I didn’t sleep well. Roy lurked in my dreams, and I woke up over a half dozen times. Colt was there every time, but I felt like I was using him. After the fourth time, I confessed my guilt, but Colt assured me that he wanted to be there.

I was eager to have a morning away from anyone who had witnessed my meltdown the night before. Shame rushed through me when I thought about my reaction. I’d worked so hard at being strong. Would I ever be able to put a permanent end to my panic attacks?

Normally, I would’ve thought I was certifiable for looking forward to a visit to Ava Milton’s house, but today was different. Ava usually left me to my own devices when I cleaned, but if I played my cards right, I’d get to spend some extra time with her this morning.

I hadn’t heard directly from the killer for nearly thirty-six hours, but I knew it was just a matter of time.

My apartment was above the detached garage behind Miss Ava’s century-old house, only a few blocks from downtown. I parked in the spot Miss Ava had assigned me—in the driveway behind the house—then walked up to the back door that led to the kitchen. I’d planned to knock, but Miss Ava had seen me coming, as usual. She opened the solid wooden door and stared at me through the screen door.

“I’m surprised you had the nerve to show up,” she said in a snippy tone.

“A deal’s a deal,” I said as I stopped about ten feet from the door.

“Don’t you have paperwork to deal with regarding your mother’s death?”

“Already taken care of.” I held on to my purse strap and maintained eye contact. “My mother was an organized woman. Are you going to let me in?”

Her steely eyes narrowed. “Why are you really here, Magnolia Steele?”

“To clean your house, Ava Milton.” I used a little more sass than I probably should have given the situation, but Ava gained part of her power through intimidation, and I refused to let the woman intimidate me. I’d been terrorized in a basement by a serial killer. That put everything else into perspective.

“You were rude at the masquerade ball,” she said.

“So you only want milquetoasts cleaning your house?” I quipped.

Her chin lifted slightly, and I knew I’d pushed her too far. “I always knew you were an insolent girl.”

She started to shut the door, but I said, “I’m here to bargain with your favorite kind of currency.”

The trajectory of the door reversed, and she opened it wide enough to show the left side of her face. “What does that mean?”

I had more information than I intended to share with her, so the real question was what would be enough to get her to cooperate. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re shortsighted enough to turn me away after everything that happened at the masquerade ball. Especially since Rowena Rogers was murdered days after I asked about her,” I said. “And then there’s the fact my father’s business partner has since disappeared.”

She remained silent.

“You told me your career was using information. I’d think you, of all people, would want to get as much information as you could.”

“Who’s to say I don’t already know?”

“Then send me away, but you’ll regret it before I’m inside my car.”

She opened the door a little wider. “Why would I presume you know anything?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

The door swung open, and she disappeared into the kitchen. I took that as a sign that I was invited inside.

She was standing in front of the coffee maker, pouring coffee into a white mug. There was already one next to her on the counter, so I knew she’d poured this one for me. She handed it to me with a defiant look. “Start talking.”

“I was thinking we could arrange a barter,” I said, taking the cup. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of cream.

She frowned. “I’m listening.”

I poured cream into my coffee and put the carton back into the fridge. “I talked to Rowena on Saturday morning.”

“Does that mean you’re a suspect in Rowena’s murder?”

“No.” Not technically. “Have you heard who is?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “Is that the information you want to barter for?”

“No,” I said. “Consider this part a friendly exchange.”

Miss Ava snorted. “So you and I are friendly now?”

I sat down at her kitchen table and took a sip of my coffee. “We’ve had our moments.”

“You’re far too presumptuous, Magnolia Steele. Far too confident.”

“And maybe that will be my downfall,” I said in a dry tone, “but at least I’ll fall informed. I’m sure you’ve told yourself the same thing many times over.”

Ava stared at me with steely gray eyes that were still sharp and observant despite her age—sixties, on the low end, but I’d begun to suspect she was in her seventies. “Why are you still digging?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she watched me. “Surely you have your answers by now.”

I’d thought so too. Now I wasn’t so sure.

While I was desperate for information on my brother, I knew I needed to butter her up first. Besides, there were plenty of other things I wanted to know.

Brady had been assigned to Emily’s murder, so he was officially working the serial killer case—whether the department knew there was one or not—but I was more likely to get information from Ava Milton than he was, not to mention I didn’t quite trust him. I needed to use it to my advantage, especially since the whole thing was like a giant spider web, and at the moment, I was the only one standing in the center.

I gave Ava a cold, hard stare. “Miss Ava, I’ve only just begun digging.”

To my surprise, she broke out into a full-on belly laugh. When she finally settled down, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes and sat down across from me. “There’s never a dull moment with you, Magnolia.”

“I suppose life is pretty dull when you know everything,” I said. “And I suspect it’s been a long time since someone surprised you.”

Her grin was genuine. “Maybe not as long as you think.”

“What do you know about Eric Duncan?”

She tried to hide her reaction, but I’d caught her off guard. “He was a partner of your father’s . . . back in the day. One of his first partners.”

“And do you know why he left?”

“Eric Duncan had a serious case of wanderlust—with his eyes and his hands. I wasn’t surprised when he left your father’s partnership, but I was surprised when his son became your father’s client.”

I couldn’t hide my reaction. “What?”

She grinned and her eyes lit up with victory. “You didn’t know?”

“Obviously not. Why would Eric Duncan’s son choose Daddy as his financial planner?”

“Because Clint Duncan was an up-and-coming singer. His first big hit earned him a large royalty check. Max Goodwin coerced Clint into hiring your father.”

Clint Duncan. His name struck a chord. I remembered one of his huge hits from when I was a kid—“Baby, You’re Mine”—but I’d also seen his name in one of Miss Ava’s newspaper clippings. There’d been a photo of Clint and Daddy at a fundraiser. But it made no sense that Clint would hire Daddy when his own father was a financial planner, especially since the rival planners were likely enemies. “I bet that didn’t go over too well with Eric.”

Her grin spread and her eyes sparkled with mischief. She loved this. She took a sip of her coffee, her pinky extending from the cup. “It seems to me that I’m the only one doling out information here. When are you going to start dishing it?”

What to tell her? I should have come up with a better plan before I started this game. “Rowena admitted to having an affair with my father. She said he took off with a one-million-dollar investment. She put cameras up in my apartment in an attempt to get it back.”

Miss Ava released a harsh laugh. “If you’re going to feed me false information, then this deal is pointless.”

“And what part of that is false?” I asked defiantly.

“Rowena didn’t put those cameras in your apartment, Magnolia, though it doesn’t surprise me that she tried to take credit for it.” She tutted, as if chastening a naughty toddler. “And after I was kind enough to grant her access to them . . .”

She was admitting that she had done it. Only, she wouldn’t have done it herself, would she? My blood turned icy. Had Colt installed the cameras? I knew he’d installed security cameras before, and he’d done all kinds of odd jobs for Rowena. But why would he point the cameras out if he’d been the one to install them? It didn’t make any sense. I needed to let it go for now. I had more important issues to deal with. “Why would you put cameras in my apartment?”

“Why not? I knew you were full of information, and I wanted it.”

“You wanted the gold.”

Her answer was a wide grin.

“You put the cameras in after Geraldo Lopez was killed,” I said, reassuring myself that she hadn’t spied on me for long.

Her eyebrows rose playfully, or as playfully as Miss Ava could achieve.

She could be trying to psych me out. Maybe I could flush out the truth. “Rowena thought I had the gold, but if you installed the cameras before Geraldo Lopez broke in, you must have known better. He stole it from me.”

“Not all of it. There was another bag.”

There it was—confirmation that she’d watched me pull the remaining bag of gold out of the wipes container hidden under the kitchen sink. I needed to pull myself together. I should have known by now that Ava Milton was ruthless. “That bag was stolen too. From my car.” No need to tell her about the one Colt’d had evaluated. After all, we no longer had any of it.

“You should have gotten a safety deposit box. Or buried it in my backyard.”

“Why would you want one million in gold?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.

That made no sense. Robbery seemed beneath her. Why would she give Rowena access to the cameras if Miss Ava wanted the gold for herself? Then it hit me—she was trying to flush out my father too. “Now neither of us has it.”

“That’s because Bill James does,” she said.

“And why do you think he has it?”

“He confronted Rowena in that basement. He shot her, and I know you witnessed it.”

How did she know we were down there? “And now you’re feeding me erroneous information,” I said. “Bill James didn’t kill Rowena, and he definitely doesn’t have the gold.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “You have it?”

I laughed. “You’re more concerned with who has the gold than with who killed Rowena?”

“Why would I care who killed Rowena?”

I lifted my eyebrows.

“So who has the gold?”

“I think you know.” I held her gaze. “My father.”

She sat back in her chair, and her gaze turned cloudy. “So he’s really back? You’ve seen him?”

Not in the basement, but I had no doubt he’d been there. “I saw him two days ago.”

A knowing look washed over her face. “He stayed for your mother’s funeral.” She pushed out a breath wearily. “He really did love her, in spite of his philandering.”

I had serious doubts about that, but I kept my thoughts to myself. I decided to throw her off again. “What do you know about the serial killer?”

Her reaction lasted no longer than a blink, so quick that someone who didn’t know her wouldn’t have noticed. “What serial killer?”

“The man who killed Emily Johnson. And Amy Danvers.” My gaze focused on her. “And Melanie Seaborn.”

Her face slightly paled. “Amy Danvers killed herself.”

“Did she?”

Miss Ava paled even more.

“There were more,” I said. “Unfortunate women whose names I don’t know, but they’re still just as dead. All starting twenty years ago.”

She didn’t respond.

“It has something to do with Daddy, but I can’t find the connection.”

“You think I know it?” she asked, sounding belligerent.

“Why did you hire Colt?” I asked.

“You think I’m sharing the terms of my employment of Colt Austin with you?”

“I think you’re scared of the serial killer.”

She didn’t answer.

“What do you know about my brother?” I asked.

She looked startled. “A woman could get whiplash talking to you.”

“What do you know about my brother?” I repeated.

“He’s working for Bill James. He married Belinda Germaine last year. He’s an alcoholic and an abuser.”

“What else?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Is there something else I should know?”

Was she bluffing? I looked at her for a long moment, weighing her sincerity, before deciding that she seemed genuine.

“Who do you think the serial killer is?” I asked.

“If I knew, he would already be arrested.” She took a sip of her coffee, but her hand shook slightly.

“The serial killer has something to do with my father.”

“Maybe Brian Steele is the killer. He was accused of murder before,” she said, some of her attitude returning.

“A drifter was arrested for Tiffany Kessler’s murder.” Seventeen years ago.

“But did the drifter really commit the murder?” she asked. It was a good question. What if Tiffany Kessler’s photo had been in Brady’s envelope? Aside from Melanie, I hadn’t looked at the names. Couldn’t bring myself to.

On the surface, it didn’t look good for my father, but I would have recognized Daddy’s voice in that basement, and as much as Roy seemed to hate Daddy, I doubt my brother would have kept that a secret.

And yet there was no denying the murders had taken place at weirdly specific intervals, ones that matched up with major events in Daddy’s life.

“I have reason to believe he didn’t do it,” I finally said, “but someone who knows him has been killing those women. It started twenty years ago, around the time the Jackson Project imploded. There was another murder seventeen years ago, after Tripp sued Daddy, and fourteen years ago, when Daddy disappeared. Then ten years ago . . .”

What had happened ten years ago?

I’d graduated high school.

Daddy must have come back for my graduation. The revelation was enough to almost tip me over in a dead faint.

“. . . and this last month,” I finished, my voice softer.

“And three years ago,” Miss Ava said in a strained voice.

“Three years ago?” I asked, jerking my gaze to hers. Brady hadn’t mentioned a murder three years ago, but if there had been one, it might have coincided with Chris Merritt’s disappearance. “What murder?”

She drew in a deep breath before a grim smile lifted her lips. “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think.” Before I could say anything, she asked, “Do you think your father has been in town for the last month?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

She remained silent, and I stood and took my coffee cup to the sink.

“Are you ready to get to work?” Miss Ava asked.

“Yes. I definitely am.” I rinsed out the cup, then walked out the back door.