because I know for a fact Daddy and Mr. Frey set up a meeting for the night of Daddy and your sister’s disappearance. I heard it with my own ears, and my father kissed me goodbye before he left and made sure I knew where to find our handgun. So I know whatever they were doing was dangerous.”

  Her face paled.

  I took a step back into the room. “You were the one who mentioned Walter Frey. Not me. How do you know about him?” When she hesitated, I began to plead. “Please, Sydney. I can get justice for both of them.”