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

by Denise Grover Swank

  Brady noticed his odd behavior and stepped over the threshold, carrying a large mailing envelope in his hand. “Maggie. You said you were staying with your mother.”

  “I changed my mind,” I said, still in the elevator as I kept my gaze on Owen. The doors started to close, and I snapped out of my daze, telling myself that I had to sell this. I reached out an arm to keep the doors open. “Sorry. I’m just a little surprised to see Owen here so late.”

  “I’m here on police business,” Owen said. He was sniffling, and I noticed his nose was red like he had a cold.

  “Oh! I’m interrupting. I can go.”

  Brady shook his head. “No. Owen was on his way out.”

  “Yeah,” Owen said. “I’m not feeling so great. I plan to go home to bed.” His voice sounded mostly normal, but it had that tight, strained sound that often comes with a cold. I suspected he would be incapable of yelling without his voice distorting.

  No. My imagination was kicking into overdrive. Wouldn’t he look at me differently if he’d just threatened to shoot me less than half an hour ago?

  I stepped out of the elevator, and Owen’s gaze scanned my body up and down. “Did you get sprayed by a dirty puddle?”

  I knew I was drenched, but I glanced down, and sure enough, I had dirt and grease stains on the knees and on the outer edge of my right thigh. Think of something! “My car broke down,” I said. “And I was trying to figure out what was wrong.”

  Concern filled Brady’s eyes. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have helped you.”

  I smiled, trying to push all my negative thoughts away and play the girlfriend role. “I’m a grown woman in the twenty-first century, Brady Bennett,” I teased. “I don’t need a man to save me.”

  “I know you don’t need one,” Brady said softly. “But there’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

  “Well, Momma and I sorted it out, so no worries.”

  “What was wrong with it?”

  “I’m not sure, but we checked all the usual issues, then called Momma’s AAA and had it towed.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I borrowed Momma’s car.” I glanced up at Owen. “Are you here about Emily Johnson’s murder?”

  He looked startled. “Yeah, in a way.” The words ended in a cough.

  “I hope you get the monster who did this,” I said in all sincerity.

  He seemed caught off guard by that too. “We’re working on it.”

  I reached up on my tiptoes and kissed Brady on the cheek. “I’ll let you two get back to your police business. I’ll just go inside and get ready for bed.”

  Brady offered me a smile. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Take your time.”

  I walked past Owen, feeling his gaze on me as I went inside.

  “Why are you acting so weird?” Brady asked in a hushed voice.

  “Are you really sure about this?” Owen asked.

  I’d walked into the hallway that led to the bedrooms, moving slowly, acting unhurried, but as soon as I was out of sight, I texted Colt that I was at Brady’s. I considered telling him about Owen but decided I’d tell him tomorrow.

  I hustled into Brady’s bathroom and turned on the shower before hurrying back out into the hallway. No way was I going to miss this conversation, but I wanted them to feel they didn’t have to hold back. That there was no way I could hear them.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get all the information in there?” Owen asked.

  “Thanks,” Brady said. “I’ll never tell anyone I got it from you.”

  “You won’t have to because it will be too damn obvious. How’d you know, anyway?”

  “An old case of mine,” Brady said. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  “Hey, before you go,” Owen said. “About Magnolia . . .”

  “No. I’m not having this conversation again. Good night.”

  I hurried back into the bathroom, now facing a new dilemma—I was in desperate need of a shower, but there was no way I could sleep with Brady after that kiss with Colt. Not that I was about to let Colt know how I felt about him.

  Also, there’d been something weird about Owen’s visit tonight, something that made me feel like Brady wasn’t totally being on the up and up either. Part of me wanted to leave, but how would I explain my sudden departure to Brady without looking suspicious? Where would I even go?

  I would spend the night in the apartment, no matter how slimy I felt, but nothing more.

  What on Earth was I going to tell him, though?

  I locked the bathroom door, then quickly unbuttoned my shirt and dropped my pants. I had just gotten into the shower when I heard him banging on the bathroom door.

  “Maggie?”

  “I’ll be right out!”

  I expected him to put up a protest, but I didn’t hear anything else as I quickly washed my hair and body. I realized my fatal mistake as I grabbed the towel and got out. I hadn’t brought any pajamas in with me.

  But when I opened the bathroom door, Brady wasn’t in the bedroom, even though the covers were rumpled like he’d been in bed.

  I quickly grabbed my most modest pair of pajamas—a pair of shorts and a loose shirt—put them on in the bathroom, then wandered out to the living room to find Brady.

  He was standing in the kitchen with the envelope in his hand, looking at something printed on stiff, shiny paper. A photograph? When he noticed me, he quickly stuffed it back into the envelope. “Feel better?”

  “Yeah. Sorry I locked the door. Habit.”

  “But you live alone.”

  “For one week. After ten years of roommates, it’s going to take longer than that.”

  He walked over to me and leaned down to give me a kiss, but I turned my head, letting his lips brush my cheek.

  “I have a terrible headache,” I lied. “I can see you’re engrossed in whatever Owen brought you, so why don’t I go to bed and let you keep working on it?”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, not sounding convinced.

  I glanced up at him, overwhelmed with guilt. “Yeah,” I said, glancing away. “Especially if it helps you find whoever killed Emily.”

  He pulled me close, resting his chin on top of my head, and I resisted the urge to cry. I didn’t deserve someone like him. I didn’t deserve a normal, happy life, and thanks to my own fool heart, I was never, ever going to have it.

  I pulled away and headed down the hall, too ashamed to speak, but I could feel his eyes on me. I stopped in the doorway and glanced back at his worried face.

  “Do you want to take something?” he asked.

  I gave a tiny shake of my head. “I already did. Good night, Brady.”

  “Good night.”

  As soon as I lay down in bed, my head started racing over the entire day, but I’d been up since the early hours of the morning, and exhaustion soon won over. Yet as I drifted off, I realized Brady had been up just as long.

  What was in that envelope?

  Chapter 14

  I woke up in a cold sweat and tangled in the sheets, traces of my nightmare lurking in my subconscious. Brady wasn’t in bed, and the digital clock on his nightstand read 3:44. Had he gotten another phone call in the night?

  I got up and went into the bathroom, then wandered into the kitchen.

  Brady sat at his kitchen table with a bunch of papers and photos spread out before him. His head jerked up when he saw me. “Maggie. What are you doing up?”

  “I woke up and you weren’t there. I thought maybe you got called in on a case. Did you ever come to bed?”

  “I did, but I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.” He stood and walked around the table toward me. “I would have told you if I had to leave.”

  I tried to look around him, tensing when I saw a photo that looked like a naked woman in an awkward pose. Had Brady gotten out of bed with me to look at porn? But a second later, I registered that it was a photo of a dead woman. I wasn’t sure that was mu
ch better. “What are you doing?”

  “Just going over some paperwork,” he said, putting an arm around my back and ushering me back to the bedroom.

  “How long have you been up?”

  “Long enough that I’m ready to go back to bed.” He guided me to the edge of the mattress and lifted the covers. “Hop in. I’ll be back after I get a glass of water.”

  I did as he asked while he headed back into the kitchen. After a minute or so, I heard the water running, and Brady appeared a few moments later. He set the glass on the nightstand and then slid in beside me, pulling my back to his front. His hand reached under my shirt, skimming my stomach. I resisted the urge to pull away.

  “Say, are you working for your mother Saturday night?”

  After the last fundraiser I’d worked ended in murder, Momma and Tilly forced me to take the night off. Still, I wasn’t about to tell Brady I’d agreed to go with Colt. “I’m not sure,” I hedged. “Why?”

  “My mother wants me to go with her to a fundraiser. My father will be out of town on a business trip, and she doesn’t want to go alone.”

  “The Middle Tennessee Children’s Charity event?”

  “That’s it. Is your mother catering it?”

  “Yeah. But you know it’s a masquerade ball, right?”

  He groaned. “My mother failed to mention that part.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said. “Most people don’t wear their masks for long.”

  “I don’t suppose I can convince you to come with me?” When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “I don’t want to pressure you. I realized you’d need to ask your mother for the night off if you work.”

  Crap. Colt had asked me to the same event, and I’d said yes. If I went with him, I was sure to run into Brady. Part of me wanted to avoid the fundraiser all together, but if Colt actually found the gold and followed through with the handover, it didn’t feel right to skip out. I owed it to him to accept the risk too. Nevertheless, I took the chicken way out. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” He pulled me closer and buried his face into the back of my neck.

  I closed my eyes, but all I could see was the photo of the dead woman. “What were you looking at?” I asked.

  He stiffened, then pulled me closer. “I told you. Paperwork.”

  “For a case?”

  He rolled me over to face him and caressed my face. “This kills me, Maggie, especially when I know trust is a huge issue with you, but most of my job is confidential.”

  “So it was for your job?”

  “Yes.”

  “I saw a photo of a dead woman. How can you stand it?”

  “What I see is hard sometimes.”

  “Like with Emily?”

  “Yes. But I’m her advocate now, if that makes sense. She can’t help herself now, so I need to step up and seek justice for her.” He paused. “That sounds corny.”

  “No,” I said softly. “That sounds noble.” It only drove home my heart’s stupidity.

  “My mother hates what I do—in fact, I got an earful this afternoon when she called about the fundraiser. She wants me to go into insurance with my father.”

  “I can’t see you as an insurance salesman,” I said.

  “I’d hate it. I like what I do . . . but I hope it doesn’t get in the way of starting something with you.”

  He fell asleep soon after, but I couldn’t stop thinking about those files and the fact that he’d gotten up to look at them after he came to bed—if he’d even come to bed. I lay in the dark for what seemed like forever until I finally decided to get up. I slid out from underneath Brady’s arm and carefully got out of bed, trying not to disturb him. When I was standing next to the bed, I hesitated. What if Brady found me doing what I planned to do?

  I crept into the hall and turned back to look in the room. Brady was still asleep.

  I’d do this quickly.

  Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I turned on the light over the stove—enough light to see what I was doing but hopefully not enough to wake Brady. I spun around, looking for the envelope, and found nothing. Where had he stashed it? He hadn’t been out here for more than a couple of minutes max, which included gathering up all the photos and papers. That would have left him with precious little time to hide it. If I found it, though, and he caught me looking at it, I wouldn’t be able to claim I’d stumbled upon it.

  I had to be really sure this was what I wanted to do.

  And I was . . . because something about the woman whom I’d glimpsed in that photo looked familiar, and it would eat at me until I figured out why.

  I opened drawers and cabinets, searched under the sofa and behind the drapes. I was about to give up when I decided to check the coat closet, and that’s where I found it—hidden in a basket of gloves and scarves. Which meant Brady really hadn’t wanted me to find it.

  What was he hiding from me? Why?

  I took the envelope into the guest bathroom and locked the door behind me. Sitting on the tile, I dumped the contents onto the floor. There were multiple photos of dead women, all naked and all covered in blood. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was going to see this through.

  I opened my eyes and picked up one of the papers. It was a police report of a woman’s murder, which had occurred twenty years earlier. Her body had been found in the woods up in Hendersonville. Her cause of death had been blood loss due to a cut through her carotid arteries, but her body had sustained multiple cuts, mostly angled lines, but also one oddly shaped cut.

  My heart slammed into my throat. An oddly shaped cut.

  There were few clues and no leads. The murderer was never found.

  I knew I should look at the photos of her body, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  I picked up the next report. Another female victim, this one murdered seventeen years ago. It was a similar case—her body had been naked, covered in cuts, one of them distinctly unusual, and she’d bled to death. She had been found one hundred miles west. No leads. No resolution.

  There were two more reports, a murder fourteen years ago, and then one ten years ago. Ten years . . . Her body had been found the first week of June, near Clarksville. Same cause of death as the others.

  Without reading anything else, I knew. She was the woman who had been tortured in the basement of the house I’d stumbled upon in the woods. No wonder I hadn’t found anything about her murder in the news. He’d taken her body over an hour north. Her name had been Melanie Seaborn, and her murderer had never been found.

  But I knew he was out there. Waiting. Stalking me. Still killing women.

  I had witnessed this poor woman’s torture. I owed it to her to see her photo. But I had to flip through several other crime scene photos before I found hers. I tried to look away, but the vacant look in the women’s eyes caught my attention. The same monster had ended all of their lives.

  Was it Bill James?

  But I let that thought go as I found Melanie Seaborn’s photo. She lay in a ditch, completely naked. Her body was very pale, and there was a slit across her throat. I recognized her face from that night ten years ago. Her photo was the one I’d seen on the table. My brain just hadn’t connected the dots—maybe it had been making a last-ditch attempt to protect me from what I’d seen, from what I knew. But now that I had the photo in front of me, there was no denying it. I remembered her frightened face now, her terrified eyes. She’d probably hoped I could help her, but I’d been tied up and injured myself, too weak to help either one of us. I saw the knife slashes on her body. The cuts I’d seen him slash onto her flesh that night in the basement.

  Then I saw the mark on her thigh. The C with a slash through it. The same mark I bore on my own thigh.

  I picked up the other photos and found the same mark on every single woman.

  Brady knew that my scar hadn’t been caused by any cookie cutter. He had chased me down yesterday morning after Emily’s murder, fearing for my life. I’d suspected why—and this seemed
to verify it. My stalker had murdered Emily, and he must have carved that horrible mark into her leg. And now Brady had a packet of photos of murder victims, all bearing the same mark.

  Why hadn’t he confronted me about it? Did he think I was selfish for not telling him the truth? Was I selfish for keeping the information to myself?

  There was a loud rap at the door, and I let out a half-scream as Brady called out, “Maggie? Are you okay?”

  I gathered up all the photos and papers, desperately trying to stuff them into the envelope. What was I going to do?

  I did the least productive thing I could come up with. I started to cry.

  Dammit.

  I didn’t have time for this. I needed to figure out a plan.

  But there wasn’t any time for that. The door burst open and Brady stood in the opening, worry filling his eyes. Then his gaze fell to the envelope in my hands and the papers still on the floor, and he squatted in front of me.

  “Maggie.”

  I looked up into his face, unsure of how to handle this.

  He took the envelope from me and then rose, pulling me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me, tugging me flush against his chest, and I sobbed against his shirt.

  We stood in the bathroom for several minutes, and when I started to settle down, he led me out to his living room. Once we were seated on the sofa, side by side, he took me in his arms.

  I felt equally terrified and protected. I told myself that it was a good thing that Brady knew. The weight of the truth had begun to crush me. Now I could share it with him, and he could help protect Momma and Belinda.

  “Maggie,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “When did you really get that scar?”

  “Ten years ago,” I said. “The night of my high school graduation.” Then I told him everything. How I’d caught my best friend’s boyfriend cheating on her in the woods behind my house. The hooded man who had dragged me down to the basement of the house where I’d found refuge. How I slipped in and out of consciousness after he’d slammed my head into the metal pole. The woman’s screams—Melanie’s screams—had almost deafened me. How he’d carved that symbol on my leg as a warning to keep my mouth shut. Then I’d come to outside in the rain, lying on the ground in the woods, remembering only my fear and the certainty that I needed to leave and stay away. Then how it had started coming back in bits and pieces as soon as I returned to Franklin.