Act Two

by Denise Grover Swank

  “He was angry when I saw him a few weeks ago. I still know how to push his buttons, and I pushed a few too many. I’m sure he didn’t mean to pinch me so hard.”

  And then I realized I sounded like every clichéd victim. Was that what Belinda told herself?

  He looked into my eyes. “And the slap mark on your cheek?”

  My face burned with embarrassment.

  “Yeah. I saw the faded shape of his hand print on your cheek when I stopped by the other night.”

  I dropped my gaze, feeling a kinship with Belinda that made me squirm after what I’d just said to her.

  “He’s dangerous, Magnolia. I can’t believe your mother would want you to leave yourself vulnerable.”

  “I’ll be more careful.”

  “Did he get the necklace?”

  I kept my gaze down, unable to look him in the face while I was lying to him. I already felt like a bitch because of how I’d treated Belinda. Now I’d elevated myself to first class d-bag. “I’ll go check.”

  I stepped around him and walked into the bedroom, stepping over my pile of clothes. I opened the drawer in the bedside table and pretended to look inside. “It’s gone.”

  I stood upright and stared at him, feeling even guiltier, if that were possible.

  “Did your brother know Walter Frey?”

  “What?” Oh, God. Had he jumped from point A to point C? Was Roy now on his short list of suspects for Mr. Frey’s murder? “I don’t know,” I stammered.

  His mouth pinched into a line. “I think it’s better if you stay with your mother for now. And I really think you should cancel your concert tonight.”

  “It’s not a concert. It’s just a set. And I already told you. I can’t.”

  “And staying with your mother?”

  I was missing the old security of the front door of my childhood home, so his suggestion was tempting. “I can’t,” I said truthfully. “She’d want to know why I was there, and I can’t tell her.” And I didn’t want to bring any more danger to her door.

  “Do you have any friends?”

  “No.” The admission hurt. “Not anymore.”

  “What about Colt?”

  My mouth dropped like a trap door.

  He released a pained laugh. “Now you see how truly worried I am.”

  I really didn’t want to stay with Colt, but I could see he wasn’t going to let this drop. “I’ll ask him.”

  He gave a sharp nod and looked around. “Is there any way I can convince you to file a report?”

  “No.”

  Disappointment filled his eyes. “If your brother breaks in again or threatens you in any other way, I want you to swear you’ll tell me.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Not good enough, Maggie,” he said with an edge in his voice. “Swear it.”

  Why did he care so much? He hardly knew me, but I had to admit that he was wearing me down. “Okay.”

  I glanced over at my purse, thinking about the bag of gold that was hidden beneath my wallet, along with the gun. I needed to find a new hiding spot, but obviously nowhere in my apartment was safe. Then again, maybe it was. Whoever had broken in probably thought they had gotten them all. Unless they knew how many bags there had been. But Brady saw the direction of my gaze and thought I was looking at the manila envelope.

  “You found the report,” he said.

  “Thanks for getting it for me.”

  He held my gaze when I looked up at him. “Why am I having a hard time believing that you let this go?”

  I really didn’t want to lie to him anymore. “I’m fine,” I said softly.

  “I want to help you, Maggie. But you have to let me.” Then he turned around and walked out the door, leaving a slimy feeling in my chest.

  Was it wrong that I wanted to trust him? That I wanted to tell him what I knew? I had a hard time believing that he’d manufactured feelings for me so he could use me. He seemed genuinely concerned. But it was hard to ignore that he’d thought I was in danger even before my break-in, which meant he might be involved in the phone cover-up.

  What the hell was I doing?

  My phone rang, startling me out of my stupor. I wasn’t surprised to see it was Colt.

  “Is he gone?” he asked.

  “He just left.”

  “Did they get it all?”

  “All but one bag.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know.”

  “You didn’t tell him about the gold, did you?”

  “I’m not stupid, Colt.”

  “You are when it comes to him.”

  I started to protest, but maybe he had a point. At least I hadn’t told him everything. “How did someone know about it?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t tell anyone other than Big Mike, and I swear to God he doesn’t know where I got it. There’s no way he could tie it to you.” He paused. “What if your brother noticed the dog was gone?”

  “How would he know there was gold inside?”

  “Maggie, someone put the gold inside that statute. We can’t ignore the fact that your brother stored that dime store ceramic dog along with a bunch of nice stuff. Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”

  Someone had put the gold there, but it had been my father. “How would Roy know I had the statue?”

  But as soon as I said the words, it hit me.

  Belinda.

  She’d seen the pieces in the trash bag. It would explain her weird behavior at lunch, not to mention all those texts she’d sent.

  But Colt was oblivious to my revelation. “Roy knows we’ve been messing around in the garage. Maybe he went to see if we’d disturbed anything.”

  “Maybe.” I wondered if I should share my concern with Colt, but there was no way Belinda would betray me.

  Would she?

  Chapter 20

  “I can be at the Belles in a half hour,” Colt said. “Do you want to meet there? I can drive us to the Kincaid.”

  I was still trying to shake the idea that Belinda had told Roy what she’d seen. But the dog had been in pieces—how would she have even recognized it? Then I remembered the dog’s head had still been fairly intact. She’d even commented on it. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  I hung up, and since I had a few minutes, I put all my clothes back into the clothes hamper and straightened my bed. I decided to leave early and stop at the deli to pick up a sandwich for dinner, so I grabbed the envelope with the police report, folded it over, and stuffed it into my purse. Good thing I was used to carrying a large bag from when I lived in New York.

  The storm had blown over without dumping any rain, but the air was cooler. I considered going back upstairs to get a heavier jacket but decided I’d warm up as I walked.

  But just as I started to head toward the street, the house’s back door cracked open and Miss Ava called out, “Magnolia Steele.”

  I fought the urge to run. “Good afternoon, Miss Ava.” She didn’t sound happy, but maybe I could use this opportunity to ask her about Christopher Merritt.

  “Your merry-go-round of male suitors is still continuing.”

  “I don’t have any male suitors, but you probably noticed Detective Bennett. I believe he was here twice today. Did you see someone else?”

  “A shifty-looking man. He wore one of those hooded sweatshirts that covered his head and most of his face. I couldn’t see anything about him other than his jacket, jeans, and his white tennis shoes.” Her superior tone suggested that Brady hadn’t stopped by to question her after all.

  “You don’t say?” I asked, trying to sound breezy. “Do you remember how tall he was?”

  “About as tall as that police detective who’s been at your apartment twice today.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  If only she knew. “No.”

  But hearing her talk about the guy made my hair stand on end. While I’d seen the evidence of someone ransacking my place, hearing her description made me uneasy. I considered telling her th
e truth, but I worried she’d think it was too risky to rent to me. Either that or she’d want to see the police report about the break-in. Since I wouldn’t let Brady file one, that made things tricky. “He’s a handyman I hired to look at . . . a leaky faucet.”

  “If you have a leaky faucet, you’re supposed to tell me. I want my own handyman to look at it. I’m not paying for your guy.”

  “I planned to pay for it myself. I don’t want to be a troublesome tenant.”

  Her mouth pursed as though I’d already gone past troublesome and well into irritating.

  “Did you happen to notice how long he stayed?” I asked. “I didn’t have a chance to see if he fixed it.”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes. And I’d prefer for you not to give your key to strange men in the future.”

  Brady had commented that there wasn’t any sign of a forced entry, but how would the intruder have gotten a key? Ava had surely rented the apartment before. Maybe he’d gotten it from a previous tenant, but I had to admit the idea seemed preposterous. Had someone had access to my own key over the last few days?

  I needed to get the lock changed.

  “Miss Ava, at the risk of upsetting you, I’ve been thinking . . .”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

  I was counting on the fact that she really wanted to keep me in her apartment to irritate my mother. “I was wondering if you’d changed the locks after your last tenant. After some videos were posted of me on the internet, I’ve attracted interest from certain . . . unsavory individuals. I’d feel safer if I had a more secure lock. And maybe one of those cameras. I’ll be happy to pay for it, of course.” I hoped I could afford it.

  From the twist of her mouth to her narrowed eyes, she was the picture of a woman about to give an eviction notice, but to my surprise, she said in a short tone, “I’ve already arranged to have new locks and a deadbolt installed tomorrow morning.”

  “Uh . . .” I stammered. “Thank you.”

  “But if you give your key to any other strange-looking men, you’ll be out in a day.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I started to walk away, then turned back, not surprised to find her still standing in the same place. “Since I’m here, I was wondering if I could ask you about Christopher Merritt.”

  Her face was a blank slate, but I could tell I’d taken her by surprise. “Why are you asking about Christopher Merritt?”

  “I’ve been away for several years, so I had no idea he’d gone missing. I felt terrible when I found out.”

  “What makes you think I know anything about Christopher Merritt?” Her careful manner told me it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill disappearance, if there even was such a thing.

  I decided to use her pride to my advantage. “Miss Ava, I don’t think people can take a dump in Franklin without you knowing it.”

  I wasn’t sure how she’d react, and while shock made her mouth sag slightly, a hint of pride filled her eyes. “I may know a thing or two.” She paused. “But it’s quite interesting that you’re asking me about Chris Merritt after asking me about your father earlier.”

  “Is it?” I asked. “What did people say about Mr. Merritt’s disappearance?”

  “They didn’t say he had an affair.”

  “So there weren’t any rumors?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So what did they say?”

  “That he and his wife were arguing and he took off.”

  Similar to my father, but not exactly the same. “Were they actually arguing?”

  She stood a little bit taller. “No.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “No.” Then she slammed the door shut.

  “It’s been great chatting with you too,” I muttered.

  As I walked the few blocks into town, I mulled over everything she’d said, both now and earlier. Had Steve Morrissey had my father and his own wife killed because they were about to expose something? Chris Merritt disappeared eleven years later. Maybe he had been on the verge of confessing his knowledge about Daddy and Mrs. Morrissey? How did Steve Morrissey have so much power?

  When I reached the deli, I put in an order for both Colt and myself. I guessed on what to get for him, but he seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t complain about free food.

  Momma had given me a key to the catering business, so I let myself in the front door and dragged a stool to the stainless steel table in the middle of the kitchen. I pulled out the envelope and started to look it over, but my guilt over Belinda made it difficult to concentrate. Not only had I hurt her, I’d also thought her capable of betraying me.

  My paranoia was getting the better of me. My sister-in-law had always gone above and beyond to help me and be my friend.

  Before I changed my mind, I sent her a text.

  I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, but I hope you can forgive me. I feel terrible.

  She answered back within seconds.

  There’s nothing to forgive, Magnolia. I know you don’t understand, but you have to trust me.

  There was that word again. Trust. How could people throw it around so casually? Just about every person I’d trusted had ended up hurting me. Griff. Momma. Even Daddy. Trusting someone gave them power. But it was appealing in the way many dangerous things are.

  Time to read Daddy’s police report and search for any threads of truth among the lies. I scanned the first document, a handwritten Missing Persons Report. The officer had taken my mother’s statement (her husband had left for the evening and never returned), including a note that I had insisted my father had gone to meet a local attorney named Walter Frey. The officer had questioned Walter Frey, however, and both Frey and his wife had insisted it hadn’t happened. The police had ultimately found my father’s car at the Nashville airport—a piece of information I had never heard before.

  Also included was the Missing Persons Report for Shannon Morrissey, which had been filed by her sister, Sydney, the day after my father’s disappearance. Shannon had never shown up to their lunch date. Sydney was particularly worried because Shannon had left her two-year-old in her sister’s care the previous afternoon. When Steve Morrissey was questioned, he said he’d found out that his wife was having an affair with his financial planner and that he had kicked her out the night before. Shannon’s car was also found at the airport. When questioned the next day, Mr. Morrissey said a suitcase was missing, along with Shannon’s passport and clothes. And one million dollars from one of his accounts, to which she wasn’t supposed to have access.

  The next page was a follow-up with Momma. She said there was no money missing from her joint bank account and there were no missing suitcases or clothes.

  Next were copies of all of our statements—Momma’s, Roy’s (which stated he didn’t know anything), and even mine. Days later, Momma had changed her statement to say she thought my father had run away with his mistress, Shannon Morrissey.

  But Bill James, Daddy’s boss, had made the most damning statement of all. He said that Daddy hadn’t been acting like himself for the last few months and that Shannon Morrissey had been stopping by to see him more frequently. Bill had called Daddy into his office and told him he didn’t approve of his behavior with his client’s wife, and he either needed to end the relationship or find another job.

  Daddy had disappeared the next week, along with one million dollars of Steve Morrissey’s money.

  An interview with Mandy Pinkel, Daddy’s assistant, corroborated Bill James’s statement about Shannon Morrissey’s visits.

  But if Shannon Morrissey had been working with Daddy to turn Steve Morrissey in for money laundering, it made sense that they would have had meetings about it. Sudden doubt stabbed into me: what if my brother really had seen Daddy meet Shannon one night? At the time, he’d been a twelve-year-old boy who wasn’t particularly interested in his sister’s life. He would neither have known nor cared what I was doing.

  I quickly flipped through the pages to find Sydney’s statement, bu
t there was no sign of it. A second flip-through didn’t fare any better.

  Had Brady removed it, or had it not been included in the report he’d seen?

  I was about to read a report about the evidence—or lack thereof—found in my father’s car when the back door opened. I jolted in surprise, then lowered my hand to my purse as I swung around. It was only Colt.

  “What has you so jumpy?” Colt asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, gathering the papers. “You just caught me off guard.”

  But Colt snatched the stack from my hand. “What is this?”

  “It’s none of your business,” I said, reaching for the file.

  He quickly scanned the top before turning to me with his mouth dropped open. “Your father’s Missing Persons Report? Why are you looking at that?”

  “Curiosity. Now give it back.”

  He held it over his head. “Fine. I’ll give it back after you tell me about Miss Ava’s Bible study.”

  “You’ve already asked. I still don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “I guess I’ll just settle in to read,” he said as he plopped onto a stool.

  I’d given it a lot of thought since the day before, and now I couldn’t help but wonder if my suspicions of the group were partially due to my paranoia. What difference did it make if their entire meeting wasn’t a Bible study? Secret, genteel women’s societies weren’t entirely unheard of in the South. The problems they’d referred to were probably no more sordid than someone’s weedy flower bed.

  “There were about fifteen women there besides Miss Ava,” I said. “And they loved to gossip.”

  He put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, his eyes alight with mischief. “Go on.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “I’ve never claimed otherwise. Anything else?”

  I shrugged. “I may have overheard some of their meeting.”

  “How did that come about?”

  I didn’t want to confess to finding the secret staircase, so I said, “I eavesdropped.”

  “And what did you hear?”

  “Nothing that made any sense. Things about problems cropping up. Nothing specific besides Mr. Frey’s murder. Then the reverend showed up. I didn’t realize that reverends went to Thursday morning Bible studies.”