Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 (20 page)

I
had
to go to the police. I had to tell them what I’d found. But what had seemed like a good idea back home, after the fresh return of my new memories, I was having second thoughts about by the time I reparked my mother’s car behind the catering business.

The murder took place ten years ago. Even if the cops could tie my memories to a case, what good would it do? I barely remembered anything important.

But what kind of person would I be if I didn’t try?

I put Momma’s car keys back in her purse. It was close to ten o’clock, so there was a good chance she’d get back before me.

Still, as I started down the stairs, new worries wormed their way into my mind. What if the police considered me an accessory to the woman’s murder? As much as Detective Holden had it out for me, he might try to arrest me for obstruction of justice. Or think I was flat out crazy.

Maybe I really should take Colt up on his offer. I could just run—change my name, maybe even change my looks, and move to another country. Another continent. Maybe I could finally go to college somewhere and become a teacher in an American school in a European country. I’d already chosen my name—Miriam Daniels, just a boring girl from the Midwest who had lived a normal life. Or maybe I’d become British. I had the British accent down pat. This could be my way of achieving the happily ever after I’d always daydreamed of having.

And if Roy really meant what he’d said, I would have the money to fund my escape.

But if I did something like that, I could never come back. Ever.

And despite everything, I couldn’t do that. I just couldn’t. I had to clear my name. And then I could start over again as
me
.

I would go to the police with what little I knew about Max Goodwin’s murder, including Paul Locke’s name and the fact that the security guard stationed in the hall leading to Luke’s office had been MIA for a period time, and they could sort it out. Anyone could have supplied those two pieces of information. They didn’t have to know my sources. I saw no reason to include the people we’d marked off our list, including Luke of course.

I’d tell them about my restored memories too. The sooner, the better. They could sort out what to do about that too.

It felt good to have a plan, sketchy as it was. I went into the bathroom and looked at my reflection. I’d cried off my makeup—the only traces left were the mascara smudges on my cheeks. I washed my face and then patted it dry with a paper towel. I looked like crap, but the police wouldn’t care. My distraught appearance might work in my favor.

I only hoped they would listen.

For a brief moment, I considered telling Emily my plan, then decided against it. While she might be great at investigating, she sucked in stressful attorney situations. I was better off handling this on my own.

My current quandary was how to lock up the kitchen, but then I remembered Tilly’s keys on the island. I slid the business key off the ring and headed out the back door, tucking the key into a pocket in the side seam of my dress.

There was more activity before ten o’clock on a Saturday night than I’d expected. Several bars were open as well as the theater across the street and a coffee shop on the south corner. The police station was only a few blocks away, but my feet felt a little more like lead with each step.

It’s a good plan. Just keep going
.

The police station was hopping with activity too. There had been a bar fight in another part of town, and the waiting area was filled with families and friends of the arrested individuals.

The harried clerk turned her attention to me as I walked up to the reception window. “I need to speak to Detective Holden.”

She shook her head. “Honey, he’s off for the night. Give me your name and number, and I’ll have him get in touch.”

I lifted my chin. If I waited, there was a good chance I’d change my mind. All the dark things in my life—in my past—were weighing me down enough that I could barely breathe. “No. I need to speak to him now.”

She released a put-upon sigh. “What’s it about?”

“Max Goodwin’s murder.”

Her entire demeanor changed as she sat up straighter. This was a high-profile case. They wanted any information they could get to arrest their primary suspect:
me
.

That was a sobering thought. What if they turned the tables on me and used this visit to implicate me somehow?

But before I could question my half-baked plan, the clerk had already picked up the phone. She whispered something in a hushed tone and then hung up. “Someone will be out for you. Hang tight.”

I swallowed. “Thank you.”

The door to the back opened less than a minute later, revealing a uniformed officer. He scanned the room and stopped at me. “You’re the one with information?”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yes,” I croaked out.

“Follow me.” He held the door open for me to enter the back, then led me down a hall and into a room full of desks. He motioned to a chair next to the side of a desk. “If you’ll have a seat, Detective Bennett will be with you in a minute.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t want to sit. My nerves were frazzled, and I had moved long past second thoughts and on to fourth and fifth. This visit was premature. I should have done more digging on Paul Locke before coming to the cops. What if Detective Holden didn’t do anything with my information since he was so certain of my guilt? What if I was about to land myself in even deeper trouble?

I hadn’t given the clerk my name, which meant that if I left now, there might be no consequences. My mind made up, I stood and spun around, prepared to head to the exit. Instead I ran right into a tall and very solid man.

He grabbed my upper arms to keep me from falling, and I gasped when I looked up into his face.

Recognition flickered in his eyes as well. This wasn’t the first time we’d met this way.

“Brady?”

He looked different tonight. His beard was gone and his dark brown hair was a little neater, but I recognized the concerned look in his eyes from our first encounter. “
Maggie
? Are you okay?”

“I . . . uh . . .” I stammered, my heart pounding against my chest. What was it about this man that threw me off and made me feel like I was back in seventh grade? But more importantly, what was he doing here? “Thanks for keeping me upright. Again.”

He had on jeans and a pale blue button-down shirt, which was rolled up to just below his elbows. He had solid forearms and a good grip—I knew because he was still holding my elbows.

I took a step back. He couldn’t be a criminal. Had
he
been the victim of a crime? I had trouble seeing him as a victim in any capacity. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” He gently guided me back to the chair. “You look like you’ve been through hell. Why don’t you sit down?”

I obeyed him, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. You work here?” He was too good-looking, too buff to be a janitor.

He knelt in front of me and gathered my hands in his, resting the bundle on my knees. “I’m a detective, Maggie. I can help you.”

My lungs squeezed so tight I thought I was going to pass out. “
You’re
Detective Bennett.”

His smile warmed my insides and made my head feel amazingly light. “Yeah.”

So many thoughts rushed through my head at once, and I struggled with which one to focus on first. “You really weren’t stalking me?”
Brilliant, Magnolia
.

His mouth tipped up into a smile, and a dimple appeared on his right cheek. His brown eyes were soft and warm, and so inviting. Then the implications of what he’d said dawned on me, and I pulled my hands from his. “But you
were
following me.”

He pushed out a sigh and rose. “I thought we’d already established I wasn’t a stalker,” he said, sitting in his desk chair and rolling it in front of me.

“Not as a stalker. You were watching me as a
police officer
.” I made it sound like the accusation it was.

He shook his head in confusion, the conversation obviously steering off the track he’d expected it to follow. “Why would I do that?”

I shot him a glare. “Why did you follow me?”

Instead of getting irritated with my line of questioning, he slowly leaned toward me, his eyes still soft and warm. “Maggie, it’s just like I told you. You worried me. You looked terrified—just as you do now—and I wanted to make sure you were okay. But I swear I didn’t follow you. I really
was
going to the outfitter store. But since we were going the same direction, I kept an eye on you.”

“You were spying on me.”

His shoulders tightened ever so slightly. “What reason would I have for spying on you?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “If I had been spying on you, I can guarantee you that you wouldn’t have noticed me at all
and
I would have followed you around that building. Which I didn’t. Instead I went and bought a pair of hiking boots.”

Even in his defensiveness, he was calm and patient. Which made me distrust him all the more.

I jumped to my feet. “I have to go.”

“Wait.”

He blocked my escape, making my panic escalate. I fought to catch my breath, and he lifted his hands in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to make you stay if you really want to go. But why don’t you wait a few minutes? If you still want to leave, I’ll let you walk out, okay?”

I wasn’t sure I could trust him, but I found myself nodding in agreement.

He took a long look at me, then glanced around the room before settling his gaze back on me. “On second thought, how about we get out of here?”

I sucked in a breath. “Why? Where would we go?”

“We can go for a walk. Or get coffee. Then you’ll know you’re free to go anytime you want.” When I hesitated, he added, “
You
came to
me
, Maggie. I don’t have any reason to hold you here.” He took a step back and graced me with a smile. “It’s a beautiful spring night in Franklin. Let’s go for a walk. I won’t be a police detective. I’ll just be Brady, a guy you’re taking a walk with. You call the shots.”

“Okay.” My voice was weak and small and I hated myself a little. Hated what the past few days had reduced me to.

He motioned to the front door and let me lead the way through the waiting room and outside to the sidewalk. I stopped short, fighting the sudden urge to take off running.

Brady moved a step closer to me, looking down at me with a gentle smile. “Where to?”

It was just a walk. I could do that. I took a breath as I tried to figure out where to go. Was he testing me? Would he judge me based on what I picked? I was being paranoid, but I told myself it was justified after everything I’d been through.

You’re not building a nuclear bomb, Magnolia. Pick a direction to walk
. “Main Street.”

He smiled. “Main Street it is.”

True to his word, he let me lead the way. I stayed on the opposite side of the street of my mother’s business, not wanting to give away too much.

“Was I right?” he asked. “Do you live down here?”

I hadn’t planned to answer, but his silence after the question unnerved me. “My mother has a business on Main Street.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The smile he flashed me as a reward made me want to answer every question he had for me. I suspected he was very good at getting confessions from female suspects.

I gave him a suspicious look. “You’re not going to ask me which one?”

“Nope.” He flashed his smile again. “This isn’t an interrogation, Maggie. I’m just curious. How about you ask me something? Maybe it will put you more at ease.”

“You’re suggesting I ask a police detective personal questions?”

“I already told you—we’re just Maggie and Brady, two people getting to know each other as they take a stroll down Main Street. Ask away.”

I couldn’t help wondering if this was a trick—I was fairly certain Detective Brady Bennett was on the clock even when he wasn’t—but I decided to try to use it to my advantage. At least that’s what I wanted to believe. I didn’t want to admit to myself that part of the reason I was here with him was that he made me feel like I
could
trust him. Because I knew better than to give in to that impulse. I couldn’t trust anyone. “Why were you at the deli that day?”

“That one’s easy. I was hungry for a ham sandwich on rye. With mustard. What did
you
order?”

“Um . . .” It seemed like a strange question. I put my shaky hand to my forehead as I tried to calm down and remember. “A turkey and avocado sandwich on wheat. No mayo.”

“Avocado, huh? So you like guacamole?”

“Yeah.”

His face lit up. “Good to know for future reference.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. What did that mean? Was he thinking about asking me out on a date to a Mexican restaurant, or was he making a mental list of what I’d eat in the county jail? I sucked in a deep breath.

Brady stopped and I stopped with him, certain this would be the part where he said
gotcha
and arrested me for Max’s murder. I gave serious thought to running, but his legs were longer than mine and he’d catch me in seconds.

“Maggie.” He smiled softly. “It’s okay. Honest.”

Run, Magnolia!
It was the smart choice. Make some excuse and walk away from this man who was such a conundrum of danger and hope. But I didn’t want to run. I wanted to stay still, even if it was just for one night, and pretend this man liked me for the woman he saw—Maggie, a nobody whose mother owned some random shop on Main Street—and not Magnolia Steele, humiliated Broadway star, and definitely not Magnolia Steele, suspect number one in Max Goodwin’s murder.

“Now my turn. You already know I’m a detective, so tell me what you do.”

Could I lie to him? It was obvious he still didn’t know who I was, and I sure didn’t want to tell him. Not yet. But if I didn’t say anything, he’d get suspicious, and besides, I couldn’t lie to a police detective. He’d find out the truth eventually.

“I’m a singer.” Technically true.

He graced me with his beautiful smile. “Country or Christian?”