Call Back: Magnolia Steel Mystery #3 (Magnolia Steele Mystery)

by Denise Grover Swank

  I nodded, still feeling violated.

  “No matter what, you can’t stay there until we figure out who planted them.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Do you feel safe spending the night with Bennett?”

  I thought about how understanding and sweet Brady had been since my attack. He’d even carried me to the ambulance to get checked out. No, I couldn’t believe that man would ever hurt me. “Yeah.”

  “It kills me to say this, but I think you should keep staying with him. Indefinitely.”

  After my reaction to Colt a few minutes ago, I was more confused than ever about staying with Brady. “I’ll think about it.”

  He shut my door, then stood to the side and watched me while I backed out of the driveway.

  It was barely five, which meant I could do some research before Brady got home by six. Besides Colt’s ploy, we hadn’t made much progress, and I had a feeling we didn’t have a lot of time.

  I parked in Brady’s parking garage, stuffed my laptop into my bag, and then pulled my pepper spray out of my purse, ready to defend myself if someone was waiting for me. There were shadows lurking in the corners but nothing more substantial. After shoving the straps to my duffel bag and my purse over my shoulder, I pretty much bolted from the car to the elevator bank.

  Brady had given me a key, so once I got to the third floor, I let myself into his unit and locked the door behind me.

  I had less than an hour to search the internet for information. There was a desk area in his kitchen, and a quick search yielded a paper and a pen for note-taking. I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and settled onto the sofa, tucking an afghan around my laptop. Brady had given me the Wi-Fi password for my phone, so I logged in to his network.

  The first thing I did was search for my father’s name, and it shocked me how many hits popped up on the screen, especially since the internet hadn’t been as much of a behemoth back then. I knew my father had been active in the community—particularly supporting non-profits, but I’d had no idea he was so active in the music industry. There was photo after photo of him at various music events, often standing next to music artists, both legendary—Garth Brooks, Alan Jackson, Reba McEntyre, Trisha Yearwood—and singers who’d never made it past their one hit song—Clint Duncan, Sarah Murphy, Todd Drum. The latter crew hadn’t retained their fame, but they’d been seen as rising stars when the photos were taken.

  My mouth dropped when I found a photo of Daddy arm and arm with my former nemesis, Max Goodwin, shyster talent agent, and his partner in crime, entertainment attorney Neil Fulton. The two of them had been murdered weeks ago.

  I sat back on the sofa, grappling with this new information and what it could mean. Were Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton’s murders connected to this conspiracy my father had been mixed up in? Amy Danvers, former assistant to country superstar Luke Powell, had been blamed for their deaths. She’d killed herself, or so the police had decided, and left behind a note admitting to everything. Could that have been a setup?

  I grabbed my phone and texted Colt.

  I think there’s a connection to the Goodwin and Fulton murders and my father. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.

  I needed to see the guest list to Luke Powell’s release party. Max Goodwin had been murdered at the party, and since I had quickly become the police department’s number one person of interest, Belinda had gotten the list from Amy to help us look for other suspects. Neil Fulton had been murdered at Luke’s home days later.

  The Amy solution had never seemed like much of a solution at all to me, but I’d bought it, mostly, because everyone else had accepted it.

  I opened a new browser tab and searched for Brian Steele + Max Goodwin. A long list of results popped up.

  Why the hell had my father been involved with that sleazeball?

  I started digging through the results. Most were random results, generated because my father and Max had attended many of the same events, but there was a post on the second page about Brian Steele and Max Goodwin and a singer named Tripp Tucker. According to Tripp, his team had wronged him, and he’d filed a lawsuit against a slew of people two years before my father’s disappearance. His gripe with Max wasn’t surprising—the agent had left behind a long string of disgruntled clients and wannabe clients—but he’d also filed suit against my father, alleging he’d lost what little money Tripp had made in an investment gone wrong. Neil Fulton had represented Max and Daddy, along with Christopher Merritt, the accountant, and Walter Frey, the real estate attorney.

  Bingo.

  The article mentioned the Jackson Project, so I bookmarked the post and performed a new search. Another slew of posts popped up, and the top result’s title was “Ambitious Real Estate Venture Goes Belly Up.” A company by the name of Winterhaven had started the project and then brought in investors. My father’s name wasn’t mentioned, but Walter Frey’s name caught my eye.

  I knew Daddy had a working relationship with Walter Frey and Christopher Merritt, but how far back did it go, and how involved had it been?

  I leaned over my laptop and opened the next result, titled, “Winterhaven to Profit off the Collapse of Real Estate Project.” Before I got beyond the first lines, I heard the door open behind me. Bolting upright, I spun around to see Brady walking through the front door.

  It always made me smile to see him. He looked like a Boy Scout all grown up—tall and broad-chested and wholesome-looking, with wavy brown hair. He smiled back at me. “You’re a welcome sight to come home to.”

  Brady made me feel things I wasn’t used to feeling. Safe. Protected. Appreciated. I kept waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop because everyone had an agenda. Everyone wanted something. But I had to wonder if I’d just become too jaded.

  “Hey,” I said softly and closed my laptop lid as he walked over and sat down next to me. “How was your day?”

  His eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m the one who should be asking you. It was your first day back to work. I hope you didn’t overdo it.”

  “I got a little tired, but nothing I couldn’t handle. It helped that I only worked at the boutique today.”

  “I heard you put on a sidewalk concert with Colt.”

  I studied his face for signs of disapproval. Brady had made no secret of his dislike of my friend, but he looked pleased.

  “How did you hear that?” I asked.

  “I told you, I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He grinned. “But in this case, it was Owen.”

  I struggled to hide my surprise. “Owen?”

  “Yeah, he said he was downtown and stopped to listen. He also said you had quite a crowd.”

  Unless Brady was a hell of a good actor, he had no knowledge of my performance with Colt in my apartment a couple of hours ago. Maybe he just hadn’t gotten around to viewing it yet, but I couldn’t let my head go there. I needed to believe Brady was one of the good guys.

  I turned on the sofa to face him, pulling the afghan higher on my lap. “It was Alvin’s doing, and I suspect it was his attempt to gather more customers. It worked because we were packed all afternoon.” I hesitated, then asked, “What else did Owen say?”

  “That you sounded great. Maybe even better than when he heard you at the Kincaid.” He took my hand and held it between his own. “You’ve acquired a new fan.”

  I couldn’t hold back the wry grin that lifted the corners of my mouth. I wasn’t surprised that was how Owen was selling it. “He stayed long enough to talk to me afterward.”

  His eyes widened. “He didn’t mention that.”

  “He wanted to let me know that my apartment has been cleared,” I said, testing him out. Sure, he’d welcomed me into his home a few days ago, and he’d held me at night when I couldn’t sleep, but we’d only shared one kiss—the night we met, four weeks ago now. Brady was a red-blooded man, and he was bound to be frustrated. It occurred to me that maybe he wanted me to go but was too nice to actually kick me out.

  His smile faded. “
You can’t go back yet. The door’s been busted in, and the floor . . .” His gaze held mine. “Your landlord has quite a few things to address before you can move back in.”

  Relief washed through me, but I found myself saying, “Ava says she’s replacing the door tomorrow.”

  “And the floor? She can’t get that fixed in a day. I suspect that stain won’t come out. It will either need to be refinished or replaced.”

  “I can throw a rug over it in the meantime.”

  “Why?” he asked. “You can stay with me, Maggie. This is working out, don’t you think?”

  “But why would you want me to stay?” I asked in genuine surprise. “I’m more like a roommate than anything else, and I’m not even paying rent.”

  “I like knowing that you’re here—safe.”

  “But Geraldo Lopez is dead, so the threat has been eliminated,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t true. As far as the police were concerned, the case was closed.

  “I still like having you here.”

  I smiled and answered truthfully, “I like being here.” And I did, but the time I’d spent with him hadn’t been realistic. He’d taken two days’ personal leave to stay with me, and we’d done nothing but watch movies and play board games. That wasn’t real life. Besides, staying with him didn’t necessarily make me safe.

  “So stay,” he said.

  I stared into his warm brown eyes and wondered why I was holding back. Was I getting in my own way again?

  He lifted his hand to cup my cheek, and I closed my eyes as his lips brushed mine. When I didn’t pull away, he grew bolder. His tongue swept across my bottom lip, and I wrapped my hands around the back of his neck, opening myself to him. I let myself forget about the bad things in my life and focused on the good that was right here in front of me.

  Brady lifted his head and grinned. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you again last week.”

  “Standing over Walter Frey’s dead body?” I asked. My mind was scrambling to catch up with what I’d just done. Kissing Brady complicated everything.

  He cringed slightly. “Okay, not at that exact moment, but soon after. When I saw you singing with Colt.”

  It surprised me that he’d so casually mentioned Colt. He’d acted jealous before, and no wonder—Colt had helped me cover up a slip about the text messages I’d been getting from my stalker by pretending to be my mystery texter. He’d sent a message falsely insinuating that we were sleeping together; Brady had seen it, believed it.

  “Did you get home early?” I glanced at my phone to check the time and was surprised to see it was close to six. “I was going to make dinner.”

  “You must have lost track of time. You looked involved in whatever you were working on.”

  I smiled but offered no explanation.

  After several seconds of silence, he said, “I have a present for you.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t help getting excited.

  He pulled a small jewelry box out of his pocket. “Now, I know how this looks, but I promise it’s not a big deal. I just saw it and thought of you.”

  He handed it to me and I lifted the lid, nervous over what I’d find, but I was pleased to see a metal magnolia blossom pendant attached to a simple chain. “Oh, Brady. It’s beautiful.”

  “You really like it?”

  “I love it.” I pulled it out of the box and undid the clasp.

  In a silent choreography that made me smile, Brady took the necklace from me, I held up my hair, and he fastened the chain around my neck. He turned me around to face him, fingering the pendant and then lifting his gaze to mine.

  We stared into each other’s eyes for several seconds. Was this what a normal relationship was like? Was this what marriage and love felt like?

  I was still smiling, and Brady grinned back at me. “How about we go out to dinner? If you’re not too exhausted from today.”

  “I worked a five-hour shift. That seems far from taxing.”

  “You were beaten pretty badly, Maggie. You’re still healing.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, pushing off the afghan. “But I’d like to freshen up before we go.”

  “Okay.” He stood and offered me his hand, then pulled me up. “Any preference where we eat?”

  “You’re more familiar with what’s good than I am. You decide while I get ready.”

  I headed down the hall to Brady’s room and checked my reflection in his bathroom mirror. I didn’t look too bad, just tired, so I added more under-eye concealer and freshened my lipstick. When I stepped back into the hallway, the sound of Brady’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “This isn’t a coincidence, Owen. What are the chances of this happening again?” He paused for several seconds, then said, “You face your demons, and I’ll face my own.”

  I crept closer and saw Brady sitting at his kitchen table in front of his open laptop. He glanced up and his eyes locked with mine. His back stiffened. “We’ll talk about this more later,” he said, hanging up without giving Owen a chance to respond.

  What had they been talking about?

  “You ready?” he asked as he stood. He smiled, but he wasn’t himself.

  “Yeah. I would have changed, but I’ve worn everything else Belinda lent me, and I just grabbed some work clothes from my place for when I clean Ava’s house tomorrow.”

  He looked startled. “You stopped by your place?”

  “Yeah, after work. I needed to talk to Ava about when I could move back in. I told you I talked to her.”

  “I thought maybe you called.” He looked like he was forcing himself to relax. “I wanted to be with you when you went for the first time. I know it had to be hard.”

  I shrugged as I walked over to my purse. “It was hard when Ava and I took a look at all the damage, but it wasn’t so bad when I went back to get my clothes.” I almost told him that Colt had been with me, but decided to leave well enough alone.

  I was silent as we walked to his car, wondering what demons Owen was facing. His uncle’s possible corruption? Or was it something more recent? Maybe me? Owen had made it clear to me that he wanted me to move out of Brady’s apartment. If he’d set up those cameras, he either hadn’t seen the footage yet, or he’d decided to deal with it in another way. I didn’t look forward to finding out which.

  Forty-five minutes later, we were sitting at a high-top table in the bar of a hip new restaurant in the Belle Meade area. Since there was a thirty-minute wait for a table, we’d decided to have a drink in the bar. I was telling Brady several stories about my new boss, Alvin, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

  “Magnolia Steele, fancy meeting you twice in a few weeks.”

  I knew who it was before I even turned around. My father’s former partner, and my brother’s current boss.

  “Mr. James,” I said. “What a coincidence.” I glanced around. “Going solo tonight?”

  “I’m here at a business dinner. And I’ve told you a million times to call me Bill.” He looked momentarily stunned when he glanced at Brady. “Detective Bennett.”

  Brady gave a slight nod. “Mr. James. I’m surprised you remember me.”

  “It’s not every day a Franklin police detective visits me in my Nashville office, or at all, I might add. I’m only sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” After Walter Frey’s murder, I’d told Brady about my suspicions regarding my father’s disappearance. He’d questioned several of the people who’d known my father best—Bill James included.

  Brady smiled, but it looked more polite than friendly. “You were more helpful than you know.”

  Bill turned his attention to me, and his gaze fell to my chest before lifting slightly. “What a beautiful necklace.”

  I absently lifted my hand to finger it. “Thank you.”

  He hesitated and his expression turned sympathetic. “Magnolia, I was shocked to hear about your run-in with Geraldo Lopez. I had always suspected there was something . . . off about him. I’m only sorry you got
dragged into the middle of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “After everything that got tossed around by the press about Lopez and his involvement with your father, well, I’m sure you have a lot of questions . . .” He paused and shifted his weight. “What the press is insinuating . . . I want you to know that wasn’t the man I knew, and I’m sure that wasn’t the man you remember.” A warm smile lit up his eyes. “Would you be open to meeting for lunch or dinner sometime and swapping stories about your father? I know how close you were to him, and while he committed some terrible acts, maybe we could both remember the good things, not the bad.”

  Brady said he hadn’t gotten anything out of Bill James, but most people were guarded with cops. “Thank you,” I said gratefully, even though the man creeped me out for some reason. Maybe because Momma had never seemed to like him. “I’d like that.”

  “Good. That’s great.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a business card. “My cell phone number’s on there. Call me tomorrow and we’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I took the card and glanced at it. His cell number was handwritten in blue ink on the back. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Mr. James smiled and nodded before he headed back toward the dining area. Brady turned in his seat to watch him.

  “I don’t think you should meet with him.”

  His stern tone caught me by surprise. “Why not?”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “But you said you didn’t get anything out of him when you went to see him about my father.”

  “This has nothing to do with your father’s disappearance.”

  That gave me pause. “Then what does it have to do with?”

  He turned to face me, looking serious. “Maggie, in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve hardly made any requests of you, but I’m asking this—please don’t meet with him.”

  “But—”

  “No questions. Please. Just know that I don’t trust him.”

  I really wanted to meet with my father’s partner. I found it hard to believe my father could have embezzled from clients and found himself in the thick of bad land investments without his eagle-eyed partner noticing a thing. Whatever Bill James wanted from me, I wanted answers from him, and if I played the part of a dippy actress, he might just give them to me. Still, Brady was worried, and I couldn’t ignore that. I wasn’t going to do anything stupid, especially since Owen was watching me so closely. I’d figure out another way. “Okay.”