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

by Denise Grover Swank

  We were quiet the rest of the drive to the neighborhood she had brought me to the night of the Bunco party nearly a month ago. She pulled into the driveway of a brick two-story house with a full front porch. Even in the fading sunlight, I could see the yard was lush and green, and the landscaping was impeccable. While I knew Belinda had excellent taste, part of me wondered if it was also my brother keeping up appearances.

  She pressed the garage door opener and the door rolled up, revealing a nearly empty garage except for the shelves lining the back wall, stacked with an assortment of coolers, paint cans, and tools. All very neat and tidy.

  As soon as she pulled into the garage, she pushed the button to close the door and stayed inside the car until it was completely closed. She turned to me with a small smile. “You can’t be too careful.”

  Her behavior led me to believe this was a habit.

  Belinda unlocked the door to the garage, and led me into her kitchen. She turned off the alarm at a keypad next to the door, then quickly turned it back on.

  “Do you really have a panic room?” I asked.

  Her serious eyes met mine. “Yes.” Then, as if she’d said nothing more startling than that it might rain later, she walked into the kitchen and set her Kate Spade purse on the breakfast room table.

  “Belinda, your house is beautiful,” I gushed as I took it in. The kitchen was decorated in warm creams and reds, with granite counters. It was open to a living room with overstuffed furniture, vintage light wood tables, and heavy drapes. Both rooms looked like they could have been in a decorating magazine featuring French Country design.

  I’d expected her home to be as well put-together as she was, but this house looked like a builder’s showcase. The closer I looked, the more I realized there were no hints of the things that made a house a home—an open book, put down mid-read, a grocery list on the fridge, a stack of unopened mail. No shoes in the corner or even dirty dishes on the counter or sink. While the house had touches of Belinda all over it, it didn’t have the warmth I’d come to love about her.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked as she stopped in front of a small wine refrigerator.

  “Yeah . . . Do you really want to cook dinner?”

  She laughed. “We have to eat, don’t we?” She selected a bottle of wine from the fridge and quickly removed the cork. After retrieving two white wine glasses from the hanging display over the wine refrigerator, she gave us each a healthy pour.

  “I’ll help, but it might be safer if I’m a bystander rather than a contributor.”

  “Nonsense.” She waved one hand in dismissal as she handed me a glass of white wine with the other. “I know it’s customary to serve red with salmon, but I think the lime and cilantro warrant the Pinot Gris.”

  “Belinda.”

  Her eyes lifted to mine.

  “You don’t have to put on an act with me.”

  Her eyes widened, and the horrified look on her face made me think I’d said the wrong thing, but then tears filled her eyes. “I know. That’s one of the reasons I love you.”

  I thought she might elaborate, but she just took a more-than-healthy gulp of her wine. When she set the glass down and opened the fridge, it was akin to saying we’d put the subject to bed. For now. “I know Lila insists you’re hopeless in the kitchen, but I refuse to believe it.”

  “I made scones with Ava for Bible study this morning,” I said. “She directed me, but I made them. Even Colt thought they were good.”

  She grinned. “Colt would eat shoe leather and think it was good as long as it was free, but the fact Ava Milton served them at her infamous Bible study is the sure sign they were a success. All the more reason for you to help.”

  “Why are you and Colt at odds?” The question gushed out.

  She stood in front of her open fridge and glanced over her shoulder at me. “What makes you think we’re at odds?”

  “Little things you’ve said here and there. And the fact you think it’s a bad idea for me to be his friend.”

  “It’s more like I worry about you. I know Colt’s reputation.”

  “I’m a big girl. I know he’s incapable of a relationship. I’m not interested in him that way.”

  She didn’t respond. I nearly protested more but realized I’d only incriminate myself, especially since I knew I really did have feelings for him. I was pretty near to babbling as it was.

  “So tell me what to do.”

  We made the dish together, Belinda leading me the whole time, and by the time the salmon was finished baking, we’d prepared the jasmine rice and finished our bottle of wine.

  Belinda opened a new bottle and refilled both of our glasses, then set the table, complete with cloth napkins and perfect place settings.

  I watched open-mouthed as she carefully plated the food on a platter, but then I realized something—this perfection was so ingrained in her, she couldn’t help herself. I took the spatula she was using to scoop out the salmon and pushed her to the side. “I’m taking over. Go sit down.”

  She gasped, but picked up her wine and the newly opened bottle and sat down.

  Knowing full well she was watching, I scooped a piece of salmon and dumped it on top of the piece that was already on the plate before setting the dish on the table.

  Belinda looked horrified when I set it down in front her. She started to reach for the serving spoon, but I lightly slapped her hand. “Don’t you dare touch that.”

  Then I set the pot of rice on the table, using a dishtowel as a trivet.

  “Magnolia!”

  For the pièce de résistance, I ripped two paper towels off the roll and stole the cloth napkin out of her lap, replacing it with the paper.

  “Is this some kind of protest?” she asked, her words slightly slurred.

  I sat in the chair across from her, suddenly feeling sad. “No, Belinda. This is how normal people eat.”

  Tears filled her eyes again, but this time she gave in to them. “Damn you, Magnolia,” she said, but it lacked the venom to hurt.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about Roy, but we just made this delicious dinner and I don’t want any talk of him to ruin it. So I say we eat and then we can talk.”

  She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “If you were serving this,” I said in a teasing tone as I picked up the salmon serving spoon, “I suspect you’d plate this with the salmon on a bed of rice. Am I right?”

  She laughed. “Of course.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I dumped the salmon on her plate, making sure it broke into a few pieces instead of keeping its shape as a perfect fillet. Then I placed a heap of rice on top, still using the salmon spoon. “There. That’s better.” I served my own food the same way.

  “You’re a terrible influence,” she said as she picked up her fork.

  “Just one of the many reasons you love me,” I teased, but I had to wonder if there was some truth to that. I was definitely a rule flaunter, and my brother hated it. To be friends with me was a mini act of rebellion.

  I took a bite of the food I’d served upside down and moaned. “Damn. I really can cook.”

  She laughed, despite the fact that we both knew she’d cooked most of the dinner. My jobs had been relegated to stirring the rice and chopping up the cilantro. “Thanks for letting me assist you.”

  We managed to steer the conversation around the topics we’d agreed were undesirable, and Belinda told me about the most recent wedding she’d put on.

  By the time we finished, we’d polished off the second bottle, but Belinda had drunk most of it. Her unhappiness became more apparent with each glass, so palpable I nearly choked on it, but I was at a loss as to what to do other than just be with her and let her know I loved her even if she was capable of being imperfect.

  When we finished, she started to get up with her plate.

  She was wobbling like a top at the end of its twirl, so I pushed her back down and took her plate from her hand.
“I’m cleaning up, something I’m quite good at, apparently. So you sit there and keep me company.”

  She didn’t protest like I’d half expected her to. I wondered if now was a good time to bring up my brother, but worried she was too melancholy.

  I didn’t need to think on it too hard, because she brought him up first. “Roy’s at a convention in Las Vegas.”

  “Do you really want me to spend the night?”

  “There’s no way I’d let you spend the night alone in your apartment.”

  “I could always stay with Brady.” Not that I had any intention of doing so.

  She took a sip of wine. “Don’t make a deal with the devil, Magnolia. You may think it’s worth it, but it will kill you in the end.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Isn’t it?”

  “No. I ended it.” I supposed I’d made a deal, but I didn’t think of Brady as a devil. However, she was obviously speaking from personal experience. “What kind of deal did you make with Roy?”

  She laughed, which sounded a touch hysterical. Then she shook her head. “That’s not why you’re here.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  “I lied to you, Magnolia. I can’t tell you about Roy. Not yet.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “You’re not angry?”

  I walked over to her and knelt in front of her. “This may be hard for you to accept, but I like you, Belinda. Not because you’re my sister-in-law, but because you are an amazing person, which has nothing to do with how well you dress, how beautifully you decorate your house, or whether you use cloth napkins. All you had to do was ask me to come over, no explanation required, and I would have come in a heartbeat.”

  She started to cry in heavy sobs.

  Oh, Belinda. What has my brother done to you?

  Unsure what would comfort her the most, I kept kneeling in front of her, holding her hand in mine. In a minute, she settled down, but her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.

  I got up and got her a glass of ice water. “Feel better?” I asked after she took a long gulp.

  She shook her head. “I don’t deserve you.”

  I released a bitter laugh. “I know plenty of people who’d say the same thing but mean the opposite.”

  She continued to shake her head. “I know things.”

  That caught my attention. “What kind of things?”

  Her eyes lifted to mine. “I think Bill James might have killed Emily.”

  I nearly lost my balance as the room swayed. “What makes you say that?”

  “I found a file with her name on it in his office. I saw it on his desk yesterday morning.”

  I blinked. “Why would he have a file on Emily?”

  “Exactly. Why?” She paused. “But that’s not all. He had a file on you too.”

  Another wave of panic washed over me, and I sat down before it could pull me under. Belinda was confirming my suspicions. Momma’s suspicions. “You think he’s going to kill me?”

  “It sounds preposterous, doesn’t it?” she asked with a tiny giggle.

  “I didn’t ask if it was preposterous. I asked if you thought he was going to kill me.”

  “Honestly,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “I don’t know.”

  “Why would he want to kill me?”

  “I don’t know that either.” She took another sip of wine. “But I can’t go to the police. Those files aren’t exactly hard evidence that he may have murdered anyone, and Roy would kill me. But I know I have to protect you.”

  “So your plan is to keep me in your fortress until Roy comes home?”

  “No.” Her eyes met mine. “We’re going to snoop in Bill James’s office.”

  Chapter 22

  I doubt I would have been more excited if I’d just gotten the role of Glinda in Wicked on Broadway. “Are you kidding?”

  “You don’t have to come . . .”

  “Oh, I’m coming.” Realizing I sounded too eager, I said, “If for no other reason than to be your designated driver. You’re sauced.”

  She laughed. “I had to get drunk to get up the nerve to suggest it to you.”

  “You really thought I’d say no?”

  “I knew you’d say yes.”

  I chuckled even though my stomach was flipping in anticipation. I planned to look for a whole lot more than a couple of files. “If we’re snooping, there’s another place I want to search afterward.”

  “Where?”

  Crap. I’d promised Momma I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, but she hadn’t said anything about not bringing anyone there. “It’s a surprise. We can go there after we finish up in Nashville.” When I saw her hesitation, I said, “Trust me. This will be worth it.”

  In fact, every time I thought about that basement, I got more and more ticked that I hadn’t pulled myself together enough to do a proper search. There could be real evidence in that filing cabinet, not to mention . . .

  No, I didn’t want my thoughts to go there just yet.

  Belinda got up and insisted on helping me clean, but when she said she needed to change clothes, I sent her upstairs. After I started the dishwasher and wiped down the table and counters, I left the kitchen for the living room. While I was curious about Roy’s home, I was more interested in anything personal belonging to Belinda.

  Bookcases flanked the fireplace. Most of the shelves were filled with books, and the few tasteful knickknacks on display looked generic. But one caught my eye, a tiny blue bird. I picked it up and instantly regretted it when I realized how delicate it was. It was obviously old, and there were cracks in the paint underneath the shiny surface.

  Belinda came down the stairs wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

  “This is yours,” I said, holding up the bird. “I know it’s not Roy’s.”

  “It was my grandmother’s,” she said, looking nervous. “She used to call me her little blue bird because she said I sang like a songbird. I got it when she died.”

  I realized I was making her anxious, so I set the bird back down on the shelf. “You never talk about your family.”

  “The past is in the past.”

  I realized I knew very little about her past. All I knew was that she’d come to Nashville five or six years ago after growing up in Mississippi, she was an only child, and both of her parents were dead. She didn’t much like to talk about her loss, and whenever the topic came up, she’d quickly brush it aside, telling me she was stronger than her past.

  I wished I were stronger than mine.

  I moved in front of her. “I used to think so too, but now I know better. If we don’t acknowledge the bad things in our past, they become festering wounds, Belinda. Mine have come back tenfold, and I’m dealing with them now.”

  “Your father?”

  “And other things.”

  Tears welled in her eyes again. “I’m still too drunk to have this conversation,” she said as she walked past me and picked up her purse off the breakfast table. She handed me the car keys. “Let’s go. You’ll have to drive.”

  “I’d already figured that out.”

  I intended to ask her more about her family on the drive up to Nashville, but all the wine and the motion of the car put her to sleep. I parked in the garage Daddy had always used when I was a kid and turned off the engine.

  Belinda was still asleep in the passenger seat, and I briefly considered going up to the office without her. There was probably a key on her key fob, and I was worried she’d still be too drunk, but I needed her. If someone saw me snooping around, they were likely to call the police. But if Belinda was with me, we could say she was getting something from Roy’s office.

  “Belinda,” I said as I gently shook her arm. “We’re here.”

  “The Duncans are okay with the gardenias instead of peonies . . .” she mumbled with her eyes closed.

  “Belinda,” I said louder. “Wake up. We’re here.”

  Her eyes ope
ned and she struggled to focus on my face. “Magnolia. What are you doing here?”

  Great. “We’re at Roy’s office. We were going to look through Bill’s office, remember?”

  She squinted her eyes. “Oh. Yeah.”

  “Are the keys to the office on the car fob?”

  “No.” She sat up, and it took her three attempts to pick her purse up off the floor. After she got it into her lap, she dug around until she pulled out a plastic name tag with a magnetic strip on the back. “This. We need this.”

  I took it from her and turned it over in my hand. JS Investments and Roy Steele were printed on the front.

  Belinda reached for the door handle, missing it the first time and nearly falling out of the car.

  No matter how much I wanted this to work, there was no chance it would. Not tonight. “Belinda, I think we need to try this another night.”

  “No. No.” She righted herself and waved her hand at me. “Tonight’s the only night. I have a wedding tomorrow night, and the ball is Saturday.” She spun around to face me. “Wait until you see your dress. It’s beautiful. You’re going to love it.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Forget about the dress. I’m sure the one you picked out is perfect.” But that didn’t help us right now.

  “It has to be tonight, Magnolia,” she said, staring into my eyes. “If he killed Emily, I’m scared he’s going to target you next.”

  I was scared of that too. Part of me considered calling Brady, but I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything he could do. He was a Franklin detective who had no jurisdiction in Nashville. Besides, Belinda was right—the files she’d seen weren’t grounds for a search warrant. I knew Brady suspected Bill James of something, though he hadn’t exactly been loose-lipped about it.

  Maybe we were we overreacting. Those files could have some innocuous purpose, although I wasn’t sure what. But I couldn’t forget the look in Momma’s eyes when she’d told me about her suspicions about Bill James’s wife. Nor the fact that the serial killer had recognized me that long-ago night. He’d known my name.

  Even if Bill hadn’t killed Emily and Amy and all those other women, I could still look for a connection to the shady business deals he’d brokered with my father, although I suspected those records were at the house in Leiper’s Fork.