“Did they find any leads that you know about?”
“One million dollars was missing from one of his client’s bank accounts. And Mr. Morrissey’s wife was missing too. My mother had told the police about all of my father’s evening appointments, and they decided my father had been having an affair with Shannon Morrissey. The two of them stole the money from her husband—her name wasn’t on the account—and ran off together.”
“But you obviously don’t believe that.”
Anger and grief blended together, mushrooming in my chest. “My father would never steal anyone’s money. He would never run off with some other woman. Daddy would never have just left me.” As I stopped my tirade, I realized how juvenile and naïve I sounded. But I knew Daddy had loved me. He’d been the rock I’d clung to throughout my childhood and early teen years. He knew how much I needed him. He was the only person who had truly understood me. I just didn’t believe he’d abandon me like that.
“Maggie.” Brady reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “I’ll try to figure out what happened to your father, but what if you don’t like what we find?”
It didn’t escape my notice that his words echoed Colt’s. But when it came down to it, I could either believe in my father or not. I could either let fourteen years of memories fortify my belief in him, or let a forgotten memory about a dentist appointment plant a seed of distrust.
I believed in my father.
“I want to know.”
Chapter 6
“So you said you saw Walter Frey at Mellow Mushroom this afternoon?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking down so he couldn’t see the tears filling my eyes. Keep it together, Magnolia. I’d shown more emotion in the three weeks I’d been back in Franklin than in the ten years I’d spent in New York, but maybe that was simply what happened when you stopped running.
When I finally met his eyes, the compassion in them amazed me. “Are you always this kind with the people you question?”
His answer was immediate. “I am with the people who’ve been hurt. Or people who are scared.”
“But not with criminals.”
He watched me for a second, indecision wavering in his eyes. “I believe everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”
“Are you being nice to me now because you feel sorry for me?”
“I’m being nice to you because you found a dead body and your father disappeared fourteen years ago and you’re still grieving his loss. I won’t deny that you intrigue me, Magnolia Steele, but I’m willing to let things ride for now. Something tells me you need a police investigator more than you do a boyfriend. Right now, anyway.”
A tingle skated down my spine, but I tried to remain detached. “So you are still interested?”
His gaze held mine. “I won’t lie. I respect you too much for that, and I want to be up front so there’s no mistaking my intent. I hope you change your mind at some point and give this a chance. But in the meantime, I’m willing to wait.”
“Why? Because I’m Magnolia Steele, former Broadway star, internet embarrassment?”
I half expected him to become angry, but he smiled, his dimple showing again. “No. You’re forgetting that I was intrigued by you before I ever knew who you were. I’m interested in Maggie, the woman who ran across the street to accuse her potential stalker.” He lifted his eyebrow. “Not that I recommend you do that again, but you have no idea how hot that was.”
It had happened minutes after we’d first met in a sandwich shop near Southern Belles. I’d realized he was walking in the same direction as me, but on the opposite side of Main Street. When I’d caught him watching at me, I’d crossed the street—in front of moving cars—to call him out on it, going so far as to poke him in his chest to prove my point. He’d only been amused. The next time I’d seen him was at the police station.
“Well,” I said in my defense, “you were going in the same direction and watching me.”
“Promise me something.”
I stiffened. I didn’t do promises. “What?”
“If you really think someone is watching or following you, either call me or 911, okay? Don’t confront them.”
But someone was watching me. My heart started beating double-time in my chest. Did I trust Brady enough to tell him about the night I’d blocked from my memory, like I’d originally intended that night at the station?
The old fears came roiling back. What if the killer hurt Momma? Or Roy? I was no fan of my brother, but I couldn’t let him get killed because of me.
But maybe there was one thing I could tell him. The text I’d gotten tonight was more likely connected with Mr. Frey’s murder than with my other texter. “I got a text tonight. Before I found Mr. Frey’s body.”
His smile was instantly gone. “What did it say?”
“Something about some things being better left in the past.”
Anger filled his eyes. “And you didn’t think to tell me that sooner?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth, that I’d held back because I didn’t know who’d sent it—Frey’s murderer or the one who’d been stalking me—or what “things” it meant. So I went with the most asinine excuse ever. “I forgot.”
The look of disbelief he gave me was almost comical. “You forgot you were threatened?”
“I wasn’t exactly threatened,” I said dismissively.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Magnolia.”
His anger caught me off guard. “I told you now.”
“You should have told me when I found you next to a dead body an hour ago. You’re in danger.”
As if in agreement, I felt my phone buzz in my jeans pocket.
Oh, God, what if it was him?
I’d let myself get lulled into a false sense of security, but if the killer from my past knew I was socializing with a police detective—again—there was no knowing what he’d do. Why had I agreed to this?
I needed to see what that text said. “I have to go,” I said, setting down the spoon.
“What?” He looked stunned. “Now?”
Good God. Pure panic surged through me, which probably only made me look more suspicious. I needed to get as far away from Brady Bennett as possible. “I hadn’t planned to be gone so long, and I promised my mother I would have the car back by ten.”
When he looked at me this time, his eyes were guarded. It didn’t take a genius to discern this was his cop face. “It’s only nine thirty.”
I grabbed my purse and stood. “I’m tired. I had a fight with my mother and quit my job; then I found a dead man who might have been the last person to see my father alive. It’s been a shitty day, Brady. I want to go home.”
He stayed in his seat, looking up me. His expression softened just a little. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I need to ask you a few more questions, and I need to see that text.”
Well, shit. Of course he did. But I couldn’t show him my phone, not right now. I didn’t know what the new text said, and I hadn’t deleted the other threatening texts. I’d left them on my phone as a reminder to be careful.
“Can I go to the restroom first?” I asked, summoning tears. It wasn’t hard to do. I was close to losing it.
Brady stood but kept a few feet between us. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
They were such simple words, but he obviously meant them. To my embarrassment, the dam to my emotions burst, and I started to cry.
He gently pulled me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me, and damned if I didn’t let him. I fit against him perfectly, which made me cry all the more. I’d finally found a man who knocked down my walls, but I couldn’t risk being with him. He was too dangerous.
His hand pressed against my back, his fingers moving gently up and down in a comforting gesture. I sank into him more, starting to relax, and my crying subsided. It had been a long time since I’d let anyone hold and comfort me.
As hard as it was to give up the comfort of his touch, I made myself take a step back. “I�
��m sorry.”
He kept his arms wrapped around me, leaving inches between us as he searched my face. “You’re right, Maggie. You’ve had a shitty day, but it scared the hell out of me that you were so lackadaisical about that text.”
I chuckled, wiping tears from my cheek. “Lackadaisical? You get that word from your fancy Belmont education?”
He looked pleased. “You remembered where I went to college.”
I remembered everything from the night we’d strolled down Main Street together.
But Brady Bennett was dangerous. Why did I keep forgetting that?
I took a step back, out of his hold. “Can I go to the restroom and clean myself up?”
“Of course. You’re not a suspect. You don’t need to ask permission.”
“Thank you.”
I headed straight for the bathroom, digging my cell phone out of my jeans pocket before the bathroom door even closed.
The text was waiting for me on the screen:
Someone is being a very bad girl. Are you willing to pay the price?
It was accompanied by a hazy photo of Belinda standing next to her car.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Did communication with a hidden number work both ways? Would he get my text if I answered? I had to try. It took three attempts to type it out with my shaking fingers:
I haven’t said anything about that night. To anyone.
I held my breath as I pressed send. To my relief, I didn’t get an error message.
I waited several seconds before a text came back.
Then everyone is safe. For now.
Whatever it took, I had to protect Belinda.
I took screenshots of the texts about Belinda and deleted them. Once that was done, I scrolled back and pulled up the old texts, one by one, and did the same thing.
Welcome home, Magnolia. I’ve been waiting.
The first message had arrived on my first night back in Franklin. After Max Goodwin’s murder. The number was blocked, and while it had terrified me, I’d tried to dismiss the seriousness of it.
Secrets don’t make friends.
The second was more ominous, but Belinda had just dropped me off after a Bunco night with some vicious old high school friends, including my ex-best friend Maddie. My memories hadn’t yet returned at that point, and I’d considered the possibility that Maddie’s husband might have sent the text. He was the last person I’d seen that night before everything went blank. But while Blake Green may have chased me deep into the woods that night, I’d lost him before stumbling into the abandoned house in the woods.
The third message wasn’t a text, but a card that had been left on my front porch with a magnolia blossom. There was nothing to delete—the photo I’d taken of the flower and the card was already stored elsewhere on my phone, but I remembered exactly what the card said.
I’m still watching, Magnolia.
That “gift” had arrived the morning after I’d ventured out into the woods and found the house from my nightmares. I’d entered the old house, and all my memories had come tumbling back. That was when I’d gone to the police station to tell them everything—only to change my mind.
If I’d harbored any doubt as to who had sent the texts and the flower, another text had arrived about a week after I’d decided to stay in Franklin.
If you talk, there will be a price I’m sure you’re not willing to pay.
That very afternoon, I’d found a dead cat on my front porch. A cat that looked almost exactly like my childhood pet. Momma and I were both horrified, but when I told her that I would bury it at the edge of our backyard and the woods, she said, “Don’t be silly, Magnolia. That’s what animal control is for.”
Of course, I couldn’t let animal control see that whoever had killed the poor thing had slit it open from stem to stern, and carved a backward C with a line through it on its back. The same mark the killer had dug into my right upper thigh. Especially when I read the next text, sent later that night.
A cat is such a simple thing. I much prefer people. Be careful.
After I finished taking the screen shots and deleting all the original texts except the one I’d received after finding Mr. Frey, I stuffed my phone into my pocket and wet a paper towel to clean myself up. When I looked into the mirror, I was startled by the look in my terror-filled eyes. I had to get myself together, or I was going to look even more suspicious. I wiped my face, trying desperately to come up with a plan.
I needed to play a role. I was a frightened young woman who’d found a dead body. I would tell Brady nothing about my past.
But there was one problem. I now knew for certain that the text Brady wanted to see wasn’t from the man who killed Mr. Frey. The killer from my past had sent it.
I couldn’t let him see it. What if he managed to scrape the number somehow? If the killer found out, he’d hurt Belinda first and ask questions later. Scrambling for a plan, I dug out my phone again. Maybe I could get someone to send me an identical text. Later I could pretend to “figure out” who the sender was. But who would help without asking too many questions? I dialed the first person who came to mind.
“Colt,” I said as soon as he answered. “I need your help.”
“Maggie? You okay? Who was that guy you left with?” His voice deepened. “Do you need me to come get you?”
“No. I’m not in that kind of trouble. I need you to send me a text, but it has to be specific, and I need you to try to hide your number.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I shook my head, trying to think rationally. Maybe it would be better for him to send it from his own number. I could pretend I’d only processed the message, not the sender. “No, scratch that. Send it from you. The message is: Some things are better left in the past.”
“Why the hell do you want me to do that?”
“I’ll explain it all later.”
“Does it have to do with Elmer Fudd behind the bar?”
“Yeah. The guy I’m with is a police detective. I told him I got a text at around the time I called him. I . . . I can’t show it to him. I want you to send it, but he might ask to talk to you.”
He was silent for a moment. Just as I’d suspected, he didn’t ask more questions—Colt was good like that. He just said, “That’s not gonna work, Maggie. He’s gonna see the time stamp.”
“Oh shit.” My voice broke as I started to panic again, and I began to breathe in heavy pants.
“I’ll help you figure it out, okay? Do you trust me?”
I wasn’t sure how much I trusted him, but there was no denying that I needed his help. “Yeah.”
“Get rid of the text and tell him you accidentally deleted it in all the confusion. Then I’ll send a text in a few minutes telling you that it was insensitive of me to have badmouthed your Broadway musical. Then I’ll ask if I can still spend the night with you.”
I sucked in a breath. “What?”
“He’ll buy it. Trust me. Especially after he watched us sing.”
“How do you know he watched us sing?”
“Come on, Maggie. I know finding a dead body can addle anyone’s brain, but this is your second go-round. You should be desensitized by now. Use your head.”
“Colt!”
“Maggie,” his voice softened. “When you were up onstage, that guy was staring at you like you were a blue plate special after he hadn’t eaten in three days. Are you interested in him?”
Yes. Much more than I had any right to be. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“He’s a cop, Mags. He’s gonna dig into your past.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?” My voice sounded strangled.
“Come on. It’s me you’re talking to here. I don’t know what cockamamie story you’ve been selling everyone else, but I’m not buying. You ran off ten years ago without warning and without a backward glance. Nobody does that unless they’re hiding something. Or running. And now you want me to mimic a
text about leaving things in the past.”
“I didn’t say . . .” Oh, God.
“Maggie,” Colt said, his voice gentle and soothing in my ear. “You should know by now that I’m not gonna ask you any questions. I respect your need for privacy, just like I need you to respect mine. But he’s a cop, Mags. He’s gonna ask questions, and he’s not gonna accept the same bullshit answers everyone else does.”
Colt wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. But if I let him send that text, I’d lose any hope with Brady.
That was a good thing, wasn’t it?
My heart warred with my head, but my head had ruled for so long that the wrestling match was short-lived. “Okay.”
“Good girl. How much time do you need? A few minutes? Are you at the police station?”
“No,” I said, wiping my new tears away. “Red Barn Café.”
“He took you out on a date?” he asked in disbelief.
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh, it’s so like that,” he said. “You just watch his reaction when he sees my text.”
Colt was right, and I wasn’t sure I could bear it.
“Call me when you leave the restaurant,” he said.
“Colt . . . Thanks. I owe you.”
He laughed. “I’ll just add it to your tab. Be sure to delete any record of this call.”
“Good thinking.”
Act Two Page 6