Act Two

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Me either.”

  I was expecting him to give me more of a fight, but he let me snatch the file back from him. As I stuffed the papers into the envelope, he said, “I had a visit from your favorite Franklin law enforcement officer earlier, about midafternoon.”

  “What?” The papers were only halfway inside the envelope, but that stopped me short. “Brady?” He’d told me that he was headed to an interview. I hadn’t realized it had been to question Colt.

  His face turned serious. “Detective Bennett to me. He was there partially on your behalf.”

  “What?” I asked in horror.

  “He wanted to know about our relationship. How long I’d known you. If I had any prior arrests. He seemed particularly interested in knowing if I had any assault or domestic violence charges.”

  I stopped again, my eyes sinking shut as I groaned. “Oh, no. I’m sorry.”

  “The not-so-subtle message I received was to keep my hands off you, and I’m not talking in a biblical sense. Why would he think I’d hurt you?”

  My eyes flew open. “Colt, I am so, so sorry. I never, ever insinuated that you would do anything of the sort.”

  “Then why would he think I did?”

  “Brady came by on Wednesday night to give me an update on . . .” I paused, trying to decide how much to reveal. “The case.”

  “He couldn’t give it to you over the phone?” he asked sarcastically. “So what happened to make him think I’d hurt you?”

  Shit. What did I confess to? “Roy stopped by after you dropped me off. He was pissed, and he made a bit of a mess before he left.”

  Colt’s face reddened. “I’m pretty damn sure there’s more to it. Detective Bennett told me if he finds out that I hurt you, he’d deal with me without his badge and gun. Why?”

  I cringed. “Let’s just say he saw evidence that Roy had been unhappy and leave it at that.” I leaned forward, holding his gaze. “But now he knows it’s not you. I made sure he believed it.”

  He got off the stool and took several steps away, anger radiating from him. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that your brother hurt you again?”

  “What good would it do?”

  “But you told him.”

  Brady. Was Colt jealous? It was far more likely that he was worried I’d put too much trust in a police officer. “Only so he’d stop harassing me to file a police report about the break-in. I lied and told him I thought Roy had broken in to steal a necklace that belonged to my mother.”

  “Good thinking,” he grudgingly admitted.

  “But I have some information about the person who ransacked my apartment.”

  That caught him by surprise. “What? How?”

  “Miss Ava, of course. She saw a man with a hooded sweatshirt open my apartment door as though he had a key. He was in there for about fifteen minutes.”

  “Did she say anything else about him?”

  “He wore jeans and white athletic shoes. She said he was as tall as Brady.” When Colt narrowed his eyes, I added, “He was there twice this afternoon.” Great, that wasn’t any better. “He dropped off the police report while I was at lunch and then came back to investigate the break-in.”

  “So that narrows it down, since it only applies to about a third of the male population in the Nashville area.”

  “Yeah.” I cocked my head. “You said I was partially the reason for his visit. What was the other?”

  “He wanted to know if I had a connection to Walter Frey.”

  I gasped. “What? What did you tell him?”

  “That I’d never seen him before in my life until the day you pointed him out at the Mellow Mushroom.” He turned to look at me. “What’s he up to, Mags?”

  “They don’t have any leads on Walter Frey’s killer, and he’s worried about me. Around lunchtime today, he pretty much admitted he didn’t trust you, and then the break-in freaked him out—hell, it freaked me out—but he took it as evidence that I’m in danger.”

  “Are you?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.”

  He sat back down and rubbed his hand over his mouth. Then he lowered his hand and looked me in the eyes. “What do you want to do?”

  “Brady doesn’t want me to be alone tonight. He wants me to stay with you.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”

  “After I set him straight about Roy, he must have decided to trust you.”

  “So what do you want to do, Mags?” he repeated.

  That was a very good question, but my mind reached for a distraction instead. After all, I’d had years of practice. “I want to rehearse so we don’t look like fools tonight.”

  But I couldn’t help thinking I was already a fool. I just hadn’t figured out the how of it yet.

  Chapter 21

  Colt and I stood backstage at the Kincaid, waiting for the manager to give us our cue. When he’d asked how to announce us, I’d had a moment of panic—we’d never discussed what to call ourselves—but Colt had quickly blurted out “Maggie and Colt.” He’d turned to me and winked as the manager walked onto the stage. “Better to keep it simple,” he said in his lazy Georgia drawl.

  Our rehearsal had gone well. The biggest issue for me was learning all the lyrics, but I was used to memorizing vast amounts of lines in a short time. Even though we’d originally discussed singing no more than a few songs together, we’d unanimously decided we should sing most of the songs in the forty-five-minute set together. Somehow we’d briefly forgotten I was part of another murder investigation and possibly in danger. The thing I loved about being with Colt was how easy it was. We laughed and joked, and my heart felt light and free—even if it was only for a few hours in the safety of my mother’s catering kitchen.

  If our performance turned out anything like our rehearsal, we’d be golden. But I was surprised to feel the prickle of nerves as I stood to the side of the stage, eyeing the large Friday night crowd. While in some ways singing was similar to acting, it made me feel more exposed because there wasn’t an obvious role to hide behind. It was like I was giving the world a glimpse into my soul.

  Colt reached over and squeezed my hand. I looked into his eyes.

  He winked. “You’ve got this.”

  “Is it that obvious I’m nervous?”

  His gaze held mine. “It wouldn’t be to most people.”

  I started to ask him how he could sense it, but the stage manager was already in front of the mic, saying, “. . . give a warm welcome to Maggie and Colt!”

  The crowd’s response was warmer than it had been at the Embassy but wasn’t overly enthusiastic, not that I could blame them. No one knew who we were or what to expect from us.

  I suddenly found that thrilling.

  As we walked onto the stage, Colt with his guitar slung over his shoulder, I realized I could be anyone I wanted on this stage. I wasn’t Magnolia Steele, failed theatre actress. I could be Maggie, country music ingénue.

  Colt sat on his stool and shot me a quick glance as he adjusted his guitar. When I grinned, a smile spread across his face as he turned to the audience. “We’re gonna start tonight with the song that brought us together, ‘Need You Now’ by Lady Antebellum.”

  After the intro, I sang the first female verse, and then Colt joined in for the chorus. The energy of the crowd made us even better.

  For the next forty-five minutes, we sang a variety of songs, including the ballad from Fireflies at Dawn, which I’d sung for Brady on Main Street what seemed like an eternity ago, as well as a couple of songs Colt had written that were actually really good. Between songs, we exchanged some humorous banter, so that by the time we finished, the crowd was totally invested.

  That was what I missed about the theatre. Holding the audience spellbound and pushing their emotions one way or another, sometimes with just an expression. But I also realized how much I’d used acting as an escape from my real life. Being someone else onstage kept my anxiety at bay.

  When we finis
hed, we took our bow and went backstage for Colt to put his guitar in his case. The manager had gone back onstage to introduce the next act, but he grabbed us before we left.

  “You two were great. The crowd loved you and have been generous with tips. I’d be happy to have you back.”

  Colt finished fastening his case and stood. “Thanks. We’ll get back to you.”

  “While you’re waitin’ to settle up, I know there are a few fans who’d like to buy you both a drink. And there’s an agent who’d like to chat with you.”

  Colt gave me a questioning glance.

  I knew that part of the gig was networking, and even if I wasn’t in this for a record deal, Colt was. “Yeah, sounds good.” Not to mention I wasn’t in any hurry to get back to my apartment. While I reasoned that the person who had ransacked it wouldn’t be back, I was still freaked out. They probably had a key, and there really wasn’t anything in the apartment I could use to barricade the door. I was giving serious consideration to sneaking into Momma’s house and crashing in my old bed.

  Colt left his guitar backstage and we entered the main room, creating some interest as we headed to the bar. Several of the patrons knew Colt, and they gave him claps on the back while giving me appreciative grins.

  Colt put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the bar. The newest group onstage was loud and a lot more rock than country, not that the crowd seemed to mind.

  A man with neatly trimmed dark hair, slightly shorter than Colt, approached us and held out his hand. “I’m Justin Kasper. Do you two have an agent?”

  Colt shot me a quick glance as we both shook hands with the man.

  “No. But we’re not usually a group.”

  “I know.” The man lifted his beer bottle. “I was listening, and I liked what I heard.” Then he waved his bottle toward the room. “And so did everyone else.”

  “Maggie Mae’s not looking to sign with anyone,” Colt said, “but I’m in the market.”

  Justin made a face. “You have to know that I’m interested in the two of you as a partnership.” He handed Colt a card, then glanced at me. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  As he walked away, I leaned into Colt’s ear. “I’m sorry.”

  “No harm, no foul,” he said, sounding more easygoing than I’d expected.

  The bartender walked over and smiled. “The manager says drinks on the house for you two.”

  I ordered a beer. When I was in a crowd, I was über vigilant. I knew a few women who had been dosed with something through their drinks. It was a lot harder to drug a small-mouthed beer bottle that never left my hand. Here in Nashville it seemed a little paranoid, but in light of all the other threats in my life, paranoia seemed appropriate.

  Several women approached us and wanted to know if we were a couple. As soon as Colt confirmed that we were only friends, they swarmed him. I sat on my stool several feet away, shaking my head indulgently while I watched him in action.

  “I take it you two have an open relationship.” I recognized the voice all too well.

  Steeling myself, I turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Brady?”

  “Enjoying the music, just like everyone else. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you were singing.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I told you I was singing here.”

  “Okay. So I was curious.” But he scanned the crowd as he talked. His gaze landed on Colt, and a slight frown tugged at his mouth.

  “You’re checking up on me.”

  He shrugged. “So it kills two birds with one stone. It made me nervous that you’d be out in such a busy place.” His gaze landed on Colt again, and his disapproval was clear. Brady had expected Colt to play babysitter.

  He flagged down the bartender and ordered his own beer, then turned back to face me, leaning close so he couldn’t be overheard. “Have you felt unsafe? Has anyone around here made you feel uneasy?”

  “You mean other than you?” I asked with a straight face.

  He cringed, clearly uncomfortable.

  I leaned closer and held his gaze. “Brady! I was teasing.”

  He still looked uncertain.

  “At the risk of regretting this later, I feel better knowing you’re here.” It was true. While I still questioned if I could trust him, I had to wonder why he’d go to so much effort to watch over me if he didn’t have my best interests in mind.

  But maybe I was being naïve.

  I thought he’d gloat at my admission, but while his discomfort vanished, he simply smiled and leaned his arm against the bar.

  “You sang that song. The one you sang on the street a few weeks ago. It was from your musical, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. That was my big break.” I turned my back to the bar and glanced up at the all-male, good ol’ boy-looking band on the stage. “You said you never watched the videos—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I’m sure you heard the rumors.”

  “I met you before I heard the rumors. I never gave a shit about them.”

  I turned to look at him, trying to determine if he was telling the truth, but the bartender interrupted the moment by returning with Brady’s beer.

  Brady dug his wallet out of his jeans and handed him some cash. “I can stay here and keep you company until Colt’s finished socializing”—I was surprised he didn’t choke on the word—“or . . .”

  I tensed. “Or?”

  “My friends would like to meet you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m here with my friends. You met Owen this afternoon, but there are a few others.”

  “Why do they want to meet me? What do they know—or think they know?”

  His eyes filled with understanding. “They know you were amazing onstage, and that I’ve met you before . . . and that I like you. But with the exception of Owen, they have no idea that you’re the Magnolia Steele.”

  I really didn’t feel like pretending tonight. Being onstage had helped relieve a lot of my stress, and I was feeling pretty good. To go with Brady meant I’d have to put my mask back on, and it suddenly seemed like an exhausting prospect. But Colt was totally engrossed in conversation with his women about his workout routine, which meant I’d be sitting here bored and alone and probably fending off countless guys trying to hit on me. What if one of them was after something other than a night of fun? Colt was distracted, and it would be easy for someone to discreetly point a gun at me and coerce me to leave without causing a disturbance.

  But even more convincing was the fact that Owen was the lead detective on Walter Frey’s investigation. Getting information out of him was unlikely, but I needed to know if he’d found that note in Mr. Frey’s hand. Or if someone else had taken it.

  “Okay.”

  I was doing this for strategic reasons, but there was no ignoring the slight flip of my stomach when he instantly smiled and stood upright. Again, I expected him to gloat, but he just looked happy and relieved. “Great.”

  “I need to tell Colt.”

  A sarcastic look washed over his face. “Do you think he’ll even notice you’re gone?”

  I glanced back and saw that Colt was—literally—surrounded by beautiful women.

  I gave him a stern glare. “Very funny.”

  His eyes darkened. “No, actually it’s not. Why do you put up with that?”

  My anger flared. “My relationship with Colt is none of your business.”

  He scowled but gave me a curt nod.

  Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

  No. I just needed to be careful.

  “Colt,” I yelled over the racket of a not-up-to-par Dierks Bentley song as I hopped off my stool and moved closer to him. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you goin’?” he asked. Then he glanced over his shoulder and sat upright, his smirk falling off when he saw who was standing behind me. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No.”

  He pulled back and gave me an irritated look.

&n
bsp; I leaned close to his ear. “I know what I’m doing. I’m going to meet his friends.”

  “Already?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. “Doesn’t that usually wait for the second or third date?”

  “It’s not like that.” Lowering my voice, I said, “He’s here with the detective who took over the murder case.”

  “So?”

  “So. I need more details.”

  He gave me a long look, his eyes full of worry. “Be careful, Mags.”

  “I will.”

  “Not just with your secret.”

  I was about to ask him what he meant, but I already knew, and it wasn’t just about digging for info—the more time I spent with Brady, the more likely I was to get hurt or entangled in something that wouldn’t end well. Besides, he’d already turned back to his groupies, then ordered drinks for everyone. No wonder he was always broke.

  But I had bigger things to worry about. Like how to pry information out of Owen Frasier.

  Chapter 22

  Brady was watching me intently as I turned back toward him, and I had to wonder how much he’d picked up from my conversation with Colt. Hopefully not much.

  I gave him a tight smile. “Lead the way.”

  I followed him through the crowd to the other side of the room. He stopped at a small table surrounded by three men and two women. “Maggie, these are a few of my friends.” He pointed to the man at my right, then moved counterclockwise around the semicircle. “You already met Owen. This is Drew, Drew’s wife Stacy, and Mary and her boyfriend Steve.” He glanced down at me and smiled. “Everyone, this is Maggie.”

  I lifted my hand and gave them a small wave. “Hi.”

  Stacy leaned forward. “You were amazing, Maggie!”

  I gave her a broad smile, deciding to fill the role of a confident young woman who might be interested in the man standing next to her. “Thanks.”

  Drew laughed. “I figured Brady was shitting us when he said he knew you.” His eyes lit up with mischief. “How much did he pay you to come over and pretend to know him? It’s okay, you can tell us. We’ll double it.”