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

by Denise Grover Swank

  I pulled away to study her face. “Omaha, and what are you talking about? Why?”

  “It’s just that you’ve been through so much the month you’ve been home. Maybe you should get away and breathe a little before you come back and deal with your momma’s imminent passing.” She cringed. “I’m sorry. That was tactless.”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s true. She’s dying. Which is exactly why I can’t go anywhere. I need to be here.”

  She hugged me again. “I love you, Magnolia,” she whispered in my ear. “I just want you to be safe.” Then she abruptly dropped her hold, spun on her feet, and hurried off in the direction of her wedding planning office.

  I straightened my back as I watched her run away from me. She didn’t have to handle my brother alone. She was my family now. I’d help her even if she didn’t think she wanted help.

  I’d parked my car behind the catering office, so I walked the few blocks to Ava’s and then headed around the house. When I rapped on the back door, Ava opened it before I had to knock a second time.

  “Magnolia Steele,” she said in a brisk tone. “You’re full of surprises.”

  “Because I’m not late?”

  Her lips twitched with the hint of a smile, but her grim expression quickly slipped back into place. “At least you’re dressed appropriately.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Except for your necklace. Don’t you find it crass to wear the very thing you were named after?”

  “No,” I said, reaching for it. “It was a gift and it’s beautiful. And it’s not like it’s gaudy. It’s barely a half-inch in diameter.”

  She studied me for a second before a pleased look filled her eyes. “Your choice.”

  Was that a test?

  She grabbed a plastic tote of cleaning supplies and thrust it at me. “I expect you to have the living room and dining room dusted and the wood floors on the first floor cleaned within an hour and a half, and then I have another job for you.”

  I stared at her in surprise. “You don’t want me to clean the powder room or the kitchen?”

  “Did I stutter?”

  “No, but—”

  “You may get started now. I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she said, walking toward the staircase. “But I see no reason why you should need me. Even a simpleton could clean a house without special instructions.” Then I heard her footfalls on the stairs.

  I couldn’t help grinning. Somehow I’d gotten used to the cranky woman and actually found her antics amusing, although I suspected that might change after I told her I needed to leave by one forty-five to eat lunch with my mother.

  The great thing about cleaning was it was a mindless job, giving me lots of time to come up with a plan for how to continue my investigation. I didn’t want Belinda to know what I was up to, so it seemed safest to focus on the past. Maybe Momma would be willing to talk about Daddy now that Morrissey and Lopez were no longer threats.

  I still hadn’t heard from Colt, but I told myself not to worry yet. He was probably still sleeping.

  I had dusted the living and dining rooms—which took longer than expected, given all the knickknacks—and started mopping the floor when I heard banging at the front door. I cast a glance upstairs, briefly wondering if I should tell Ava. I didn’t know if she’d want me to answer it, but the increasingly persistent knocking made up my mind for me.

  I opened the door, shocked to see Brady’s stern face.

  “Brady,” I gasped.

  He reached out and tugged me to his chest. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

  I pulled loose and looked up at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been calling and texting you for over an hour, and you never answered.”

  I pointed my thumb behind me toward the kitchen. “I left my phone in my purse. I didn’t think Miss Ava would want me carrying my phone around.”

  “Magnolia’s correct,” Ava said from behind me, making me jump a little. “She’s here to clean my house, not dawdle on the phone.”

  “This is police business,” Brady said, his jaw tight.

  “Oh, is it?” Ava asked in a haughty tone. “Are you here about Emily Johnson’s murder?”

  “What?” I breathed out as my vision blackened and my knees started to buckle.

  Brady quickly caught me, holding me to his chest. “Maggie.”

  I tried to answer, but I was too shocked to respond. Emily and I had been nemeses in high school, but she’d become friends with my mother after I left town, filling the void in her life. As a favor to my mother, she’d served as my attorney while I was a person of interest in the Max Goodwin case. She’d suspected there was more to my story of why I’d abandoned Franklin after graduation, but she hadn’t gotten any further than suspecting.

  I remembered the text I’d received in the middle of the night.

  I left you a present to help you remember.

  My stalker had done this. He’d killed Emily. Because of me.

  Brady was keeping me upright, and Ava was watching the whole scene with her eagle- sharp eyes. I needed to pull myself together.

  I glanced up into Brady’s worried eyes. “Is it true?”

  He gave Ava a sharp frown before turning his attention back to me. “Yes. But I wanted to tell you myself. I know she was your attorney when you were questioned about Goodwin’s murder.”

  My legs felt strong enough to bear my weight, so I pulled free, wrapping my arms around my chest in an attempt to hold myself together. “Her murder was the case you were called out for this morning.”

  “Yes.”

  I gave a sharp nod. Was that why he’d acted so strangely this morning? “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you any details.” At least he sounded apologetic about it.

  “Where did it happen?”

  When he didn’t respond, Ava piped up. “She was murdered in her apartment. Her neighbor saw her dog in the hallway, scratching at the door and trying to get back in. She knocked on the door to find out why the dog was loose at three in the morning, but the door swung open. Emily was dead in the kitchen. Blood everywhere.”

  A new wave of queasiness washed over me.

  “Ms. Milton,” Brady said in a stern tone.

  “What?” she asked, looking pleased with herself. “You may not be able to tell her the official facts, but I’m at liberty to tell her what I know.”

  “It’s hearsay,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “And yet it’s true. I don’t spread gossip, Detective Bennett. I only tell the facts.”

  Brady didn’t contradict her, so I knew what she’d said was the truth.

  I felt lightheaded again, but I tried not to look as horrified as I felt. I’d done this. I’d killed Emily Johnson.

  I sat down on the edge of the sofa, knowing that Ava would probably have a fit over me sitting on her furniture, but it was better than passing out on the floor. So many questions raced through my head, but I couldn’t risk asking Brady any of them. What if he made the connection? I glanced up at him, surprised by the worry in his eyes, and wondered if I should tell him everything I knew. About that night ten years ago, and the texts I’d been receiving ever since my return to Franklin. But I had nothing concrete to tell the police. Was I really willing to gamble the lives of the people I cared about? My stalker had sent me a photo of Belinda last week, along with a not-so-subtle threat, so I was damn lucky she was still alive.

  Brady was watching me like a hawk, looking like he was ready to swoop in and hug me again, but I had the overwhelming urge to do this on my own.

  “Thanks for coming to tell me,” I said as I stood. Then I shot a dark look at Ava since she’d technically been the one to break the news—and none too gently. But nothing else in my life had been gentle. Why expect gentleness now? “I need to get back to work.”

  His eyes hooded. “I didn’t just come to tell you about her death. I’m here to convince you to spend the rest of the day at my apartment.”
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  “Why?”

  “There’s a murderer on the loose, Maggie.” But the look he gave me let me know he thought I had a particular reason to worry.

  I looked back at Ava, who still stood at the bottom of the stairs. “I need to talk to Brady for a moment. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and you can dock the time I spend talking to him.” I didn’t wait for an answer, just shoved Brady through the open front door onto the porch and closed the door behind me.

  “Why do you work for her?” he asked in disgust as he stared at the now-closed door.

  “Because it’s part of my lease agreement.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m not adding to my indentured servitude by standing out here talking about the fairness of it. I want you to be straight with me. Why did you really come over?”

  “To tell you about Emily.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “That much is obvious. Why? I know this isn’t just because you worried how I’d take the news.”

  His eyes held mine. I could feel the weight of the unspoken words between us.

  Brady broke first. “You said you would check in with me, and you didn’t. And then you didn’t answer your phone. I knew you were supposed to be working for Ava, so I came to see if you were here, and when I didn’t see your car, I panicked.”

  I bristled at being watched so closely. “I parked my car behind Momma’s catering business. Now tell me why you’re worried.”

  “A lot of people around you have died within a very short period of time.”

  “And you think I’m next? Why?” A light bulb flickered on in my head. Did Emily have the same mark on her leg? Brady wasn’t a stupid man. He would have noticed a detail like that. But he had no idea how I’d gotten that scar, let alone that I had a stalker.

  “I care about you,” he said in frustration. “I’m not sure how to make that any clearer.”

  I tried to picture Emily in her apartment, facing the same man I’d encountered ten years ago, and nausea roiled in my gut. I closed my eyes and took several breaths through my nose, praying it would pass. Oh, the terror she must have faced . . .

  Had he told her that he’d chosen her because of me?

  Then another wave of guilt and horror hit me. How would my mother react to this news?

  “Maggie.” I felt Brady reach for me, but I jerked out of his grasp as I opened my eyes again.

  “Sorry,” I said, brushing the back of my hand across my clammy forehead. “I just need a moment alone.”

  “You should take off the rest of the day and go home.”

  Home. Where was home? The apartment behind this house? My mother’s? New York City? It sure didn’t feel like Brady’s apartment, even though I’d sought refuge there.

  And now I needed refuge more than ever.

  Part of me wanted to ask Brady about the mark. I was desperate to tell someone, especially someone who could possibly help, but Brady was holding something back. Was it really official police business, or was it something else? I wasn’t willing to take a risk, so until I knew more, I needed to distance myself from Brady to protect the people I loved.

  I put a hand on my hip and gave him a bit of attitude. “We both know Max Goodwin’s murder had nothing to do with me. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And sure, I was supposed to meet Walter Frey the night of his death, but Dr. Lopez killed him to keep him from talking to me—and Dr. Lopez is no longer a threat. I have no idea who killed Emily, but why would it have something to do with me?”

  Some sick part of me was proud for carrying off my speech when all I wanted to do was burst into tears, but I had a façade to maintain. Too bad I’d never get the theatrical recognition this performance deserved.

  “Maggie,” he pleaded. “Please.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  We had a staring match that lasted for several seconds before I flung out my hands in frustration. “I need to get back to work.” I opened the door and started to walk back inside, but Brady grabbed my arm and gently tugged me back.

  “I don’t want us parting like this,” he said. He reached for my necklace, softly brushing the pendant before dropping his hand.

  My irritation softened. Brady’s reasons for holding back information might be more legitimate than mine. “I really do have to go back to work,” I said, resting my hands on his chest.

  “I’ll say,” Ava said in a short tone from just inside the open front door. “You’ve broken your bad news, Detective Bennett, and now my house needs to be cleaned. While you’re worried for Magnolia’s safety for some unknown reason, I can assure you that she is safe while under my roof. No miscreant will get over my threshold.”

  Her promise seemed unlikely given the fact that she had to have barely weighed one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet, but she looked fierce enough to win a round of hand-to-hand combat with anyone stupid enough to try to take her on.

  “See?” I said with a forced smile. “Safe as can be. I promise to call you when I leave.”

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly.

  “Good day, Detective Bennett,” Ava said as she marched over and shoved him out the front door, which she then locked behind him. She turned her scrutinizing gaze on me. “Why was he really here?”

  I was barely holding myself together. I wasn’t sure I could endure an interrogation from Ava Milton. “He’s worried about me.”

  “Why?” she asked in a tone that suggested she didn’t think worrying about me was worth anyone’s time.

  “Because nearly every person who’s been murdered in Franklin in the past four weeks had some connection to me.”

  “He thinks you’re the murderer?”

  “No. The opposite. He’s worried I’ll be murdered next.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. “And do you think you’ll be targeted next?”

  “No,” I said, holding her gaze. No, my stalker seemed content to continue toying with me.

  “Then why are we wasting our time standing here talking about it? Have you finished mopping the floor?”

  My face flushed with irritation over being treated like a five-year-old, but it was better than the shock and guilt I felt over Emily’s death. I’d take any distraction I could. “No, ma’am.”

  “Then get busy. I still have another job for you to do.”

  I spent the next half hour mopping her floors, making sure I didn’t leave any streaks, but all that alone time with my thoughts had made me an emotional mess. I kept swiping at tears as I worked, and Ava’s looks of irritation told me that she probably thought I was weak. Some poor frightened woman scared for her life. While she was partially right, I was more worried about the people around me. What was the best way to protect them?

  When I declared my job completed, Ava examined my work, acting like someone had stuck a bumblebee up her butt. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “I think I see a streak by the settee next to the fireplace.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” I didn’t see it, nor was I convinced it existed, but I also didn’t feel like arguing with her.

  She pursed her lips. “No. Come upstairs. Your next job is in the attic.”

  I followed her up the main staircase, then up another narrow staircase to her musty attic. Flimsy boxes had been spread out everywhere, a few with their lids removed, revealing stacks of papers and newspaper clippings.

  She waved her arm around the room. “This has become a fire hazard, but the task is overwhelming. You’re going to help me sort through it all.”

  There had to be over a hundred boxes stacked around the attic. The sight of them instilled me with a powerful urge to spin around and run, but for some reason my stubbornness kicked in. I would do this, if for no other reason than to prove to Ava Milton that she couldn’t scare me away. “So where do we start?”

  “We?” she asked in a condescending tone. “Do
you have a mouse in your pocket? I will not be helping. This will be your project.”

  “Okay . . .” I tried to keep my voice cheerful, refusing to give her more evidence that I was weak. “Just tell me what you’d like me to do. Throw them out?”

  “Good heavens, no. I need you to sort through them and figure out what needs to be kept and what needs to be disposed of.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Miss Ava, how will I know what you want to keep and destroy?”

  “Use the sense in your head that God gave you, Magnolia Steele,” she said as she picked out a box that didn’t look as old as some of the ones in the back of the attic. When she saw the look of worry on my face, she sighed. “Sort them into piles, and I’ll check on you in an hour to find out how you’re doing.”

  “Okay.”

  She set the box down in the single empty patch on the rickety wood floor. “You can work there.” With that, she was gone.

  I took the box and moved to the edge of the space, thankful I’d worn yoga pants. There had to be twenty years’ worth of dust caked over everything. I was going to have to change before I met Momma for lunch, but I couldn’t do it in my apartment. Maybe Ava would let me change in her powder room. I could use my broken front door as an excuse—I sure wasn’t telling her about the cameras hidden all around the apartment.

  And I still hadn’t told Ava I was leaving early.

  But I also realized I needed to warn Belinda that she might be next on the killer’s list. I couldn’t stop thinking about that photograph of Belinda he’d sent me. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure Ava was really gone, I called Belinda instead of texting.

  “Magnolia,” she said in a warm voice. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “You were?” I asked in surprise.

  “I really enjoyed our breakfast this morning. We should try to get together more frequently.”

  We’d shared at least three meals a week since my move back to Franklin. If circumstances had been different, I might have thought she was clingy, but I suspected something else was up. “That would be great,” I said.

  “Mr. James,” Belinda said, her voice muffled. “Could you give me a moment to talk to my sister-in-law?”