Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 (26 page)

He lifted his hands in the air, looking like someone had just run over his puppy. “Okay. I’ll let you go. But if your brother—”

“Oh, my God!” I cried out, close to tears. “Don’t even. Just leave me alone.”

He moved to the front of the car, watching as I backed up and pulled out of the garage.

Tears filled my eyes, but I was damned if I was going to cry over him or any other man ever again.

One thing was certain: my fate was in my own hands. I had two—possibly three—detectives who were certain of my guilt. I needed to find out who the real killer was. And fast.

B
elinda had texted
me while I was gone.

Paul Locke is shooting pool at O’Malley’s tonight.

The time on my phone said it was four-thirty. I suspected Paul wouldn’t show up at O’Malley’s for a few hours, and it would be smart to give him another hour or two after that to get some drinks in him before I tried to finesse information from him. I wasn’t sure what the exact protocol was to get someone to confess to murder. Maybe I should have asked Brady to give me some tips.

Since I had a few hours, I texted Momma to say I was heading home and offered to pick something up for dinner. She sent a short grocery list and said she’d make something for the two of us. I worried that she might be too tired, but I knew better than to argue with her.

I had just pulled into the grocery store parking lot when my phone rang again. I was shocked to see it was my agent.

“Magnolia, baby, how are you?”

I parked the car and turned off the engine. “Jimmy. I distinctly remember you saying you were deleting my number from your phone.”

“Magnolia . . .” he crooned in his New Jersey accent. “We both said things we regret.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He laughed. “Okay, I can eat humble pie. Just throw on a heap of whipped cream and I’ll eat it all damn week.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Magnolia, baby—you are a sought-after commodity. There’s noise that everyone wants you, and I mean
everyone
, including that asshole Griff.”

“I thought you called Griff a theatrical genius.”

“That was before he used my girl.”

“You said
I
used
him
.”

“That was before I found out that we’re about to get an offer from
Fireflies at Dawn
. They want you back
bad
, precious.”

I rested my hands on the steering wheel. “What role?”

“Scarlett, of course.”

“What?”

“I’m in the process of negotiating with them, so don’t get too comfortable there in Nashville. They’ll need you here by the middle of the week.”

“But I don’t know if I can leave—”

He’d already hung up.

I went into the store, grabbed a cart, and headed toward the produce section, still lost in a daze when I pulled up my mother’s text and scanned the list—a red onion, broccoli, garlic, and romaine lettuce. I was sorting through the onions when I saw Maddie pushing a cart with a baby carrier in the front. I froze as I watched her stop and lean over the baby inside. Touching his nose with her fingertip, she grinned and said, “Who’s Momma’s baby boy?”

He cooed and giggled, keeping eye contact with her as he kicked his chubby legs and waved his arms.

“That’s right,” she said, still beaming. “
You’re
my boy.” She straightened and her eyes locked with mine. Her smile fell.

I had two options: I could run or I could try again with her. Running would be easier, and since she’d told me she never wanted to see me again, I knew she would have preferred it, but I had to apologize at least one more time.

Leaving my cart in front of the onions, I walked toward her. My gaze landed on her baby.

“Oh, Maddie,” I said in awe. His hair was dark brown, and his bright blue eyes latched on to mine. He looked exactly like the cherubs painted by Renaissance artists. “He’s absolutely beautiful.”

She started to say something, then stopped and gave me a tight grin. “Thank you.”

“I bet your mother loves every minute with him,” I said as he looked up at me, kicking his feet and grinning from ear to ear.

When she didn’t answer me, I glanced up at her. The blank look on her face worried me, but then she said, “Mom died last year.”

Oh, God. My chest was tight. “I had no idea.”

That explained why I hadn’t seen any photos of her mom with the baby on her Facebook profile.

Her guard was back up. “Of course you didn’t. You weren’t here.”

I had no idea how to answer that. There was no denying it. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. I wasn’t sure what she wanted from this conversation, but at least she hadn’t pushed her cart away.

“So you’re a big Broadway star?” she asked.

“Not at the moment.” My mouth lifted into a self-deprecating smile. “Although one could argue that I’m an Internet star.” I laughed softly and she laughed with me.

“I always knew you were destined for greatness,” she said with a soft smile.

My heart felt a few ounces lighter. I’d made her laugh, even if it was inadvertent. I had a million questions, but I had no right to ask any of them and no idea where to start.

“You said it wasn’t my fault,” she murmured, smoothing a wrinkle on her baby’s shirt. “Whose fault was it?”

I could hardly tell her it was a vicious murderer’s fault. Not when those text messages and the magnolia blossom indicated he might be far from gone. “Not yours.”

“You broke my heart.” Her eyes were amazingly clear. There were no tears in them, but no hatred either.

I held her gaze. “You have no idea how much I wish things had turned out differently.”

“Are you staying?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”

“Came home to lick your wounds, then going back?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, breaking eye contact and looking down at her baby. “I was kind of hoping you were going to stick around.” She glanced back up at me. “I’d like to hear about some of your adventures.”

Not only was she talking to me, but she wanted to see me again. This was almost too good to be true. I smiled at her, my heart bursting. “I’d like to hear all about your life too.”

She released a brittle laugh. “I suspect it would bore you to tears.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The baby started to fuss and she released a heavy sigh. “I need to go.”

“I know.”

She started to push her cart away, but then she turned back and threw her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me tight. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” More than she probably realized.

Then, just as abruptly, she dropped her hold and stepped back, giving me a watery smile. “Have a good life, Magnolia.”

“You too.” My voice quavered.

She hurried away with her now squalling baby, but I was rooted to the ground next to the oranges, reconsidering everything.

O
’Malley’s was
a happening place for nine-thirty on a Sunday night. Momma had gone to bed early, so it had been easy to slip out of the house. She’d claimed she was coming down with something, but she seemed to be just plain exhausted, something I’d noticed a few times over the past few days. It was a reminder to think long and hard about the decision I had to make about where to go and what to do next.

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.