I poured a fresh cup of coffee before opening my laptop again to start the search. The first words I tried were “murder Franklin, Tennessee May 2006,” then expanded it to include Nashville.
But she’d been murdered at the end of May. What if they didn’t find her body until June? I switched out June for May, but none of the results fit what happened to the woman in that basement.
Digging into the past was like poking a beehive with a giant stick. The bees were already swarming, so I might as well satisfy my other curiosities.
I opened Facebook and pulled up Maddie first. I’d looked her up dozens of times since leaving Franklin. While she’d unfriended me, surprisingly she hadn’t blocked me. When I was feeling particularly nostalgic, I used to look at her photos from college and the sorority we’d both wanted to join. It was like looking at photos of the life I’d lost. I’d cry buckets of tears, then wake up with swollen, puffy eyes the next morning, looking like shit and feeling even worse on the inside. After a while, I grew wiser and stopped torturing myself, only giving in to my curiosity when I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself.
I hadn’t looked her up in three years.
But there she was on my screen. Her and her baby. Her with Blake. Now I was certain Blake wasn’t the man in the basement, which meant he wasn’t as bad as I’d spent the last ten years believing, not that I was about to give him a “Mr. Nice Guy” award. But at least I could sleep easier knowing Maddie wasn’t living with a rapist. Or a murderer.
That I knew of, at least.
I looked up Emily next. She was single, and over half her photos were of her Maltese, whom she occasionally carried in her purse. She hadn’t posted much, or at least not publicly. When she did post, it was usually to share some silly legal meme.
Enough indulgence.
I Googled Paul Locke, digging through a bunch of puff pieces about his rise to semi-fame. His core audience was teens and tweens—as evidenced by the crowd at the mall yesterday. But there were a few posts about Paul taking his agent—Max Goodwin—to court over a contract dispute involving agency fees. The fees had left him shockingly broke by the time his agent and his label got a share of the pie. Paul Locke had lost.
A month ago.
In my book, that made him a prime suspect in Max’s murder, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that two murders had happened in the same house within a few days. They were undoubtedly connected. I just needed to find out the identity of the newest victim, if Paul had been there that night, and if he’d held a grudge against this guy too.
Yeah, piece of cake.
When I was growing up, Momma used to get The Tennessean newspaper. On the off chance it would contain something helpful today, I unlocked the deadbolt to look for the paper in the driveway. Something else caught my eye instead.
A single magnolia blossom.
It sat on the front porch step in a small florist box without a lid.
My heart slammed so hard into my ribcage I struggled to take a breath. Calm down, Magnolia. It could be from anyone.
I walked down the two steps and picked up the box, holding it like it might be a ticking time bomb. My shaking legs protested holding me upright, so I sat on the step and put the soggy, rain-soaked box on my knees. The water on the concrete seeped through my pajama bottoms, but I was only vaguely aware as I lifted the flower from the box and found a card underneath, with a single typed line.
I’m still watching, Magnolia.
My pajamas were thin, and even though the rain was light, the fabric began to stick to my skin. Just like that night.
This flower could have been from anyone, yet my subconscious took over, reminding me of the details of all my worst nightmares.
My chest tightened, and I fought to catch my breath as a heat wave spread across my body. I began to sweat even as my body shivered from the forty-degree air temperature.
Other than in the basement two days before, I hadn’t experienced a full-blown panic attack in years, and I refused to succumb to one now. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I was done with crying. It had never once done me a lick of good. Tears were for the weak and I was strong. I was a survivor.
When I finally got control and felt like I could stand again, I headed back into the house and placed the flower on the kitchen counter before heading upstairs. I soaked under a hot shower, letting the water sluice over my stiff neck and shoulders until it turned cold.
Forty-five minutes later, I had mostly pulled myself back together and restacked the wall that protected my heart. I was sorting through my suitcases, trying to decide whether or not to unpack my things, when my phone dinged with a text from Emily.
We need to talk.
My least favorite four words in the world. I’m at Momma’s.
She called seconds later, sounding even more subdued than usual. “Have you heard about the second murder at the Powell estate?”
“Only bits and pieces. Who was murdered?”
“I’m not sure, but I heard he’s an associate of Luke’s.”
“So this clears my name, right?” I asked. “I wasn’t anywhere near Luke’s estate last night.”
“You haven’t been cleared of anything. While the two murders took place in the same house, it doesn’t mean they’re connected. “
“Well, how was this guy killed?”
Emily hesitated. “He was stabbed . . . in the heart.”
“Emily!”
“It’s up to the police to say you’re cleared—which they haven’t done yet—so consider yourself under investigation. And don’t be surprised if they show up wanting to know what you were doing last night.”
“I have an alibi for last night.” Mostly.
“Yeah, Lila told me already, although I’m worried about the time you spent alone in the shop. How long was that?”
I didn’t dare tell her about my field trip into the woods or my stroll down Main Street with Brady. So I hedged. “I think Colt dropped me off around 8:30, and Momma showed up after ten.”
“Well, crap,” she grumbled. “The murder took place around nine. It sounds like he had another party.”
I closed my eyes. Shit. My visit to see Brady might actually make me look even more guilty. Like I’d killed a man and then went to the police station to confess.
Which meant I needed to find out as much as I could about Paul Locke and any other leads I could find.
I cleared my throat. “Do you happen to know who was at the party last night?”
“No. I only know the facts my police source told me.”
The way she said it made me think she knew about my trip to the police station last night. It occurred to me belatedly that there had to be cameras all over the place there. Even if I’d left without speaking to a detective, I still would have been captured on video.
But Emily divulged nothing, and I had to wonder if she wasn’t using an interrogation method of her own on me.
“Okay,” I said, ignoring the bait. “I’ll see if I can talk to Amy and compare the guest lists. We can figure out who was at both parties. But I also want to do more digging into Paul Locke. He recently lost a legal case against Max involving a lot of money. He definitely had motive.”
“Sounds good. I’ll try to get more details about the murder.”
Emily hung up and I was about to return to my suitcases when my phone rang again. My mother.
“Magnolia, how are you feeling?”
“Much better, and I’m ready for lunch. I’m starving.” Which was true. I only hoped I could choke down my meal while sitting at the same table as my brother.
“Tilly’s eating with us, so she’s gonna pick you up and bring you to the restaurant.”
“Okay. . . . but, Momma, I should probably tell you—”
“That there was another murder at Luke Powell’s? Yeah, Emily told me this morning at church. I don’t even know what this world is comin’ to.”
“I think it’s gotta help my case, Momma. At
least I wasn’t there this time.”
“Thank God for small mercies.”
My second mother arrived fifteen minutes later. On a whim, I grabbed my laptop and stuffed it into my purse, hoping to do some investigating after lunch.
I greeted Tilly at the door. “You’ll have to lock up,” I told her. “Momma still hasn’t given me a key.” My tone carried more irritation than I’d intended, but this state of being constantly on edge had made me short-tempered.
“Give her time,” she said, sounding more subdued than usual as she turned the deadbolt with her key. “She just needs to adjust is all. You know how much she hates change.”
We got in the car, and Tilly was uncharacteristically quiet for the first few minutes of our drive to the restaurant.
“Spit it out, Tilly,” I finally said. “Are you upset by what I said about the key?”
She licked her lips, a sure sign she was nervous. “Have you talked to your mother?”
“You’ll have to be more specific than that. I talked to her on the phone a few minutes ago, and we also talked briefly this morning while she rubbed my neck. But I suspect you’re not referring to either of those.”
She cast me a grin. “You always were a spitfire, Maggie.”
I chuckled. “I’m a burr under my mother’s saddle. I’m sure she’s eager to get rid of me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. You should stay.”
I leaned back in my seat. “I wouldn’t even know what to do here. As my brother pointed out, I don’t have a college degree. Acting and waitressing are all I know, and I sure as hell don’t want to be a waitress for the rest of my life.”
“So if you don’t stay here, where will you go and what will you do?”
“I don’t know yet.” But hopefully it wouldn’t involve making license plates at the state pen.
Tilly cast a long glance at me, her face serious. “Before you go decidin’ anything, talk to your momma first, okay?”
“Tilly . . .”
“Just promise.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “I promise.”
Tilly pulled into the restaurant parking lot, saving me from further conversation, but my hands were shaking as we walked toward the restaurant.
I stopped outside the front door and grabbed Tilly’s arm, pulling her aside. “Tilly, what do you think of Roy?”
She rolled her head and grumbled, “That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one.”
“I know I shouldn’t put you on the spot like this. Just give me an overall impression.”
She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together. “He’s a weasel.”
I pushed out a breath. “Oh, thank God you see it too.”
“When did you see him?”
“Last night. Without Momma. It did not go well.”
“Well, that momma’s boy is with his momma today, so you’ll see a whole different side to him. Let’s go. I’ve got your back.”
If Tilly thought I needed backup, then I was even more worried about what I was walking into.
Chapter 22
I followed her inside and forced a smile as I walked up to the table. Belinda gave me a worried look, then stood and gave me a perfunctory hug. “Magnolia, how are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks.” I tried to give her as little attention as possible, not wanting to upset her dipshit husband.
They were sitting at a six-person table—Roy and Belinda on one side and Momma on the other. I sat down next to Momma, directly opposite my brother. Tilly gave me a grimace as she sat next to Roy. I tried to hide a smirk of amusement.
“We barely got a chance to talk last night,” Roy said in a breezy tone. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought there was genuine warmth behind his smile, but I noticed he didn’t go so far as to stand up and hug me. He probably valued his shins. “Tell me how life’s been treating you, Sis.”
“Just peachy, Bro,” I said, in a tone that matched his. “Why just the other day, I got a very sweet offer.”
His eyebrows rose, his discomfort obvious. “You don’t say?” Then he lifted his water glass to his mouth to hide a scowl.
But Momma perked up. “An offer? What kind of offer?”
Roy lowered his glass, looking anxious.
I kicked up my smile by several hundred megawatts. “I’m pretty sure it was a high five-figure deal.”
He choked on his water, spitting it out on the table.
“Oh, dear Roy.” My voice dripped with sympathy. “Are you okay?”
Roy’s mouth pinched into a tight line, and Momma shot him a look of confusion.
Tilly burst out laughing and said, “I’m eager to hear about this five-figure deal, Maggie.”
The look on her face told me she suspected who’d made the offer.
“Oh, there’s not much to tell really,” I said coyly, grabbing a sugar packet from the middle of the table and twisting it in my hand. I kept my eyes locked with my brother’s. “But I can tell you it involves relocation.”
My mother stiffened next to me. “Are you going to take it?”
My eyes narrowed slightly, still fixed on my brother. “I’m keeping my options open. I’m waiting to see the official offer.”
I couldn’t help thinking this new murder had to help clear my name. And once that happened, I could get on a plane and fly away and never come back. I had no proof that the texts and the flower were from the murderer from ten years ago, but I couldn’t let anything happen to Momma. Or Belinda. And much as I couldn’t stand my brother, I couldn’t let anything happen to him either. Maybe leaving was the best option.
But a sideways glance told me my statement bothered her. My mother had been our rock growing up. Most fathers carried the title, but ours had been a pushover. My mother had always worn the pants in our family, a true matriarch. But now she looked older and more worn than I’d ever seen her.
“Did you talk to Emily?” Momma asked. “I saw her at church and told her you were home sleepin’ off a migraine.”
“More like a hangover,” my brother mumbled.
“Roy.” Momma’s tone was short and blunt. The voice she’d used when we were kids. It had instantly gotten our attention then, and it was no less effective now, as evidenced by the look on my brother’s face. “Your sister has been through an ordeal. You should show her a little sympathy.”
His eyes narrowed, but he offered me a smile so obviously plastic I was surprised it didn’t break from stress. “Of course, I’m so sorry to hear about your implication in a murder case.”
I knew all too well why he was sorry to hear it.
I placed my hands on my chest, then said in a dramatic voice, “That was so heartfelt it brought tears to my eyes.”
“If that’s any indication of your acting ability, no wonder you lost your job,” Roy drolled.
Tilly hid a grin behind her hand, and Momma released a groan. “Can you two please get along? This is the first time we’ve been together in eight years. Can you let me enjoy the moment?”
“Of course, Momma,” I said, rubbing her arm. “I’m sorry.”
Roy turned his smile on our mother. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
She nodded and then looked down at her menu. I shot a questioning glance at Tilly. The momma I had grown up with never would have looked so resigned. Had age softened her that much?
Tilly held my eyes for several seconds before dropping her gaze.
Was this why Tilly was so insistent I talk to Momma before I made a decision to leave? Was Roy being abusive to Momma too? A new fire sputtered to life in my chest. I sure as hell wasn’t about to put up with that nonsense. I wanted to confront him then and there, but Belinda interrupted my plan.
“Magnolia, what did Emily say?” she asked, her hands clasped together and resting on the table.
I took a second to calm down enough to answer. “She has a source at the police station—” which I still found surprising, “—who told her the victim was a man.”
“And no suspects yet?” she asked.
“No.”
Momma put down her menu. “Have the police contacted you today?”
“No. The only calls I’ve gotten today were from Emily and—” I stopped myself before I said Belinda’s name “—and you.”
“They’ll want to know about your alibi,” Belinda said, worry furrowing her brow. “Were you with Colt all night?”
Roy placed his hand over Belinda’s, exerting a little more force than was necessary. “Belinda, darling. You need to stop that nonsense and let the police do their job.”
“I know,” she said, her jaw setting. “But your sister is a person of interest in another murder that occurred in the same house. It stands to reason that we need to make sure she’s got an alibi during the time frame of the second murder.”
His mouth gaped as he turned to her. “Didn’t I just say to let it go?”
“But Roy—”
“Belinda, darling, you plan weddings. You do not have the mind of a police detective. Playing with wedding dresses is nowhere near as important as police work. Leave legalities to the professionals.”
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“Are you seriously suggesting your wife is incapable of thinking for herself?” I demanded. Something deep inside told me to leave this alone, this was not my fight, but I needed to latch on to something I could win. And I had no doubt that I could outmaneuver Roy.
But the look of panic in Belinda’s eyes warned me that I was messing with her life too.
“Stay out of this, Magnolia,” Roy sneered.
“Roy.” Momma’s sharp outburst of his name made us all jump. “What has gotten into you?”
His face softened. “I’m sorry, Momma. I know I’m overreacting, but I love Belinda so much I can’t bear to see her get hurt. You know what a kind heart she has.” He looked back at her, taking her hand in his and squeezing. “People take advantage of that.”
Something he knew firsthand. My brother was a bully. An abuser. I’d suspected it after last night, but now I had ample proof.
Did my mother see it too?
But she was looking down at her menu, and I realized his movement had been carefully planned.
Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 Page 25
