Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 (16 page)

“I was there,” he said, sounding short. Paul Locke obviously had two personas—the one he showed the public and the one he forced on everyone else. “What of it?”

“Did you see Max Goodwin?”

Paul stopped in his tracks and turned to face Belinda. “You with the police?” he asked, looking her up and down. “I don’t remember this being part of the uniform.” He gestured to her dress.

Belinda wasn’t about to be dissuaded. “Please, Mr. Locke, if you . . .”

He snorted. “Cut the Mr. Locke crap. And I ain’t answering shit, Barbie. Now get the hell away from me.”

And that was the limit for me. I’d already watched Belinda be berated over the phone. I wasn’t about to let this dipstick wannabe treat her like crap in front of me.

I stepped in front of Belinda, getting in the pissant’s face. “I am so sick of upstarts like you thinkin’ you’re all that, but guess what? Your shit isn’t gold-plated. It stinks just like everyone else’s.”

“Excuse me?” He shook his head and blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You, you asshole,” I said, poking his chest with my finger. “You think you can be an asshole to anyone you want, but you’re wrong. Now apologize to my sister-in-law.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “
What
?”

“You were rude to my sister-in-law, so apologize.”

Belinda leaned toward me, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Magnolia, you really don’t have to—”

Judging from the disdain that had washed over Paul’s face, he’d recovered from the shock of not being fawned over. “What the hell do you want?”

“We want to hear about Luke Powell’s party,” I said. “We know you were there.”

He laughed, but it didn’t sound good-natured. “You’re Luke Powell groupies.”

I groaned. I’d heard just about enough crap for one day. “We most certainly are
not
. I was at the party, asshole. I just want to know if you talked to Max Goodwin that night.”

“What’s it to you?” he demanded.

“In case you hadn’t heard, he was murdered.”

He curled his upper lip. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. There’s a certain sense of justice to him getting stabbed through the heart, don’t you think?” Then he turned and stomped toward the glass exit doors and the black SUV parked at the curb.

Tandy watched her boss stomp off and then turned to glance at Belinda. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Belinda said. “Do you know if he talked to Max that night?”

“No,” she said, looking at the tile floor. “I wasn’t there.”

“Did he mention anything about the party?”

She let out a heavy breath and bit her bottom lip. “I really shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Maybe later?” Belinda asked.

Tandy looked torn, but she nodded a quick yes before she bolted out the door.

As we watched them go, Belinda wrapped a hand around my shoulders and said, “We really need to work on your interviewing skills.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that went south pretty quick.”

“Tandy warned me to start off slow.”

“Well, that wasn’t workin’ out so great either.”

“You didn’t have to defend me,” she said quietly.

“You defended me last night,” I said, feeling awkward as I watched Paul Locke’s SUV pull away from the curb. I wasn’t used to letting people get close to me so quickly. It had taken Jody and me three months to get to this point. But Jody hadn’t been helping me clear my name in a murder investigation.

“We better get you to your momma.” Belinda looped her arm through mine. I would have shaken loose from almost any other person, but I decided to let myself revel in the feeling of letting someone else take care of me.

No, not just someone. Belinda. I only hoped I didn’t regret it.

B
elinda offered
to stop at my mother’s house so I could change before she dropped me off at the kitchen, but my mother called me twice while we were en route, so I told her to take me straight to the kitchen.

“I can do more digging while you’re working,” Belinda said. I marveled at how her hands hadn’t strayed one bit out of their ten and two alignment on the steering wheel.

“You don’t have to do that, Belinda,” I said. “It’s Saturday night. Don’t you and Roy have plans?”

“We do, but not until later. We’re meeting one of his clients for drinks.”

“Sound engineers have clients?” I asked in surprise.

“Oh!” She gave me a quick glance before turning back to the road. “He hasn’t been a sound engineer for a couple of years. He’s a financial planner now. Working for your dad’s company.”

I sucked in a breath. “
What
?”

“I can’t believe your mother didn’t tell you.”

“No. She never said a word.” I had to wonder how my mother felt about his place of employment. I suspected she hadn’t shared the information because she wasn’t happy about it. Funny how she’d bragged about his work as a sound engineer every which way this side of the Mississippi River, but she hadn’t breathed a word about his decision to follow in our father’s footsteps.

“Your dad’s partner offered him a job.”

“But Bill
hated
Dad.”

She shrugged, not looking too concerned. “I don’t know anything about the past, but Bill and Roy get along great. And Roy is very happy there. Bill has turned over some of your dad’s old accounts to him. In fact, we’re meeting one of your dad’s clients tonight. The Morrisseys.”

My blood ran cold. “Does Momma know Roy is taking over the Morrissey account?” I’d always felt certain Bill James knew something about Daddy, but the police had assured my mother he was as clueless as everyone else. I hadn’t believed it for a minute.

“No . . .” She sounded worried as she turned to me. “She knows Roy is working for Bill, but nothing specific.”

“Then don’t say anything to her. Mr. Morrissey’s wife disappeared the same time Daddy did. I’m not sure what Roy’s told you, but there were a lot of rumors about them having an affair and running off together. Especially since Mrs. Morrissey had pulled nearly a million dollars out of her joint accounts with her husband.”

“
Oh, my
.” She pressed her lips together, worry furrowing her brow. “I had no idea.”

“Belinda, don’t you worry about it,” I said, forcing myself to sound light and breezy even though I felt anything but. “It was all a long time ago, back when we were kids. Roy probably doesn’t remember any of it. But I’d hate to upset Momma.”

She nodded, still looking worried. “Yes, of course.”

“Where are y’all going?” I asked.

“Uh . . .” she said as she tried to move past her shock. “There’s a new place in Hillsboro Village, The Olive. It’s a martini bar. We’re meeting them at eight.” She glanced down at her dress. “I’ll have plenty of time to get ready.”

“
Ready
?” I asked in surprise. “You look beautiful, and I don’t hand out compliments that often.”

She blushed and looked embarrassed. “Magnolia . . . that’s so sweet of you.”

“Thanks for helping me, Belinda. I mean it. I don’t have a single friend in this town anymore. Hell, I don’t know if Momma even wanted me to come back . . . She sure doesn’t act like it most of the time.”

“That’s just how she is, Magnolia. You know that.”

“I know . . .” Still, it would have been nice for her to tell me how she felt.

“You think of me as your friend?” she asked quietly, her face devoid of expression.

“Well, yeah.”

“Because I’m your sister-in-law?”

God, I was an idiot. She was only helping me because she felt some odd, misplaced loyalty as a member of her new family. I was a hot mess with more enemies than I could count. I wasn’t sure
I’d
want me for a friend. Especially since I knew how narcissistic I could be. “What you’re doing for me is above and beyond what family does, Belinda. This is what
friends
do. But I understand if you’d rather keep this a family thing.”

She shot me a look that said she thought I was crazy. “Are you kidding? I would love to be your friend, Magnolia. I’m honored.” Tears filled her eyes, leaving us in an awkward silence as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“Tell me how you and Roy met,” I said, both out of curiosity and to change the subject. Besides, if we were going to be friends, I needed to know this stuff.

She gave me a shy smile. “It’s a boring story, really. I met him at a wedding.”

“That doesn’t sound boring to me. It sounds romantic.”

She released a soft laugh. “He was a DJ at the reception I was working at. He asked me out, and the rest is history.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Four years ago.”

“And you’ve been married one year?” Getting information out of her was harder than I’d expected. “You had a small wedding?”

“Yeah.” Her voice seemed strangely muted.

“What made you decide to be a wedding planner?”

She shrugged. “I just kind of fell into it. I wanted to be a country singer. That’s why I originally came to town. I’m from Mississippi.”

I nodded. “You said you were a backup singer, which I never would have guessed in a million years.”

She was quiet for several minutes before turning to look at me. “I envy you, Magnolia—living your dream.”

“News flash, Belinda. I’m not living my dream. I’m currently stuck in a nightmare.”

She waved off my statement. “You’ll be back in New York in no time. You should take your own advice and turn your negative publicity into something positive.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Let’s worry about restoring your reputation first, and then we’ll worry about the rest.”

She turned onto Main Street and pulled into a parking place behind the building. “I’d come inside, but Roy’s probably fit to be tied. I need to get home.”

“That’s okay. Thanks again, Belinda.”

T
he kitchen was bustling
with activity when I walked in, which surprised me since the dinner was only for twenty people. I grabbed a hairband out of my purse and pulled my hair into a ponytail.

My mother looked up from the canapé she was filling and frowned. “About damn time, Magnolia.”

Tilly was at the stove stirring a big pot with a long wooden spoon. “Give it a rest, Lila.” She cast a quick glance in my direction. “Grab an apron to cover that pretty dress and get in here in the thick of things.”

A couple of minutes later, Tilly had me pulling pans of food out of the oven alongside a woman no one bothered to introduce to me.

“What time is this dinner?” I asked Tilly as she lifted a pot off the stove.

“Seven.”

“That’s about two hours from now, and everything’s almost ready. Why are you all freaking out?”

“Because Tilly got the address wrong,” Momma grumped. “And the dinner’s not in Brentwood like we thought.”

“Where is it?”

Momma sent Tilly a glare.

“Hendersonville,” Tilly admitted with a sheepish look.

Well, crap. Hendersonville was a good hour north of Franklin. Now I saw the problem. “Will the food stay hot that long?”

“That’s not the problem, Maggie Mae,” Colt said, walking through the door. “Lila and Tilly have warmers in the back of the van. The problem is they’re doing construction on 65, and we’re going to have to drive around it.”

Momma handed Colt a tray. “This one’s ready to load.” Then she slid another pan across the stainless steel work surface toward me. “You take this one out.”

I grabbed the pan and followed Colt out the back door to one of the vans. I waited for him to mention the text, but he didn’t say a word. The back doors were open and Colt effortlessly slid his pan into a warmer and then grabbed the pan I was struggling to lift. He grinned as he put that one into the warmer too, then he hopped down beside me.

His gaze wandered up and down my body, ending at my face. “You look good in an apron, Maggie Mae. Nice legs.”

“Are you one of those
I like my women in the kitchen
kind of men?”

His grin spread. “Hell, no. I prefer my women in my bed.”

I shook my head in disgust and spun around to head back inside.

I fumed for the next ten minutes as we continued to load the van. Momma and Tilly were only catering a meal for twenty, but they must have prepared seven courses based on all the food we stuffed into the warmer and then onto the other racks.

Why was I letting Colt set me on edge? I attributed it to my nerves, but I had more immediate concerns. I couldn’t let him get to me.

“That’s all of it,” Tilly said on our final trip.

Momma put her hands on her hips. “Colt, you head on up to the address Tilly texted you, and Tilly and I will be along shortly. Magnolia, you go with Colt.”

“What?” I asked. “Why? Why can’t I just stay here or go home? I’ll see if Belinda can swing back and take me.”

“Because you’ve pestered poor Belinda enough, and Tilly and I have some things to discuss.” She shot Tilly a look that made me very glad I was not Tilly. My mother’s friend just sighed and checked her cuticles.

I pushed out a long breath. “Then why don’t I stay here and finish the filing in the basement?”

“No. You’ll go with Colt.”

She put so much emphasis into the statement that I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes. “Why are you so insistent I go with Colt?”

Good Lord. I hoped she wasn’t trying to match-make us. But that couldn’t be it. She’d already told me he didn’t have any money, and financial stability had always been important to her. One of the many reasons she’d bemoaned my career choice.

My mother let out a groan of frustration. “Because we’ve all agreed you shouldn’t be alone.”

That was even worse. “What do you mean
we’ve all agreed
? Did you have a meeting or something?”

She remained silent.
They had!
“Why?”

“You’re in this predicament because you don’t have an alibi. If you’re with someone twenty-four/seven, you’ll be covered.”

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head in disbelief. “Just how many people do you think are going to be murdered around me?”

She gave me an exasperated look and flung out her hands. “I have no idea, Magnolia, but there’s no sense in taking chances.”

I gaped at her for a full three seconds before I walked over to her and kissed her cheek. “I love you too, Momma. Thank you.”

Surprise filled her eyes and she stammered, “I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.” This was my mother’s way of saying
I love you. I’m worried about you
. My mother was a woman of action, and her message was coming through loud and clear.

I took off my apron and hung it up on a hook before heading to the parking lot. Colt checked the back of the van to make sure everything was secure, then climbed out and gave me a wink. “Just you and me, Maggie Mae.”

“And dinner for twenty. Momma will tan your hide if it doesn’t get there on time.”

“There’s always after . . .” His voice trailed off as he walked around to the driver’s door.

I’d met plenty of men like Colt—full of a lot of talk and mostly harmless. The more he knew he didn’t stand a chance, the more likely he’d go full-court press. I just needed to use that to my advantage without upsetting the apple cart.

Who was I kidding? I’d spent my entire life upsetting the apple cart.

“So you and me in this van for an hour,” I mused, taking my hair down and letting it fall around my shoulders. “Plenty of time to chat.”

His gaze stayed on me while he turned over the ignition and brought the engine to life. “I’m not much of a talker.” Then he grinned, as if implying there were plenty of other things he
did
do, and pulled out of the parking lot.

“I guess you’re not much of a texter either.”

“Yeah, about that.”

I waited for him to continue, and lifted my eyebrows after several seconds when he didn’t.

He shrugged. “Tilly kept me busy.”

I shrugged this time. I had at least fifty-five more minutes to get what I wanted out of him. I could be patient when I needed to be.

He turned on the radio. A Keith Urban song came on and he began to whistle, casting glances at me every few seconds.

“I bet you don’t listen to much country music up in the Big Apple.”

I gave him a condescending look. “
Fireflies at Dawn
was written by a country songwriter.”

“What the hell is
Fireflies at Dawn
?”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my seat, resting my arm next to the window. “It’s the hottest new musical in five years, thank you very much. And I had the lead role.”

“That’s the play that made you an Internet sensation.”

“Well, there’s that . . .”

“You
do
know that’s impossible, right?” he asked.

“They did hire me to play the part. I think the proof is on Twitter and YouTube,” I said, a little too defensively.

“No, the title. Fireflies come out at dusk. Not dawn.”

I shook my head in confusion. “They come out at
night
.” I patted the back of my right hand with my open left palm. “And it’s
night
until the sun comes up at
dawn
.”

He shook his head, looking very much like a belligerent five-year-old. “I’ve never seen one.”

“When have
you
ever been up at dawn?”

He gave me a mock gasp. “I’m offended by that question. I’ve seen plenty of dawns.”

“Yeah, because you hadn’t gone to bed yet.”

A lazy grin spread across his face. “Guilty as charged. And I’ve never seen a lightning bug.”

“Yeah, because you were too drunk or hungover to notice.”

He shrugged. “Tell me, what was this
Fireflies at Dawn
about? Did you catch lightning bugs on stage?”

“No,” I said in a huff, crossing my arms. “
Fireflies at Dawn
is a metaphor.”

“So it’s about extraterrestrials?”

“Not a meteorite. A
metaphor
.” His grin was as big as a meteorite though, and I shook my head, not wanting to give him another reason to tease me. “Never mind . . .”