Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 (15 page)

“Let’s start with Tina. She’s easier to track down. She says on Facebook that she works at Macy’s at the Belle Meade Shopping Center. And she used Instagram to post a photo of a tacky customer just an hour ago. What do you say we go have a chat?”

We were about to investigate Max Goodwin’s murder, which had to be the craziest thing I had ever done, and after living in New York for ten years—and in the theatre world to boot—that was saying something.

I pushed out a deep breath. No one had ever claimed I took the safe route.

“Count me in.”

W
e found
Tina Schmidt in the housewares department, talking to a customer about thread counts on sheets. She looked like she was barely this side of jailbait. Max had used
her
? The thought made me sick to my stomach.

“How about I talk to her?” I suggested. “And you can stand close enough to listen.”

Belinda nodded. “You put your acting skills to work.”

The customer made her decision and headed to the register; Tina restacked the sheets she’d taken off the shelf.

Showtime.

“
Tina
?” I gushed. “Tina Schmidt?”

It was obvious from the look she gave me that she didn’t recognize me one bit. “Yes?” She sounded wary.

I cocked my head. “I’m Delilah.” A grin spread across my face. “You don’t remember me, do you? I can’t
believe
you don’t remember.” She looked confused, then horrified.
Bingo
. “From Luke’s party.” I looked down at my dress and laughed. “I was dressed a lot different from this. I just finished a modeling job. Gotta do what pays the bills, right? But last night I had on jeans and a sequined shirt.” It was the most common combination I’d seen at the party.

“Right . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “Oh . . . yeah. I think I remember you now.” She gave me a sheepish grin. “I confess that I don’t remember much from the party.”

Well, that would certainly explain why she didn’t recognize me. It was obvious she was under twenty-one. Did Amy know underage children had been drinking at Luke’s party?

Good God. When had I gotten so old?

Resisting the urge to shudder, I lifted an eyebrow in a conspiratorial look. “All that free booze . . . who can resist?”

She chuckled. “I know, right? But I remember a whole lot of what happened
after
I left.” Tina wore the grin of a satisfied woman.

I grinned back and nodded, wondering what she meant. She seemed pretty pleased with herself, so maybe she’d be inclined to spill. “From the booze to that hot bartender on the upstairs landing, it was the perfect party.” I sure as hell hoped Colt would never find out I’d said that. “That’s why I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened to Max Goodwin. And right after you and I had just talked about how he’d screwed us both over. Like
literally
.”

She blinked. “I can’t believe I told you. I haven’t talked about it in over a month. I’ve tried my best to move past it.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand to prove her point.

“Oh, honey. Don’t you worry. It was after Max yelled at that
really
cute and super sweet catering waitress. The way he treated her was just horrible.”

“I kind of remember that . . .”

“In any case, you and I swapped stories about how Max promised to sign us if we’d sleep with him and then backed out of his end of the deal.”

The frown on her face made her look more sad than angry. “Yeah.”

This girl hadn’t killed him. She was just trying to move past the pain and humiliation of being used. “Anyhow, I was walking through Macy’s and saw you over here, so I decided I just
had
to warn you that the police are talking to people who were at the party. You’ll need to get your story straight. You know . . . work out your alibi for where you were when he was killed.”

She looked worried for a second, but then it faded. “That’s not a problem. I hooked up with Lee Jackson.”

I gave her a blank look. “The country singer?” Lee Jackson had a bunch of hits back in the 1990s—the type of songs that just wouldn’t go away—and he was still living off the laurels and the residuals. His reputation was almost as bad as Max’s. And he liked ’em young too. Stupid girls fell for his
let me show you a few tricks
scheme—only his tricks were all in the bedroom, not the recording studio.

She gave me a smug look. “One and the same. He told me he was looking for a backup singer and wanted me to audition. He took me home and I auditioned, if you know what I mean . . .” Then she winked.

I’d seen him milling around at the party. Years of living hard had not been kind to the man.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “And it covers the time Max was killed? 9:30?”

“We were doing the nasty by nine.” She winked. “Several times and ways. That man sure is creative.”

“And the backup signer job?”

“Sugar, we both know there was no backup singer job.”

I was relieved that I didn’t have to recite the lecture I’d been preparing in my head. She’d walked away from the situation a happy woman. Who was I to judge?

“Thanks for the warning,” Tina said, glancing at a customer by the towels. “Duty calls.”

“No problem.”

Belinda had been standing to the side, pretending to shop. She fell in next to me as we left the store. “Learn anything helpful?”

“Other than that Lee Jackson is kinky as shit, no.”

Belinda looked startled.

“That’s Tina’s alibi. She was
doin’
Lee Jackson.”

“And you believe her?”

“She had the look of a very satisfied woman.” A look I hadn’t worn in ages myself. Griff had always been too selfish to make sure I would walk away satisfied, and I’d been so wrapped up in the excitement of
Fireflies at Dawn
that I hadn’t dared complain. Asshole. “I believe her.”

“So that leaves Paul,” Belinda said, then cringed. “Your momma called while you were talking to Tina. One of her staff members called out of work, and she needs you to fill in.”

I sure as hell hoped I’d be in the kitchen and not serving food.

“But you still have an hour, and I saw on Twitter that Paul Locke is at the Cool Springs Galleria Mall signing autographs. We have time to drop by and get his signature.”

“I never would have expected such deviousness out of you, Belinda Steele.”

She lifted her shoulder into a shrug. “It’s not the least bit devious. We’re just talking to people.”

While she drove us to the other mall, I called Emily and put her on speaker phone. “Have you talked to Henry McNamara yet?”

“About an hour ago. According to him, he showed up late, but Luke wasn’t mingling with the guests, so he and a group of guys left at nine to grab a late dinner.”

“And he can prove it?”

“Yeah, I just talked to two of his friends, who independently confirmed his story and said they were there until after midnight. I might still stop by the restaurant to confirm the guys aren’t just covering for him. How’d it go with Amy?”

I cast a glance at Belinda, then said, “Amy wasn’t very forthcoming. In fact, she was trying to protect Luke.”

“Luke? Luke
Powell
?”

When Belinda didn’t jump in, I continued. “Yeah. She said he was pissed at Max. He’d expressly forbidden him from coming to the party, although she didn’t tell us what motive he would have other than not wanting him to be there, so obviously we’re missing part of the story.”

“Anything else?”

“She told us about a country singer Max had tricked into sleeping with him. Apparently she threatened him in a bar about a month ago, but I just talked to her. She says she has an alibi, and I believe her.”

“So that leaves Paul Locke.”

“Belinda found out that he’s signing autographs right now at the Galleria Mall. We’re headed over there. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Sounds good.”

Spring had sprung in Tennessee, and the mall parking lot was packed with people eager to spruce up their spring wardrobes.

Still, it wasn’t hard to find him. All we had to do was follow the sound of squealing teen and tween girls to the food court. A thirty-foot line of girls separated us from a man in his early twenties. His light brown hair was styled, and there was light stubble on his cheeks. A dark T-shirt stretched across his well-defined chest as he bent over the table in front of him and signed glossy eight-by-ten photos of himself. Besides the gaggle of fans, there were two people standing behind him who obviously worked for him—a man tapping on his smart phone and a young woman dressed in jeans, a white blouse, and a pastel pink blazer. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“Oh, my God,” I groaned. “Do we have to wait in that line? I’m not sure my reputation will survive it, not to mention I doubt he’s going to share much with a bunch of thirteen-year-olds listening.”

Belinda studied the circus in front of us. “I might have a way to bypass it.”

“You
do
realize that we risk getting jumped if we try that, don’t you? Thirteen-year-old girls can be vicious.”

“I think I know the woman next to him.”

I turned to her in surprise. “Really?”

“You wait here.”

“Okay.” I had no idea why she wanted me to wait, but I had no desire to get close to the mayhem. One of Paul’s fans walked around the table and squatted down next to him while her friend took a photo of the two of them with her phone. Paul turned at the last moment and kissed the girl on the cheek, which elicited another round of ear-piercing squeals. The man definitely knew his audience.

I pulled out my phone to check for more messages, and was shocked to see one from Griff. I debated whether to listen to it, then closed out my voice mail screen. Nothing good would come of any communication with him.

I looked up to see Belinda talking to the woman with the ponytail. The woman beamed at her and pulled her into a hug. They broke apart, chatting up a storm before Belinda motioned in my direction. The woman glanced at me before turning back to my sister-in-law and nodding.

Belinda was grinning as she walked back toward me.

“Unless you hug and chat with strangers, I take it you
do
know her,” I said when she reached me. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past her to do that very thing. We hadn’t known each other long, but she had to be the nicest person I’d ever met.

But Belinda laughed. “That’s Tandy. We knew each other when I first got to town. We were backup singers together on a short road tour for a band I’m sure you’ve never heard of.”

“You were a backup singer?”

She laughed again, her pinks turning pink. “About six years ago. When I first moved to Nashville.”

“You
sing
?” I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised. I guess because she looked so prim and proper now.

“Ages ago, but that’s beside the point. Tandy’s going to let us walk Paul to his car when he’s done. We can ask questions until he gets in the car.”

“Wow. You’re amazing.”

She grinned. “But we have to go get coffee for him and Tandy and meet them back here in ten minutes. That’s when this thing is over.”

“Not a problem,” I said a little too eagerly. “I could use some coffee myself.” I suspected I might need a caffeine boost to get me through whatever Momma had planned for me. I’d hit the mid-afternoon slump, and my lack of sleep wasn’t helping.

We were en route to Starbucks, across the food court from the signing, thank God, when Belinda’s phone rang. She dug it out of her purse, and the smile fell off her face. “Magnolia, I have to get this. Could you get the coffees?”

Her reaction to the call worried me. “Of course. No problem.”

“Tandy wants a venti caramel macchiato, and Paul wants a grande Americano.”

“Okay,” I said. “Anything for you?” I got it out as quickly as I could—I could tell she was getting more stressed the longer the phone kept ringing.

“A white mocha.” Then she answered the call and hurried away with the phone pressed to her ear.

I couldn’t help but watch Belinda as I stood in line. She was talking on her cell about thirty feet away, leaning against a post. Based on her body language, the person on the other line was being a jerk. Her shoulders were hunched, and she looked like she was folding in on herself, trying to make herself disappear.

“Can I take your order?” the woman behind the Starbucks counter asked.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking myself out of my stupor to give her my order, adding my own drink as well. I spied on Belinda as I waited, getting angrier and angrier by the moment. Who in the hell was she talking to, and how dare he or she make her feel that way?

After a couple of minutes, Belinda returned her phone to her purse and joined me at the coffee counter just as the barista was handing me the first of the drinks. Belinda had a smile plastered on her face by the time she reached me. “I’m sorry about that. Clients . . .”

“What was it about?” I asked before I could stop myself. I valued privacy and rarely butted into other people’s business, but I was genuinely worried and upset on her behalf.

Belinda gave me a reassuring smile. “It was nothing. Just a bridezilla who was upset because the cake decorator didn’t have the type of icing she wanted. All fixed now.”

We both grabbed a drink in each hand and headed back to the Paul Locke mob scene. “I couldn’t do it,” I said. “I couldn’t deal with all those spoiled, demanding women.”

“Oh . . .” she drawled, her accent deepening. “It’s not so bad. Most of them just want the wedding of their dreams, and I do my best to make it happen. Sure, some go off the deep end during the planning process, but in the end, the beautiful wedding makes all the stress worth it.”

It sounded like a nightmare job to me, but if anyone was patient enough to deal with the crazies, it was surely Belinda.

When Tandy saw us approaching, she whispered to several of the mall security guards and then announced, “Thank you all for coming, but Paul has another obligation he needs to get to.”

Paul stood and waved to the crowd with both hands. “Thank you all for coming! Love you, Franklin!”

The girls started screaming, and security guards pushed them back as Tandy and Paul made a beeline for us, followed closely by the guy who had stood behind Paul.

They snatched their drinks from us and marched toward the very close exit.

Shit, we didn’t have much time.

Belinda shot a look at me, as if to say,
I’ve got this
, then turned her attention to Paul. “Mr. Locke, I heard that you were at Luke Powell’s party on Thursday night.”

He took such a long drag of his piping-hot Americano that I feared for his vocal cords. Then again, I’d heard his latest single. Maybe this was the secret to his scratchy voice.