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

by Denise Grover Swank

  “I was sure I’d imagined it,” I said in a shaking voice. “I hoped I’d imagined it, so I went out into the woods to look for the house. I don’t know why . . . to prove it didn’t happen? To prove it did? But I found it, still abandoned, and that’s when everything came flooding back. I knew I had to tell someone, so I went to the police station, ready to tell my story, but then I had second thoughts. I was already under suspicion for Max Goodwin’s murder. I realized what a stupid idea it was to come forward now, especially since I didn’t have any solid information. Besides, it happened ten years ago.”

  “That was the night you were at the police station. The clerk at the desk said you had information you wanted to share.”

  “I chickened out, and then I saw you, and I was so shocked you were a cop, well, there was no way I was going to tell you anything.”

  “I’m glad you told me now,” Brady said quietly.

  I looked up at him. “Emily had the mark, didn’t she?”

  His fingers lightly stroked my arm. “Yes. She did.”

  Fresh tears welled in my eyes. “It’s my fault she’s dead. I knew it as soon as you told me.”

  “No, Maggie. It’s not. It’s the fault of the person who killed her.”

  “If I’d told you . . . but I was scared he’d hurt Momma or Belinda.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “He’s been texting me.”

  “What?” He jerked upright. “Jesus. The night Walter Frey was murdered . . .” His eyes widened. “The text you were going to show me was from him.”

  I nodded.

  “Magnolia. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because he sent me a text warning me to keep my mouth shut. There was a photo of Belinda attached to it.” Tears clogged my throat. “He hates that I’m here with you. He killed Emily to remind me not to tell you. Her death is my fault.”

  “No. It’s definitely not.”

  He was kind to try to reassure me, but I had information he didn’t. “There might have been another reason he picked her,” I said. “After I left, she asked a lot of questions about why I took off. My return to town seemed to renew her interest. I never told her anything, but maybe the murderer knew.”

  “That’s just speculation,” he said calmly.

  “Maybe. But it was definitely a warning. He told me so.” I grabbed his arm, frantic. “You have to protect Momma and Belinda. Can you put them under police protection?”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” he said softly.

  “You’re not even going to try?”

  “There are other ways we can fight him. Can you show me the texts? If there’s a number attached, we’ll have a way to track him.”

  “They came from a blocked number. Can your people still track it down?”

  “Maybe.” His face remained calm and reassuring despite the fact I was becoming more and more agitated. “Who else knows about this?”

  “About what? My attack?”

  “Yes. That. The reason you ran off. The texts.” He gestured to my leg. “Even the scar. Who else knows?”

  “No one,” I said slowly. Momma knew some now, but I wasn’t going to admit that yet. “Why?”

  “Because we can keep this to ourselves. We can pretend like you didn’t tell me.”

  That was not the reaction I’d expected. Then again, he’d gone to great lengths to hide that file from me, and he hadn’t said one word to me about the connection between my mark and this . . . this serial killer’s calling card. Something wasn’t right here.

  “Can I see the texts?” he asked. “Did you really delete the one you received the night of Walter Frey’s murder?”

  “Yes. I’ve deleted all of them, but I took screenshots first.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Colt’s text . . . that night at the restaurant. He sent it to cover for you.”

  I avoided his gaze. “I guess you really are a good detective,” I said with a forced grin.

  “So are you two . . . more than friends?”

  Before last night, this would have been an easy answer; now it was ten times more complicated. Still, I spoke the truth. “We’re friends.”

  He took my hand and caressed the back of it with his thumb. “Can I look at the screenshots?”

  “Yeah,” I said, standing and tugging my hand free. “My phone’s next to the bed.”

  “I can get it,” he said, but he sounded . . . eager. I suddenly had reservations about showing him. But why? Common sense told me that I should tell him everything now that I’d shared the hardest bits. That I should tell him about my suspicions of Bill James, but common sense also told me something was off. His implication that he’d keep this between us, that he wouldn’t take it to any greater authority, just didn’t sit right.

  “No,” I said, already heading to his room. “I’ll get it.”

  I hurried to the nightstand and picked up my phone, relieved I’d insisted on it when I saw two texts from Colt and one from Belinda. Colt’s texts had both come soon after midnight, the first acknowledging my text that I was safe. The second was something I definitely didn’t want Brady to see.

  Got a good lead on a possible location for Au. Let you know more tomorrow.

  Au? What was Au? Then my high school chemistry class came rushing back. Au was the symbol for gold. Good thinking, Colt. But how had he come across a lead so late last night?

  The text from Belinda was even more mysterious and had been sent at 5:12.

  We need to talk. Text me when you can.

  Was she okay?

  “Maggie,” Brady called from the other room. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh . . . yeah . . .” I considered texting Belinda back, but Brady would probably get suspicious if I took too long. Plus, I didn’t want her reply to come while he was looking at my phone. As I headed back down the hall, I pulled up my photos app and found the hidden folder.

  Brady had gotten up while I was gone and stood in front of the coffee maker, pouring water into the machine. “I figured neither one of us was likely to go back to sleep after this.”

  “True.”

  He put the pot on the burner and turned it on. “Did you find the photos?”

  “You’re not going to file a police report?”

  He walked over to me and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Do you want me to file a police report?”

  I shook my head slightly. “Uh . . . no, but isn’t that beside the point?”

  “No. It’s exactly the point.” He bent at the knees so our eyes were level. “You were scared to tell me because you were afraid of what I’d do once I found out—create a report, bring lots of other cops into the investigation. Sure, I could do that, but what purpose would it serve?”

  “What I know might help catch him.”

  A soft smile lit up his face. “Maggie, I’m working Emily’s case. If you tell me what you know, I’ll use that information to help find the killer. Then no one else needs to know about your involvement, and you’re safe. But even better—you’ll know you can trust me.”

  Except his reaction was having the opposite effect. Alarms were ringing in my head. First he’d concealed the real reason I was at the bar the night Walter Frey was murdered, and now this. I needed time to think.

  “The photos?” he gently nudged.

  I almost didn’t show him, but at this point, why continue to hide them? What kind of person would I be if I withheld information that could help find the killer?

  I scrolled up to the first message and handed my phone to him. He sat at the kitchen table, and I lowered myself into the chair beside him. “I received the first one the night I came back. After Max’s murder.”

  Welcome home, Magnolia. I’ve been waiting.

  Brady looked up at me. “That’s creepy as shit, Maggie. Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “I didn’t remember anything at that point. I had no idea what he was talking about. I thought it could be a crazy stalker after the whole YouTub
e incident.”

  “Let me see the next one.”

  I took the phone and swiped the screen, showing him one after another, reliving each horrifying threat as I did so. In addition to the screenshots of the texts, I’d also taken pictures of the magnolia blossom left for me on Momma’s porch and the poor dead cat that had been left for us too.

  Brady studied the screen for several seconds longer than necessary to read the messages. “You’ve communicated with him,” he finally said.

  I realized I hadn’t told him that part. “Yes.”

  His eyes lifted to mine. “Would you be willing to talk to him again?”

  I froze and stared at Brady in horror. He might as well have asked me to light myself on fire.

  “Just bear with me,” he said in a pleading tone. “He thinks you haven’t told anyone. We could set a trap for him.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Okay,” Brady said patiently. “I can tell you’re unnerved. We’ll revisit the idea later.” He grimaced. “Sorry. It must have been overwhelming for you to finally unburden a decade-old secret.”

  I forced a tiny smile. “Yeah.”

  He reached over and covered my hand on the table. “Look, I can see that me not taking an official report is bothering you. I can do it if you’d like. I’m just trying to make this easier for you. You’ve been through one traumatic experience after another. I’m just trying to protect you.”

  I resisted the urge to stiffen my back. Everyone kept telling me they were doing things to protect me, but I was having trouble believing it. Besides, something told me I had to rely, first and foremost, on myself.

  “Come here.” He set my phone on the table, then stood and tugged me up into his arms. I closed my eyes as I leaned my head on his shoulder, not sure whether to believe him or not. When he said it like that, it sounded perfectly reasonable. But it still felt wrong.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked while I was still in his embrace. “How about we go over the benefits of either option?”

  “Okay,” I said, suppressing a yawn. “But I need some coffee first.” And the opportunity to stall and think things through.

  A slight grin tugged at his lips. “Good idea.” He dropped his hold on me and returned to the coffee maker.

  I needed to go to the bathroom, but my phone was still sitting on the table, unlocked. I hesitated to leave it there, allowing Brady full access while I was out of the room, but it would look suspicious if I took it with me. “I’ll get the creamer.”

  “Sit,” he insisted. “You must be emotionally exhausted.”

  “Thank you.” How could I doubt Brady when he’d always been so insistent about protecting me? But then again, was it normal for him to be this protective? I understood he was a cop, so it was probably an instinct, but his attention had always seemed so personal. Colt, I understood to some degree. We’d been friends for four weeks, and while he’d offered help in the beginning, it was only in the last week or so that his intentions had begun to seem more genuine and from the heart. I’d grown to trust him, which now seemed foolish after he’d revealed he was caught up in something dirty.

  My mind was whirling with half-formed thoughts, suspicions, and theories, though, and there was no way I was going to figure this out now. I sat down, and before I knew it, Brady was handing me a steaming cup of coffee. He took his seat and watched me.

  I resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. It was becoming more and more clear to me that I’d been drawn to Brady because I’d thought he could protect me. Not only that, deep down I’d been sure I would reach a point where I could entrust him with this terrible secret and that he’d make me feel safe when I did. Only, I wasn’t feeling that way at all.

  “So let’s consider your options,” he said.

  My stomach tightened into a ball.

  “If you don’t file a report,” he said, “the killer will have no idea you’ve told anyone. And since we can’t provide protection . . .”

  “But why can’t you protect them?”

  Sympathy filled his eyes. “Budget constraints, the fact that there haven’t been any substantive threats other than a text . . . And even if we did, it wouldn’t last very long. This guy’s been at this for years. I suspect he’d be patient and wait for the protection to go away.”

  I cradled my hands around the mug to hide their shaking. “So you’re saying that this is a way to protect them. He’ll leave Momma and Belinda and everyone else I care about alone.”

  “So far no one else has picked up on the strange marks on the victims. They go back twenty years, but the bodies were spread all over Middle Tennessee and separated by several years. Then ten years ago, as far as I can tell, they stopped.” His gaze held mine. “Until you showed up. A few days later, his first victim in a decade appeared, and for the first time, the body was found in Franklin. Before Amy Danvers, they were all scattered around.”

  My peripheral vision began to darken and tunnel. “He killed Amy.”

  How could I be so stupid? Of course, Amy. The police had asked Belinda if Amy had been a cutter. While I’d started to suspect someone else had murdered Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton, it hadn’t occurred to me until today that the man who’d tortured me could be responsible for Amy’s death. And if she had been killed to conceal the identity of Max and Neil’s real murderer, didn’t that mean the serial killer was connected to whatever conspiracy my father had been involved in? But I wasn’t ready to make that connection, at least not with Brady.

  I lowered my head between my legs to keep from passing out. I’d personally known two of this serial killer’s victims, and a third had been murdered in front of me. It was too much.

  Brady’s hand rested on my upper back and began to rub up and down in a soothing motion. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw her file in the packet.”

  “Her photos were in there?” I asked in a shaky voice.

  “No. Just her report.”

  I took several deep breaths, then lifted my head. I refused to look weaker than I already had. “You told me it was a suicide.”

  “The report ruled it a suicide,” he said softly, “but it always felt a little off. Yes, her wrists were sliced and there was a note, but she had that strange mark on her leg. The one you have. It was a little too neat for me.” His expression turned earnest. “But I’m worried for your safety, which is another reason I want to keep your involvement quiet. I told you I suspect there’s corruption in the police department . . . Let’s just say I think it would be better if your name stayed out of any reports.”

  I sat back in my chair, my heart kicking into a gallop. “Am I in danger from the police too?”

  “No. But I would feel better keeping any attention off you, which means I need to tell Owen. I need help.”

  Should I tell him about the little chat I’d had with Owen two days ago? Or the possibility that he’d either installed those cameras in my apartment or knew who had? But it didn’t seem like the right move to ask Brady to pick between me and his best friend. “No. No Owen.”

  “Maggie . . .” he said in frustration.

  “No. His uncle was involved in all of this years ago. I don’t trust him.”

  “He likes you, Maggie. He’s concerned about you.”

  I stilled. “How do you know that?”

  “He’s asked about you. Everyone in the department knows Emily was your attorney, and he’s worried how you’re handling it.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I haven’t told him anything. There wasn’t anything to tell, but now there is, and I need his help. I can’t do this alone.”

  My alarms were going off again. “What do you mean you can’t do it alone? Isn’t there a whole team of police working on Emily’s murder?”

  “Of course.” He sat back in his chair and groaned in frustration. “But at this moment, I’m the only one who’s tied all of these cases together, and I don’t trust everyone in the department. I need Owen to help me
investigate.”

  He didn’t trust his department to handle a serial murder? How corrupt were they? That sounded . . . wrong. “What about the FBI?”

  “I’ll call them in, but I need Owen’s help too. I need to tell him everything.”

  There was no way in hell I was going to agree to that. “Didn’t he pull all those case files for you?”

  “I need to tell him what happened to you.”

  I looked away. This conversation would not end well.

  “Maggie, I think you’re letting his uncle’s involvement in your father’s case cloud your judgment. Owen’s a great guy. Sure, I think he’s gotten sidetracked by his own mission to clear his uncle’s name, but the whole thing ripped his family apart. The guy I know would have never lied on a report about a victim’s cell phone being stolen.”

  “You knew all along?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Of course I knew, but I also had no idea why Owen was lying about Frey’s phone, so I went along with it, hoping there was a method to his madness.”

  That meant Brady had lied to me. “Why hide the reason I was at the bar from Owen?”

  “The less he knew about your involvement, the better.” He shifted on the sofa toward me. “He blamed your family for what happened to his uncle’s reputation on the force. And in turn, I suspect he blamed you. But now that he knows you, he’s realized you have nothing to do with it. You were a kid when it happened. You’re an innocent caught up in the madness. You’re not responsible for your father’s actions.”

  “But he didn’t trust me, which means he was watching me. That’s why he showed up at my apartment so quickly after I called and told you that Geraldo Lopez was trying to kill me.”

  “And that’s how I know that Owen is still inherently good. He protected you.”