I tried to push my memories further, but my body resisted. I dropped to my knees and clung to the slick tiled shower wall. I was hyperventilating, and if I didn’t get my breathing under control, I would pass out. Leaning my forearms on the shower wall, I took slow, steady breaths.
“You’re okay, Magnolia,” I whispered. “You’re okay.”
It was the mantra that had gotten me through those first two years in New York. I’d repeated it over and over and over—first out loud and then in my head—until I actually started to believe it.
Except I wasn’t so sure that was true. Not now that I’d come back to Franklin. What if whatever had scared me away was still a threat?
A part of me had always known this—that I hadn’t blacked out in the woods that night. Something so terrifying had happened to me that my mind had locked it away to protect me. But my last memories were of Blake, which convinced me even more that he had done something horrible. Why couldn’t I remember?
A sob built up in my chest, bursting loose as I looked down at my leg and my finger traced the scar on my upper thigh. A backward C with a slash through it. It was from that night. I’d always told myself I’d simply cut my leg on the brush in the woods.
Now I wondered where it had really come from.
I took a deep breath and forced my sobs to subside. Crying wouldn’t solve a damn thing. I needed to look at what I knew.
Something bad had happened to me the night of my graduation party, and Blake was to blame.
He’d sent me the anonymous text.
He knew I was back in town. What did he think I was going to do?
I hurried to finish my shower, then put on a long T-shirt and hurried down to the basement, my hair still wet and dripping down my back. Since the main floor was dark except for a dim lamp in the entryway, I figured Momma had gone to bed. Just as I’d hoped.
Sure enough, the padlocked box was tucked behind the green plastic Christmas tree. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that my mother was a creature of habit who hated change. The combination was still the same, and the squeaky lid suggested the box had not been opened in a while. I pulled out the familiar wadded brown hand towel and carefully unwrapped it from my dad’s Glock. A quick examination showed me it wasn’t loaded, but the package of cartridges at the bottom of the box would take care of that.
I rewrapped the gun and the ammo in the towel, then closed up the box. With any luck, I’d be able to return the gun before my mother ever missed it. In fact she’d probably forgotten it was there.
Once I reached the main floor, I went straight to the front door, making sure the deadbolt was in place. But what had I been thinking? My mother was a careful woman. She was the one who’d insisted on the steel-reinforced doors in the first place.
I placed my hand on the metal, letting the chill seep into my palm. I’d trusted this door with my life when I was a kid. I hoped I could trust it now.
I spun around to go upstairs, but my mother was at the top of the steps, watching me with her eagle eyes. I angled the hand with the towel behind my back, hoping the movement had been subtle enough to evade her.
“No one’s gotten past that door in the thirty-two years I’ve lived here, Magnolia. That’s not gonna change tonight.”
I sucked in a breath, prepared to tiptoe around the questions I suspected were coming, but she simply returned to her room and shut the door behind her.
I hurried upstairs and slipped into my own room. After locking my door behind me, I plopped on the bed and loaded the gun, just like my father had taught me to do six months before his disappearance.
“I hope to God you’ll never need this, Maggie Mae, but if you do . . .” His voice had broken then, but he’d forced a smile. “It’s important you know how to use it.”
He’d taken me to the gun range—without my mother’s knowledge—telling me it would be our special secret. I’d begged to go with him before, but Momma had always dug in her feet and said no, so he had no reason to worry. I didn’t want to get into trouble any more than he did.
We had spent an hour shooting at outlined men on paper, only stopping when he was satisfied I could point the gun at someone and carry through with the threat, if need be, without killing myself or my little brother in the process.
When we went out to ice cream afterward, I asked him why he hadn’t invited Roy to shoot with us. His mouth twisted as he considered my question, and he finally gave me a soft smile. “You and your brother are like night and day. You’ll be the one to protect yourself and our family if it comes to that.”
That made me laugh, and I insisted that Momma would never need protection.
“Don’t be so sure,” he said as he looked deep into my eyes. “I love you, Maggie Mae. No matter where I am, I’ll always love you.”
After Daddy disappeared, I told Momma I needed to get his gun. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said in horror. “You’ll shoot your foot off.”
“Daddy told me I might need it.”
Her horror turned to fear, and she grabbed my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “When did he say that?”
“Last winter.”
“Did you tell anyone what he said?” she asked, lowering her voice.
“No, Momma.”
“Not even Maddie?”
I shook my head. “Daddy told me it was our secret. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Good. And it still is your secret. Don’t tell a soul.” When I started to protest, she added, “And no gun. No one’s getting through the front door.”
But tonight, as I held up the loaded gun and looked through the sight at my old poster of the Backstreet Boys, I wasn’t so sure my mother was right.
While the steel of the front door had given me comfort as a child, the plastic and metal in my hand was my insurance now.
Chapter 9
I was running in the rain, my wet hair stuck to my face. Feet pounded the ground behind me.
“Magnolia, you piece of shit, come back here!” Blake shouted.
The woods were dark and I struggled to see where I was going. I tripped on a branch and slid down a small embankment.
“Magnolia!”
I’d lost my shoes and the bottom of my left foot throbbed after stepping on something sharp. I was totally out of shape, so it was no surprise I was out of breath from running. I wanted to stop and cry, but my mother’s voice rang out in my head. “You’re made of steel, Magnolia.”
I considered stopping and confronting him. What was the worst he could do? Would he really hurt me?
“Magnolia,” he called out, sounding breathless. “Come on. Can we just talk?” He paused. “I’m sorry, Maggie. Let’s just go back.”
I stood behind a tree, my hand gripping the camera, right before I took a step.
I jarred awake, my heart racing. Sitting up in bed, I turned on the lamp on my nightstand and grabbed my phone to check the time: 3:15. Pushing back the covers, I got out of bed and padded to the bathroom to fill a glass with water. I took a sip, then swiped the hair from my face with a shaky hand. This was the most I’d ever remembered at one time. Despite my earlier conviction, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the truth. What I’d remembered so far was fairly tame, but my instincts told me that I was just scratching the surface.
I was scared to go back to sleep, so I rummaged around my room and found one of my old romance novels before climbing back into bed. But I read the first page several times, unable to remember a single word. It was like that text from earlier was dancing in front of the words on the page.
I opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out the gun. Could I really shoot someone if it came down to it? I wasn’t as sure of that now as I’d been at fourteen. But knowing I had it helped ease my fears. I put the gun back in the drawer and picked up the book. I read for several hours before I drifted off to sleep again.
This dream came in snatches.
A dark abandoned house. Blowing white curtains. A muffled scream.
Blood. Lots of blood. And the cold vacant eyes of a lifeless woman.
I woke in a cold sweat, paralyzed with fear as sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds. The images were so achingly familiar, but how did I know what was real and what wasn’t?
A sudden banging on the door made me jump, and I stifled a shriek.
“What are you doing in there, Magnolia?” my mother shouted. “You know the rule about locking doors in this house.”
I stumbled out of bed, nearly falling on my face before I reached the door and then swung it open.
She was fully dressed in dark blue pants paired with a blue patterned blouse and low kitten heels. There was a long gold chain with beads around her neck. Putting her hands on her hips, she scowled. “I see you’re still sleeping.”
It took me a second to switch roles. There was no time to dwell on my fear. My mother expected me to be functional.
“And I see you’re not. You’re wearing jewelry?” I asked. I’d never seen her wear much more than her wedding rings, simple diamond studs, and sometimes a small chain around her neck.
Her mouth pursed in disapproval, but I wasn’t the sole source of her disdain. “Tilly’s doing. She thinks it makes me look more inviting to the clients.” Her scowl deepened as she looked over my shoulder at the bed. “I told you that we needed to be at the office by nine.”
“I know—”
“It’s eight-thirty.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Magnolia.”
“I could have sworn I set my alarm.” I must have turned it off after waking up at three.
“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“I could stay here and work around the house. I saw a pile of laundry, and there was a dust bunny under the entryway table. I could have it all shiny by the time you get back home tonight.”
“I’ve been too busy to give the house a good cleaning.” She looked tempted, and on closer inspection, she also looked exhausted. She had to be exceptionally busy if her house had dust bunnies, but in the end she shook her head. “The house can wait. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not. I’ll take you in your pajamas if you’re not ready, so get going.”
After delivering this directive, she turned around and went back downstairs. I should have been pissed—seventeen-year-old Magnolia would have resented the hell out of receiving her marching orders, but twenty-eight-year-old Magnolia felt reassured by this sign that her mother cared. Momma didn’t want to leave me alone. Whether it was because she worried I’d take off again or because she feared that I’d get arrested while she was at work, she wanted to keep me under her watchful eye.
Since I’d showered the night before, I only had to dress and do my hair and makeup. I had no idea what she wanted me to do besides file paperwork, so I chose a middle-of-the-road outfit with jeans, a lightweight cream sweater, and a pair of brown boots, topped off by my brown suede jacket. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and put on a little bit of makeup.
I opened the nightstand drawer and took a longing look at the gun. Part of me was tempted to bring it, but two things stopped me. One, in the light of day the boogeyman seemed a lot less scary, even after my dreams, and two, I didn’t have a concealed carry permit. I sure as hell didn’t need to be found with an illegal weapon if I were arrested for murder.
I made it downstairs with one minute to spare. Momma was already picking up a wicker basket full of Tupperware containers stuffed with different food.
“You have a kitchen at your fancy new store,” I teased, taking the basket from her. “You could cook there.”
She shot me a scowl. “I’m not senile. Tilly and the crew were busy in the kitchen yesterday. I used the kitchen at the house to prepare some sample dishes for the clients I’m meeting later today, which is why I was home when you got here yesterday.”
She tried to take the basket from me, but I swung it out of the way.
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying that basket, Magnolia.”
“I know, but I’m supposed to be earning my keep, remember?” I said, heading out onto the front porch. “How much is this worth? I’d say at least ten bucks. It’s awful heavy.”
I shot her a grin, and though she tried to hide her reaction, I saw her eyes light up with amusement.
“Why’s your car out in the driveway? Why didn’t you park in the garage? You wouldn’t dream of leaving your car out before.”
“Your brother’s storing some things in there,” she said as she unlocked the car with her key fob. “Put the basket in the backseat.”
That surprised me. She hated junk piling up. Roy must have been desperate for her to agree.
I set the basket on the seat, but she kept giving it nervous little glances, so I pushed it into the middle and slid in beside it.
“How about I sit back here and make sure it doesn’t fall off the seat?” I asked with a smile.
Surprise flickered in her eyes, but she nodded and slid into the driver’s seat. A few minutes after she pulled out of the drive, she looked at me in the rearview mirror with a scowl. “You seem awfully chipper. You were always grumpy in the mornings.”
Leave it to my mother to be cranky over me being in a good mood. “I still am, but it’s an hour later here,” I reasoned. “It’s almost ten o’clock back home.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a home.”
“You know what I mean.” I wasn’t going to let her destroy my good mood, but she was right to question it. Why was I in a good mood? I was the lead suspect in a murder, and I was starting to remember the bad things from my past. Maybe it was a major case of denial. But then I realized the source of my content. It was my mother. I’d missed her more than I’d let myself admit, and I loved being back home with her. I would enjoy it for however long I got.
But Momma wasn’t the only family I had here. “I was thinking about calling Roy.”
She was quiet for so long I thought maybe she didn’t hear me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Magnolia.”
“Can he really hold a grudge for that long?”
“You Steeles are stubborn folk.”
“You’re a Steele too.”
Momma shrugged. “I gained the name by marriage; the stubbornness is in y’all’s blood.”
“Well, Roy and I must have double-dipped because you’re one of the most stubborn people I know. And I still want to call him.”
Her mouth pursed. “I can’t stop you.”
“But you don’t think he’ll talk to me.”
Her non-answer was answer enough.
My brother and I had never been close, but he’d become even more belligerent after our father’s disappearance. The way I’d left town had only made things worse between us.
When we got to their headquarters, I carried the basket into the kitchen and set it down on a stainless steel table. Momma told me how to unpack it all, so I got to work and she headed upstairs to the office, telling me to join her there after I finished.
I put the containers away, making sure the heavy commercial refrigerator door was closed, and gave myself a quick tour. The kitchen had two forty-eight-inch ranges as well as several commercial ovens and dishwashers. Pride formed a lump in my throat. My mother and Tilly had come so far. I was sorry to have missed it all, especially since I’d been so integral to the beginning of their business.
I found the solid swinging door at the end of the room hard to resist, so I pushed through. To my surprise, there was a small sitting area on the other side. The walls were covered in photos of parties and catered events. The heavy fabric curtains, dark wood table and chairs, and white upholstered sofa gave the room a sophisticated look. Southern Belles Catering was painted on the windows in the same pretty script font I’d seen on the sides of their vans. There was a notice on the door that read, By appointment only, followed by a phone number.
I was impressed.
I wandered
back through the kitchen, then headed out the back door and up a set of stairs similar to the ones leading to Emily’s office. The space was similar to hers as well, only a little wider. Two desks were arranged on opposite ends, and there were papers and files everywhere. A television was mounted on the wall, tuned to a local news show. Tilly and Momma were both sitting behind their desks.
“The victim’s name has just been released,” a female newscaster said on the show. “Talent agent Max Goodwin was found dead during a party at the home of Luke Powell. Authorities are still investigating the events of the evening, and they say they have several persons of interest. There’s no word yet on the cause of death, but authorities are calling it a homicide. We’ll keep you updated with news as we hear it.”
“That’s good,” Tilly said, her eyes glued to the screen. “They have several persons of interest, and they aren’t naming anyone as a suspect.”
Momma was looking down at the street, anywhere but at the screen, and she didn’t answer.
“Well,” I said, taking a couple of steps into the room, “I couldn’t have been the only person who hated Max Goodwin. Hopefully they’ll find out who actually killed him, and quick, so this isn’t hanging over my head for long.”
Tilly startled and clutched her chest as she spun to face me. “Oh, Mylanta, Magnolia Mae. You scared the daylights out of me.”
“Sorry.” I headed into the middle of the room, blocking Tilly’s view of the television. “But what I said is true. I bet half the people at that party had a reason to kill Max Goodwin.”
“Including your mother,” Tilly said. “He insulted her cooking. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit to learn she had something to do with it.”
My mother scoffed. “If I was gonna kill him, I would have sharpened my carving knife first.”
Tilly shot me an ornery grin. “How did he die, anyway?”
I shook my head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Oh, come on, Magnolia. It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone.”
“You’ll tell everyone. You’re the world’s biggest gossip. And seeing as how Luke Powell and I are the only ones who know, it will be traced right back to me. I’m already in a world of shit, so no. You’ll just have to wait to hear it on the news.”
Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 Page 9
