“How do you know I didn’t do that?”
“Because when I put my arm around your back, I didn’t feel a weapon.”
I gasped. “You were patting me down for murder weapons with your arm?”
“No.” His voice deepened. “I was trying to get you inside out of the rain—and maybe give you a little comfort at the same time.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Maggie, I told you I trust my instincts, and they told me you didn’t kill that man. I will admit that I’m worried he was murdered at the very location he was supposed to meet you, which is why I requested to take your statement. I want to make sure you’re not in any danger.”
“Oh.” I had to wonder if he was right. I already knew I was in danger from the murderer from ten years ago, but what if I’d put myself in a different spotlight of danger? It definitely wouldn’t hurt to tell a police detective about my father’s disappearance. Or the text I’d gotten after finding Mr. Frey’s body.
But he mistook my hesitation. “I know I hurt you, but this is—”
“Brady,” I said, wondering if I would ultimately regret this but going for it anyway. I was scared, and at the moment, Brady represented safety. I was going to indulge the illusion, even if it was only for an hour. “Let’s finish this discussion at the restaurant.”
Chapter 5
He smiled, and the way his eyes lit up sent another jolt of electricity through me. Falling for Brady was a very, very bad idea, I reminded myself. He would find out about my own disappearance when I was a teenager—how I’d disappeared from my graduation party and showed up hours later covered in mud and grass—and then he’d ask questions I couldn’t answer. What would I do then? I had to find a way to protect my heart.
Find a role. When I found myself in a situation that made me anxious, I’d always found a role to play, a character to impersonate. But at the moment, none came to mind.
“How about I follow you there?” he said. “Do you know where it is?”
“Yeah.”
He walked me to my car and opened the door. I reminded myself of why I should keep my distance from him. But Brady had missed his dinner, and if I went, it meant I’d have a captive audience. Maybe I could convince him to reopen the investigation of Daddy’s disappearance. Part of me felt bad using Brady like that, but the rest of me knew I was deluding myself to believe that was my only reason.
I almost chickened out a dozen times during the short drive to the restaurant. In the end, the only reason I didn’t turn around was the pesky fact that I was about to give Brady my official police statement. I was stuck.
While I parked a good minute before him, I was amazed by how quickly he parked, got out of his car, and intercepted me.
“It’s like you think I’m about to pull a runner,” I half teased.
“As skittish as you’re acting, I considered the possibility.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Before I reasoned that you were nervous because you were a person of interest in a murder, but now I’m thinking it’s me.”
Play a part. I found one, settling into the young woman with secrets to hide and seeking help from a man she couldn’t trust. The fact that my role was the exact situation I was in meant nothing. I’d played this game too many times to count. I only had to believe I was playing someone other than me.
I laughed, showing more confidence than I felt. “You don’t need to look so cocky. For the record, I could still be a person of interest. Someone else is in charge of the investigation.”
“But I already told you you’re not.”
I lifted my eyebrows in challenge. “And yet I’m still concerned.”
A frown was his only comment. He walked past me to open the door, then waited for me to walk in first. The restaurant was nearly empty well after nine on a Tuesday night, and given the late hour, I was surprised when the hostess showed us to a table. It overlooked the Harpeth River, although the view was lost on us with the dark and the rain. We sat down and gave our drink orders—water for both of us—then sat in silence for a moment.
I ran through everything I’d said to him since I’d called, trying to remember if I’d incriminated myself in any way. Then something hit me full force. I put my hand on the table, striking a pose as I lifted my chin. “You didn’t seem very surprised when I told you I was at the Embassy bar. The last time we talked, I told you I was leaving for New York.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “I already knew you hadn’t gone.”
“How?”
His demeanor changed, as though he’d decided to own up to it. “You work downtown. I work and eat downtown.” He shrugged. “People talk.”
“About me?”
“You can’t be all that surprised. You’re a celebrity.”
“No. I’m not. Not really.”
“You don’t see it?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m just the latest internet sensation, and I will soon be forgotten.” At least I sure as hell hoped so.
He started to say something, then stopped and switched gears. “Tell me about your father.”
“You don’t want to jump right into my statement about finding poor Mr. Frey?”
“We’ll get there. I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”
He held my gaze in a challenge, and I felt my defenses weaken. Stay strong, Magnolia. But maybe he can help with Daddy . . . “Don’t you need it right away to catch whoever did this?”
“I’ve already passed what you told me on to Owen. Your statement is a formality. Besides,” he added, “I suspect the information you’re about to give me will be far more helpful.” His gaze held mine. His eyes were warm and kind, and the fortified wall around my heart crumbled a little. “Now tell me about your father, Maggie.”
“He was a financial planner and partner with JS Investments. He worked in downtown Nashville. Walter Frey was one of his clients.”
Brady sat up and pulled a small notebook and pen out of his pocket. “How long had he worked there?”
“You’re serious,” I said in amazement. “You’re really interested in this.” After all the times people had told me to let it go, that Daddy had just run away, it felt amazing to have someone believe me.
He looked up in surprise. “The coincidence is too great. I want to know everything you remember. Now how long had he worked there?”
“Since before I was born. Around the time he married Momma.”
“And how long ago was that?”
I did some mental math. “Thirty-one or thirty-two years.”
“Did your father act suspiciously before his disappearance?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I was fourteen when it happened, but he started acting paranoid about six months before. He took me to the firing range and told me I needed to learn to protect myself.”
Brady’s gaze flicked to mine. “Protect yourself from what?”
“He never said. I asked him why he didn’t teach my brother Roy too, but he said Roy and I were like night and day, and that it was up to me to protect my family.”
“Protect your family? Did he say what you were protecting it from?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“And who was in your family at the time?”
“Roy—who’s two years younger—and my mother.”
“Did your mother remarry?”
“No. Daddy was officially declared dead about seven years ago, but Momma was never interested in other men.”
“So no hurry to collect on the insurance?”
I shook my head. “No.” I’d been so furious when I’d found out that Momma had declared him dead, but she’d countered my argument with her favorite trump card: I’d run off to New York City and never looked back. That meant I had no say in the matter. Besides, Daddy was never coming back and I was deluded to think otherwise. The anger in her voice hadn’t shocked me. It was the absolute grief in her words that had shaken me.
“Was there very much money?”
I
narrowed my eyes, a seed of anger sprouting in my chest. “If you’re suggesting my momma did something unsavory to my father, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. She loved him.”
He looked up with a slight grin. “I love how you sound more Southern when you get riled up.”
Crap. That was a nasty habit I’d picked up from my mother. “Nevertheless.” I made sure to enunciate the syllables. “I know there wasn’t much money involved. For all I know, she put it toward her catering business.” The timing of the opening of their Main Street location fit.
“She didn’t tell you what she did with it, and you didn’t ask?”
“I was in New York.”
He gave me an odd look. “You didn’t talk much on the phone?”
“My mother and I didn’t see eye to eye.”
“She didn’t approve of your career choice?”
“Um . . .” This was starting to delve into dangerous territory. “Let’s just say Momma and I had our moments.”
“What made you decide to come back home to stay?”
I gave him a guarded look. “Is that part of the investigation?”
He gave me an unreadable look. “Perhaps . . .”
“My reasons don’t seem pertinent to this discussion.”
He studied me for a few seconds before he said, “When did you go to New York?”
“I’m not really sure what that has to do with this investigation either.” The curiosity on his face told me that was the wrong answer. I’d only made him more intrigued. Somehow I had to regain control.
The waitress came back with our waters and asked, “You two ready to order?”
Brady gave me an apologetic look. “I didn’t give you time to look at the menu.”
“That’s okay. I’m not ordering anything.”
He grinned and the dimple on his right cheek appeared. “You have to order something. If you don’t, can you imagine how bad I’ll look if I eat in front of you? My mother would be mortified.”
“Do you always order food for the witnesses you interview?”
“On occasion.”
That surprised me. Was it for women he was interested in, like me, or just because he was a nice guy? I suspected it was the latter and felt guilty for being so suspicious of him when he was clearly trying to put me at ease.
I grabbed the menu and quickly scanned it, then looked up at our waitress. “What’s your soup of the day?”
“Creamy baked potato.”
“I’ll take that.”
“And I’ll take a club sandwich,” Brady said. He handed our waitress the menus, then waited until she was out of earshot. “You said your father was behaving strangely.”
“Yeah,” I said, relieved he was letting go of my more current history. “Sometimes he’d think someone was watching him. He started going to evening meetings. He’d never done that before, but he told my mother that the market was tight—we were in a recession—and that he had to soothe his clients’ concerns. Which meant night meetings. More meetings than my mother had liked.”
“What did your mother say about his behavior?”
I was quiet for a moment. “She and my father were at odds.” I gave him a smile. “My mother is a very strong woman, but my father was a strong man, so you can imagine they butted heads frequently. I was used to it, but this was different. As Daddy became paranoid, Momma grew reserved—something totally unlike her.”
“Tell me about the night he disappeared. How did you know your father went to meet Walter Frey?”
“My father took me to the dentist that morning. Then I spent some time at his office before he took me back to school during his lunch hour. I saw Mr. Frey then.”
“You were living in Nashville?”
“No, we never moved from the house I grew up in, here in Franklin. My parents bought the house before I was born. My mother still lives there.”
“Most people who live in Franklin go to the dentist here rather than drive into Nashville. Did he take you there because it was closer to his work?”
“I don’t know,” I said, searching my memories. “We usually went to the dentist here—Dr. Murphy on Cool Springs Boulevard.” I shook my head. “For some reason, I saw a new one that morning.”
He shifted in his seat as he scribbled in his notebook, then looked back up at me. “Was it a special appointment? An orthodontist? Oral surgeon?”
“No.” My eyes widened as a memory hit me. “It was my first time there. A new dentist. Momma didn’t know.”
He stilled and cocked his head. “What do you mean your mother didn’t know?”
“She was helping out at my brother’s school that day. They left early together.” I paused. “I think he had a field trip, and they had to be at school an hour or two early. They’d only been gone a few minutes when Daddy told me that I wasn’t catching the bus. That I had a dentist appointment.” How had I forgotten that? “I told him that Momma had taken me to the dentist a few months before, but he told me not to worry about it. That it was just a consultation.”
“Did anything unusual happen at the dentist appointment?”
“Daddy walked into the exam room with me, which I thought was odd. I was too old to have my father go with me. Then the dentist walked in and gave me headphones to watch TV. He looked in my mouth for less than a minute; then Daddy told me he and the dentist needed to talk about something. I was worried something was wrong, but he assured me that everything was okay. They were discussing something else. Then they stood by the window and talked.”
“But you didn’t hear what they said? Because of the headphones?”
Tears stung my eyes. I felt like a fool. “No.”
He wrote something in his notebook, then looked up and waited for a few seconds. “You okay?” he asked. “You need a moment?”
“Why didn’t I realize that meant something?”
“You don’t know that it actually did. They really could have been talking about your teeth.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you really believe that?”
He paused. “No.”
“But if I’d told the police. Or my mother . . .” What if I’d ruined any hope of finding my father?
“Maggie.” He waited until I looked into his warm brown eyes. “You were fourteen. You weren’t Nancy Drew. You weren’t expected to put anything together. He was your father. You trusted him. It sounds like he purposely tried to hide whatever he was doing from you. As well as from your mother.”
“But the appointment was a front. He used me as an excuse to meet someone.”
“Maybe.”
I took a sip of my water while I viewed every memory I had of my father through a different lens.
“Do you remember the dentist’s name?” he asked.
I searched my hazy recollection. “No. I never went back.”
“That’s okay,” he reassured me. “We still might be able to figure out who he saw. For now, let’s keep going. After they talked, what happened next?”
“Daddy told me that the dentist said everything looked good and we could go. Then we hung out at his office for an hour or so before he took me to school.”
“During his lunch hour, right? And no one in the office thought it was strange you were there?”
“No. Momma often brought Roy and me to see him.”
“But for you to stay with him for an hour or more?”
“We’d go spend part of the day with him during summer breaks. Usually only me . . . Mom would send me there when Roy’s and my bickering got on her nerves. I loved to come to his office. Usually I’d sit in one of his client chairs and read, but sometimes his assistant would give me simple jobs to do, like making copies or filing. Roy only tolerated it whenever he went. He preferred hanging out in the woods behind our house with his friend.”
He nodded and continued to write in his notebook. “You said you saw Walter Frey when you were leaving?”
I told him about the bizarre incident outside the elevator, how Dad
dy had said he’d already talked to someone named Geraldo, how Mr. Frey had rebutted with, “He knows,” and how they’d arranged to meet that night at eight at “the usual spot.” It still hurt to talk about how Daddy had lied to me afterward, saying Mr. Frey had only been upset over a bum stock.
Brady gave me a soft smile. “You were close to your father. I can tell.”
“Much more so than my mother,” I admitted. “Momma and I butted heads regularly. Daddy said it was because we were too much alike. After a disagreement, he would often take me out of the house.” I pushed out a breath. “On that day, Daddy took me back to school and told me there was no need to mention the trip to the dentist to Momma since everything was fine. We didn’t want to worry her. Momma and Roy came home after school, and then Momma made us dinner before she went out with Tilly for their girls’ night out.”
“Tilly?”
“Momma’s best friend. They own the catering business together.”
“So your mother went with Tilly, leaving you with your brother and father?”
“Yeah. After she left, I went to my room to do some school work. Around seven thirty, Daddy came into my room and sat next to me on my bed. He asked me if I remembered where his gun was.”
Brady stopped writing and looked up. “Did you?”
“Yeah, it was in the padlocked box in the basement. But I didn’t get it.” Not then, anyway. But I had retrieved it the night of Max Goodwin’s murder. “Daddy kissed me on the forehead, told me he loved me, and left.” A lump filled my throat. “I never saw him again.”
He held my gaze. “I’m sorry.”
I wiped a tear from my eye. “It happened fourteen years ago.”
“And yet you’re still hurting.”
There was no denying that.
The waitress showed up with our food, and Brady took a bite of his sandwich as I dipped my spoon into my soup.
“Daddy never came home, and Momma sat up worrying,” I said, scraping the bottom of the spoon against the lip of the bowl. “She wanted to know where he’d gone, and I wasn’t sure what to tell her. I didn’t think Daddy wanted her to know. But I was worried sick. So around midnight, I told her. She was furious with me for keeping it from her.” My voice broke as the memory filled my head. Her words had cut me deeply that night. I set the spoon down. “She called the police, and I told them what I knew—that Daddy had arranged to meet Walter Frey at eight o’clock, but that I didn’t know where. They questioned him, but he denied there had been a meeting. In fact, he claimed he had no idea what I was talking about or where my father had gone. His wife provided his alibi.”
Act Two Page 5