I wasn’t sure how much heartbreak I could take.
She glanced up at me and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Don’t be so hard on him, Maggie.”
“He’s kept some pretty massive secrets from me, Tilly,” I said defensively. “He won’t even tell me what was in Momma’s safety deposit box.”
“Maybe he has a good reason, sweet girl.” Her chin quivered. “His heart is breaking too.”
“He was working for my father, Tilly, reporting what we were doing to him.”
“I know.” She took a breath. “Your momma knew too. But she also knew he was a good man trapped in an impossible situation, and she spent the past three years trying to make him a better man. And it’s worked, Maggie. For the first time, his focus is on someone other than himself, and that person is you.”
“He’s still keeping secrets from me.”
“And you’re still keeping secrets from him.”
The words felt like a blow, but there was no denying she was right about that.
“I need to take a few days off to think,” I said. “I know I’m supposed to help—”
Tilly held up her hands. “I’ve got enough help. You take as long as you need.”
“About my part of the business . . .”
She shook her head and stood, walking toward me. “It’s here if you want it; otherwise, I’ll buy you out, but it’s too soon to talk about that. You need to grieve, Magnolia. You need to mourn your momma.” She tugged me into a hug and I relaxed into her, resisting the urge to cry. I was done crying . . . at least for now. I’d let myself cry later.
I pulled free and kissed her cheek. “I’m here for you too, you know.”
“I know.” A sad smile spread across her face. “I know.” Then she gave me a tiny shove. “Go home. Go do what you need to do.”
I reluctantly turned and headed for the door.
“Maggie?” I turned at the waist to face her, and she looked even sadder than before. “Don’t run off without telling me, okay?”
My chin quivered and I ran back to her, offering her support this time. She thought I’d leave town like I had last time. “I won’t. I swear.”
She nodded and pulled away, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “Look at the two of us. Lila would have hated this.”
I laughed, but it was bittersweet. “I know. That’s what makes it so great.”
Tilly gave me an ornery grin. “You’re terrible.”
“I am my mother’s daughter.”
Her smile fell. “That you are.”
I really left then, because I knew I was making her even sadder. Colt was pacing when I reached the bottom of the stairs.
I lifted my chin. “I’m giving you one last chance to tell me what was in that box or what Ava has on you. Just one. You pick.”
“I can’t.”
I expected that answer, but something hurt deep in my chest. “I can’t see you right now.”
A resigned look filled his eyes. “Are you staying with Brady?”
“I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need a man to protect me.”
“No, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone with a big-ass gun,” he snipped back.
“I have my own big-ass gun.” I opened the back door and stomped out into the parking lot, half-expecting Colt to follow me. Hoping he’d follow me.
He didn’t.
His secrets were more important than keeping me.
Chapter 13
I wasn’t sure what to do or where to go, so I just got in my car and drove. It felt right when I found myself in the cemetery a half hour later. Momma’s grave was a rectangle of dirt with a small metal plaque marking the spot. Flowers covered half of it. As I approached her grave, I nearly laughed at the thought of how pissed she would have been to see them. Ever practical, Momma had hated cut flowers.
“Why kill something just because it’s beautiful?” she used to say. “It’s selfish to take it for yourself and not share it with the rest of the world.”
I sank to the ground as I remembered a talk I’d had with her a few months before high school graduation. My school had held a Valentine’s Day fundraiser where students could buy roses and send them to other people—a friend, a secret crush, a significant other. I’d been upset because my boyfriend at the time, Tanner, hadn’t sent me any roses. All my friends’ boyfriends had sent them flowers. When Tanner figured out that I was upset, he showed up at my house after school with two dozen long-stemmed red roses, but I was still pissed. My attitude irritated the snot out of Momma, and she lit into me after he left.
“Is it wrong to want my boyfriend to send me flowers?” I demanded through my tears.
“But you didn’t really want your boyfriend to send you flowers, now did you?” she asked. “Because that boy brought you more flowers—and better-looking ones at that—than the ones he would have sent you at school, and you still aren’t happy. You wanted those flowers for the wrong reasons, Magnolia.”
She was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it at the time, because when she put it that way, it seemed petty and trite, and I felt entitled to my outrage.
Some of Momma’s bluster faded, and she sat down next to me on the sofa and took my hand, waiting until I looked up at her to continue. “There’s a reason for the phrase beauty is more than skin-deep, Maggie. You’re a beautiful girl, but don’t let your looks get in your way.”
I bristled and tried to pull my hand away. “Are you calling me shallow?”
“No, Maggie. Listen.” It was her tone that got through to me—soft and tender—so unlike the woman who’d raised me. “This isn’t even about Tanner’s roses.” She paused. “I know you’re tenderhearted, even if all those teenage hormones are getting in your way, but what I’m about to tell you is a lifelong lesson, so listen good, okay?”
I nodded.
“There are people out there who will use you for your looks. And they’ll use their own looks and charm to hurt you. Lucifer was a beautiful angel, the most beautiful angel of all, and look where that got him.”
My lips parted in surprise. Was she comparing me to Satan?
Her hand tightened around mine. “You have to be more wary than most. Men will want you because of your beauty, but many of them will only want you for your looks and not what’s deep inside you—a pure and loyal heart. When your looks fade, those men’ll be gone, just like the roses Tanner brought you. You’re a good girl, Maggie . . . when you’re not getting in your own way.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that you worry too much about what other people think than about being true to yourself. The Maggie I knew two years ago would have shrieked with happiness at those two dozen flowers, instead of pouting about not getting a half-wilted rosebud at school.” She put her free hand under my chin and tilted my face up to meet her gaze. “Magnolia Mae Steele. Ignore the naysayers, and be true to yourself.”
I gave her a watery smile. “And stay away from Lucifer because he’ll drag you to the fiery pits of hell.”
She grinned. “I knew you were a bright girl, but just remember Lucifer’s not wearing a name tag. Be wary of all pretty men who seem too good to be true.” Sadness crept into her eyes. “Because they usually are.”
Now, sitting on the ground next to her grave, I realized the sadness in her eyes had been put there by my father’s betrayals. “Oh, Momma. I know you were warning me, but why weren’t you more direct?”
“Speaking to graves, are you? Makes me rethink working with you.”
I whipped my head to the side and found myself looking up at Owen. I got to my feet and held his gaze. “How’d you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard. I was pulling into the parking lot behind the catering kitchen while you were pulling out. I followed you. When I saw you sitting here, I decided to give you some space.”
“Are you going to work with me?”
“I’m considering it. We need to work out a few terms first.”
I nodded
. “Agreed.”
“I heard about your showdown at the station with Detective Martinez.”
I lifted my shoulder into a half-shrug. “Is Brady really working with you?”
“You mean did he and I come to some sort of agreement with the Walter Frey case? No. He was the one who suggested taking your statement. I told him that I thought he might be too close to you to get an accurate statement, but he blew me off.”
More lies from Brady. “So why did he take my statement?”
“Because he was worried about you. I believe that part is true.” He shifted his weight. “I thought he was just trying to hit on you, but after our chat last week, I pressed him for his real reason, and he admitted you’d arranged to meet Walter Frey to talk to him about his involvement with your father.”
Had Brady been playing me even back then? “Is Brady working some big case related to my father? Did he get close to me just to gather information?”
Owen shook his head. “He was blowing smoke up Maria’s ass, but there are rumors that . . . well, she suspects you’re back in town to do your father’s bidding. She thinks the timing of the deaths and your return are too closely linked to be coincidental.”
“What does Brady think?”
“That you’re caught in the middle.”
“And you?”
He hesitated before pushing out a breath. “I’m prone to fall in line with Brady on that one.” But he didn’t look happy to admit it.
“But you’re not working together on that theory?”
“Brady is uncharacteristically tight-mouthed on the subject, and he seems obsessed with the Emily Johnson case.” He held my gaze. “Brady asked me to pull Amy Danvers’s and Melanie Seaborn’s files after he started the Johnson investigation. You left town at around the same time Melanie was murdered. What’s the link?”
I shook my head and gave him a tight smile. “Sorry, Owen. We need to work out some details first.”
He tilted his head to the side. “I’m listening.”
“I’m an anonymous source as far as you’re concerned. No one knows you’re getting this information from me.”
He grimaced. “I’m not a reporter, Magnolia. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Don’t you have informants?”
“Yeah, but they still have to testify if it comes down to it.”
“No offense, but I don’t trust your department. I didn’t even trust you until a few days ago.”
“Why do you trust me now?”
“As I already told you, Rowena Rogers told me your uncle was innocent and you are too.”
His eyebrows lifted. “She referred to me by name?”
“No, but she was very specific. She knew all about you.”
He took a second to process my words. “And you didn’t kill her?”
“No. Of course not. Why do members of the Franklin Police Department keep accusing me of murder?”
He lifted a hand in surrender. “It had to be asked, but do you know who did?” When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Do you know anything about Rowena Rogers’s murder?”
When I still didn’t answer, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“What exactly do you propose here, Magnolia? What’s your endgame?”
“To clear the reputations of your uncle and Shannon Morrissey. To stop a serial killer.”
That caught his attention. “A serial killer? Was Brady onto something?”
“I meant what I said. If we’re going to help each other, anything I tell you has to be kept a secret. You can use what I tell you. I can lead you to places and give you information, but I want my name left out of it.”
He scowled. “How am I gonna explain to everyone how I knew where to go?”
“Your great intuition.” I held his gaze. “When I say you can’t tell anyone, I mean anyone. No Brady.”
“He and I aren’t exactly seein’ eye to eye these days.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve been friends for years. I suspect you’ll make up. And you can’t tell him.”
“Fine. I won’t tell him. But you can’t tell anyone you’re working with me either.”
“I don’t have anyone to tell, so you’re good.” The reminder of just how alone I was sent a spike of pain through me.
“What about that musician you’ve been singing with? The one who works for your mother?”
“He works for her partner now, and we’re taking a break.”
A hint of a grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “You have the shortest relationships of anyone I know.”
I lifted my chin and gave him a haughty glare. “Since this is a working partnership, I don’t see how that concerns you. If it helps explain how you got the information, I can call and leave you ‘anonymous’ tips,” I said, using air quotes.
He really grinned this time. “I think you can just tell me, and I’ll go from there.”
“How are you going to fit this in with your regular work?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem since I’m on administrative leave.”
“What?”
“Internal affairs has some questions about my handling of Walter Frey’s murder . . . and a few other things. That’s why I heard about what happened in the interrogation room. I was summoned to the station to get the good news about my unpaid vacation.”
“Is it normal to suspend someone over that?”
“No. Let’s just say there are some people who don’t want me there.”
“And if you were to figure out the identity of a serial killer?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “Would that help you keep your position?”
“You really think there’s a serial killer?” he asked.
“Surely you looked at the files you pulled,” I said.
“I pulled two files for him—one was murdered ten years ago, and the other had committed suicide. Seems like a stretch.”
I blinked. “Wait. What? Only two files? Then where did he get the other ones?”
He looked startled. “What other ones?”
“There were at least four other murders, Owen, and Brady has files on all of them.”
Owen scowled. “We need to see those files.”
“Do you think Brady will hand them over to you?”
“No.” He paused. “But you can get them.”
“Me?”
“You were staying at Brady’s apartment, so you know how to get in, and you know where he was hiding it. You’re the logical choice.”
“You’re kidding, right? I can’t break into his apartment. Why don’t you just ask him about it?”
“No way. Like I said, he and I are at odds at the moment. He’ll never tell me.”
“So we just jump to breaking and entering? I thought you were a cop!”
“Trust me, if Brady finds you in his apartment, he won’t consider it breaking and entering.” He looked me over, and for a second I thought he was going to walk away and say none of this was worth the hassle, but a grudging look of acceptance twisted his face and he pushed out a sigh. “Come on. You’ve got some files to steal.”
Chapter 14
My car was more memorable than his dark sedan, so we agreed to ride together. My car needed to be parked somewhere, so I drove it back downtown and parked behind the catering kitchen.
I opened Owen’s passenger door, but he immediately said, “Get in the back. I don’t want it to look so obvious that we’re working together.”
As I climbed into the backseat, I found myself hoping this decision to work with Owen wasn’t a big mistake.
We were silent during the ten-minute drive to Brady’s condo, but when he pulled into the parking garage, I started to get nervous. “How do you know Brady won’t be home?”
“He never goes home during the day.”
“But you do?” I asked.
“Not usually. Meeting you was a special circumstance.”
“You have no problem working against your friend?”
Owen parked in a spot
and turned around to face me. “I don’t want to think of it that way. I have no intention of getting him into trouble. It’s just that he and I have different priorities right now.” He paused. “You’re willing to work against him. Is this the revenge of a woman scorned?”
“This isn’t any type of plot against Brady,” I said, slinging my purse strap over my shoulder. “I trusted him until last week, when I realized certain things weren’t adding up. I need answers, and I’d hoped he could help me find them, but now . . . I’m not so sure his cold case obsession explains his connection to the serial killer cases. I think it’s personal.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “Cold case obsession?”
“Brady told me that he’d discovered Melanie Seaborn’s murder in a cold case club. She had the same mark on her leg that Emily Johnson had. And Amy Danvers.”
“What mark?”
I watched his face. “I think it would be easier to show you. Let me go see about those files.”
Then I opened the car door and got out. I was nervous during the short elevator ride to Brady’s floor, and when it stopped, I looked to make sure no one was around. The hall was empty—not that I’d ever seen anyone around, come to think of it.
Brady had given me a key, and I hadn’t given it back yet. I started to put the key into the lock, then stopped and knocked on the door just in case he was home. I had no idea what excuse I’d use if he opened the door, but I figured it would be better than walking in on him without warning.
When he didn’t answer, I unlocked the door and quickly closed and locked it behind me. I headed straight for the closet where I’d found the files, but the packet wasn’t where I’d originally found it—on the top shelf of his coat closet in a basket of hats and gloves. I wondered if it would be in the apartment at all. What if he’d taken it to the police station? But the night Owen had brought Brady the packet, they’d both acted like it was a hush-hush transaction. I’d bet money it was still in his apartment. Then again, he’d put the envelope in the closet to hide it from me. Now that I wasn’t here, he could keep the files in the open.
The envelope wasn’t out in the open either, but several minutes later, I found it hidden under his socks in his underwear drawer. I dumped the files out of the large envelope on Brady’s neatly made bed and flipped through the pages, my gut clenching when I saw the photos. I quickly stuffed them back inside. My heart couldn’t take seeing the suffering those poor women had endured.
Curtain Call: Magnolia Steele Mystery #4 Page 13