Curtain Call: Magnolia Steele Mystery #4

by Denise Grover Swank

  I was heading for the front door when my phone buzzed with a text. I checked the screen and sucked in a breath. The message was from a number I didn’t recognize.

  Brady’s on his way up. Get out now.

  Shit.

  As I tried to figure out how I could possibly escape unnoticed, it barely registered that Owen must have taken my advice and gotten a burner phone. Thankfully, I had a large purse, so I stuffed the envelope inside as I went out into the hall. I had just gotten the front door closed when the elevator doors opened and Brady appeared.

  “Maggie?” he asked in seemingly genuine shock. “What are you doing here?”

  I forced a fake smile, putting all my Broadway power behind it. “Sorry for just dropping by like this, but I decided to take a chance. I guess I almost missed you.”

  “After this morning in the interrogation room, let’s just say I’m surprised to find you here.”

  “Yeah . . . well . . .” I was determined to find out everything I could, so I might as well do a little more digging while I was here. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  He stepped beside me and unlocked his door. “Can you come in for a few minutes? I’m not staying here long. I just needed to pick up something.”

  Oh, crap. I hoped it wasn’t the envelope in my purse. I had no idea what he’d do when he found out it was gone, especially since I was the only likely suspect. Maybe Owen could photograph or photocopy the pages and return the package before Brady noticed. “Yeah,” I said when I realized he was holding the door open and waiting for an answer. “That’s why I came by. To talk to you.”

  “It might be better not to do it in the hallway.”

  I stared up at him, searching his face. Brady had lied to me. Multiple times. Maybe it was naïve, but I still couldn’t believe he’d hurt me. He’d always seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare. “No. Inside is probably better.”

  I walked over the threshold again, grateful I’d been so careful during my search for the files. There was no visible evidence that I’d just been in here.

  Brady gestured toward the sofa. I sat down on one side and he sat beside me, leaving a respectable distance between us.

  “I need to explain about this morning,” Brady said, reaching for my hand before he stopped himself. “Maria’s like a barracuda. She would have been relentless. When I heard she had you in the interrogation room, I watched to see what she was doing. I saw enough that I decided to put a stop to it.”

  “I had it covered, Brady.”

  “I know, but we’ve had so many setbacks . . . I couldn’t stand watching her tear you apart because of me. I’m sorry.”

  “Did you really befriend me to get close to me for an investigation?”

  “No! Maggie, you know I didn’t. When we met at the deli, I had no idea who you were. You know I was interested in you well before I found out about your involvement in any of this.”

  Call me crazy, but I believed that to be true.

  He pushed out a breath and leaned forward, holding my gaze. “I’ve never made any secret of my interest in you, Maggie. There’s no conspiracy there. I made up that story to get Maria to lay off you.”

  “And she’s not going to figure out that you bluffed?” I asked, trying to control my irritation. There were so many contradictions in his story, so many lies and so much misdirection. I was tired of tiptoeing around the truth. I was tired of buying into his stories. I wanted answers. “I want the truth, Brady. Will you please just give me the damn truth?”

  His mouth parted in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “I talked to Belinda this morning. She told me about your confrontation with Roy, and her story and yours are completely different.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “What did she say?”

  “I want your version again.”

  He sat up straighter. “I went to their house and—”

  I lifted my hand. “Hold up right there. How did you know where they lived?”

  “I’d already looked it up. The night you stayed with Belinda. I wanted to know in case you called and needed help.”

  Once again, Brady had information about me that bordered on stalkerish. Last week, he’d seemed aware of my every move, something he’d covered for by saying half the police department knew we were together. Maria Martinez had proved that was a lie.

  He waited for a moment to make sure I was satisfied, and I gave him a slight nod to continue. “When I got there, I confirmed that Belinda did drive home; then I asked him what he meant by his statement. He pleaded ignorance and said he was just stirring up shit. When I asked him if he knew anything about the night you disappeared, he said he knew you’d gone out in the woods to screw your friend’s boyfriend.” His mouth twisted to the side. “Only, he wasn’t so delicate.”

  “And where was Belinda?”

  “She was there the whole time. She protested that Roy couldn’t have known anything because he wasn’t even at your momma’s house that night.”

  I frowned. “Technically, he wasn’t. He was next door at his best friend’s house.” But how would Brady know that if he were lying?

  I felt sick to my stomach. “Did Belinda go inside at any point?”

  “Yeah. At the end, but by then I was telling Roy to stay away from you.”

  I nodded. Why would Belinda lie? Had Roy told her something about that night—something she didn’t want me to know? I wasn’t sure my heart could handle that.

  Time to address the other issues. “When you told Detective Martinez that you’d been trying to establish trust between us for a case, what were you referring to?”

  He looked worried but didn’t hesitate to answer. “She thinks you’re in town because of your father. She’s convinced he’s biding his time until he comes back to collect money stolen from the failed Jackson Project. So I let her believe I had gotten close to you to determine your role in that.”

  Little did Brady know . . . “So is she working with Owen? Doesn’t he believe the same thing?”

  “No. She and Owen don’t get along. She firmly believes Owen’s uncle was dirty, so she doesn’t trust him.”

  What a mess.

  “Has Roy bothered you? Has he tried to contact you?”

  “No.” My mind was on his partner and what she’d hoped to achieve. Catch me finding that annuity? Pulling one million in gold out of a ceramic dog? “Why didn’t you want me to cover for Owen?” While I didn’t trust Brady at this point, it was better to stick with the devil you knew. If Brady waved any red flags bearing Owen’s name, I would have to rethink my brand-new partnership. “The real reason. Are you two having issues?”

  “I didn’t want to put you in a difficult situation. There are too many lies and half-truths going around. I think it’s time for the truth to come out.”

  “Okay.” But he still wasn’t being honest. I considered pressing him on how he had really tracked my movements last week, but I doubted he’d tell me. Better to let him think I was falling for his excuses. I considered using this opportunity to ask him about Emily’s case, but if he had information he could share about the serial killer, I was pretty sure he’d tell me.

  I stood. “I need to go check on Tilly.”

  He stood too, keeping his distance. “I really need to go out to that house, Maggie.”

  “I’m not sure what Tilly has planned for me,” I lied. “Can I tell you when I have a free hour?”

  “Yeah.” But the disappointment in his voice was undeniable.

  I started toward the door, which Brady opened for me.

  “Do you trust Owen?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’d trust Owen with my life.” He gave me a questioning look. “Why?”

  “I’m trying to figure him out. Thanks.” I headed out into the hall, and Brady walked me to the elevator.

  “Do you still have that gun in your purse?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “If you need to use it, shoot to kill, Maggie.” />
  I tasted bile on my tongue. “I hope to God I never have to use it.”

  “Me too.”

  The elevator doors opened and I walked inside and turned around to face him, wondering how I could ever have believed he represented comfort and safety. Just one more reason to question my judgment, which wasn’t good since I was putting all my eggs in a new basket named Owen Frasier.

  I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

  Chapter 15

  Owen was sitting behind the wheel of his car, leaned back, but he popped up straighter when he saw me approaching him. I opened the back door and slid in, barely getting the door closed before he started pulling out of the parking space.

  “I take it from the fact that you took so long that you saw Brady.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the heads-up. That could have been bad.”

  “How did you explain being there?”

  “I had enough time to get out into the hall. I told him I’d shown up to talk to him about what he said to Martinez this morning.”

  “And he bought it?”

  “There was nothing to buy. I really did want to talk to him about it. He corroborated what you said about Martinez thinking I’m back in town because of my father.” I leaned forward and put my hand on the back of his seat. “Brady says he trusts you with his life.”

  Owen tensed. “Way to drive the knife of my betrayal deeper, Magnolia.”

  “Do you think he’s guilty of something?” I asked.

  “Not exactly, but I think he’s gotten in deep with something he doesn’t want to be involved in.”

  I considered it for a moment. “I think so too.”

  “So why do you want to work with me?” Owen asked.

  “Because you’re not emotionally entangled with me. And because I need someone I can trust implicitly.” I leaned forward more, catching his eye. “But if you betray me, Owen Frasier, you will spend the rest of your short life regretting it.”

  He nodded with a grim look. “And if I find out you’ve made all this shit up to get even with Brady over some lover’s spat, I’ll personally run you out of town.”

  I gave him a grim smile. “We’re a fine pair.”

  He glanced toward the digital clock, and I reflexively did the same. 1:25. “I need to find out what you know. Do you have time to go somewhere and talk?”

  “I’ve got all the time in the world, but we need to go somewhere outside of Franklin. Can you make sure we’re not being followed?” I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Someone might be following you?”

  It was time for me to let him know what he was getting into. “You know that serial killer we were talking about?”

  Owen swerved his car into a strip mall parking lot, jerked the engine into park, and whipped around to face me. “What the fuck, Magnolia?”

  “That’s why I really left town ten years ago.” My throat tightened, and I forced out the next words. “I witnessed Melanie Seaborn’s murder.”

  Some of the color left Owen’s face, and I could see he was struggling with whether or not to believe me, but he simply turned around and faced the front, put the car into drive, and took off.

  I figured he was taking me back to my car, but he headed south—out of Franklin—frequently checking his mirrors. We sat in silence for ten minutes until he pulled into a diner.

  He opened his car door. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

  I followed him inside. He chose a table in the back, and it was late enough that the lunch crowd had already left. The nearest person was halfway across the restaurant.

  He slid into a booth seat facing the door, and I sat across from him.

  “We should be good here,” he said. “Debbie closes the diner at two, so we’ll have privacy.”

  “She won’t kick us out? That’s twenty minutes from now.”

  He shrugged. “She knows me. She closes for a few hours and starts her dinner prep. She lets me hang out in a booth and work on paperwork. She won’t care.”

  A woman who looked to be in her forties came out and headed for our table. There was a huge smile on her face, and she did a double take when she noticed me.

  “Brought a friend today, Owen?” She had a hopeful note in her voice.

  He laughed. “Stop with the matchmaking, Debbie. This is business.”

  Her brow lifted. “You don’t usually bring anyone but Brady here for business.”

  He grinned, but I could see it was slightly strained. “This case needed a little more privacy than usual.”

  She nodded. “Well, let me take your orders, and I’ll let you get to it.”

  I grabbed a laminated two-sided menu. Owen, who’d clearly been here enough times to know the menu by heart, ordered a Reuben sandwich, fries, and tea, and I ordered a salad and water.

  Debbie headed to the kitchen, and Owen took a deep breath and then said, “How did you happen to witness Melanie Seaborn’s murder?”

  “You decided to jump right in, huh?”

  “Sounds like we have a lot to talk about,” he said. “Might as well get to the heart of it.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Debbie to bring our drinks first?” I asked. Once I started this story, I wasn’t stopping.

  “Good idea,” he grudgingly said.

  The few seconds of silence that followed were so tense, I found myself breaking it. “How long have you been coming here?”

  “We’re not here to make small talk, Magnolia.”

  “I’m about to tell you some very difficult things, Owen. A little bit of small talk would help put me at ease.”

  Guilt flooded his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s easier to dislike you.”

  His words hurt more than I’d expected. “Why?” I asked. “Why do you need to hate me?”

  “Because of your father.”

  I didn’t respond. I understood why he would feel that way, but it renewed my reservations.

  “I was wrong, Magnolia,” he said softly. “Your father left when you were barely a teenager. You had no say in what he did, and unlike Maria, I don’t believe you’re helping him now.”

  “So you believe he’s alive too?” I asked.

  “I know you don’t believe it. Brady told me you were on a mission to prove he’d been murdered.”

  “I don’t believe that anymore.”

  His eyes flew wide. “Have you been in contact with your father?”

  “Not in the way you think.”

  His guard was back. “Does Brady know?”

  I shook my head. “No. I only just found out my daddy’s still alive, and Brady’s been giving mixed signals lately. I know he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, but I don’t totally trust him.”

  The hangdog look on Owen’s face told me that he felt much the same way. “I’m going to need details.”

  Debbie walked out with our drinks, and I clammed up. She set them down and said, “I won’t be back out for another ten minutes, so holler if you need something before then.”

  “Thanks, Debbie,” Owen said.

  When she was back in the kitchen, I leaned closer. “I’m about to give you a ton of information. We still haven’t worked out what you’re going to give me in return.”

  “What do you want?”

  I took a moment to think it through. “I think I need protection.”

  He nodded slowly. “Does Brady know about your connection to the serial killer?”

  “He was the one who figured it out.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The killer gave me a scar to remind me to never talk about that night.”

  He looked surprised and took a moment before he asked, “Why do you think the killer’s after you now?”

  “He keeps sending me texts.”

  “Holy shit.” He sat back and rubbed his hand over the top of his head. “And Brady knows?”

  “Yeah, but he says he won’t officially make a report about it because he’s afraid of dirty cops.”

>   Pain flickered in Owen’s eyes. “He didn’t tell me.”

  I almost said I was sorry, but the sentiment would seem empty coming from me.

  He pushed out a huge sigh and got out a small notebook and pen. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

  I nodded. He was right. But it was still hard to open up to him.

  After several long seconds, he said, “Magnolia. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, and I’m sure my past animosity is making it difficult for you to trust me with your traumatic experience, but I promise I’m on board now. I’ll do what I can to help you.”

  “What about Brady?”

  “If you’re really being harassed by a serial killer, he should have reported it. Or, at the very least, told me. The question is why didn’t he?”

  “I was hoping you would know. There have been a lot of red flags with him,” I said. “The burner phone. Knowing where I am all the time. The fact that he hasn’t told anyone about what I witnessed. The FBI not sending an agent after all.”

  Owen held up a hand. “Whoa! What’s this about the FBI?”

  “Brady said he’d contacted them about the serial killer. And last week, he told me they were sending an agent. But when I asked him about the other day, he told me they didn’t have the manpower to send someone.”

  He shook his head with a worried look. “I don’t know anything about an FBI agent.”

  “So he lied?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily.” But there wasn’t much conviction behind his words. “Maybe we should start with the files first; then we can ease our way into your story,” he said in a soft voice. “By the time we finish, maybe I’ll have proved that I’m not a total asshole and you’ll trust me more.”

  I gave him a grudging grin. “That’s a big maybe.”

  He laughed. “No wonder Brady likes you. He’s used to getting what he wants and never having to work for it. I can see you keep him on his toes.”