Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1

by Denise Grover Swank

  Fucking bastard.

  But Tilly’s mouth pursed as her eyes drilled into my mother’s bent head.

  Our carefully worded conversation over the course of lunch could have been a sketch on a comedy show, but the dark circles under my mother’s eyes suggested the farce was wearing her down. It made me realize she wasn’t getting any younger, and my own troubles had added to her stress. I really needed to make sure my brother wasn’t bullying her too.

  Roy made a show of picking up the tab, and when we prepared to leave, he reached for me and pulled me into an awkward embrace.

  I tensed and prepared to knee him in the balls if necessary, but he leaned into my ear and whispered, “It will take me a day to get the funds ready and make the transfer, so if you really want a five-figure offer, be at my office at two tomorrow. After you leave, I expect you to immediately skip town and never return. You don’t show, and the offer is gone forever.”

  I pulled back and looked at him in disbelief.

  “And just so we’re clear, there will be a five in front of that.” Then he winked.

  Fifty thousand dollars? I’d been trying to bait him at the table. I’d never expected him to follow through. But fifty thousand dollars could get me anywhere I needed to go.

  Could I leave Belinda with this monster? Could I leave Momma?

  He turned to Belinda and kissed her cheek. “I’ll go warm up the car, precious.” Then he smiled at our mother. “Momma taught me how to treat my lady right.”

  He was out the door too quickly to hear Tilly’s snort, but my mother had a worried smile as she watched him walk out. Did she see it too? Maybe she saw more than she wanted to—no mother wants to believe her son has become a bad man.

  “I’m going to go to the restroom,” she murmured, sounding tired.

  Tilly moved in her direction. “I’ll go with you.”

  They left Belinda and me in the restaurant foyer, along with several people waiting for their tables. Belinda kept her gaze on the window, wearing a goofy smile that made her look like she was on a parade float, and then she lifted her hand and gave a little wave.

  My brother was outside the window watching her.

  Taking her cue, I waved to him too. Trying to move my lips as little as possible, I said, “I need to talk to Amy. I need to see if she’ll tell me who was at the house so I can compare both guest lists.”

  “I can’t go with you.”

  “I know. Roy.”

  She swiped at the corner of her eye. “I know you don’t understand—”

  I pushed out a frustrated sigh. “Belinda, you don’t owe me anything, let alone an explanation about your marriage.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “But I will say this. My brother is an asshole, and you deserve better. Leave him.”

  “It’s not that easy.” Her fake smile quavered.

  “Nothing worth having ever is.” Someone had told me that once, back when I was struggling to survive after landing in New York. Nothing worth having is easy. I’d believed it back then, but now I had my doubts. Maybe life just wasn’t easy, period. Whether you got what you wanted or not.

  “I’ll text you her number,” Belinda said. “And send you the guest list from the release party.”

  The restaurant door opened, and Roy appeared in the opening. “Ready, precious?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a brittle smile. Then she turned to my mother, who had just returned from the restroom. “I’ll call you later, Lila.”

  My mother gave her a lingering look before nodding. “You get some rest. You look tired.”

  Roy wrapped an arm around Belinda’s back and led her to his Lexus, the white steam from the exhaust billowing in the gray mist.

  “Momma, can I borrow your car?” I asked, still watching the parking lot.

  “Why?” She sounded suspicious.

  “I need to check on a few things.”

  “About this new murder? Does Emily know?”

  I turned to her with a soft smile. “Yes to both. We think this will clear my name, but since my interrogation with Detective Holden went so poorly, we both feel the need to hedge my bets.”

  “What happened with the interrogation?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about. We’ve got it covered.”

  Momma studied my face for a few seconds, a question on the tip of her tongue, but she handed me her keys. “Be careful, Magnolia. I didn’t just get you home only to lose you again.”

  I leaned over and kissed her cheek. How many times had I done this as a teenager? “I will.”

  I walked to Momma’s car, watching her and Tilly cross the parking lot. She seemed to be moving slower today than she had over the last couple of days, but I assured myself she just needed to rest. The stress was getting to her.

  I got in Momma’s car and turned the key, letting the engine heat up as I tried to come up with a plan. I needed Internet, and a coffee shop was the best place to find it for free.

  The rain must have inspired half the town to get hot beverages. Starbucks was packed, but I was lucky enough to nab a two-person table while I waited for my nonfat cappuccino.

  I decided to start off by doing a little more digging into Paul Locke. He wasn’t famous enough for the tabloids to have gone digging into his personal life. But what little I could find hinted that he’d been raised by a single mother in a trailer park in Alabama. His first album had released two years ago, and his second was set to drop in a couple of weeks. An early release teaser single from the second album had shot to number two on the charts and hung there for several weeks before falling. A newspaper post from last week had suggested Paul was set to lose hundreds of thousands of dollars to Max—possibly millions—if his new album did as well as everyone expected.

  I took a sip of my drink, and my phone dinged with a message from Belinda containing Amy’s contact information. I wasn’t sure how likely Amy was to answer a call from an unknown number, but it was a good place to start.

  Surprisingly, she picked up on the first ring. “This is Amy.”

  “Hey, Amy, it’s Magnolia. Belinda’s sister-in-law.” I left off and person of interest in the murder at your boss’s house. No need for overkill.

  “Magnolia . . . is Belinda with you?” Her voice was shaky, and she sounded close to tears.

  “No.” Did Amy know about her friend’s issue-ridden marriage? “She’s busy today, but I hope it’s okay that she gave me your number. We heard about the new murder.” She remained silent, so I pushed on. “I was happy to hear Luke’s okay.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  She sounded out of it. “Amy, are you okay?”

  She hadn’t handled the stress of finding Max’s body well. Another murder might have pushed her over the edge.

  “Yeah . . . no.” She paused. “I was the one to find the body this time, Magnolia.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I know how shocking that is. Was it awful?”

  “Yes.” Her whisper was so quiet that it worried me.

  “Amy, where are you? Do you have someone with you?”

  “No.” Then she cleared her throat, forcing strength into her voice. “I’m fine. I’m trying to control this publicity nightmare.”

  “Doesn’t Luke have people for that?”

  “They’re dealing with it head on. I’m dealing with it in the background.”

  “Can you tell me who was killed and how? I heard a man was stabbed in the heart.”

  Amy sniffed. “It was Neil Fulton. Luke’s attorney. I found him in the kitchen last night at around nine.”

  “Why was Luke’s attorney there at nine o’clock on a Saturday night?”

  “They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but that’s not true when murder is involved. Neil was probably coming over to give Luke an update.”

  “Why would Luke’s attorney be in his kitchen?”

  “He used to come over all the time, so he had the code to get in and out of the kitchen.”r />
  “Why would someone kill Luke’s attorney?”

  “I have no idea.” But she didn’t sound completely convincing.

  “Did he have a connection to Max Goodwin?”

  “Not that I know about.”

  “Were any of the people at Luke’s party last night at his release party?”

  “All twenty of them.”

  Well, that narrowed it down. “I hate to ask this, but did Luke and his attorney get along?”

  Amy didn’t respond.

  “Amy, do you think Luke killed Max Goodwin and his attorney?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think the police might think he did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to help you, but I need a list of everyone who was there last night.”

  “I already risked my job by sharing that list with Belinda, and she’s my friend.” Her words had a bite to them. “I don’t even know you, Magnolia Steele. Other than what I’ve seen of you on YouTube.”

  Ouch.

  “Besides,” she added. “You only want to clear your own name.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, “but I’ll be clearing Luke’s too.”

  “No. No list.”

  Dammit. “Will you at least tell me if Paul Locke was there?”

  She hesitated. “Yeah. He was there. Pissed at the world for having to hang out with a bunch of teenagers at the mall yesterday.”

  “Anyone else I should know about?”

  “I think I’ve told you enough.”

  “Thank you for what you did tell me. I’ll let you know if I find out something to help.”

  “I think I need a miracle,” she said, sounding close to tears. Then she hung up.

  Her last statement worried me. Did she really think Luke had killed Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton? Was he stupid enough to kill two people in his own house, days apart?

  I pulled up Google and entered “Paul Locke + Neil Fulton,” not surprised at the results.

  Neil Fulton had represented Max Goodwin in the case against Paul Locke.

  Hot damn. Maybe I’d just found my new career.

  I needed to talk to Paul Locke again . . . or at least to the people who had been with him both nights. The problem was I had no idea how to find him. But Belinda might.

  I texted her. Luke’s attorney, Neil Fulton, was the murder victim last night. I think Amy’s worried Luke is guilty, but I found out Fulton represented Max Goodwin when Paul Locke sued him to break his contract. Paul lost . . . a month ago. I need to talk to him again. Can you give me Tandy’s number?

  I sent the message, then had a mini panic attack that Roy might see it. Shit.

  Instead of worrying about my sister-in-law, I decided to call Jody to give her an update, but she had one for me too.

  “Have you seen Sarah’s reviews for Fireflies at Dawn?”

  “No,” I scowled, picking up my cappuccino and taking a sip. “I’ve been a little busy with my bigger crisis.” The last thing I wanted was to hear how much everybody had loved her.

  “Hold on. I’m going to read a few to you.”

  “Jody . . .”

  “Trust me. You want to hear this.” She paused, then said in a stentorian tone, “‘Chambers’s performance has the nuance of a second grade production of Cinderella without the heartwarming feels.’”

  “Ouch.” I winced. But I couldn’t help feeling elated. Served her right.

  “Oh, that’s one of the nicer ones. How about this—‘A drowning cat would be preferable to Chambers’s warbling high notes.’”

  I sat up straighter and set my coffee on the table. “You’re kidding.”

  “But this is my favorite—‘One has to wonder if Steele’s spat with Chambers was her attempt to save the world from the worst performance in Broadway history. While Steele portrayed innocence and childlike wonder in the role of Scarlett, Chambers has the countenance of a prostitute trying to pass as royalty.’”

  “Wow,” I said, floored. “That’s amazing.”

  “I hear Griff is shitting his pants. Word is that he’s prepared to offer you the part back.”

  That was the very last thing I’d expected her to say.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Could you work with him again after everything he did?”

  “I don’t know. He tried to call me yesterday, but I didn’t answer, and I deleted his message. I figured he was calling to gloat.”

  “He wants you back. Definitely for the play, maybe back in his bed too.”

  “Well, that sure as hell isn’t going to happen, but if I accept the job, I don’t even know where I’d live. I was making barely above the minimum salary and rehearsals ran past the contract, which means I’ve made next to nothing for over a month. I have no money, Jody.”

  “Make it part of the contract. Get Jimmy to negotiate it for you.”

  I doubted I could get my agent to negotiate a deal at a swap meet. “Jimmy made it pretty clear we were done.”

  “Magnolia,” she said in exasperation. “You’re holed up in Hicksville, U.S.A., so you’re not fully grasping what’s going on in New York. This is big. Bigger than big. There hasn’t been a controversy like this since Spiderman. You’ve gone from being a public laughingstock to being Broadway’s biggest martyr. To bring you back would sell tickets, and you and I both know it’s all about selling tickets.”

  I groaned. “First of all, Franklin is a suburb of Nashville, and there are so many music artists here that going to church is like getting a free concert. This is far from Hicksville. And second, I can’t believe for one minute that anyone has called me a martyr.”

  “You go to church?”

  “That is beside the point.”

  “Magnolia. Did you not hear that review I just read?”

  “Jody . . .”

  “All I’m saying is you’re going to get a call, whether it’s another one from Griff or from someone else who wants to attach your name to their show for the publicity. You need to be prepared.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Always. I’ve got your back, girl.”

  My phone beeped and I looked at the screen, not recognizing the 615 area code number. “Jody, I’m getting another call.”

  “When you get some offers—and notice I said when—let me know if you need someone to help you decide.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up and answered the other call. “Hello?”

  “Magnolia Steele?”

  I recognized the man’s voice, and my blood turned to ice water.

  Chapter 23

  I steeled my voice. “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Bennett with the Franklin Police Department. I’d like you to come to the station so we can ask you a few follow-up questions after your interview with Detective Holden.”

  I could only choke out one word. “When?”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  “I’ll come now.” I might as well get it over with.

  He started to say something, but I’d already hung up before I realized it. Great. One more strike against me.

  Packing up my laptop, I debated whether to call Emily. It was the smart thing to do, but she’d been so ineffective last time. Besides, it would be humiliating enough to see Brady. No need for me to bring Emily along to watch. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  A different receptionist was at the counter, but she was waiting for me. “I’ll let Detective Bennett know you’re here.”

  My stomach twisted into knots as the door to the back opened, revealing Brady, who looked guarded. “Ms. Steele, thank you for coming in.”

  A barb sat on my tongue, ready to spring out, but I only nodded as the full truth hit me.

  Detective Brady Bennett had used me.

  My eyes stung, but I blinked back tears. It was time to play a role, something I hadn’t thought I’d do with him. I was a wrongly accused woman facing the detective who had tried to play her for a fool. Well, he wasn’t going to fool me this t
ime.

  “If you’ll follow me.”

  I didn’t answer. It was safer that way. I was still slipping into my part.

  He took me to the same room where I’d met Detective Holden. Thankfully there was no sign of him. There was a woman at the table instead, and she stood as I entered the room. She wore black pants and a white blouse, and her black hair was cut in a short bob that brushed her jaw. Brady followed me in and shut the door behind us.

  “Ms. Steele,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Detective Martinez. Thank you for coming in to answer more questions.”

  I shook her hand, impressed by her firm grip. My character had slipped into place. “Of course, Detective Martinez. I’m happy to be of help.”

  She gestured toward the chair next to me. “If you’d like to take a seat.”

  At your convenience. If you’d like to take a seat. All thinly veiled attempts to try and persuade people they had control. I hadn’t had control for years. But they saw none of that; the woman I was portraying was the epitome of calm, cool, and collected.

  I sat down and crossed my legs, wishing I were dressed in my sexy gray business dress and four-inch, black patent-leather heels. Instead my attitude would have to carry me.

  “Ms. Steele, you came to the station last night at 9:53 asking to see Detective Holden.”

  So I was right about the cameras. “Yes, that’s right.” There was no point in denying it.

  “Instead you spoke to Detective Bennett . . .” She looked down at a notepad in front of her and then back up at me. “Or should I say, you refused to tell Detective Bennett the reason for your visit.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t a question, so there was no need to answer it. I wasn’t about to give them any more information than necessary.

  “What was the purpose for your visit?”

  “I was worried,” I said. “I know I’m a person of interest in Mr. Goodwin’s murder, and it’s very disconcerting to have that hanging over my head. I wanted to see if my name had been cleared.” I sure as hell wasn’t giving them what I knew about Paul Locke.

  “Detective Bennett says you appeared distressed.”

  I’m sure Detective Bennett did. Asshole. I gave her a tight smile. “Detective Martinez, have you ever been called a person of interest in a murder investigation?”