My covers were ripped off me next. “I swear, you haven’t changed at all. Get up.”
If only her statement were true. I wished I were the same girl.
“I’m twenty-eight years old, Momma. You don’t need to wake me up in the morning.”
“That’s not true if you don’t get out of bed in the morning on your own. Now get up and get ready. You have things to do.”
I sat up, suddenly leery. “You’re not making me waitress at your event tonight, are you?”
She snorted. “Good God, no. It’s a small dinner—twenty people—so my experienced staff can handle it. Besides, after Luke Powell’s party, there’s no way I’d put you out in public.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“This morning? It may be a weekend, but you’re cleaning. Then later you can work in the kitchen.”
I groaned and flopped down on the bed. “Momma. I have a headache as big as Texas. Let me sleep another ten minutes.”
“I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten minutes,” she said, stomping toward the door. “And I expect you to be dressed and ready to clean, or I’m going to tack fifty bucks on to your rent.”
She hadn’t yet told me how much I owed in rent or how much I was getting paid, but I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t bluffing. Ten minutes later, I was dressed in a short-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, guzzling a half-empty cup of coffee in the kitchen. I’d already chased the first few sips with a couple of ibuprofens. Momma emerged from the laundry room with a plastic tote of cleaning supplies.
“This is a spring cleaning. Baseboards. Windows. The whole shebang. You can get started on this floor, and I’ll work upstairs.”
I spent the rest of the morning cleaning while I listened to the soundtrack from Waitress on my phone, occasionally dancing and singing along. I needed something to distract me from all the anxious thoughts running through my head on repeat. If Detective Holden was determined to put me behind bars, then I had to work twice as hard to stay out. Too bad I didn’t know the first thing about getting out of murder charges.
I was mopping the dining room when someone tapped my shoulder. After my initial reaction of shock—jumping and screaming in place—I ripped my ear buds out and wielded the mop as a weapon.
Emily lifted her hands and took several steps backward, fear in her eyes. “Whoa. Don’t whack me.”
I lowered the mop and took a deep breath. “Sorry. You scared me.”
“Obviously.” She put a hand on her chest. “Who on earth did you think I was?”
“Nobody,” I grumbled, hating that I’d made myself look suspicious. No wonder that asshole Blake had sent me another text. I might not remember what happened, but he didn’t know that. I had entertained the idea that it might not have been him. I’d spent half the morning trying to figure out if someone at the party might have sent it. But too many drinks had made my memory fuzzy.
Brilliant, Magnolia. You’re under suspicion for murder, not to mention in possible danger, and you’re getting sauced on girly drinks. What an idiot.
I turned around, plopped the mop into the bucket, and then wrung it out. I had hours of work to do. “Momma’s upstairs cleaning her bathroom.”
“Actually I’m here to see you.”
There could only be one reason for that. I slowly turned back around. “They’re about to arrest me.”
“No. In fact, your fingerprints weren’t found on the letter opener.”
“I already knew that. That means they should leave me alone now, right?”
“Actually . . .” She looked over her shoulder, and I noticed my mother was standing at the bottom of the stairs, listening. The dark circles under her eyes made her look more exhausted than a few hours cleaning should have made her. “I’d like Lila to be part of this.”
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” Momma said, already disappearing around the corner.
She started a fresh pot of coffee and cut each of us a slice of coffee cake, refusing to discuss anything until we were all sitting at the breakfast room table.
Emily picked up her fork and gave me a long hard look. “Like I said, your fingerprints aren’t on the letter opener.” When I started to say something, she held up the fork and cut me off. “But there’s more.” She broke off a piece of her cake and stuffed it into her mouth, releasing a satisfied moan that would be more appropriate to her bedroom than my mother’s table.
Impatient, I finally asked, “What more could there be?”
“Your prints aren’t on there, but no one else’s were either.”
I cocked my head. “What does that mean for me?”
Emily lifted her gaze to my mother’s. “Nothing good.” She picked up her coffee and blew on the surface. “It means that whoever killed him must have wiped off the prints. Which means you are still their number one suspect.”
“So they’re gonna arrest me?”
“Holden will try to build a stronger case first. But, yeah. They’re going to arrest you. It’s a matter of when it’s going to happen.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for it to happen?” I couldn’t help but remember what Colt had told me about his friends. Escape was starting to sound like a pretty good option. Was Bora Bora a non-extraditing country? I’d worked out enough for my role in Fireflies at Dawn to look good in a bikini. At least I had that going for me.
“You have to fight it,” Belinda said from behind me.
I spun around in surprise. From her mint green dress to her soft pink cardigan and matching flats, my sister-in-law looked like she had come straight from a sorority house. The ivory Coach purse hanging from her shoulder only added to the effect. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, making her look all of twenty-two.
“How long have you been standing there?” For some bizarre reason, I didn’t want her to know I was a person of interest in the murder case. I liked the way I looked through her eyes, and I didn’t want her to see me as everyone else did.
“Long enough to know you’re in trouble.” She walked over and sat in the empty seat next to me. She looked over at Emily and Momma with a no-nonsense face. “This is about that talent agent’s murder, isn’t it?”
Momma’s eyes widened in surprise.
I’d been amazed that she hadn’t quizzed me about it last night, after finding out about the murder, but there hadn’t exactly been a lot of quiet moments at Bunco.
“It’s not much of leap, Lila,” Belinda said, shaking her head a little. “I know you and Tilly catered Luke Powell’s party, and that talent agent was murdered there.”
“But why would you jump to the conclusion that I was a suspect?” I asked.
She gave a half shrug. “That doesn’t seem like the issue to me. The real issue is how you’re going to fight it.”
Emily gave me a look that suggested she wasn’t going to say another word unless I wanted her to proceed.
“Why are you doing this, Belinda?” I asked. “How do you know I didn’t do it?”
“Because you’re a good person, Magnolia Steele.”
I expected my mother or Emily to protest or smirk, but both of them remained surprisingly quiet.
“And besides, you’re part of my family. And family sticks together.”
I had to wonder what kind of family she’d been raised in to believe that. My brother sure wasn’t here to support me. I hadn’t even heard from him since I’d called him. Her support wasn’t coming from him.
Belinda leaned over and settled her hand over mine. “But if I’m going to help, I need to know what’s going on.”
I glanced at Emily, but she looked uncertain.
Belinda had been more than helpful last night, which led me to the crazy idea that she might be able to help after all. So I took a deep breath and then told her everything—about Max Goodwin, the party, and even my interrogation at the police station the day before, though I left out the part about Emily freezing up. Emily’s shoulders
sank with relief when she realized I wasn’t going to rat her out.
When I finished, Belinda turned her sharp gaze to Emily. “Are there any other suspects?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, can’t you find out?” She sounded like a prim and proper schoolmarm.
Emily’s face hardened. “The police won’t tell me anything, but I do plan on checking out a couple of suspects. Lisa Huddleston’s husband is in the industry, although on the Christian side. Last night she mentioned a couple of people who had motive.”
“You mean the country singer and the vice president of Highway 24 Music?” I asked. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to contact the vice president.”
“Well, good thing for you I have an in,” Emily said, looking smug. “Daddy knows Henry McNamara, the VP. They started out together back in the day.”
Well, crap. Why hadn’t I thought about that? Emily’s father was an executive for a country label.
“See?” she said, holding my gaze. “I’m a good defense attorney.”
My mother shot me a glare. “Were you insulting Emily’s abilities?”
“No!” I gave Emily a look of disbelief, half-tempted to tell Momma the truth. It wasn’t like I owed Emily a damn thing. But I couldn’t do it. Standing in my own spotlight of humiliation, I felt no need to tug her under the glare.
But Emily didn’t know that. “No. It was just a bad joke,” she said, giving my mother a grim smile. “Magnolia’s been a model client.”
Momma didn’t look so convinced, but let the subject drop.
“What about the singer? Paul Locke?” Belinda asked. “Can you contact him?”
Emily cringed. “That might prove to be more difficult. Daddy’s my contact, and Paul Locke is under contract with another label. He can’t reach out to him.”
“I might have another way,” Belinda said and gave me a grin. “Amy.”
“Who?” Emily asked.
“Amy is Luke Powell’s personal assistant,” Momma said. “She and Belinda were roommates when they first moved to Nashville.”
“Oh.”
“Amy was in charge of the guest list,” Belinda said, clasping her fingers together on the table. “She’ll know how to contact him. She’ll also know who else might have had a reason to kill him.” She gave a tiny shudder.
Looking lost in thought, Emily turned toward Momma. “Did the police ask you for a guest list?”
“No,” Momma said. “But I didn’t have one. Just a head count, which wasn’t accurate anyway, so there’s a good chance Amy’s list isn’t complete.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Belinda said as she opened her purse and fished out her phone. She quickly pulled up a number and held the phone to her ear. “Hey, Amy, how are you? … No. I heard all about the murder. I’m so sorry. How are you holding up? … I know, but surely he can’t hold you accountable.”
Momma gave me a nod before she took a sip of her coffee.
Belinda was silent for a moment, her face scrunching up as she listened intently to the woman on the other line. “I’d love to see you. Maybe I can help. Can you meet for lunch this afternoon? I know it’s short notice … Great. How about that new restaurant on Cool Springs Boulevard—Austin’s? Great. See you then.”
She gave me an assessing look as she ended the call. “You need a shower,” she announced.
“Excuse me?”
“We’re going to lunch, and you need a shower. You’re a beautiful girl, Magnolia, but that ponytail looks like a rat built a nest in it and is coming back to hibernate for six years.”
My mouth dropped open in shock, but I quickly recovered and shook my head. “I suspect Luke Powell’s assistant does not want to see me.” Especially after our experience together after Max’s murder. “Maybe you better go alone.”
“Nope. You’re coming.” She returned the phone to her purse and stood. “I’ll be back at 12:40 to pick you up. Make sure you’re ready.” Then she walked out the door, leaving the three of us speechless.
“I had no idea she had it in her,” I said. “She seems so sweet and unassuming.”
Momma shook her head with a look of pride. “And that’s one reason she’s so good at her job. Sure, she creates beautiful weddings, but it’s how she handles things once they’re in progress that gets her referrals. She’s what you would get if Mary Poppins had a drill sergeant’s baby. She keeps people in line without them even realizing they’re being bossed around.”
Emily stood. “So Belinda and Magnolia will talk to Luke Powell’s assistant, and I’ll have Daddy get me Henry McNamara’s number.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Momma asked.
I gave her a long look. She looked even more tired than she had earlier in the morning. I knew my predicament had to be hard on her, and I felt guilty all over again for coming back to town. But I knew my mother better than to point any of that out. “I think you should stay here and be home base. We’ll all check back with you.”
“I have to get to the kitchen by three.”
I gave her a half-shrug. “Then we’ll check in with you there.”
Momma didn’t look convinced.
“Don’t worry. If we find some useful information, and if the police will follow the leads we give them, I might get out of this.”
“That’s a lot of ifs, Magnolia,” my mother said, but then she motioned toward the stairs. “Go on and get ready. Belinda’s right. You need to look respectable.”
I left her and Emily at the table as I ran up the steps to get ready. After I shut the door behind me, I grabbed my phone. It was time to text Colt to see what he remembered.
I need to talk to you about Thursday night. Call me when you can. As an afterthought I added, Tell me how your performance went. Wish I’d been there.
The last part was only a partial truth, but if Colt was like most performers, he craved flattery and compliments. And I definitely needed to stay on his good side. Besides digging for other suspects, I needed to bolster the evidence of my own innocence. Emily was right; Colt’s testimony would at least buy me some reasonable doubt. At this point, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
But an hour later, I still hadn’t heard from him. I debated whether to send another text, then decided to wait until after lunch. I suspected part of my appeal to him was my hard-to-get attitude. If I looked too eager, he might not text back at all.
At 12:30 I went back downstairs, ready to fill the role of the wrongly accused ingénue. My long brunette hair hung down my back in loose curls, and my makeup was minimal, giving me a youthful, innocent look. I wore a pale pink dress with a fitted bodice and a flared skirt. Anyone with any width would look hippy, but I’d lost ten pounds for the play. It fit perfectly. I might as well wear it before I started stress eating or found myself in an orange jumpsuit.
Taking a cue from my sister-in-law, I topped the outfit off with a cream-colored sweater and a pair of matching flats. It was fifty-fifty if the short strand of pearls at the base of my neck was too much. My mother zeroed in on it the moment my foot hit the bottom step.
Her mouth pursed. “You took my mother’s pearls.”
“I only borrowed them. There is a difference.” I took a breath. “I’m nervous. What if we can’t get what we need from her?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted it. My mother did not tolerate weakness.
“You’ve been pretending your entire life, Magnolia. You can pretend to be brave.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult.
“Belinda can weasel the secrets out of a silent monk, so you’ll be a good team.”
Compliment. I was surprised. “I take it Emily left?”
“She left to call that vice president and try to dig up some dirt on that dead agent.”
I considered asking where she was digging and what kind of tool she was using, but decided to leave it a surprise. I had a little more faith in the scheming that Belinda and I were doing.
Five minutes later, I was standing at the window waiting for my sister-in-law.
“Don’t think this gets you out of cleaning,” Momma said, walking toward the stairs, the vacuum cleaner trailing behind her. “And I need you to come to the shop to help me in the kitchen as soon as you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured as my sister-in-law pulled up in her shiny black car. I ran out the front door, my stomach in knots. Either Belinda made good money in her wedding business or my brother was making serious bank. The latter seemed unlikely. Last I’d heard, Roy had forsaken his finance degree to become a sound engineer.
My entire life was a mess—and had been for some time—but for the first time in weeks, I felt like I was finally taking control.
Chapter 13
We were a full ten minutes early, so I was surprised to see Amy already waiting in the restaurant lobby. I hung back as we entered, and Belinda greeted her first, pulling her into a tight hug. When they broke apart, Belinda still clung to her arms. “How are you doing, Amy? Really?”
Amy was about to answer when she looked over Belinda’s shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock. “You . . .”
Breaking away from Amy, Belinda snagged my hand and tugged me closer. “This is my sister-in-law, Magnolia.”
Amy looked shaken. “What is she doing here? She murdered Max Goodwin.” But acting must not have been in her job description, because her delivery was anything but convincing.
“Why, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Belinda cooed. “Magnolia—a murderer?”
“But Luke found her next to the body.”
Belinda tilted her head and gave her the kind of look a patient mother would give an irrational toddler. “That doesn’t mean she killed him. She went up to meet Luke—just like he asked—and that’s when she found Max’s body.”
A couple on their way to the hostess stand gave us a nervous look, having clearly overheard part of our conversation.
Belinda pulled Amy toward the opposite wall of the entryway. “Let’s just get a table, and we can discuss it more privately.”
But Amy kept her gaze on me, clearly not approving of this plan. “Why is she here?”
Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 Page 15