Curtain Call: Magnolia Steele Mystery #4

by Denise Grover Swank

  I gave him a hard stare. “I trust you more than anyone else at this point.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that’s not saying much?”

  I took several steps away from him. “So what’s your plan?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “My plan was for us to stay at my friend Terry’s house until we get this figured out. He’s on the road with the Rascal Flatts. Martinez can find out my address, but I doubt she’ll think to look for us there. Now, I'm starting to think we should go farther.”

  “Like where?” I asked. “Those beaches in Vietnam?”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah,” he said unapologetically.

  “And let my father get away with literal murder?”

  “Then tell Bennett about his confession before we leave. Martinez isn’t the only one you need to worry about, Mags.”

  “Exactly. I don’t want to leave the serial killer on the loose.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re not the police. It’s not your responsibility to catch him.”

  “If I leave, he might hurt someone else just to make me pay.”

  “Leave it to the police, Maggie. Bennett knows about it—let him take care of it.”

  “I told Owen too.”

  Colt’s brow shot up. “When?”

  “This afternoon. I told him almost everything.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t fully trust Brady. And someone else in the police department needed to know.”

  “Why don’t you sound happier about that?”

  “Because Owen is on leave. He’s being investigated for how he handled the Walter Frey case.”

  “So he’s no help at all?” Colt asked.

  I frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  The phone vibrated in my hand. Brady’s name was on the screen.

  “What did you find out?” I asked.

  “She was lying, probably trying to scare you. She doesn’t have a warrant for your arrest, but she does want to officially bring you in for questioning about the Savannah House murders. She’s pissed at me for interrupting her questioning this morning, and she’s taking it out on you because she knows it will piss me off.”

  “And she’s your partner?”

  “Maria has a temper, but she’s a good detective. She’ll cool down.”

  “And what am I supposed to do until then?”

  “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

  “No.” I hung up and turned to Colt. “I’m not running anymore. Take me to the police station.”

  “What? No!”

  “She doesn’t have a warrant out for my arrest. She only wants to question me.”

  “How can you trust that?”

  “It’s better than hiding.” I grabbed his arm and tried to drag him to the door. “I’m not hiding anymore.”

  “And what are you going to tell her?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “It seems like you should have a plan before you march in there.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll know what to tell her when she asks. Now let’s go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But it feels right, and that’s all I can trust.”

  * * *

  A half hour later, Colt and I walked into the Franklin Police Department, and I told them I was there to talk to Maria Martinez. I didn’t know if she’d be there at ten o’clock at night, but I suspected she’d come in once she heard my name.

  The receptionist took my name. As I suspected, she said Detective Martinez was out, but they’d let her know I was here.

  “I don’t like this, Mags,” Colt said, casting a nervous glance toward the receptionist counter.

  “You don’t have to stay, Colt. I can get a taxi or Uber home.”

  “Is that where you’re going after this? To your mother’s house?”

  “That’s presuming Martinez lets me go at all,” I said.

  “What if she tricks you into admitting something you shouldn’t?” Colt said. “Brady might not be able to save you from this.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Magnolia,” he pleaded. “Please.”

  “You should go.”

  “No.” Reluctant resolve filled his eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “What if they want to arrest you because of what I tell her?”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  About ten minutes later, the door to the back opened and Detective Martinez appeared, wearing a smug grin. “Well, look what the Colt dragged in.”

  “Oh, that was clever,” I mocked. “I better be careful back there. Who knows what you’ll trick me into saying.”

  “All I want is the truth, Magnolia. You shouldn’t have to be tricked into telling it to me.”

  Colt gave me a dark look as I followed the detective back to the same interrogation room. I knew he was upset that I was riling her up, but I’d decided it was the best way to play her. Rile her up and throw her off. Hopefully I’d tell her enough that she’d leave me alone.

  I sat in the same chair as last time and waited while she shut the door.

  “Detective Bennett won’t be saving you this time.”

  “Saving me?” I asked. “From himself? I thought I’d made it clear to both of you that I don’t want to see him again.”

  “I meant saving you from me.”

  “Should I be afraid of you, Detective Martinez?” I asked in an icy tone. “I thought we were both interested in the same thing. Justice.”

  “I’m interested in truth, Ms. Steele.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I asked.

  Detective Martinez sat in a chair at the table in front of me. “Why don’t you try me?”

  “My father is here in town. I just saw him less than an hour ago, and he confessed to killing Max Goodwin, Neil Fulton, and Steve Morrissey.”

  She stared at me in disbelief, then burst out laughing. “And I’m Marie Antoinette.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll be serving cake soon?”

  “No. But I might be tossing you into a holding cell for giving me a false statement.”

  “See?” I said. “You’re not interested in truth after all. Are you still wanting to know the truth about Rowena Rogers’s murder? Ask my father about that too.”

  “So that’s your statement about Rowena Rogers’s murder?”

  “I’m not here to confess,” I said. “I’m not confessing to something I didn’t do. I’m not sure my father killed her and the man she was with, but he’s the most likely suspect.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe Brian Steele is here in Franklin, murdering people.”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” I asked. “Wasn’t the consensus that my father ran off with Shannon Morrissey fourteen years ago? Why couldn’t he come back?”

  “Why would he? Why now?”

  “Revenge.”

  “Against who?” she asked.

  “I’m guessing the people who wronged him.” I thought back to my conversation with Owen that afternoon. “Gordon Frasier. Why did people think he was dirty?”

  She released a short laugh. “This is my interrogation, not yours.”

  I rested my hand on the table. “Humor me.”

  “We had surveillance photos of your father meeting with Gordon Frasier before he disappeared.”

  “So? He was investigating him.”

  “No. Frasier wasn’t assigned to your father until after his disappearance. He claimed he’d been following a lead from an informant, but the internal investigation determined there was no informant.”

  My father had lied. He knew Gordon Frasier. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but the admission still caught me off guard, and Detective Martinez noticed. “My father led me to believe he didn’t know anything about him.”

  Her smile melted into a grim line.

  “It looks like you might be starting to believe me,” I said. “Ask yourself this . . . Wh
y would I lie?”

  “To take the spotlight off yourself.”

  “Ahh . . .” I said with a contemptuous grin. “Haven’t you heard that I love the spotlight?”

  “You had the spotlight with Max Goodwin. And then with Geraldo Lopez.”

  “And now I’m back for a curtain call with the biggest surprise of them all. My father.”

  “You expect me to take your word for it that Brian Steele is here killing people for revenge?”

  “My job is to tell you what I know. The truth. Your job is to decide whether to believe it or not. You want my statement? Here it is: I went to the masquerade ball with Colt Austin. We danced and Brady Bennett saw us. I’d slept with Brady days before, and he hadn’t expected to see me there with Colt, let alone kissing him. Obviously our encounter didn’t go well, and Colt and I had a disagreement. We left and went home to my mother’s house. Shortly after we got there, the hospital called and told me to come in right away. As soon as we went to the nurse’s desk, they told me that my mother had passed away.”

  The words sent a fresh pang through me. It occurred to me that if my father hadn’t manipulated me to return to Franklin, I wouldn’t have been here to make amends with my mother before she died. Did that mean I owed him for giving me one last chance with her?

  What was I doing? I was excusing the things he’d done. That was the work of a master manipulator.

  “What do you know about Rowena Rogers’s and Kent Wentworth’s deaths?”

  “I’ve told you what I know. It’s up to you what you do with it.”

  “That’s it?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I started to get up, but something compelled me to sit back down. “No.”

  She watched me expectantly. “No?”

  “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  “Go on.” She struggled to contain her excitement. Did she think I was going to recant and confess? She was about to be disappointed.

  “My father killed Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton, but Amy Danvers supposedly killed herself and wrote a confession. If she didn’t kill them, why would she have confessed to something she didn’t do?”

  “She did kill them,” Detective Martinez insisted.

  “But what if she didn’t? Who killed her?”

  “We can play what-if all day,” Detective Martinez said. “But what’s the point?”

  “Amy had a cut on her leg. A C with a slash through it. Ask Brady about Emily Johnson.”

  “And how would you know anything about Emily Johnson? How would you know about any of this? Were you using Brady for information?”

  I cocked my head. “I thought he was using me.” I stood again. “That’s all I have to say. Am I free to go?”

  She watched me, her earlier cockiness gone. “Yes. You may go.”

  I made my way out the door, but as I headed to the reception area, I heard Detective Martinez ask someone to contact the Brentwood police about Amy Danvers’s file.

  Chapter 21

  When I walked into the reception area, Colt was anxiously pacing. I headed straight to the front door, and he followed on my heels.

  We walked side by side to his truck, and as soon as we got inside, I said, “Take me to Momma’s house.”

  “What did you tell her?” he asked, his hands tight on the wheel.

  “That my father confessed to killing Max Goodwin, Neil Fulton, and Steve Morrissey, and that I highly suspect he killed Rowena Rogers and her special friend.”

  His body tensed and fear filled his eyes. “What have you done, Magnolia?”

  “I told her the truth.”

  “He’s going to kill you.”

  “No,” I said as I stared out the side window. “I don’t think he will.”

  “He might kill me,” he said quietly.

  I reached over and grabbed his hand, threading his fingers with mine. “No. That won’t be happening either.” I squeezed his hand. “She didn’t believe me, but I asked her if Amy didn’t kill those men, then who did?”

  “What have you done, Magnolia?” he repeated.

  “I’ve tried to get yet one more of Franklin’s finest to find the serial killer.”

  “This is dangerous.”

  “It’s been dangerous. I’m just speeding the end along.”

  We were silent for the rest of the short drive to Momma’s house—my house now. Colt looked around before he let me get out of his truck to go inside. He locked the front door behind us and set the alarm, then walked through the house, making sure no one had snuck inside to lie in wait.

  After declaring the house safe, he opened the fridge and pulled out a half-eaten pie and two forks. He set it on the kitchen table and patted the spot next to him. “I have some things to tell you.”

  “You think it will go better with pie?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Everything goes better with pie.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “True enough.”

  I poured two glasses of milk and set them down on the table, then took the fork he offered and sat down at the end of the table next to him.

  “Whatever was in Momma’s safety deposit box had to do with Delilah, didn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He dug his fork into the French silk pie and took a bite.

  “She was the woman you loved. And lost.”

  He took another bite.

  “I understand that you have things you want to keep private, but there’s no judgment from me, Colt. I know you aren’t perfect. Maybe that’s why I feel so connected to you. Because we get each other.”

  “It’s more than that, Magnolia. And what I found in that safety deposit box both frees Delilah and curses me.”

  I dug my fork into the pie and forced a grin. “From what I saw, my mother had plenty of curses for you. She didn’t need a safety deposit box for that.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “True enough.” Then he turned serious. “Your mother found out the truth, both about who Delilah really is and how to free her.”

  I set my fork on the table and asked quietly, “Who is she, Colt?”

  His gaze lifted to mine. “You asked why your father chose me. Delilah is the reason.”

  “He had something on her too, didn’t he? Something made up to hurt her?”

  “Maggie, I’m scared this is the one secret that will be too much for you. The curse part.”

  “Then I really need to know, don’t I?”

  He turned to look out the back window and nodded.

  “Did you love her?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a second before I asked, “Do you still love her?”

  He chuckled, but his eyes were sad. “No. I let her go the day she turned away from me.”

  “There’s a difference between letting someone go and not loving them anymore.”

  He grimaced and gently said, “I guess you would understand that all too well.”

  “Yeah.” I picked up my fork and took another bite of pie. “Did you purposely intend to hurt me with this secret, Colt?”

  “No, Maggie. I swear. But I won’t be the only person you might be upset with after you find out the rest.”

  “Momma? Daddy?”

  He didn’t answer, just took another bite.

  “I can handle the truth, Colt. Look at all the truths I just learned from Daddy. I’m sitting here eating pie instead of freaking out and sobbing in the corner.”

  He reached over and cupped my face, looking deep into my eyes. “I know. It only proves that you’re stronger than me.” Then he dropped his hand and scooped another bite of pie.

  I almost countered his claim—he’d proven he was plenty strong—but I could see he was working his way up to saying something.

  “Delilah was caught up in the mess your father created. If it came to light, she’d lose her teaching license.”

  “Teaching license?” I asked in confusion. “You said she was a waitress.”

  “She was. She waitressed while she
was in college. She’d wanted to be a teacher her entire life, and after graduation, she found a job as a first-grade teacher. We were talking about moving in together, and then I got arrested. Her school found out and rescinded their offer.”

  “Couldn’t she have found another job? Someplace that didn’t know about your false arrest?”

  “No, because they arrested her as an accomplice.”

  “And a felon can’t get clearance to teach,” I said in defeat.

  “That’s right. She blamed me for it, but the irony was that we were both arrested because of her sister. Your father got a two-for-one special with Delilah. He got me to work for him and kept her sister in line.”

  Dread balled in my stomach and I forced myself to ask, “Who is her sister?”

  He gave me a blank stare. “Belinda.”

  “Belinda? But she’s an only child.”

  He shook his head. “Belinda came to Nashville after her grandmother died, and she brought her sister with her. Delilah was in college. Now they’re estranged.”

  “That’s why Belinda doesn’t like you.”

  “Delilah blamed us both for nearly ruining her career and her life. Your father made sure to tell her why she’d been targeted. Your father threatened that he’d unseal her expunged records if I ever stepped out of line.”

  “And Belinda?”

  He shook his head, releasing a bitter laugh. “She was to keep Roy in line.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Belinda knew you were working for my father the entire time?”

  “She didn’t know the details, but I’m sure she suspected.”

  “And she never told my mother?”

  “Maybe she did. In the letter the attorney read, your mother said she knew.”

  “So what was in the safety deposit box?”

  “Delilah’s arrest report and plea bargain. And a deposition from a retired police officer who said he knew Delilah and I had been falsely accused.”

  “How did he know?”

  “Because the arresting officer was still the retired cop’s friend.”

  “Who was the retired cop?”

  “Gordon Frasier.”

  I put my fork down. “Who was the arresting officer?”

  “Robert Mahoney. Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “I had the pleasure,” Colt said bitterly. “Let’s just say I never want to see him again.”