Act Two

by Denise Grover Swank

  I glanced up at him. He was right. That’s what I’d wanted, so why did I still feel empty inside? It felt too neat and tidy, like something wasn’t right.

  “I don’t want you to be scared anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I ask that you keep this information to yourself. Don’t even tell your mother or your sister-in-law.” His eyes darkened. “And definitely not Colt Austin.”

  I nodded, still feeling numb. “Okay.”

  “You’re free to go.” He paused. “But if . . .” He shook his head. “Good night, Maggie.”

  Brady headed toward the doors to the parking lot, and I turned the other direction. It was then I saw a face in the shadows—a face that looked a lot like my brother’s. I considered chasing him down, but it just then occurred to me that I hadn’t seen my brother all evening, which was a surprise since so many professionals with money were in attendance. But if Roy was here, why was he hiding?

  I found Belinda upstairs. She looked surprisingly calm given all the drama that had unfolded tonight.

  “I just talked to Brady,” I told her. “And he’s confirmed I’m not a suspect, so I’m free to go home as soon as Momma lets me.”

  Relief washed over her face. “Thank God.”

  “Say, Belinda. Where’s Roy tonight?”

  “Roy?”

  “I haven’t seen him all night. This seems like his kind of party.”

  Her eyes lost their sparkle. “He had a prior engagement.”

  “I thought I just saw him downstairs.”

  She shook her head. “Your nerves must be getting the better of you. He’s in downtown Nashville, attending some boring dinner.”

  I was nearly ninety-nine percent certain she was wrong, but I didn’t want to be the one to convince her of it. Besides, Roy had become a point of contention between us, and I didn’t want to argue with her over my stupid brother.

  “I’m pretty much done here—we don’t expect people to donate money after what happened. So how about I take you home?” she asked.

  “I should probably stay and help Momma and her staff.”

  “I’ve already talked to her, and we all agreed it would be best if you went ahead and left. You’ve had enough of a shock today.”

  They probably wanted to ensure I didn’t create an even larger disturbance, but I wasn’t complaining. “I’m going to tell Momma goodbye.”

  I headed into the kitchen and found her and Tilly packing up pans and various serving implements. Momma looked up, her eyes filled with questions. I went to her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m fine, Momma. I’m not a suspect. In fact, everything is okay now.”

  She leaned back and searched my face for further explanation, but I couldn’t give one to her. Not yet. As hard as it was not to let her know that Daddy hadn’t run off with Shannon Morrissey. That I wasn’t in danger anymore. That this portion of my nightmare was over.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I paused. “I love you, Momma.”

  She placed her hand on my cheek and looked into my eyes. “I love you too, girl.” Then she dropped her hand and went back to work.

  I found Colt before I left, assuring him I was okay and not a suspect. He looked relieved, then offered to come hang out with me for the night so I’d feel safe.

  I shook my head. “I don’t have to be worried or scared anymore.” At least not in regard to my father’s death. The murderer from the night of my graduation was another matter, but I doubted he’d be coming for me tonight. I hadn’t heard from him since the night of Mr. Frey’s death.

  “Any word from your friend?” I asked. Brady hadn’t said a word about the gold, but that didn’t mean Mr. Morrissey hadn’t mentioned it in his note. Still, it was another unanswered question, another loose thread.

  Colt shook his head. “No. Sorry, Mags.”

  I was out in the parking lot before I realized my purse was locked in one of the catering vans, but I didn’t want to go back and get the key. I didn’t need the gun anymore, at least not for tonight, and it might be a good idea to hide the last bag of gold somewhere other than my apartment. I had my phone and my keys in my pocket. I could get my purse in the morning.

  Belinda was quiet on the drive home, but as we got closer to my apartment, I felt the need to make things right between us. “Belinda, I know I apologized earlier, but it doesn’t seem nearly enough. I hurt you, and you have no idea how angry I am at myself over it.”

  “Magnolia,” she said softly. “Please don’t be so hard on yourself. I know you don’t understand. Some days I don’t understand. How did I get in this position? I was a strong independent woman.” She pulled up outside my apartment and turned to face me, grabbing both of my hands in hers. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have an exit strategy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I have a plan, and everything is falling into place. But I might need your help shortly. Will you help me?” She grimaced. “I hate to ask—he is your brother—but it sounds like he’s hurt you too.”

  I turned my hands over and squeezed hers. “Belinda. I’m here for you. No matter what. No judgment. It was unfair of me to judge you earlier, and I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. The corners of her mouth tilted up, and tears shimmered in her eyes. “You’re the best thing to happen to me in a very long time.”

  Her words carried a responsibility that would have ordinarily made me feel stifled. But now it felt good to be needed.

  “I feel the same way about you.”

  I got out of the car and walked toward my apartment, my mind buzzing with questions. Why would Steve Morrissey have killed himself in the parking lot? Had he hoped to talk to me before he did it? Could I have prevented it? That question caught me by surprise, enough so that when I unlocked and opened the front door to my apartment, it took me a good three seconds to realize a man was sitting in the dark on my overstuffed chair.

  “Good evening, Magnolia,” the voice said. When I recognized it, I was sure I was hallucinating or dreaming.

  “Dr. Lopez?”

  He flipped on the lamp, momentarily blinding me. But I quickly recovered and started troubleshooting an exit plan. The door behind me seemed the best solution, but two things hindered my escape: the door was closed, and he had a gun in his hand.

  Well, shit.

  “I thought you were dead,” I said, but it sounded stupid as I said the words out loud.

  “It was best if everyone thought so. I have the Goodwin case to thank for my solution.”

  I slowly shook my head in confusion.

  “I thought you were brighter than that,” he said in disappointment. “The suicide note.”

  Amy’s suicide note. “Mr. Morrissey didn’t kill all those people. You did.”

  He grinned, but it looked more like tried patience. “If you think you’re getting a confession out of me, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m Catholic. The only person I’ll confess to is a priest.”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked, irritation washing through me. “What do you want?”

  “The gold, of course. The missing bag.”

  “You know about the gold?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Keep up, Magnolia. I own the gold. It’s mine. Your father stole it, and I want it back. You tipped me off that you had it when you asked if the million could be something other than money and in small bags.” He stood, still pointing the gun at me. “Now where is it?”

  What was I going to do? Once I gave it to him, I’d be dead. But then again, it was in the catering van, which was parked on the north side of the Factory, not too far from where Mr. Morrissey’s car was swarmed with police.

  “It’s not here.”

  He gave me a disappointed look. “Of course you’d say that.”

  “In this case, it’s true. I was worried whoever ransacked my apartment would come back to get it, so I hid it somewhere else.” That someone was hi
m, of course. He’d staged his disappearance around noon yesterday, then had come to Franklin and burgled my apartment. How fortunate for him that I’d listed my real address on my paperwork.

  “Where?”

  I considered making something up, but its actual location seemed the best route. If he took me with him, I’d have a chance to attract the cops’ attention, maybe escape. “It’s in a catering van. Parked on the north side of the parking lot of the Factory.”

  He nodded, then grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the kitchen. Fear made me clumsy. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m putting you somewhere until I find out if you’re telling the truth.” He released me to open the small utility closet, grabbing the trash can and throwing it behind him to make room.

  This would not end well.

  I took advantage of my moment of freedom to bolt for the front door, but he caught up with me. Grabbing the back of my shirt, he jerked me backward.

  “Not so fast.” Then he shoved me toward the open closet and pushed me inside. He was about to shut the door when he pulled it back open and held out his free hand. “Your phone.”

  “I don’t—”

  He slapped me with his left hand. “Don’t insult me, Magnolia. I don’t want to hurt you any more than necessary, but if you play games with me, I’ll play games with you. Your phone.”

  My ears rang and I was about to cry, but I swallowed my tears as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and handed it to him.

  He took it and sighed. “I only hope you’re telling the truth. Otherwise I’ll be forced to punish you. Last chance to change your mind.”

  “There are two vans,” I said, proud that my voice didn’t break. “My purse is under the front passenger seat of one of them.”

  He unceremoniously shut the door, plunging me into darkness in the tight space as I heard the sound of scraping metal on the wood floor.

  As soon as I heard the front door shut, I tried to get the utility closet open, but the knob barely turned and the door didn’t even budge. I wasn’t getting out of this closet of my own free will. Which meant I needed to create an escape plan. Geraldo Lopez was coming back one way or another, and when he came back, he was going to kill me.

  My only hope was that the police or one of Momma’s staff saw him breaking into the van.

  Time seemed to stand still as I stood there paralyzed with fear. Memories of that night in the basement, the night I’d witnessed a murder, gripped hold of me. I struggled to catch my breath and soon felt lightheaded from hyperventilating. I knew I needed to calm down and regain control, but knowing something and acting on it turned out to be two very separate things.

  Maybe someone would come looking for me.

  But I doubted that was true. While I’d kind of repaired things with Brady, he wouldn’t be coming over tonight. And Colt had no reason to.

  I was alone.

  But I was a survivor. I could figure this out on my own. I had no other choice. I just had to calm down, formulate a plan, and execute it when Geraldo Lopez returned. Otherwise I was as good as dead.

  I was in the utility closet, so various cleaning supplies were stored over my head. I reached for the shelf over my head, but there wasn’t enough of a gap between the door and the shelf for me to grab anything. I placed my hand on the flat wooden shelf and pushed, but it barely budged.

  Dammit.

  But I wasn’t giving up. For what seemed an eternity, but was probably more like ten minutes, I continued to ram the shelf with my hands, finally working it loose and tilting it sideways. The cans and bottles of cleaners rained down on my head, but I ignored the pain and the welt already swelling on my forehead as I felt for the bottle of all-purpose cleaner. That should be close to pepper spray.

  Now all I had to do was wait.

  Fortunately—or not—I didn’t have to wait long. I barely heard the front door open and the approaching footsteps over my own breathing, but there was a clatter on the floor as the closet door opened, and I found myself face to face with an angry Geraldo Lopez.

  I didn’t give him time to say anything. I already had the bottle raised and gave several squirts aimed at his face, then used the broom in the closet to jab him hard in the stomach as he cried out and stumbled backward. I ran for the door, frustrated to find it locked. I had gotten the deadbolt unlocked and was turning the doorknob when I was jerked backward by my hair.

  He threw me to the floor, and as I looked up into his angry face, I knew not only would I die tonight, but I would suffer before it ended.

  “Where is it?” he asked through gritted teeth, spittle flying out. He was hefting the broom I’d used to hit him.

  “Where’s what?”

  “The gold!” He struck my shoulders with the broom handle, and I covered my head with my arms. “Where’s the damn gold?” I curled up on my side as he continued to hit me with the broom handle.

  “It was there,” I choked out through my tears. “In the van.”

  The broom handle hit my back, and I regretted the snap decision to use it as a weapon. I’d no doubt given him the idea.

  He hit me several more times in various places before he stopped and grabbed my hair, pulling me to a sitting position. He squatted and leaned his face into mine. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” His hand ran down the side of my face, sliding over my tear-slicked cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, Magnolia. I only want what’s mine.”

  I wanted to be brave, but I knew I wouldn’t survive this. Besides, I had nothing else to tell him. The impassive look in his eyes told me he would beat me for the rest of the night if that was what it took to get what he wanted. “It was there,” I choked out. “In my purse. I swear.”

  He slowly shook his head, disappointment filling his eyes. “I found your purse, but no gold.”

  What about the gun? If it had been there, surely he would have mentioned it too, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it before he stood and hit me several more times with the broom handle.

  Then he squatted next to me again, cupping both cheeks this time. “Magnolia, you’re such a pretty girl. I’ll move to your face next unless you tell me where it is.”

  I needed a location. Anything to get him to leave. Even if he locked me back into the closet, it would give me time to formulate a plan. “The catering business,” I said through my tears, instantly realizing my mistake. I had hardly given myself any time at all.

  He grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the door. “You’re coming with me this time.” His car was parked in front of the garage. Holding my arm, he dragged me down the steps, but my body protested from the pain he’d already inflicted. He was smart. Enough to make me suffer, but nothing even close to life-threatening. He was good with torture.

  My mouth gaped as he opened his trunk and gestured toward it.

  Good with torture. Could Geraldo Lopez be the man who’d tied me to a pole and carved the scar into my leg ten years ago?

  He pointed his gun at me. “Get in.”

  A decision lay before me. I’d rather die here than out in the woods where they might never discover my body. But I’d rather not die at all, so I decided to take a stupid risk.

  I moved closer to the trunk, pretending I was going to comply, then shoved his hand toward the car at the last instant. The gun went off, the sound a loud bang in the quiet night. And a new hope filled me. Ava Milton. She never let anything slip past her. Surely she must have called 911 by now. But I didn’t let myself dwell on that hope. Instead, I stomped on the inside of his heel before lifting my knee up high and hard into his crotch.

  He let out a whoosh of air as he hunched over, and I made a split-second decision to run back up the stairs to my apartment. I could take off running, but it was late enough that people would be in bed sleeping. I’d waste valuable time waking them up. Also, the police station was close, but still a half mile away. Geraldo Lopez had a car and would easily catch up. My apartment seemed to be the best option, mostly because Geraldo had left
my phone on the kitchen island.

  I could call Brady.

  Several gunshots rang out as I stumbled up the steps. By the time I got inside and locked the door and turned the deadbolt, I expected to realize I’d been shot, but thankfully I didn’t see any blood.

  I grabbed my phone and pressed Brady’s speed dial number, starting to cry in relief when he answered on the first ring.

  “Brady, he’s here. He’s going to kill me.”

  “Maggie? Where are you?” he asked. His voice was calm, but I heard worry there too.

  “My apartment. He has a gun, Brady. He’s going to kill me.”

  I heard him shouting the order to send units to my address. “Who’s trying to kill you, Maggie?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm again.

  “Geraldo Lopez.”

  “But Lopez—”

  “He’s here,” I said, terror washing through me again as I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. “He killed Steve Morrissey. He wrote the note to make it look like Morrissey killed everyone and then himself.”

  “What does he want from you? Why’s he there?”

  I could trust Brady or not. The fact that I’d called him proved that I did. But he would have to put it in his report, and I wasn’t ready for that—not when I still wasn’t sure if I could trust everyone on the force. Yes, Geraldo had obviously lied to me, but there was still that missing paper . . .

  So I answered truthfully. “He thinks I have something that my father had. He thinks my father stole it from him.”

  Gunshots rang out, and then the front door bounced open.

  “Oh, God,” I gasped.

  Geraldo Lopez filled the doorway, pointing his gun at me. “I want to kill you, but I need your answer first. I will make you suffer until you tell me where it is.”

  “Maggie!” Brady shouted in my ear.

  I dropped the phone and took a step backward. “I don’t know,” I said, my voice breaking. “I swear to God.”

  He moved around the island and grabbed a butcher knife from the wooden block on the counter and held it up. “Remember what I said about your pretty face.”

  “Please,” I begged, considering making a break for the door, but I was sure that he’d shoot me. “I swear. I don’t know.”