“That’s why you called me, babe.” Then he hung up. I took a screen shot of this evening’s message, deleted it like the others, and then deleted the record of my call with Colt.
When I finished, I left the restroom. I wasn’t sure I could go through with this. But I had to.
Belinda’s life might depend on it.
When I walked back into the dining room, my stomach tied in knots, Brady was watching for me. He stood as I neared the table.
“You look exhausted,” he said.
That was a kind way to say you look like shit. I knew I did. I’d just walked away from a mirror, after all. “It’s been a long day.”
“Then let’s get this wrapped up and figure out where to go from there.” He gestured to my chair and waited until I took a seat before he sat down. “I really need to see that text, Maggie.”
“Yeah, of course.” I pulled out my phone and unlocked the screen. Then I checked my messages and pretended to be confused. “I don’t understand. It was there earlier.”
“You can’t find the message?”
“No.”
He took the phone from me and examined the screen. “What happened to it?”
“I don’t know, but now that I think about it, I’m not sure who it was from.”
“I thought you said it was blocked.”
I shrugged, still feigning confusion. Think fast, Magnolia. “I saw it when I called you, but obviously I was a bit frazzled. Maybe I accidentally deleted it while I was waiting for you. When I grabbed my phone to text my friend Jody.”
He looked up at me. “It looks like the last time you texted Jody was yesterday afternoon.”
“I started to text her, then remembered she was on the stage.” At least that part was true. He gave me a weird look. “She’s in a touring production of Wicked. She’s not done until well after ten, closer to eleven.”
The phone vibrated in his hand, and he stared at the screen, his face expressionless. Finally, his gaze lifted to mine. “Could your text have been from Colt?”
I paused for a moment, then gasped, trying to look embarrassed. “Oh, God. How could I have been so stupid? We had an argument . . .”
He tilted his head slightly to the side and said, “Colt just sent a text apologizing for encouraging you to leave your theatre life in the past. He hopes he can still Netflix and chill with you again tonight. He can be there in fifteen minutes.”
I maintained my role and tried to look even more embarrassed. It wasn’t a stretch. “Oh.”
He remained silent as he stared at the phone screen.
“I’m sorry to have worried you for nothing.”
“Who’s Colt?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “The guy I was singing with tonight. He works for my mother and Tilly.”
“You’re seeing him?”
Play your role, Magnolia. Colt was right. Brady asks too many questions.
I gave a slight shrug and played coy. “I wouldn’t call it seeing him.”
Brady remained quiet, studying me.
I waited several moments before I said, “We’re friends.”
“With benefits.” It wasn’t a question.
“Is there anything else you need from me? I thought we were keeping this professional, and if we’re now delving into my personal life, I really need to go.”
His eyes turned cold. “I’d hate for you to miss your Netflix and chill plans.”
“My personal life is no concern of yours, Brady Bennett.”
“As you’ve made glaringly obvious.”
That stung more than I cared to admit, but Colt had been right about this too. The ploy had worked out perfectly. I swallowed my tears. “The text was from Colt, so I guess I’m not in danger.”
“Not necessarily. The man you were planning to meet was killed before you could talk to him.”
“Because Mr. Frey had information he didn’t want me to have. Which means I’m safe.”
He watched me closely, as if trying to figure me out.
“Do you want to take the rest of my statement?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He buried his head in his notebook. “Tell me again about going to the bar and finding Mr. Frey.”
I spent the next several minutes recapping what I’d already told him, including seeing Mr. Frey at the restaurant at lunch.
My nerves felt frayed and raw, so when he remained silent for nearly a minute, looking over his notebook, I stuttered out, “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking up. “What’s your father’s name?”
“Brian. Brian Royland Steele.”
“Can you give me his birthdate and physical description?”
I hesitated. “You’re still going to look into my father’s disappearance?”
His mouth sagged a little. “You think I wouldn’t do my job because you’re sleeping with somebody else?”
“Well . . .” I’d hoped he would, but I had prepared myself for the possibility he might drop it. My father was likely beyond anyone’s protection, and as much as I wanted to know what had happened to him, it was more important to protect Momma and Belinda.
“I’m digging deeper into your father’s disappearance because it’s pertinent to this case. Not because of any personal connection to you.”
My face burned. “Of course.”
“Now about your father’s personal information.”
I gave him Daddy’s information. He’d been forty-two when he’d disappeared, but most people had thought he looked younger. He’d been tall, around six feet, and trim—he was a runner. I’d inherited his dark hair but not his brown eyes.
“Any distinguishing marks on his body?” Brady asked. “Tattoos? Piercings? Birthmarks?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He nodded and closed his notebook. “Then I think we’re done. You’re free to go.”
I started to apologize, but I couldn’t. Besides, what was I apologizing for? I’d told him three weeks ago that whatever spark we felt was never going to amount to anything. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.”
I stood, and he stood too. “Magnolia. Don’t apologize. I’m glad you called me.” He paused, looking out the window before turning back to me. “I’m still worried about you, but I suspect you’re right. It sounds like someone killed Walter Frey to keep you from finding out what happened that night. Which means he won’t consider you a threat. But don’t be setting up any more meetings with anyone else. Let me take care of it, and I’ll let you know when I find something.”
“Thank you, Brady. This means a lot to me.”
“You want answers about your father. It’s my job.”
And just like that, I’d become another victim.
The reclassification hurt more than I cared to admit.
But then I realized something else. I had never told him about the note I’d seen.
Chapter 7
When I got to my car, my phone vibrated with a call.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Colt asked.
“I just got done.”
“Good, I want you to meet me at a house downtown on Fourth Street.”
I groaned as I started the car. “Not tonight, Colt. I’m not playing any games. I’ve had a shitty day, and I just want to go home.”
“I think I’m about to make your shitty day better.”
The ego of this man. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
“Did my plan work?” he asked.
“Yeah. It worked.” My tone was sullen, but it was the best I could do.
“Sorry, Mags. I know it sucks, but I just proved you could trust me, didn’t I? Trust me on this one too. You’ll love my surprise.”
All I wanted to do was crawl into bed, but I had to admit he had saved me. I couldn’t imagine why he would want me to meet him at a house downtown this late. “Okay, I’ll come, but I’m only giving you five minutes.”
“Five minutes should be more than enough.”
“You only need f
ive minutes, huh?” I teased. “Good to know for future reference.”
“Very funny. Glad to see you still have your witty sense of humor.” He gave me the address, then hung up.
When I approached the intersection, I found him standing next to his truck, which was parked curbside in front of a restored Victorian-style house. I parked behind him and got out, taking in the property.
“If you tell me I have to participate in TPing this house as payback for your help, you’re out of luck.”
He laughed as he walked toward me. “You seriously think I asked you here to toilet paper this house? It’s a little close to the police station, don’t you think?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I can’t imagine what else we’d be up to. You obviously don’t live here.”
“No, but you do.”
I dropped my arms as he placed his hand on the small of my back and pushed me toward the driveway. “What are you talking about?”
“Just keep walking,” he said as we continued up the drive.
“We’re going to get in trouble for trespassing,” I whispered. The last thing I needed was for Brady to show up.
“Relax. We’re not gonna get in trouble. We’re checking out your new home.”
“I can’t afford this house, Colt.”
“No shit.” He laughed. “You can’t afford the crumbs in a Taco Bell wrapper. But you’re not gonna be living in the house.”
“Then what in tarnation are you talking about?”
He pointed to a detached garage. “There’s an apartment up there.” Then he walked around me and climbed up a flight of stairs built into the side of the garage.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Wait. What?”
He laughed as he unlocked the door at the top with the keys in his hand. “Come on. Come check it out.”
I glanced back at the house, certain the owner had already called the police. “Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” I asked as I climbed the stairs.
He shook his head. “Come on, Mags. Would I get you into trouble?”
I stood next to him, about to say hell yes, but he put his finger to my lips and grinned. “Don’t answer that.” Then he moved to the side and flipped a switch on the wall. “Welcome home.”
A lamp turned on, filling the small space with warm light. Bookcases lined one wall on either side of a TV. The opposite wall was red brick, and an overstuffed sage-green sofa sat against it. The coffee table with the lamp was arranged between the sofa and a floral overstuffed chair. Behind that was a small kitchen with an island with two barstools.
“It comes furnished,” Colt said as I walked inside, the heels of my shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.
“I don’t understand . . .”
“What’s not to understand?” he asked as I walked into the kitchen. “You need an apartment. This one’s available.”
I turned back to face him, shaking my head. “I can’t afford this.”
“You don’t even know how much it costs.”
I gestured toward the small but very cozy living room. “I know I can’t afford this.”
“Check out the bedroom and bathroom.”
“I don’t see the point.”
Colt groaned. “Jesus, Mags. Just check it out.” When I hesitated, he said, “This is Franklin. It’s not New York City.”
“Real estate is still expensive here.” This I knew. In my desperation to get away from my mother, I’d already looked.
“Will you just check out the bedroom already?”
I still didn’t see the point, but I had to admit I was curious. The bedroom was small, but there was a queen-sized bed with a pink and cream floral comforter and lots of pillows. The walls were a soft cream color. Next to the simple wood headboard was a nightstand topped with a white ceramic lamp, and there was a tall dresser against the opposite wall. The window overlooked the house and the street.
“The closet is small,” Colt said. “That might be a problem.”
“Not as much as you might think,” I said as I headed toward the door and into the bathroom. I’d only brought two suitcases stuffed with clothes with me to Franklin. I was sure Griff had either sold the rest or given my things away to a thrift store.
The bathroom was small too, but all the essentials were there—a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a shower. The floor and shower were both covered in tiny white tiles. It was obvious it had recently been remodeled to give the room—the whole apartment—a vintage feel to match the house.
Colt stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder into the window jamb. “What do you think?”
I shook my head. “How did you find out about this place?”
“A friend.”
“How much?”
His grin spread. “Six hundred a month.”
I narrowed my eyes. There was no way the price could be that low. “You’re always complaining about your roommate. Why don’t you live here?”
“Because Ava—the homeowner—doesn’t want a guy living here. She wants a girl.”
“Six hundred seems pretty cheap.”
“Well . . . there is a catch.”
I knew it. “What is it?”
“You have to clean her house once a week. Just the floors on the first floor, her kitchen and bathroom and her bedroom.”
“What makes you think I know the first thing about cleaning houses?”
He laughed. “You were raised by Lila Steele. It’s a given.”
He had a point.
“What do you say?”
“It still seems too good to be true. How long’s the lease?”
“Six months.”
“I might have to leave sooner than six months.”
“Because Lila’s dyin’?”
“You know?” I asked in disbelief.
“Maggie. Believe it or not, I’m a pretty smart guy. I can put two and two together.” I wondered if he was talking about more than just my mother’s situation, but I didn’t dare ask.
“So what do you think?” he asked, dangling two keys on a small chain. “You ready to break free from your mother?”
I felt guilty. I only had a few months left with her; did I really want to miss any of that? But we got on each other’s nerves like nobody’s business when we were sharing each other’s space, and I was sure this was the solution. She’d said so herself. Still . . .
“What do you get out of it?” I asked.
He laughed and backed up so I could leave the bathroom. “Consider it a good deed.”
“You don’t seem like the good deed kind of guy, but you’ve done more than your fair share of them lately. What’s your endgame?”
He plopped down on the sofa and rested his arm on the armrest. “You really are paranoid, aren’t you?”
I stood in front of him with my arms crossed. “Let’s just say I know your type.”
Grinning, he shook his head. “Don’t be so sure about that.” He patted the space next to him. “Come on. Try it out.”
This place was so tempting. Truly an answer to my prayers, had I been keen on saying them. It was an amazing opportunity, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a catch to it—something more onerous than one afternoon of cleaning per week.
Colt stood. “Okay. I can see how maybe I sprung this on you too quickly. I’d planned to tell you tomorrow, but after your crap day, it seemed like you needed some good news. How about I give you a minute to hang out and think it over? I’ll be right back.”
Then, before I could answer, he was out the door and I was alone.
I’d never had my own place. New York was expensive, so I’d always had at least one roommate. I couldn’t imagine living completely alone, but with the killer watching me, maybe it was a good idea to distance myself from everyone.
I wandered into the kitchen and opened cabinets, surprised to see dishes, glassware, and pots and pans. There was even a stackable washer and dryer in what I’d mistaken for a closet. By the time Colt came bac
k in, carrying a brown bag, I was sitting at the island.
“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
“Yeah,” I said grudgingly. “It’s pretty great. How much is the deposit?”
Ignoring me, he walked to the cabinet and grabbed two juice glasses. He walked over to the sofa and set the bag and the glasses on the coffee table.
“Don’t we need to get out of here?” I asked as he flopped back down on the couch.
“Nope. Ava gave me the keys to give to you. It’s yours.”
“Don’t I need to sign a lease? Or give references?”
His mouth twisted into a half-grin. “You can figure out all the details of the lease later. Your name was enough to get you the place.”
I hopped off the stool and stomped over to him, getting irate. “She wants to rent to Magnolia Steele? I’m her claim to fame?”
“Calm down, Yosemite Sam,” he said, raising his hands, palms out. “She rented it to you because you’re Lila Steele’s daughter.”
“Oh.” I supposed her name carried the weight of responsibility. Too bad I was nothing like her.
He patted the seat next to him. “Come on. You need this.”
I sat next to him, eyeing the package. “What’s in the bag?” I asked.
“Something to help celebrate your new apartment.” He pulled down the paper to reveal a bottle of Jameson whiskey.
I snorted. “Most people celebrate housewarmings with wine or champagne.”
“Well, we’re not like most people, are we?” He poured a generous amount into both glasses, then picked them up and handed one to me.
I took it and he clicked his glass to mine, all humor gone as he said, “To new beginnings. And to leaving our secrets behind, buried deep in the past where they belong.”
I looked deep into his blue eyes. Though a part of me was itching to know what secrets Colt Austin was hiding, it felt good to have a friend who understood my situation, if not what had caused it. “Amen.”
We both took sips of our whiskey, and I leaned back into the overstuffed sofa, amazed by how comfortable it was.
“Do you want to talk about the text you were hiding from Detective Hot Stuff?”
I snorted whiskey, then coughed for a good minute before choking out, “Detective Hot Stuff?”
Act Two Page 7