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

by Denise Grover Swank

  His voice was faint in the background. “Of course. Tell her I’m waiting for her call.”

  “Will do,” Belinda said. Several seconds passed before she spoke into the receiver again, and when she did, her voice was much quieter. “Magnolia, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. In fact, I was calling to check on you.”

  “Me?” she asked in surprise. “Whatever for?”

  “Belinda, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Emily Johnson is dead.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “What? How?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Your safety is what matters.”

  “Why would you think I’m unsafe?”

  She hesitated. “Because Emily was your attorney, and people around you are dying,” she gushed out. “It makes me nervous for you.”

  Why did she sound so flustered?

  “I’m fine. I’m at Ava Milton’s house, which is probably safer than being locked up at the South Pole. I’m more worried about you.” I decided to borrow her own reasoning. “If people around me are dying, then you’re at risk.”

  “Me? I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me.”

  Why did she sound so certain? Now I was being totally paranoid. Most people never thought they’d become a killer’s target. After all, a regular person had a greater chance of getting struck by lightning or getting killed falling out of bed.

  “I’m sorry, Magnolia, but I have to get back to this meeting. Can we talk later?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Be careful,” she said. Then she hung up.

  When had Belinda started taking meetings with Bill James?

  But if Brady had warned me to stay away from Bill James, should I be worried about my sister-in-law? Or was she safe because she was married to Roy?

  I needed to get back on task.

  Releasing a massive sigh, I lifted the lid off the box and took out the first piece of paper, a newspaper article about the opening of a strip mall on Highway 96. The article was dated twenty years before. Why in heaven’s name would she need to keep a newspaper clipping about a strip mall? I set it to the side, my new discard pile.

  I shuffled through multiple clippings about society events before dropping them all into the discard pile. A photo caught my eye, and I retrieved the page and took a closer look. While it was a picture of a Franklin doctor and his wife at a heart disease fundraiser, the photographer had captured a clear image of my father behind them, talking to a man I didn’t recognize. I set the paper down next to me, the lone keep item so far.

  I continued sorting through the clippings, scanning the photos more carefully. There were several other photos with my father in the background. But I’d started looking for other familiar faces too—and found them. There were several shots of Walter Frey and Steve Morrissey. I even found a photo of Steve and his first wife, the woman he’d left to marry Shannon. I was halfway through the box when I realized I was piecing together my father’s life twenty years ago—when he had been part of the Jackson Project. There wasn’t any mention of the land scheme. Instead, with the exception of the occasional article about a store opening, most of the clippings covered the social scene in Franklin and Nashville. But I could see a pattern. My father had attended every major fundraiser the year I turned eight.

  And so had Bill James.

  Chapter 8

  I started making a mental list of things to ask my mother, and Daddy’s year as a social butterfly was definitely on there. I vaguely remembered him being gone a lot for a short time when I was in grade school, which was an oddity, especially since I remembered him being home most nights until the months leading up to his death.

  I got up and found a notebook and a pencil on a table made of sawhorses and plywood. I took both over to my floor space and spread out the articles, making a list of the events and dates, coming up with a rough calendar covering seven months in the social season of 1996. Next, I pulled out my cell phone and looked up the dates of the Jackson Project. Sure enough, the land project had been announced two months after my father started attending the social events in earnest.

  Daddy and Bill James had been trolling for investors.

  Had he thought the project was on the up and up? Or had he known it was shady to begin with? I liked to think he hadn’t known, but after everything else I’d found out about him—not to mention the massive stash of gold Colt and I had found in that dog—I was reserving judgment and trying to stay neutral.

  “Have you made any progress?” Ava asked, catching me deep in thought.

  I jumped and spun around to face her. “Miss Ava.”

  “I haven’t forgotten my own name,” she grumped, then let out a loud whoosh of air as she reached the top step. “Tell me about your progress.”

  I gave her a blank look. “I’ve made it about halfway through the box. And I’m still not certain how you want me to sort them.”

  “Only halfway?” she asked in dismay. “I have another box you need to go through tomorrow.”

  I stared up at her, unsure of how to respond. On the one hand, I was scheduled to work as a hostess at her weekly Thursday morning Bible study tomorrow, after which I had to put in a shift at Rebellious Rose until six, which didn’t leave me much time to work on Ava’s attic. But in just one box, I’d discovered answers to questions I hadn’t even known to ask. Sure, I could come back in a day or two, but I’d waited fourteen years, and I was finally getting somewhere. I didn’t want to wait any longer.

  “I can take this box home tonight and work on it in my apartment. Alvin has me scheduled to work tomorrow from one to six, but I’ll see if I can get someone to cover for my shift.”

  She shook her head. “Take the box home, but come over at seven tomorrow. You can work on the second box before you start your hostessing duties.”

  I nearly protested the time—shoot, eight thirty was early enough—but it occurred to me that maybe the real purpose of this exercise was for me to find clues about my father’s past. I’d asked her what she knew about his supposed affair with Shannon Morrissey; maybe this was her roundabout way of helping me. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here. I can work for a couple of hours, then change before I serve at your meeting. I would hate to look disheveled for your guests.”

  She glanced down at the clippings and my list, then held my gaze. “The moment I met you, I knew you were smarter than most people perceive you to be. Don’t disappointment me, Magnolia.” She lifted her chin. “At my age, my image is everything. That you recognize this is proof enough that I was right about you.”

  Her praise meant more than it should have because I was fairly certain she wasn’t just talking about looking good. To hide my shock, I glanced down at my phone, surprised to see it was almost one fifteen. “Miss Ava,” I said, resisting the urge to cringe in expectation of her wrath. “I’m supposed to have lunch with my mother at two. Would you mind if I take off early?”

  She frowned. “Why would I mind? Rumor has it your mother isn’t feeling well. You should look after her.”

  How had Ava found out about my mother’s illness? She wouldn’t have been able to cut it out of a newspaper, but then I suspected the written word was only one source of Ava Milton’s information. Eavesdropping on her Bible study last week had proved to me that she was aware of all the goings-on in town. How else would she have known about Emily’s murder before it showed up on any news program?

  I decided to neither confirm nor deny my mother’s illness. “Thank you. I’ll show up for work bright and early.” My clothes were filthy and I really needed a shower. After I grabbed the catering uniform from my apartment, I’d need a place to change. “Speaking of which . . . would you mind if I change in your powder room? I don’t feel comfortable changing in my apartment with no lock on the front door.”

  “Your door’s been taken care of,” she said as she started down the stairs again. “Your new keys are on the table in the kitchen. Please try to refrain from destroying the new o
ne.”

  I started to protest that I hadn’t been the one to destroy the door, but there was no denying I was the cause. Besides, Ava was already gone—she’d descended the staircase quicker than I would have thought possible for a woman her age. Instead, I scooped up the papers and put them back into the box. For once I didn’t mind having homework.

  Ava wasn’t downstairs when I walked into the kitchen, but I found the keys on the table just as she’d said I would. They weren’t the only things I found. When I walked out the back door, Colt was sitting on the bottom steps of the stairs to my apartment.

  How could I have forgotten that he’d had his own homework assignment? But more importantly, why hadn’t he answered my text?

  His legs were extended and crossed at the ankles. His elbows rested on the step behind him. He sat up the moment he saw me.

  “Can’t you fulfill a simple request?” I asked in a short tone as I walked toward him.

  His brow lifted and he held out his hands. “What?”

  “I asked you to let me know that you got my text!”

  He lifted his shoulder into a lazy shrug. “I’m fine, Maggie Mae. Stop worrying so much.”

  Part of me wanted to snap at him, but I knew Colt wasn’t used to answering to anyone. He probably thought I was turning into a nagging woman. While the thought pissed me off, I decided to let it go this time. The important thing was that he was safe. “I’m surprised you didn’t come in.”

  “Your new front door is locked.”

  “I meant to Ava’s.”

  He climbed to his feet. “I’m not her favorite person right now.”

  That piqued my interest. “Who is? But I thought you could sweet-talk any woman. What did you do to tick her off?”

  He scowled. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. What’s with the box?”

  I wanted to press him, but I knew him well enough to know it wouldn’t work. I’d find out some other way. “Homework from Ava. Now I have to go upstairs and get a change of clothes before I meet Momma for lunch at Puckett’s.”

  He didn’t move from the base of the stairs. “Homework?”

  I shrugged, deciding he didn’t need to know, and started to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me, seriousness washing over his face. “Mags, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Emily?” I asked in a whisper.

  “You know?”

  I nodded and blinked when my eyes started burning again. “Brady came by to tell me.”

  He leaned his face close to mine, close enough that I could smell his shampoo. “I think you should let me handle the whole gold issue by myself.”

  “What?” I jerked my head up.

  “It’s too dangerous. I think you should lay low and not draw any attention to yourself.”

  I shook my head in confusion, then narrowed my eyes. “Wait. Are you trying to pull one over on me?”

  “No. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Don’t do that,” I snapped. “Don’t pretend you’re trying to be a hero.”

  “Maybe I want to find whoever took it too, Mags. Maybe I don’t like that they’re messing with your life.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Doubtful.”

  He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know me too well. Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll find the gold for you and take sixty percent. My percentage plus a finder’s fee.”

  “No way.”

  “Okay, Fifty-five, forty-five.”

  I needed Colt—there were too many things going on for me to pour all my concentration into the gold, and there was no doubt Colt had resources I didn’t. But if I left this to him, I’d have to trust him not to cheat me.

  Then again, it had never been about the gold for me. It was more about the story behind it. “Fifty-fifty,” I insisted nonetheless.

  His eyes widened slightly; then he grinned. Obviously he’d expected me to push back more. “Okay, so the next part of Operation Gold is flushing out whoever set up those cameras in your apartment. I take it you didn’t get any reaction from Bennett?”

  I shot him a glare. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  His eyebrows rose. “The fact you’re still speaking of him so fondly.” His response was a little sharp.

  I started to protest that I’d only mentioned him in passing, but I didn’t see the point. “He spoke to Owen on the phone last night, but if Owen has seen the footage, he didn’t let on.”

  “Do you think he would tell him?”

  “Maybe not on the phone. He’d probably handle it more sensitively.”

  “So we can’t rule Frasier out.”

  “No.” I frowned. “But we need to get the cameras out of there ASAP.”

  “I’m ready for Stage One, but I need a little more time.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just stay with Brady for a few more days. We don’t want to screw this up.”

  “What are you waiting on?”

  He hesitated. “I’m getting a friend to help me.”

  “Help you do what?” When he didn’t answer, I shot him a glare. “This was supposed to be between you and me.”

  “He doesn’t know any details.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  He groaned. “I’ll have a plan in place by tomorrow. I’ll tell you more when I have it nailed down.”

  “I want to know before you do anything.”

  He smirked and gave me a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I scowled. “The sooner this gets done, the better. I need to go in there now to find a change of clothes before I meet Momma for lunch. Those cameras creep me out. I want them gone.”

  His brow furrowed and he studied me for several seconds. “I know, Mags. I hate it too. But we only get one shot at this, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “You’re right.”

  “Then trust me. I need to set this up, so follow my lead.”

  “Your lead? Just tell me what you plan to do. I’m an actress, Colt, and I’m pretty damn good at it.”

  “I know, but go with it anyway.” Then he grabbed the keys out of my hand and bounded up the stairs. By the time I reached the landing, he had already stomped inside.

  “I don’t like it, Magnolia,” he said in a stern voice. “Just let me handle it.”

  This was his way of getting me to play along? Vague dialogue cues? “Yeah,” I muttered, walking into the kitchen. I set the box on the island, then opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, pretty much one of the only things in there. “Why am I not surprised a good old Southern Georgia boy would say something so misogynistic?”

  “You know it’s not that,” he said, his face pleading. “I’m protecting you. I promise I’ve hidden it somewhere no one will find it. The less people who know where it is, the better. And that includes you.” He was either wasting his time trying to break into the country music world instead of acting in LA, or he was being sincere. For some reason, I believed the latter.

  I took a long drink and my stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I waved the open bottle in a wide sweep toward him. “Fine, but I’m only giving you until the weekend, and then I want to see it for myself.”

  “Fair enough.” He snatched the water bottle from my hand and took a swig. “You still meeting Lila for lunch?”

  “Yeah.” I needed to change, but it would look suspicious if I took clothes with me and didn’t change here. “I have to get ready. You can leave if you want.”

  “Nah,” he said, handing back the water bottle. “I noticed your car’s not out front. I’ll wait and take you to meet her.”

  I headed for the bedroom, telling myself this was no big deal. I was wearing a bra and panties, which provided the same amount of coverage as a bikini. Besides, I was used to quick costume changes backstage, and anyone with access to YouTube could see a whole lot more of me. But this was different. This was a violation of my privacy.

 
But I sucked it up and pulled a white, button-up shirt from a hanger and grabbed a pair of khaki pants. If I had been wait staff, I would have worn black pants, but Momma and Tilly had long since learned it was best to keep me in the kitchen at catering events. I tugged down my yoga pants, taking comfort in the fact that my T-shirt was long enough to cover most of my backside.

  “It’s set,” I heard Colt say in a low voice in the living room.

  After pulling on my khakis, I edged closer to the cracked door.

  “She doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  My first reaction was horror. Colt was a fucking traitor.

  “Tonight behind Stringer’s in the industrial park in Franklin.”

  I tugged my T-shirt over my head and slipped my arms into the shirt, quickly securing the buttons as I continued to listen.

  “I’m not bringing all of it. Just one bar to prove I have it. But we can’t be seen together. Send me the amount we agreed upon for the one bar, and I’ll leave it behind the barrel in front of Space #145. You can pick it up after eleven o’clock. Then contact me later and we’ll negotiate the terms for the rest.”

  I peeked out through the crack. Colt’s back was to me and his phone was pressed to his ear.

  He started to turn around and I backed up, trying to control my anger. But the anger faded as quickly as it had sprung up. This was probably part of his master plan. Make a phone call while I was in the other room so the people behind the cameras would believe I didn’t know anything. But he also said he was setting up a plan for tonight, and I suspected that was because he was trying to keep me out of harm’s way. I was going to confront him later.

  Since I didn’t know when I’d be moving back in, I grabbed a couple of days’ worth of clothes and stuffed them into my last bag. Then I left the room and found Colt opening a cabinet door. “You really need to have more food options.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Colt glanced over with a grin, but something shifted in his eyes when he saw the deep V of my shirt. “I’m almost ready,” I said. “I need to grab a hair tie out of the bathroom.”