Call Back: Magnolia Steel Mystery #3 (Magnolia Steele Mystery)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “No. I need to talk to him.” I’d been expecting Owen to come looking for me. It was part of the reason I’d asked Brady to let me stay with him after my apartment was declared a crime scene. It had seemed unlikely Owen would force a confrontation, especially an unpleasant one, in front of his best friend. But I’d had enough time to collect myself. I could face him now.

  Colt kept his hand on my shoulder as he addressed the crowd. “Thanks for listening, y’all, but Maggie and me are gonna call it a day. Be sure to head inside and check out the fine display of vintage and newer household items, and you sure don’t want to miss Alvin’s cookbook sale—twenty percent off!”

  It sounded a lot like a prepared spiel, which made me wonder again if I had been set up. But I had bigger fish to fry—like the detective heading straight for me.

  Steeling my back, I met him at the front of the crowd. “Detective Frasier, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?”

  A few of the women who’d lingered after the performance were casting envious glances in our direction. I’d gone from singing with one devastatingly handsome man to talking with another gorgeous one. Owen was tall, dark, and handsome, but the apprehension in his eyes made me wary.

  “I was downtown for lunch and decided to see what all the commotion was about.”

  I motioned to the store behind me. “Just Alvin trying to drum up a little business.”

  “Did he have a permit for that?”

  “Did he need one?”

  He didn’t answer, his gaze landing on Colt, who’d been cornered by a couple of women. “I confess, I’d also planned to drop by and see you.”

  I wasn’t surprised, but I wasn’t pleased either. “And how did you know I’d be here?”

  “Brady.” His gaze turned back to mine. “Got a minute to chat?”

  “Sure,” I said breezily, as if nothing was amiss.

  “How about we walk down to Starbucks and get some coffee?”

  It was an understatement to say I didn’t trust Owen, but Starbucks was about as public as it got, which meant I should be safe. “Okay. Let me go tell Alvin.”

  “I think he knows you’re leaving,” Owen said, motioning to the window.

  Sure enough, Alvin was standing behind the window, watching me with a worried look. I lifted my hand in a short wave, then pointed down the street.

  Alvin nodded, still looking concerned, but business was booming a little too much for him to keep his attention on me.

  “You seem to have a way with men,” Owen said dryly.

  I grinned, pretending not to notice the barb beneath his words. “Well, I’m not sure about that.”

  “You’ve got Brady under your spell.”

  I laughed. “I assure you, I’m incapable of holding anyone under a spell—otherwise, I wouldn’t be working at a boutique in downtown Franklin. I’d be back in New York onstage.”

  “See, I think you could be back in New York, yet you’re still here.” His tone held a challenge. “Why?”

  I glanced up at him, letting my smile fade. “Do you want to have this discussion here on the sidewalk?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  Something in his tone made my heart thud against my ribcage. Owen had lied in his report about the events leading up to Geraldo Lopez’s death, and I hadn’t contradicted him. I’d claimed my memories of the shooting were a blur, but Owen had watched me intently while I gave my report, and I suspected he knew I wasn’t telling the truth. If so, he was right—I’d been alert and aware for the shooting, and I knew Owen had shot Dr. Lopez to stop him from saying something.

  Was Owen going to call me on it now?

  A warm smile spread across his face, but wariness filled his eyes. “Let’s get our coffee and sit before we talk.”

  We walked silently to the coffee shop. He paid for both of our drinks and then suggested we sit outside at the ice cream shop tables across the street.

  As soon as we were settled at one of the folding tables, he asked, “How are you holding up after everything?”

  I took a sip of my coffee and lifted one shoulder into a slight shrug. “Okay. Still sore, but I’m getting better.”

  “Brady says you’re having nightmares.”

  My eyes widened in shock. “Brady’s been talking to you about me?”

  He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Not really. I pressed him. I suggested you see a trauma counselor, but he insisted you were fine.”

  Brady had never mentioned the possibility to me, not that I would have gone. “And the subject of my nightmares came up during your conversation?”

  He rested his hand on the table and leaned closer. “No. I asked him a few questions about you. The sort of thing I’d do to check up on a trauma victim. You know, ‘How’s Magnolia? Is she having any anxiety? Any nightmares?’ When he didn’t deny the nightmares, I figured you were probably plagued by them.” He looked into my eyes. “You were beaten and nearly killed, Magnolia. Then your attacker was shot to death in front of you. By me. It was a traumatic experience for both of us. There’s no shame in being anxious.”

  I set my coffee cup on the table. “I’m fine.”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk about an experience like that, and I know you’re not talking to Brady, which seems a little odd.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end again. “I’m a private person.”

  “Private enough that you took off ten years ago without a single word to anyone?”

  I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest, instead forcing myself to look steady and unaffected. “I hurt my mother terribly when I took off to become an actress, and now that I’m back, I’m trying to make amends for my thoughtlessness.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories,” he said, his face shifting into a sympathetic mask. I’d seen worse acting on a few Off-Off Broadway productions. “Since you and Brady are becoming closer, I thought I would offer to be a friendly ear. You and I shared the experience, so I thought it might be easier for you to talk to me.”

  I struggled to control my fear. “I already gave my statement.”

  “Oh, I know,” he said kindly. “This is off the record. Friend to friend.”

  The corners of my mouth tilted up into a smile, and I tried to relax my cheek muscles to make it look more natural. “That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ve processed the situation.”

  “This isn’t easy for me to admit,” he said, looking down at his coffee cup before returning his gaze to me. “But I need to talk about it too.”

  “Maybe you should be the one seeing a trauma counselor,” I said in a teasing tone.

  “I thought it might be better to talk to you. That’s why support groups work so well. You can share your feelings with someone who understands.”

  He held my gaze, and I could see he wasn’t just going to let this go. Maybe it would be in my best interest to reiterate that I was sticking with his version of the story.

  “That’s probably a good idea.” I broke eye contact, wanting to look demure, and picked up my cup again. “But I don’t like talking about it, much less thinking about it.”

  “I understand. But talking about it will probably help with the nightmares.” He paused. “You said Lopez wanted something, but you didn’t know what. Has that become any clearer since Saturday night?”

  I took a sip of coffee, forcing it down my tightened throat. Play a role. I was a clueless victim. “No. He just kept asking where it was, and when I asked what he was talking about, he said I already knew.” I was lying, but I was playing my role so well I almost believed it. However, the look on Owen’s face suggested he wasn’t buying it.

  “I don’t understand why he’d go to so much trouble to attack you if you didn’t have it.”

  “I don’t even know what it could be.”

  “That’s what you said the other night, but you also suggested he might have been after the money that went missing when your father disappea
red.” His eyes locked on mine. “Have you considered it might not be money?”

  I blinked, feigning confusion. I was pretty damn sure he knew it was gold and was trying to get me to admit it. “What could it possibly be? A safety deposit key like Brady suggested?”

  “No. Something else.”

  “I don’t know. I was just a kid when Daddy left.”

  “You were fourteen,” he said, watching me closely. “Brady said you and your father were very close.”

  I tilted my head. “Sounds like you and Brady have been talking about me more than you let on.”

  He ignored my statement. “Your father didn’t tell you?”

  “Why would he? Looking back, I’m sure he tried to keep as much from me as he could.”

  “So why would Lopez think you had it?”

  “Because he was desperate? He had to be to fake his own kidnapping and kill people.” I narrowed my eyes. “I thought this wasn’t an interrogation.”

  He looked momentarily startled, but the next second he sat back and smiled. “Sorry. Habit.”

  “If you question your girlfriends like that, it’s no wonder you’re currently single,” I said with a playful grin. I truly deserved a Tony nomination for this performance.

  He laughed, but it sounded forced. “There’s probably truth in that.”

  Since he was so hell-bent on continuing our chat, I decided to go on the offensive. “How did you get to my apartment so quickly that night?” I asked. “I’d just called Brady before Dr. Lopez broke in my door. Then the next thing I knew, you were there to save me.”

  He shrugged. “The police station isn’t too far from your house.”

  According to Brady, Owen hadn’t been on duty that night, which only made me more suspicious. “Thank goodness you showed up, or I might be dead.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “Well,” I said sincerely, “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “But you know full well what happened when I shot Lopez. Why didn’t you tell Brady?”

  I hesitated, wondering how to answer.

  His face became a blank slate. “Let’s make a deal, okay? Let’s be as honest with each other as we’re able to be.”

  I tilted my head—the qualifier he’d tacked on worked to my advantage, but it also worked to his. If he stuck to the arrangement, at least I could trust he wasn’t lying to me. But could I really trust that? I’d have to hear him out and decide later. “Okay.”

  “Why are you staying at Brady’s apartment?”

  That wasn’t the question I’d expected from him. “Because you said I couldn’t stay in my apartment while you were collecting evidence.”

  “Why not stay with your mother?”

  I studied him for a moment, then gave him a demure smile. “My mother and I don’t get along very well, which is why I’m working at Alvin’s boutique and not full-time in her catering kitchen.” While all of that was kind of true, it wasn’t the real answer to his question. I didn’t want to put my mother in danger.

  “So you’re using him.”

  This conversation was not going the way I’d thought it would. “I’m not using Brady.”

  “I know for a fact that you’re not sleeping with him.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, outraged. “He told you that?”

  “He didn’t have to. I know.” He squirmed in his seat, suddenly looking like he regretted starting this conversation. “There are other ways of knowing, Magnolia. I’ve been friends with him for eight years, and it’s my job to read people.”

  “I like Brady. A lot. However, I just jumped out of a disastrous relationship in New York, and it’s not fair to him if I jump into something before I have it all sorted out.”

  “So why are you staying with him?”

  “Honestly?” I asked, holding his gaze. “He makes me feel safe. Safer than I’ve felt in a long time. It seems to me that Brady’s a big boy and can handle himself, so tell me why you really want to know.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “He’s a sucker for a damsel in distress, and we both know you’re caught up in something bigger—much bigger than a dead dentist. Brady needs to stay the hell away from it.”

  His admission caught me by surprise. “And you think I’ll drag him into it if I stay.”

  “I know you will.”

  And suddenly I had confirmation that I’d only scratched the surface of what my father had gotten mixed up in. Something Owen clearly knew a thing or two about.

  “And you?” I said. “You’re involved.”

  “Yes, I know more than I’ve let on,” he said, scanning the street. “But I knew you did too when you didn’t contradict my version of how Lopez went down.”

  “Do you know what he was looking for?” I asked.

  His mouth tipped into an amused smirk. “Do you?”

  I held his gaze. “Fair enough.”

  “You’re going to keep digging,” he said flatly.

  I could lie, but I saw no reason to hide the truth from him. I wasn’t some super sleuth who could fly under the radar. He was likely to find out what I was up to sooner or later.

  After the inauspicious end to my meeting with Walter Frey, I’d started digging into the mystery of my father’s disappearance. For each answer I’d found, I’d surfaced a dozen new questions. One of those Pandora’s boxes was the plaster dog I’d given my daddy years before. I’d rescued it from the family garage, only to find those gold bars hidden inside, along with a note telling me to trust no one. At first, I’d presumed he’d hidden it fourteen years ago, right before his disappearance, but Colt’s friend had run the serial numbers, and three of the bars had been made four years after he vanished. There was more to be dug up, and I wasn’t stopping until I uncovered it all. “Yes.”

  “I’d like to point out that it would be incredibly stupid and dangerous for you to keep meddling. There are people who don’t want their private business exposed.”

  That gave me pause. I’d already realized how deadly this game was, but most of the key players were now dead, weren’t they? “I know the police version of my father’s disappearance is wrong. And I have proof.”

  “And you learned this from Geraldo Lopez?”

  “I have multiple sources, Owen.”

  “Sources like Sydney Crowley? Shannon Morrissey’s sister?” He grinned, but it wasn’t kind. “You really suck at this. You’re not even trying to hide what you’re doing.”

  “I never claimed to be a detective.”

  His expression turned grim. “All the more reason for you to stay out of it.”

  “I’m doing this to find out what really happened to my father. What’s your involvement?”

  “I’m a police detective,” he said in a derisive tone. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “To be delving into a fourteen-year-old mystery? And keeping it from your best friend?” I asked in disbelief, then shook my head. “No. It’s because your uncle was involved in my father’s case.” His uncle had been accused of being a dirty cop over his handling of the case. Was Owen trying to prove his uncle was innocent, like Brady had insinuated, or was he after the gold?

  His eyes widened slightly. Perhaps he was surprised that I, with my shoddy detective skills, had made the connection. I wasn’t about to let him know that Brady had drawn the dots together too.

  “You said you’re digging into this to find out what happened to your father,” he said. “Are you sure you really want to know? What if he wasn’t as clean as you think he was?”

  I’d already asked myself that question more times than I could count over the last few days. “I could ask the same about your uncle.”

  His face flushed with anger. “Your father’s integrity may be in question, but my uncle was a good cop.”

  “Then why do you care if I keep digging? Scared I’ll find out something about your uncle that you don’t want known? You’ve been on the force for eight years, so forgive me if I find it coincidental that you’re only now t
rying to prove his innocence—after I was the one who pried the case open again.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Magnolia,” he said dryly. “Finding a couple of dead bodies doesn’t make you a crack investigator.”

  I shifted in my seat. “That reminds me of something. When I found Walter Frey, he had a cell phone and a note in his hand. But Brady said there was no mention of either of those things in the police report. In fact, the report says he didn’t have a cell phone at all. You took them, didn’t you?”

  Walter Frey hadn’t wanted to meet me at the bar that night. I’d pressured him into it, and I still felt somewhat responsible for his death. After finding his body, I’d leaned in close to see if he was still alive. That was when I saw those things in his hand. Given the reason for our meeting, I’d deduced that the list was composed of people for me to either talk to or investigate. Geraldo Lopez was the only name I’d recognized offhand, and I’d made an appointment at his office using an alias. The rest was recent, and rather unpleasant, history.

  I’d also seen two partial names on the list. Christopher Merritt, I’d discovered, was an accountant who’d disappeared just like my father had, only years later. The last entry ended in –ogers. I had no idea who it could be, but I planned to find out.

  Owen stared at me, not contradicting my accusation, so I had to assume he had taken the list and the phone.

  “You’re not warning me to protect me. Or Brady, for that matter,” I said, lowering my gaze to my hand on the table. “You’re worried about what I’m going to turn up.”

  “Who says there’s anything to turn up? Maybe I’m trying to keep you from getting arrested for interfering with an investigation.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “What investigation? My father’s disappearance case is closed. And so is Walter Frey’s, now that we know Dr. Lopez killed him.” I decided to be blunt. “I like how you threw everyone off the trail by saying Mr. Frey was robbed.”

  An ugly look spread across his face. “Are you accusing me of interfering with an investigation?”

  “We both know Walter Frey wasn’t robbed. But he was part of your uncle’s investigation into my father’s disappearance, and you didn’t want to draw any attention to that.”