“No one.”
“He’s my friend. I can trust him.”
“No.”
Brady grunted his frustration and began to pace again, rubbing the back of his neck. After nearly half a minute, he stopped and looked at me. “What if you call in an anonymous tip?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Say Walter Frey’s murder is related to Geraldo Lopez’s disappearance. Maybe even say it’s tied to the accountant’s disappearance.”
“They’ll trace my call.”
Without a word, he got into the car on the passenger side, and when he came back, he had an ancient-looking cell phone in his hand.
“It’s a burner. No record tying it to anyone. You can call from this.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you have a burner phone?”
He held it out to me. “Use it.”
I took the phone but hesitated, wondering if it was some kind of trap, but I had to do something to help Dr. Lopez.
“Call the crime tip line.” He spouted off the number, and I entered it into the phone. “Don’t leave your name; just tell them you think it’s related.”
I nodded. “Okay.” I placed the call, gave the person the information, and then hung up before she could ask questions. I glanced up at Brady, feeling guilty over the conflict in his eyes. “I need to call Sydney.”
“Who’s Sydney?”
“Shannon’s sister.”
“Do you have her number?”
“No.”
“What’s her last name?”
“Crowley. She owns Tender Darlings Daycare.”
He started typing on his phone and then rattled off a phone number. Sydney answered after a few rings, sounding sleepy. “Hello?”
“Sydney, this is Magnolia Steele. I think you’re in danger.”
“What? What happened?” She sounded much more awake.
“Dr. Lopez is missing.”
“Who?”
“The fourth man. I met with him this morning, and I just heard on the news that he’s missing.”
She was silent for a moment. “I’m leaving town.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“You should too.”
I glanced up at Brady. “No. I’m not running.”
“I warned you that you were stirring up shit. You should have left this alone.”
I had to wonder if she was right, but it was too late to fix things now. I could only do damage control. “Let me know when you get somewhere safe.”
“And tie my phone to yours?” she demanded. “Haven’t you done enough damage already?”
“It’s a burner. It can’t be tied to me. Please, Sydney. I just want to know that you’re safe.”
But she hung up.
I handed the phone back to Brady, suffocating in guilt. How many people’s lives had I destroyed in my quest for answers? For justice?
“You shouldn’t stay at your apartment tonight,” Brady said.
“I planned to stay at my mother’s.”
“I’m not sure you should stay there either. If someone is looking for you, they’re probably going to look there next.”
Fear raced through my blood, but anger blazed up in its wake. “I can’t just leave my mother there unprotected if someone might go looking for me there!”
“Then let me tell Owen. He can help protect you and your mother.”
“No.” I didn’t trust the man near me, let alone my mother. What if someone took her next?
“Dammit, Magnolia!”
I steeled my back and gave him a fierce gaze. “No. I don’t trust anyone. I’ll protect her.”
“And how the hell do you propose you’re going to do that?” When I didn’t answer, he shook his head. “No. I’ll watch over you both. I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight, and we’ll revisit this tomorrow.”
I wanted to argue with him, but I was too exhausted. Not about him sleeping on the sofa—that gave me more reassurance than felt comfortable. But if he thought I might change my mind about talking to Owen, he would be sadly mistaken.
I only hoped I could trust him to keep his word.
Chapter 24
When I pried my eyes open the next morning, I was lying on my old bed, still wearing the dress I’d worn last night and twisted in the linens. I blinked, momentarily confused, before the previous night came rushing back.
Geraldo Lopez was missing. I’d told Brady more than I probably should have. Brady had slept on my mother’s sofa.
Oh crap. Brady was downstairs on my mother’s sofa.
The clock on the nightstand read 8:06, and my mother was routinely up by seven.
I had a lot of explaining to do.
But when I got downstairs, I was hit with a delicious smell of something savory, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since early the evening before. Momma was sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of coffee while staring out the windows at the woods, and there was no sign of Brady.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her back still to me.
I grabbed a mug and poured a cup of coffee. “You’re not gonna ask why I’m here?”
“I figured you had your reasons. There’s a breakfast casserole in the oven.”
I pulled the dish out of the oven and served myself a piece before I sat next to her. Had Brady snuck out before my mother got up? I’d left my cell phone upstairs.
“Your new place not everything you thought it would be?”
“It’s being fumigated.”
“Your car’s not here.”
“Someone gave me a ride.”
“The police detective who questioned me about your father?” She turned to look at me with raised brows. “I saw him sneaking out this morning.” A grin tugged at her lips. “He offered to come back and give you a ride to your car, but I told him that wasn’t necessary.”
Oh crap. “I can explain.”
She waved her hand, looking slightly amused. “I don’t want to know. Are you working at your other job this morning?”
“Yeah. From ten to two—until I need to come work for the Belles.”
Her grin fell as she picked up her coffee and stared out the window into the trees.
I used to love them too, but now I couldn’t so much as look at them without remembering that night. My whole life was a nightmare, but I was the one who’d brought this current one to our doorstep. It wasn’t fair to my mother. Especially since she’d warned me to let it go.
She turned to me. “I know you, girl. Drama follows you like a swarm of flies follows a pig in a sty. That detective was here last night watching over you because you’ve stirred up shit.”
“Momma.”
“And the personal touch is because you also draw men like flies. Always did.”
“Momma,” I said, feeling exhausted. It was clear she was only getting warmed up, so I prepared myself for another character berating.
“You’ve always been so damn independent, even when you were a girl, never wanting a lick of help. The only person you’d ever let help you was your father, and after he left . . .” She took a sip of her coffee, and her tone changed. “You wouldn’t let me help you, Magnolia, and I suppose that’s my fault.”
I stared at her in shock. “What are you talking about?”
She looked into my eyes. “I know something happened that night of your graduation. I was so terrified when no one knew where you were. It was like your father all over again. He’d brought his own problem on himself, and you’re so much like him, I was sure you’d brought something down on yourself too.” She shook her head. “You were no angel, Magnolia.”
I should have been pissed that she was rehashing my slightly rebellious teenage years, but shock left little room for other emotions. This was uncharted territory for us. “I know.”
“I’d lost your father. I couldn’t lose you too, and I was so angry. How could God take you from me too? How could you be so careless? But then you stumbled into the house covered in m
ud and looking like a drowned rat, and all of my anger was still there, burning like a furnace inside me, and it rushed out. So I lashed out at you, even though something deep in my head registered something wasn’t right. Something had happened.” She took a breath. “I could see it in your eyes. You were terrified.”
I held my breath. I couldn’t let her try to pry this mystery apart, yet I could see that she needed to get this off her chest. Momma was dying and she was trying to make things right.
“I sent you to bed, thinking I’d be calm enough to discuss what happened in the morning, but then all kinds of things rushed through my mind about the horrible things that could have happened to you. Except you were already at home and asleep in your bed, so my mind twisted your disappearance the night before into a personal affront to me.”
“Momma—”
She shook her head, her eyes narrowed. “No. It didn’t make sense, but I rationalized it anyway. When I saw you that morning, I knew I needed to calm down before I found out the truth, so I left for work. Tilly took me to task for the cruel things I’d said to you. I knew I was in the wrong, but I’m a proud woman, and it’s hard for me to apologize. So I planned to take you to dinner to tell you how sorry I was and find out what really happened, but you were gone.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “It’s okay, Momma.”
“No, Magnolia. It’s not okay. Nothing was okay after you left.” Her voice cracked. “I had no idea where you were. You refused to answer your phone. I filed a Missing Persons Report, and the police found your car at the airport. Just like your father.” She paused and took a breath. “Days later, you finally sent a text saying you’d left, and I knew I’d deserved it. I’d brought it on myself. But I still hoped . . .” She released a hiccup. “I always hoped you’d come home.”
Was that why she hadn’t done anything to my room? Why she’d kept my car?
“I’m a fool, Magnolia. I always believed family comes first, but I’m an even bigger fool because I let my anger get the better of me, and it cost me my daughter.”
“I’m back now, Momma. We’re getting there, don’t you think?”
“Your father was a fool too. He was idealistic to think that some wrongs were so heinous they needed to be righted. I thought he was on a fool’s errand, and I made no effort to hold back my disapproval. We quarreled the day he disappeared, but even though I knew I was wrong, I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. I’ll carry that shame to my grave soon enough.”
“Daddy loved you, and he knew you loved him. He understood you.”
She nodded and a tear spilled down her cheek. “You’re more like him than I can take some days. You’re on a fool’s errand too.” I started to protest, but she held up her hand. “I’m supposed to die before you, Magnolia. A mother’s not supposed to bury her child, but if you keep pursuing this nonsense, you’ll be in the ground before me.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head and stood. “You need to do what you think is right, Magnolia. This is bigger than me. Just be careful.”
My stomach twisted. Could I do this to her? Did I have a choice? I’d started this snowball rolling, and I was pretty sure it had picked up enough steam that there was no stopping it now.
She got up and took the cup to the sink. “I’ll be ready to drop you off at your apartment in about twenty minutes.” Then she turned to face me, tears still on her cheeks. “I love you, Magnolia. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.” With that, she went upstairs.
I washed up the dishes, then went upstairs and found my phone. Brady had sent me several texts.
I’m heading out before your mother wakes up. Text me when you get up.
Then:
Your mother saw me, but she didn’t ask questions. Sorry.
An hour later:
Maggie, CALL ME.
I took a deep breath as I hit the call button, worried about what he had to tell me.
“I was about to come back over and check on you,” he said when he answered.
“I left my phone in my room, and my mother and I . . . had a chat.”
“Was she upset that I was there?”
“Not how you think.” I pushed the bedroom door shut. “Do you know anything about Dr. Lopez?”
“It’s a little difficult to ask questions about a case I have no part of without looking suspicious. Let me at least tell Owen, and he can say he’s working on a hunch that his case is related.”
“So I take it that’s your roundabout way of saying no.”
“Maggie.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation on the phone. My mother is taking me to my apartment so I can shower and change. Meet me there in an hour.” I needed time to think.
“I’ll be there in half an hour. I have to work later.” Then he hung up.
Was he right? Brady and Owen had known each other for years. Was it possible Brady could be so wrong about him? But Dr. Lopez had seemed so certain the police were dirty, and there was the not-so-small matter of Walter Frey’s missing cell phone and note. Suddenly it struck me: Owen Frasier was in charge of that case, but who’d been in charge of my father’s case?
I reached for my purse to pull out the envelope, then slid out the papers, searching for the detective’s name on the report.
Detective Gordon Frasier.
Oh shit.
I opened the search app on my phone and looked for Gordon Frasier. It didn’t take much to find out he was a retired police detective from the Franklin Police Department. A little further digging told me that he was Owen’s uncle. Double shit.
“Magnolia!” my mother called out from the hall.
“In here.” I stuffed the papers back into the envelope as the door opened.
She gave the envelope a curious glance. “Are you ready to go yet?”
“I haven’t made the bed. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Momma nodded, then shut the door behind her.
She was quiet during the drive to my apartment, and I was busy wrestling with how to tell Brady I was sure his best friend was crooked. Momma pulled up to the curb and curled her lips. “I suppose you’ve already been inside her house.”
“Yours is nicer, Momma. Hers is pretentious.”
To my surprise, she said, “That’s my girl.” And then, as if I wasn’t shocked enough, she grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Be careful, Magnolia.”
“I will.”
I walked down the driveway, not surprised to see Miss Ava standing at her back door as I passed. The woman seriously needed to get a hobby.
“Good morning, Miss Ava.”
“Is that your mother pulling away?” There was no mistaking the snide tone in her voice. “She didn’t want to see your apartment?”
I forced a smile. “She had to get back to work.” I cast a glance at my front door at the top of the stairs. “Any word on when the locks will be changed?”
She pushed open her screen door and stood in the opening, holding out her hand. Silver keys dangled from her fingertips. “Already done.”
The locksmith must have shown up at the butt crack of dawn, which made me even more thankful I’d spent the night with Momma. “Seriously?”
“I never joke, Magnolia.”
No, I suspected she didn’t. “Thank you.” I took them from her grasp, then asked, “No one else has had access to them, right? Just the locksmith and you?”
“And now you.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Don’t share them with anyone else.”
“I won’t.”
I started to head toward the stairs, then turned back to face her. “Do you know anything about the missing Nashville dentist, Geraldo Lopez?”
She made a face. “Why would I be concerned with some Nashville dentist?” Then she shut the door.
So did that mean she did or she didn’t?
I now had fifteen minutes before Brady showed up, and I needed to lay on the charm to get my answers. Which meant I had to hurry so he
didn’t show up while I was in the shower.
I was showered and dressed, and was putting on my mascara by the time I heard the knock on my door. When I stared out the peephole, I saw Brady holding a drink tray with what looked like two coffees and a pastry bag.
Looked like I wasn’t the only one planning on doing some buttering up.
I opened the door—mascara tube in hand—and slipped into the role I’d planned to play: a strong young woman who was willing to do whatever it took to stay safe and get answers. Admittedly, it looked like I might have to use Brady to achieve that goal. The role didn’t do much to help the slimy feeling in my chest. “Brady. You brought breakfast.”
I stepped out of the way, and he gave me a tight grin before walking past me. “And coffee.”
He set the bag and tray on my small kitchen island, then handed me a cup. “I ordered what you got the night we took our walk.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You remembered?”
His gaze held mine. “I remember details. That’s part of what makes me a good detective.”
“Arrogant much?” I asked before I thought better of it.
His answer wasn’t smug, but it was confident. “If it’s true, why hide it?”
I cocked my head, not entirely sure I liked this change in attitude. He thought he had the upper hand. Why?
Turning back to the counter, he opened the bag. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a blueberry muffin and a croissant. You pick.”
“I already ate at my mother’s.”
He simply shrugged and pulled the blueberry muffin out of the bag. Then he perched on a stool, but when I didn’t follow suit, he cast a glance at me. “Are you going to just stand there?”
I lifted my brows in challenge.
“You said you wanted to talk in person.” He took a bite of his muffin before adding, “I’m ready to talk.”
What was going on with him? “I’m not quite ready yet.” I waved the mascara tube. “I’ll be out in a second.” Then I set the cup on the counter—still untasted—and went into the bathroom and finished putting on my mascara. I hadn’t washed my hair, but I’d pulled the sides back from my face. My makeup was understated, and I had chosen a pink and yellow floral dress with a pair of low-heeled wedges—a fashion decision I was sure I was going to regret by the end of the day.
Act Two Page 27
