Act Two

by Denise Grover Swank

  Colt shot Brady a glare, but handed me his keys.

  It was awkward having Brady trail me out to the parking lot, and I waffled between feeling safer in his presence and overwhelmed by all the unknowns.

  I quickly grabbed my purse from under the passenger seat, then hurried back to the bar to return Colt’s keys. Before I knew it, Brady was leading me back out to the parking lot.

  I spotted his car, a dark, generic sedan that I recognized from Tuesday night. I suddenly knew one way to help me feel in control. “I’m driving,” I said, turning around and walking backward as I reached out my hand.

  “I’m not drunk, Maggie.”

  “I’ve seen you drink two beers in about forty-five minutes. I told you I can protect myself, and this is me proving it.” I stretched out my hand farther. “Keys.” I’d feel a whole lot better about this situation if I were in control.

  He turned serious. “I would never drive drunk or even buzzed. I barely touched my last beer.”

  “Keys.”

  He dug into his pocket and placed them in my palm. “It’s important you know that I would never hurt you.”

  He had no idea how much I was counting on that. How would he react when I started asking questions? “I guess we’ll find out if that’s true or not.”

  Brady looked like he wanted to argue the point. Instead, he walked to the driver’s door and opened it, then gestured for me to get in. Once I was behind the wheel, he walked around and got into the passenger seat. I turned over the engine, and classical music filtered through the speakers. That surprised me. Brady didn’t seem like a classical music guy, but it only reminded me that I didn’t know him very well.

  “Where are we headed?” he asked as he reached for the volume knob and turned it down.

  “My apartment.” Once I got there, I’d pack a bag and head to Momma’s.

  He watched me, his cop face returning.

  Dammit.

  I adjusted the seat and mirror, then backed out of the spot and headed out of the parking lot. Thank God I’d paid attention when Colt had driven to the club hours earlier.

  We were silent until I pulled onto 65 South, and a male radio announcer’s voice spoke, reminding listeners that the NPR station was collecting donations.

  When a Beethoven sonata began to play, Brady turned to me. “Why did you really want to leave?” he asked, his tone neutral.

  I shot him a glance. “I told you. I’m tired.”

  “Something happened when you and Owen went to get drinks. You were different when you came back. So was he.”

  So much for the element of surprise with my questions.

  We drove in silence again before he said, “You’re not driving because you think I drank too much. You feel like things are out of control, and this is your way of taking charge of the situation.”

  Fear raced through my blood. How had he deduced that?

  “You’re scared of something, Magnolia. I’m trying to figure out who or what it is, but you’re making it damn difficult.”

  “Maybe there’s nothing to figure out. Maybe I’m scared because you told me I was in danger.”

  “No. You were scared before that. Hell, you were terrified the first two times I ran into you weeks ago.”

  “Of course I was. I was a person of interest in a murder investigation.”

  “No. You looked like you were running from the murderer yourself.”

  My heart began to race, and I struggled to catch my breath. He wasn’t that far from the truth. “That’s ridiculous. Amy was the murderer, and I was never scared of her.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t think she was the one you were running from.”

  How was he coming up with this theory? I had to get control of this situation. Fast.

  “Maggie, I want to help you,” he pleaded, turning in his seat to face me. “Let me help you.”

  “And here I thought you already were,” I said in a snotty tone. “You said you showed up tonight to make sure I was safe. Was that a lie to try to get me to sleep with you? Because I’m not going to your place.”

  “No. I’m honestly worried about you, and I think you know it.” He paused and lowered his voice. “But I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me off track so I’ll stop asking what you’re hiding.”

  “How can you know that? You hardly know me.”

  “I suspect no one knows you. Not really.”

  “And how have you surmised that?” I asked, ramping up my bitchiness. It was the strongest weapon in my arsenal, but it wasn’t even making a dent in his calm exterior.

  “From watching you. From our conversation the night you came to the police station. The way you answered my questions, both about your life and who had hurt you. You’re very good. Very careful. And I suspect you’ve fooled just about everyone.”

  I felt everything spiraling out of control, and my panic threatened to take over. “And what exactly do you think I’ve fooled everyone about? You think I’m some kind of con artist? Like everyone accused my father of being?”

  “No. I think you’ve hidden how terrified you are.”

  “I’m not terrified of anything,” I said, my voice rising. “Except of what you’re hiding from me!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You hid the fact that I was meeting Walter Frey at the Embassy. Why would you do that?”

  I turned to gauge his reaction—shock filled his eyes, quickly replaced by determination. “I already told you why.”

  “Your answer was bullshit, Brady. Does Owen know?”

  He hesitated. “He knows what I told him.”

  “Does he suspect you lied?”

  His pause was longer this time. “He knows I haven’t handled this in the usual way, but I’m sure he attributes it to the fact that I’m interested in you.”

  “He’s not asking questions?”

  “No.”

  But Owen did know something, and based on his reaction, I was sure he’d seen the note. Maybe he was even the one who’d confiscated it and the phone. Had Owen taken Brady at his word until I’d brought it up? Did he suspect me of something now? “What happens if he finds out you lied? What happens if it gets out that I did know Walter Frey?”

  “It won’t.”

  “What aren’t you telling me, Brady?”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” He leaned closer. “I know you think you’re in control, Magnolia, but you’re missing things. I let you take my car keys—because I know how to play the game too. I let you think you were in charge so you would be more at ease so I could ask questions. And if you missed that, what other dangers are you putting yourself in?”

  I shot him a look, gripping the steering wheel with both hands so he wouldn’t see me shaking. “You think you let me think I’m in charge?” I was proud of the edge in my voice—the way it hid my fear.

  Then, before he could say another word, I checked the rearview mirror and whipped the car across three lanes of traffic on the interstate, barely making the exit.

  “Who’s in charge now, Brady?”

  He braced himself against the dashboard. “Holy shit, Magnolia!”

  Ignoring him, I barely slowed at the stop sign, thankful it was late enough for there to be hardly any traffic. I turned left through a red light, the tires squealing in protest.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Brady shouted.

  “Do you still think you’re controlling me, Brady?” I shot back, pushing the gas pedal and gunning the car across the bridge. I whipped into the back of a hotel parking lot, then slammed the car into park. After turning off the engine, I scrambled out of the car and dug my cell phone out of my pocket.

  Brady bolted out of the car, his hands raised in the air in a sign of surrender. “Okay, obviously wrong way to try to get my point across.”

  My fingers were shaking as I tried to unlock my phone. Who should I call to come get me? Pure panic had flooded my head. I knew I was acting irrationally
. I knew it, yet I was powerless to stop. I felt trapped and ready to lash out. “I want an answer and not some bullshit generic I’m protecting you.” I took a breath. “Do you think I killed Walter Frey?”

  “No!”

  “Then why did you lie?” When he didn’t answer, I put my hands on my hips and stomped my foot. “You’re messing with my life. I have a right to know, dammit!”

  He put both of his hands on top of his head and began to pace along the length of the car. He lowered his hands as he turned to face me. “I’ll tell you,” he said, though he still looked torn, “but you have to give me something.”

  “Give you what?”

  “You’re hiding something, probably several somethings. You agree to give me one credible piece of information, and I’ll tell you why.”

  I turned away to think. I could lie, but I didn’t want to do that. What would I tell him, though? Twisting around to study his face, I said, “If you give me a bullshit answer, not only will I not give you anything, I’ll walk away and never speak to you again.”

  “Fine.” He moved in front of me. “But we’re not discussing this out in the open. Let’s do it in the car.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m still driving.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes, Maggie. You’re in control.”

  “Don’t you fucking patronize me.”

  He sighed. “That came out wrong. You have the potential to screw me over in this deal since I’m giving you my information first. You really are in control.”

  I wasn’t so sure I believed him, but I let it go and walked back to the car, getting behind the steering wheel.

  Brady walked around to the passenger side, and once he closed the door, he took a deep breath and then pushed it out. “When I said I’m trying to protect you, I meant it, but not from who you think.” He turned to me. “Maggie, you have to swear to keep this to yourself. You can’t tell your mother. Or Colt. Not anyone. Swear it.”

  “I swear.”

  He rubbed his forehead as though trying to decide whether he should follow through. “I’m not sure who I can trust,” he said, looking through the windshield.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Someone in the department is dirty. But I’m not sure who.”

  I had a pretty good idea, but I didn’t think he wanted to hear it. “You didn’t tell Owen, did you?”

  “I think it’s safer if he doesn’t know.”

  “How does it involve me?”

  “I don’t know for certain it does. It’s just a hunch, but after Detective Holden tried to railroad you, I think it’s a legit concern.”

  “So Holden is the one who’s dirty.”

  He shook his head. “No. He may be, but . . .”

  “Why do you think someone’s dirty?”

  He shook his head. “That’s for me to worry about, but I’m sure it’s credible. In the meantime, maybe you should go somewhere on vacation. Or visit a friend in New York.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Indefinitely?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I could leave for a few days, maybe a week, but that’s it. I can’t leave my mother.”

  “You’re no good to her dead, Maggie.”

  “If someone was going to kill me, don’t you think they already would have?” Which made me wonder if it was safe to go home to the apartment after all. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yeah.” Because I already suspected it was Owen.

  “So you owe me information.”

  I still hadn’t decided what to tell him. Part of me wanted to tell him everything, but I didn’t trust him enough to go that far. And what happened to me ten years ago was out.

  How about if I gave him a real case to investigate? Because if he solved it, he might find answers to my father’s disappearance.

  “Christopher Merritt.”

  His brow furrowed. “Who is that?”

  I turned on the engine, and the radio announcer’s voice filled the space, reporting the local news.

  “Magnolia. Give me more than that.”

  “Wait.” The radio announcer was talking about a missing Nashville man, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I reached for the volume knob to turn it louder.

  “Magnolia.”

  He reached for the knob, and I pushed his hand away. “Listen.”

  The male announcer continued, “—called to the scene of an abandoned car, left running in the middle of this downtown Nashville parking garage. Nashville police aren’t releasing much, but they have confirmed that the car belongs to a Nashville dentist, Geraldo Lopez.”

  Another man was missing, and once again, it was my fault.

  Chapter 23

  I sucked in a breath, and Brady’s eyes widened as he studied me.

  “His staff says he left for lunch and never returned,” the radio announcer said. “The police suspect foul play and are asking for leads from the public. We’ll report more information as soon as we have it.”

  I started to hyperventilate.

  “Magnolia?” Brady asked in alarm. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Do you know him?”

  Tears stung my eyes as I nodded.

  Understanding washed over his face, followed by horror. “Oh shit. It’s the dentist. The one you saw with your father.”

  I nodded, trying to catch my breath.

  “You remembered his name.”

  “Yes.” My face tingled, and I cupped my hands in front of it as I tried to regain control.

  He was silent for a moment. “Oh, fuck. You went to see him.”

  I started to freak out even more as Brady put together the connection.

  “Okay. Okay,” he said, leaning his head back against the armrest. He took several breaths, then said, “I’m going to find out what’s going on with the investigation, but I need to place a call to my friend in the Nashville Police Department.” Brady pulled out his phone and called his friend while I tried to figure out what I was going to tell him. He’d insist on telling Owen, but I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Brady trusted Owen and he sure wasn’t going to listen to a warning from a woman he hardly knew. I was going to have to get him to agree to keep this a secret until we figured out who to trust.

  Brady hung up and turned to me with a grave look in his eyes. “My friend says a 911 call was placed around noon today. A woman found Lopez’s car running in the parking garage. The driver-side door was open, and there was a small amount of blood on it.”

  “Do they have any ideas about what happened?”

  “No. The camera that covered that area had been knocked out about fifteen minutes before the call was made. It was premeditated.”

  “Like Walter Frey,” I whispered.

  “Maggie, I need to know what you know.”

  “Who says I know anything?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. A man’s life might depend on what you can tell me.”

  Dr. Lopez’s insistence that the police couldn’t be trusted looped in my head.

  “Magnolia!”

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I can’t agree to that.”

  “Then I’m not telling you anything. You said yourself that someone in the police department is dirty. What if there are multiple someones? You have no idea who to trust, and I don’t trust any of them. I barely trust you.”

  “What have I done to make you distrust me?”

  “You lied about my involvement in Walter Frey’s case. You turned me in to your partner.”

  “Dammit, Magnolia.”

  “You either promise, or I tell you nothing.”

  He flung the door open, climbed out, and began to pace again.

  Was I doing the right thing? All I knew was to trust my instinct, and it told me to tell Brady, but no one else. Sighing, I turned off the motor and got out too, standing at
the back of the car as I watched him.

  “Fine,” he said, sounding resentful. “Tell me.”

  “That’s not good enough. I want your promise.” I was counting on Brady Bennett being a man of his word.

  “I promise,” he grunted.

  I understood his resentment, but I wasn’t going to let that sway me. “Christopher Merritt was an accountant. He worked with Walter Frey. He also knew my father. Christopher Merritt disappeared three years ago.”

  “What? How do you know this?” He gasped. “Oh shit. The dentist.”

  “I went to see him at his office this morning.”

  “What did Lopez tell you?”

  “Not much. He gave me Christopher Merritt’s name.” I considered telling him more about Dr. Lopez’s suspicions of the police, but since Owen was heading up the investigation into Walter Frey’s murder, I wasn’t sure Brady would believe it. “Dr. Lopez, my father, Walter Frey, and Christopher Merritt had been working together on something. They answered to someone, but Dr. Lopez didn’t know who.”

  “So this thing spans fourteen years?”

  “Yes. But that’s not all,” I said, deciding to tell him as much as I could. “I also talked to Shannon Morrissey’s sister.”

  He watched me for a second. “Did she have anything helpful?”

  “Yes. She said Shannon was suspicious of her husband’s behavior. She suspected money laundering, and she and my father were supposed to go to the county prosecutor the day after their disappearance.”

  Brady shook his head. “I didn’t see any of that in the report.”

  “I didn’t either.”

  “Do you think she’s making it up?”

  “No. She looked terrified and insisted I leave it alone. She thinks Steve Morrissey killed my father and her sister. She’s certain he killed Walter Frey for coming to talk to me. Then Dr. Lopez . . .”

  “He might be coming for you next.”

  Where was Dr. Lopez now? Probably dead. But Brady had said a man’s life might depend on my information.

  “Do you think Dr. Lopez is still alive?” I asked with a shaky voice.

  “Do you know that he’s not?”

  Tears stung my eyes. “I think he’s dead.”

  “At least let me tell Owen.”