O’Malley’s hadn’t existed when I lived in Franklin. It was in a refurbished strip mall on Highway 96, making it easy to find. Paul and his entourage—of twenty-something guys this time, not teen and tween girls—weren’t hard to find either. They were hanging around four high-top tables in the back corner, laughing loud enough to broadcast to the room at large that they’d had a few.
I went up to the bar and ordered a beer, watching the group and trying to figure out how to approach Paul. This wasn’t L.A. or New York. He wasn’t surrounded by security. Nashvillians didn’t ooh and ah over celebrities, one of the many reasons they liked living here. It wasn’t uncommon to look up and see Wynonna Judd in the Target checkout lane buying toothpaste. Still, that didn’t mean I could walk up to him and start asking questions. Especially since he’d probably remember me from yesterday at the mall.
It didn’t take long for the answer to present itself. One of the guys in Paul’s entourage couldn’t take his eyes off me.
I sent him flirty looks, so I wasn’t surprised when he appeared at my side as I drained the last sip from my bottle.
“Corona, huh?” he asked. “I pegged a pretty little thing like you as a margarita girl.”
I gave him a playful laugh as I set the bottle on the counter with a thud.
“I guess my momma was right about not judging a book by its cover.”
I looked up at him through lowered eyelashes and purred, “And what’s my cover saying?”
“Baby, you are all curves and sex appeal.”
I gave him a coy smile. “Your momma teach you to pick up women like that?”
He laughed. “Hell no.”
“What would she tell you?”
He laughed again and leaned his elbow on the bar, his face a foot from mine. “She told me to open car doors and shit.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “And shit?”
His face reddened, and it was easy to see his bravado was alcohol-fueled. I could use this to my advantage.
I graced him with a you might get lucky if you treat me right smile. “How about you buy me another Corona, and I’ll let you start over.”
“I saw you watching Paul. You hoping to use me to get to him?”
My laughter was genuine. “Please. He’s a baby. Let the thirteen-year-olds have him. I like real men.” I batted my eyelashes and smiled up at him.
His smile was so genuine I felt guilty for using him. Then I remembered my all-too-recent police interrogation. If I wanted to play Scarlett—let alone stay out of jail—I needed to prove my innocence. He bought my beer and one for himself as he took the seat next to mine. I clicked my bottle with his, then took a drink.
Slow and careful, Magnolia. Don’t blow this.
We spent the next few minutes making small talk. I told him my name was Maggie, and he introduced himself as Rusty. He lived in Nashville and was in Paul’s crew. Unlike most of Paul’s “friends,” he wasn’t an aspiring singer or songwriter. He just liked Paul and wanted to hang out with him.
Or so he said.
I was suspicious of people like him. They always wanted something, but then I guess I wanted something from him too.
“I heard Paul was at Luke Powell’s release party,” I said. “Were you there too? Did you get caught up in the excitement?’
He cringed. “Yeah, we were there.”
“They’re saying the police questioned everyone,” I said, taking a sip. “Was it like in the movies? Did they take you to a room and shine a light on you?”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Someone’s got an imagination.”
“So they didn’t question you like that?”
“They barely questioned us at all.”
“Really? Even Paul?”
“Yeah.”
He looked a little suspicious of my line of questioning, so I added, “It’s like when Kennedy was shot or 9/11, don’t you think? The whole ‘what were you doing when Max Goodwin was shot?’”
He chuckled again. “You knew Max Goodwin?”
“I sure did,” I said, then took another drink. “A little too well. I almost signed a contract with him.” I shuddered.
“Be thankful you didn’t. I’m sure you’ve seen Paul’s case in the news.”
I nodded. “I can only imagine how hard it was for him to be forced to be there with him.”
“Yeah,” he said, scratching his chin. “Paul took off for a while after he found out Max was there. Said he needed some air. Who could blame him? After the court’s ruling, he knew he was stuck with that prick.”
Paul was sounding fishier than a lobster boat on a hot summer day.
“Was Paul there last night too? Luke’s house must be haunted or demon-possessed for there to have been two murders there in only a couple of days.”
“It’s not demon possession,” he said. “It was revenge.”
“I know a lot of people hated Max Goodwin. It would be easier to pick a date on The Bachelorette than figure out who hated him enough to kill him.”
He leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “I have a theory about who killed both of those men.”
I turned to look up at him, our faces only inches apart. “Who?”
“Luke’s assistant.”
“What?” I asked a little louder than intended, drawing the attention of the couple standing next to me. I lowered my voice. “Why would you think she did it?”
He gave me a conspiratorial grin. “Not everyone knows this, but she signed a contract with Max too. She gave up a career in music just to spite the bastard. That’s why she’s Luke’s assistant.”
My mouth gaped. Belinda hadn’t told me that part. Did she know? “What about the other guy? I heard it was Luke’s attorney.”
“And his assistant just happened to find him.” He winked.
The puzzle pieces tried to sort themselves out in my head. Amy had acted really strange after Max’s murder. And she had found Neil Fulton’s body. But all the evidence was circumstantial, and I knew firsthand what it was like when people jumped to conclusions. Besides, it seemed to me that Paul had more motive than Amy. And according to Rusty, he didn’t have an alibi.
“You really think she’s guilty?” I asked in disbelief.
I felt someone wrap an arm around my back. “Who’s guilty?” Colt asked from behind me, his breath tickling my hair.
Rusty’s eyes narrowed.
I turned around and glared at Colt. “What are you doing here?”
“Not spying on you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m with a couple of friends, and I saw you over here . . . chatting.” He waved to two guys sitting back by the pool tables, and they waved back, grinning like fools.
“Who are you?” Rusty asked, looking pissed.
Colt moved next to me, keeping his arm around my back, and grinned. “The name’s Colt Austin. And I’m Maggie’s boyfriend.”
I tried to pull out of his hold, but his fingers dug in.
Rusty didn’t look amused. “You never said you had a boyfriend.”
I slapped Colt’s hand off my waist. “That’s because I don’t.”
“Come on, Maggie Mae,” Colt teased. “I can’t believe you’re giving me the brush-off after everything we’ve been through. It was one tiny argument.”
Rusty gave me a look of disgust and stomped back to his friends.
I spun around to face Colt, seething with anger. “What the hell was that?”
His grin fell. “I could ask you the same. What were you doing chatting up one of Paul Locke’s henchmen?”
“Henchmen? He’s a roadie.”
“Roadie my ass.” Colt laughed, but it was dry. “What were you doing?”
“What did it look like? He was trying to pick me up.”
“And you were going to let him?”
I lifted my shoulder and gave him a haughty look. “I hadn’t decided yet.”
“You were asking him about the murders.”
“What’s it to you, Colt?” I asked.
>
“Because you’re already in enough trouble with the police, Magnolia,” he said, sounding pissed now. “If they find out you’re asking questions, they can add interfering with an investigation to your charges.”
I scowled. “Once again, what’s it to you?”
Disappointment washed over his face. “For starters, I had this crazy idea we were friends.”
I felt like a world-class bitch.
“And second, I promised your mother and Tilly I’d watch out for you, so like it or not, that’s what I was doing.”
“Colt,” I groaned. “I’m sorry.”
“Save it,” he said, turning around and walking back toward his friends.
Guilt settled in, pressing on my shoulders. I’d had a lot of guilt over the last week. Over the last ten years.
I sorted through my options as I went out to Momma’s car. I knew I should just go home, but I wanted to talk to Amy, if for no other reason than to warn her that people were tossing her name out as a suspect. Surely it wouldn’t be long before the police caught wind. I considered calling her, but this seemed like an in-person conversation.
Lucky for me, Belinda had sent me her address in addition to her phone number.
Amy lived in an apartment complex in Brentwood. While it was nice, I would have expected something a lot nicer for someone working for a mega-country star. I felt a little guilty about knocking on her door a little after ten at night, but if the roles were reversed, I’d want to know.
She opened the door, her eyes wide with surprise. “Magnolia? What are you doing here?” She looked over my shoulder into the parking lot, then pulled me inside and slammed the door shut.
“I wanted to tell you what I’ve found out.”
“You couldn’t do it over the phone?” She walked over to her bedroom door and shut it, but not before I noticed the open suitcase on her bed.
“Uh . . .” Where was she going? But she worked for Luke, who flew all over the place. Maybe he wanted to get out of town to escape the negative publicity.
She crossed her arms, looking ticked. “Well, what is it? I have to be at Luke’s early tomorrow.”
“I think Paul Locke could be a suspect.”
“We already knew that.”
“Well, from what little digging I’ve done, he doesn’t have an alibi.” Then it struck me. “Why didn’t you tell me that Neil Fulton worked with Max Goodwin on Paul’s legal contracts? You said you didn’t know how they were associated.”
She lifted her chin and hugged herself tighter. “I didn’t.”
“That’s not true. You were in the same situation as Paul. You tried to get out of a contract you had signed with Max, but Neil Fulton defended him against you and he won.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How do you know that?” Terror filled her eyes. Why was she so scared?
“I only knew about the contract. The rest was a guess.”
She pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Oh, God. How could I have been so stupid? “You weren’t trying to protect Luke. I haven’t seen one indication that he had motive to go after Neil. You were trying to protect yourself.”
She started sobbing and pushed my arm. “Get out.”
“Amy, if you did it, we’ll find you a good lawyer. We’ll figure this out.” I had no idea how, but Max Goodwin had been a terrible person. Surely that would sway a jury.
“I didn’t do it! Get out!” she screamed in a high-pitched voice.
I let her push me to the door and then out onto the landing. “Amy, please let me help you. I know Belinda would want to help you too.”
“It’s too late for anyone to help me.” Then she slammed the door in my face. I was even more confused than before, but now I was wondering if Amy was actually guilty.
I sat in Momma’s car and sent Belinda a text. Right now I was more worried about Amy than I was about Roy checking my sister-in-law’s phone.
I think Amy knows more about the murders than she’s letting on. I stopped by her apartment to tell her Paul doesn’t have an alibi, but she got hysterical and kicked me out.
Okay, so I was leaving part of it out, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to put into writing.
I’m worried about her. You might want to check up on her.
I was surprised to see the little bubble alerting me that she was sending me a reply.
Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. <3
There was nothing else to do tonight, so I went home and crawled into bed with my laptop. I sent Emily an email about everything I’d found out today, including my newest interrogation. She’d have a fit, but what was done was done. I told her about my suspicions about Amy too. After I hit send, I checked my nightstand drawer, making sure the gun was still there.
I might almost be free of one nightmare, but I was still stuck in another.
Chapter 26
I woke up to sunshine in my face. I rolled onto my back with a groan and covered my eyes with my forearm. Another fitful night of sleep troubled by guilt and fear and nightmares. Maybe going back to New York would ease my troubled mind.
But my heart was heavy with the knowledge that I’d have to tell my mother I might be leaving again.
I found Momma at the breakfast table nursing a cup of coffee. A brown leather album lay on the table to one side. She was staring out the windows at the woods.
I poured my own cup of coffee and sat down next to her, both of us still silent.
“I keep thinking of that night,” she said at last. “And the next morning. I’ve replayed it a million times in my head. What I could have done differently. What I shouldn’t have said.”
“You were scared, and when you get scared, you get pissed.”
“It still doesn’t make it right, Magnolia. I . . .”
I covered her hand. “It’s over and done, Momma. I don’t resent you.”
“You must. You never came back.”
“But I came back last week.”
She took a sip, then lowered the cup to the table. “You’re leaving again.”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe. My agent called yesterday and told me I can probably get my job back.”
“When?”
“If I take the part, I need to be in New York by the middle of the week.”
“But you’re still under suspicion.”
“I know. I’m hoping to be cleared today or tomorrow.”
She flinched and was silent for several seconds before her eyes locked with mine. “And you’d take it? After what that man did to you?”
I pushed out a sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t want to work with him again, but this could be a defining moment in my career.”
“Is that how you want your defining moment to be forever marked in history? Built on a scandal? You showing your tits on stage and knockin’ over a set?”
I leaned back my head and groaned. “Momma.”
“Magnolia, listen to me. You’re good. I know you are. I read the reviews.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
She nodded. “The theatre is important to you. Important enough to keep you from coming back. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. So I’ve paid attention.” She slid the album toward me, her fingers gliding over the top.
I opened the cover and flipped the page, shocked to see a playbill from my first play, an off-Broadway production of Sense and Sensibility, stuffed inside a plastic envelope. I pulled it out, and sure enough, my name was listed in the cast.
“How did you get this?”
“eBay. Friends. Some I went to see myself.”
“You came to see some of my plays and didn’t tell me?”
She shrugged.
I returned the playbill to the envelope and continued flipping through the album. She had a playbill from every production I’d ever been in and reviews from the later ones in which I’d had more substantial parts.
A lump filled my throat. “Oh, Momma . . .”
“I know
this is important to you. I know you need to go back, but there’s something I have to tell you first.” She looked into my eyes. “I have cancer.”
The blood rushed from my head.
“Nobody knows but Tilly. And I only told her because we need to get the business sorted out.”
My mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. “Why would you need to get your business sorted out?”
She gave me a wry grin. “You’re a smart girl, Magnolia. You know.”
Tears burned my eyes. “What kind?”
“It’s in my blood.”
I shook my head. “Can’t they give you chemo or radiation?”
“They already have.”
“How long have you known?” I asked in dismay.
“Two years.” She sighed. “But it’s not working anymore.”
Panic swarmed around my head like a cloud of bees. “We’ll get a second opinion. We’ll go see a specialist. There’s a great hospital in New York—Memorial Sloan Kettering. Jody’s grandmother went there.” I choked back my tears. “We’ll find someone. We’ll—”
Momma leaned over and pulled me into a hug. “Maggie. I’ve seen all the doctors. They all say the same thing. There’s nothing left to do.”
That was the first time she’d called me by my nickname in years. But I was too focused on her pronouncement to dwell on it. “How long?” My face was buried against her neck, so all my words sounded muffled.
“Maybe six months. Maybe three.”
I leaned back to look into her face. “Three?”
“I didn’t want to tell you, but Tilly insisted. Said she’d tell you herself if I didn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Just because I’m losing my life doesn’t mean you can’t live yours.” She pushed out a sigh. “If I had my way, none of you would find out until the day I die. The last thing I want is everyone tiptoeing around me.”
I stood and began to pace.
“I want you to go back to New York, Magnolia. I want you to live your life. But I want you to do it on your own terms, not some womanizer’s, you hear?”
Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 Page 28