Act Two Read online

  I stood. “If you’re not there, I’ll come to your office tomorrow.” I gave him a tiny smile. “I know you’re a real estate attorney. You shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  The woman approached and stopped in front of me, looking me up and down with a pinched expression. “Are you here to see Walter?”

  “I’m just saying hello. Walter and my father were old friends.”

  She cocked her head slightly. “And who is your father, dear?”

  “Brian Steele.”

  Recognition flickered in her eyes. If she was Mr. Frey’s wife, I’m sure she would have remembered my father’s name. The police took Mr. Frey downtown to question him. Something told me that wasn’t a common occurrence for this man.

  “I see,” she murmured, shifting the strap of her handbag on her arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Walter and I have a few things to discuss.”

  “Of course.” I almost reminded Walter of our meeting, but I couldn’t see Mrs. Frey setting her husband loose to meet me. “It was good to see you again, Mr. Frey.”

  He nodded slightly, then looked down at his clasped hands.

  When I returned to the bar, Colt was waiting for me. Shaking his head and laughing, he said, “It’s a bad day when you strike out with an old guy, Maggie Mae.”

  “Eww . . . that’s disgusting. He was a client of my father’s.” I picked up my beer and took a sip as I glanced back at Walter Frey’s table. My vantage point gave me a good look at the side of their table. The woman was leaning forward and—judging from the look on his face—giving him an earful.

  “Didn’t your father run off when you were in middle school?”

  I jerked my gaze back to Colt and asked defensively, “How do you know that?”

  He held up a hand. “Whoa. Calm down. Tilly told me. What’s with all the antagonism?”

  “Because unlike everyone else, I know my father didn’t run off with Shannon Morrissey.”

  He paused. “Then who did he run off with?”

  I looked into Colt’s eyes. “He didn’t run off with anyone. My father was murdered, and I’m pretty damn sure Mr. Antsy Pants knows what happened.”

  Colt gave me a hard look. “You think that weaselly-looking guy killed your father? I hate to typecast, but he really doesn’t look like a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “He didn’t do it.” I shook my head. “Or I don’t think he did. Look, all I know is that he was supposed to meet my father the night he disappeared. My father left for the meeting, but he never came home.”

  “Magnolia . . .”

  The pity in his voice did nothing to ease my mood.

  “What are you doing here, Colt? Tilly did send you, didn’t she?”

  “I heard all the shouting between you and your mother, so I decided to come check on you.” He bumped his shoulder into mine. “It can’t be easy going from living in New York City to living in Franklin. And then there’s dealing with your mother 24/7. I know I couldn’t do it.”

  “I just feel so guilty,” I said, looking into my glass of beer. “I want to move out so badly, but I know I need to stay.”

  He took a sip of his beer, then asked, “Why do you need to stay at your mother’s? Is it money?”

  Well, crap. I’d almost spilled the beans on Momma’s cancer diagnosis, and she definitely didn’t want anyone but me and Tilly knowing (even if she didn’t realize my brother knew). While I felt guilty about leaving her alone, I didn’t know how much more I could take of being her houseguest and employee. Soon I might be tempted to finish her off before her cancer did.

  “I have to move out.” I turned to look at him. “And I need another job.”

  “Whoa. Don’t get crazy now. You’re working at the catering business.”

  “I suck at the catering business.” I sighed as I rested my forehead on my hand. “The only two things I’m good at are waiting tables and working in the theatre. But the last time I worked as wait staff at Momma’s party, I became a person of interest in Max Goodwin’s murder. Besides, I’m the star of a very unfortunate viral video. I’m too much of a distraction for Momma and Tilly to let me out in the public eye.”

  “There are plenty of other things you can do to help with the business. Look at me.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I see you there all the time, but I don’t see you doing a whole lot of anything. How do I get your job?”

  He shot me a look of mock disgust. “I work. I bartend at events, and I help with loading and driving the van, as well as a host of other errands for the belles.”

  “So what do you propose I do? I’m hopeless in the kitchen, and my history prevents me from waitressing.”

  “Maybe you could work in the office.”

  “I already got them caught up. Their whole system is digital now, everything from filing to appointments.”

  “Well, you’re just too efficient, Maggie Mae. You need to slow your roll.” He waved his flattened hand in front of him as if he were icing a giant cake.

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Slow my roll? What decade is this?”

  He winked. “Sure. That’s right. You go ahead and deflect.”

  “Deflect?” I shook my head. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy to say deflect.”

  “And you’re still doing it,” he drawled. “Anything to take the focus off the real issue—your delusion that your father was murdered.”

  I heard a gasp, and I turned to find my sister-in-law Belinda standing behind me, wide-eyed. “I had no idea your daddy was murdered. Roy told me that he ran off with a client’s wife and took a bunch of money with him.”

  I wasn’t surprised to hear Roy was touting the company line. After all, he worked for my father’s ex-partner and appeared to be doing very well for himself.

  “He wasn’t murdered,” Colt told Belinda, lowering his voice. “But for some reason, Magnolia thinks Elmer Fudd over there killed him.” He picked up his glass and stuck out his index finger to point to Mr. Frey.

  “What are you doin’?” I asked, pushing his hand and making his beer slosh. “You can’t just point at him. That’s rude.”

  “So you’re sayin’,” Colt said playfully, licking the spilled beer off his hand, “accusin’ him of murder quietly is polite.”

  “I didn’t accuse him of anything,” I said defensively. “I only want to ask him some questions.”

  Colt chuckled. “If you aren’t accusing him of anything, then why were you glaring at him so hard?”

  I scowled. “I wasn’t.”

  Belinda continued to watch our exchange with a look of shock.

  Colt let out a pained sigh and then leaned closer to my ear. Whispering so my sister-in-law couldn’t hear, he said, “Maggie. I know what you’re goin’ through, but I’m asking you to think this over. If you start down this path, you’re bound to be disappointed.”

  I leaned back and gave him a hard look. Was he speaking from personal experience? Colt was hiding something, but I didn’t know what. It didn’t seem right to ask since I had so many secrets of my own.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong, Magnolia,” Belinda said. “I can’t see Walter Frey hurting a fly.”

  I started to ask if she knew him, but she quickly changed the subject. “Colt, Magnolia and I are having lunch,” Belinda said. “Would you like to join us?”

  He drained the last of my beer and set the glass down with a thud. “Nah. I’ve been eating too much Taco Bell lately, so I’m having a liquid lunch today.” He patted his belly. “I’m getting a little pouch, and I need to work it off.” He winked at me. “Call me later if you want to start a workout plan together.” Then he sashayed out the door.

  “That man is something else,” I said, eyeing my now-empty glass with a frown.

  Belinda watched me as she said with measured words, “Yeah, he is.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not interested in Colt Austin. I know my mother thinks I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

  “He’s a good-lookin’ man.”
r />   “A man who has slept his way through Middle Tennessee. No, thanks. That’s one lesson I’ve learned. Not interested.”

  “Good,” she said. As we followed the hostess to our table, Belinda added, “Because I like Colt well enough, but I’m sure he’s a heartbreaker.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, sister,” I mumbled.

  We took our seats and ordered a pizza, but I kept casting glances toward Walter Frey while we waited for our food.

  Belinda leaned forward, worry filling her pale blue eyes. “Do you really think your father was murdered?”

  I took a sip of my water. As tempted as I was to order another beer to replace the one Colt finished off, I knew it wouldn’t solve my many issues. “Do I believe Daddy stole all that money and ran off with Shannon Morrissey? No.”

  She linked her French-tip-manicured fingers together and rested them on the table. “Roy’s told me that you and your father were very close.”

  “Roy was talking about me?” Considering how much my brother hated me, he mustn’t have said anything good. In fact, after all of the nasty interactions I’d had with him since coming home, I couldn’t believe Belinda was here with me now.

  She ran her finger down the side of her water glass, swiping at the condensation. She seemed to measure her words before she said, “He said you didn’t handle his leaving well.”

  That was an understatement.

  “He said that you saw your father’s abandonment as a betrayal.” Her eyes lifted to me. “A betrayal you couldn’t accept.”

  The way she said it invited a confidence, and I wanted to confide in her. Belinda was pretty much my only friend in Franklin now—not counting Colt—but how much would she tell Roy? How much did I want him to know?

  Maybe it was best if I kept my meeting with Walter Frey to myself.

  “You’re right,” I said, glancing down. “I couldn’t imagine my father leaving me behind. Murder was the only way I could excuse it.”

  Her hand covered my own, and I looked up into her sympathetic face.

  “Oh, Magnolia. Of course you did. So why were you asking Walter Frey questions?”

  “He knew my dad.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “So? I’m sure lots of people knew your dad.”

  “He was supposed to . . .” I let my voice trail off, reminding myself that the less she knew, the better. I forced a smile. “You know, this is silly. You’re right. I should let it go.”

  The waitress brought our pizza, which gave me a chance to change the subject after she walked away. “I need to find a job.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “I thought you were working for Lila.”

  “It’s not working out.”

  Belinda picked up a slice of pizza. “I know Lila can be a difficult woman . . .”

  “True, but I’m terrible. The only thing I’m good at is filing—which is all done—and waitressing—which I don’t dare do. I ruin everything I touch in the kitchen. I would prefer my last days with my mother to be as pleasant as possible, so I think it’s best if I find somewhere else to work.”

  Belinda set down her pizza. “Your mother’s last days?”

  Well, crap. My brother had let me know he was aware of my mother’s terminal cancer diagnosis. I’d just presumed he’d told his wife.

  I had two ways to go about this—try to smooth it over with some lame excuse, or tell her the truth. Selfishly, I wanted to be able to confide in her.

  “Momma is dying, Belinda.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry. I was sure Roy told you.”

  She dug around in her purse, retrieving a tissue. “No. I had no idea.” She looked at me as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Is that why you came back home?”

  “No,” I said with a derisive chuckle. “I came home because of my walk of shame. I only found out Momma’s diagnosis the day Amy . . . died.”

  The police had concluded that Amy, personal assistant to country singer mega-star Luke Powell, was guilty of murdering both Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton, an entertainment attorney. But her supposed motive was paper-thin—they claimed Amy had held a grudge against Goodwin because he’d wronged her when she’d first come to Nashville as a country singer. And Neil was guilty by association; he’d represented his sleazeball friend. The official story was that Amy had killed herself over the guilt.

  But the more I thought about it, the less I bought it. Up-and-coming country singer Paul Locke had signed all his rights and money away to Max Goodwin, and a month before the murders, he had lost his legal battle to get them back. And of course Neil Fulton had represented Goodwin in that case too. Locke seemed to have the stronger motive.

  I told myself that Amy’s death wasn’t my concern, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty that her death had exonerated me as a suspect. Still, I wasn’t about to tell Belinda any of that. Amy had been Belinda’s friend, and I hated to stir up more emotional trauma.

  Totally clueless about my inner struggle, Belinda asked, “How much longer does she have? What does she have?”

  “She refuses to give me many details. She said she has cancer in her blood and she’s known for a couple of years. They’ve told her she has three to six months left.” I paused. “Tilly’s the only other person she told, because of the business.”

  “But you said Roy knows.”

  “He told me he knew when I went to see him in his office. The day I was going to go back to New York.” The day my brother had attempted to bribe me with fifty thousand dollars if I left town and never came back. Which Belinda had admitted she knew about.

  “How did he find out?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But Momma didn’t tell him. She only wanted me to know because if I got on that plane, I probably never would have seen her again.”

  “So you stayed.”

  “I couldn’t leave. Especially after she gave me some very blunt advice about self-respect.”

  Belinda smiled and wiped a tear off her cheek. “That sounds like Lila, all right.”

  I studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure you should tell Roy you heard this from me. He obviously didn’t want you to know.”

  But would she pay a price if he found out she was keeping a secret?

  She nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.” Then she absently rubbed her forearm, confirming my concern. Her pink cardigan went to her wrists, and I couldn’t help wondering if it covered new bruises on my sister-in-law’s arms. I was sure my brother was an abuser, but I had no idea how to help Belinda leave him. She seemed determined to stay.

  “Okay.”

  We ate in silence for a few moments before Belinda said, “Are you sure you want to get another job?”

  “Yes. I love my mother, but at the moment, I want to strangle her—and I’m sure she feels the same way. We always butted heads when I was a kid. It seems we haven’t outgrown it.”

  “Do you have anything in particular you want to do?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not qualified for much. Waiting tables and working in a theatre, and given my notoriety, waiting tables seems to be out.”

  Her lips pursed as she concentrated. “I’d hire you, but I just hired a part-time assistant.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be a good assistant.” Besides, I was probably too jaded to work for a wedding planner. “And maybe it’s best if I don’t work for family.”

  “Hmm . . . you could be right.” She let out a sigh. “What about retail work?”

  “I’ve never done it, but I’m willing to try.”

  “I know the owner of a retail shop downtown—they sell gift-type items but some vintage pieces too. It’s very unique and charming. Alvin’s business is growing, and I know he needs help.”

  “Full-time help?”

  “No, just part time, but it’s a start. Maybe you could still work part time at the catering business. You know, do the office work and help load the van.”

  She had a
point. I would still be part of the catering business, but I wouldn’t be underfoot looking for something to do. “Would the owner be willing to work around my catering schedule?”

  She smiled. “It can’t hurt to ask him. How about we walk down there after lunch? I’ll introduce you.”

  It felt a lot like my mother walking me to kindergarten, but I really needed a job. I wasn’t about to blow off a good lead out of pride. “I still need a place to stay.”

  “You’re moving out too?”

  “It seems for the best, but it will have to be something close to downtown. I don’t have a car.”

  She cringed. “That will be difficult. Everything downtown is pricey.”

  “Then I’ll have to keep living with Momma for now. One step at a time.”

  After we finished lunch, we walked down to Rebellious Rose Boutique and Belinda introduced me to Alvin Blevins, the owner of the store. He was a well-dressed and trim middle-aged man with shockingly dark black hair and piercing brown eyes that told me he didn’t miss much. It was obvious he loved Belinda—everyone did—and he offered me the job based on her recommendation alone. Did I dare risk working for someone who seemed so keenly observant?

  “Can you start tomorrow?” he asked, glancing at a customer who had just walked in the door.

  “Yes. Of course,” I said, surprised by how enthusiastic I sounded. One month ago, I was the lead in a Broadway musical. Today, I was excited over working in a gift shop.

  “The pay isn’t much, and I can only give you about twenty hours a week, but I’ll try to work with your catering schedule.”

  “Thank you,” I said, shaking his hand. “You won’t regret it.”

  Alvin nodded. “Be here at ten and convince me that I won’t.”

  Belinda and I went out onto the sidewalk. “When are you going to tell Lila?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I wasn’t sure how she would react to the news about my second job, and I didn’t want to piss her off.