I knew I should clean my things out of my apartment, but it was hard to care about a couple of suitcases full of belongings. I headed straight to Belinda’s office instead. I was worried about her, but I was also hurt.

I found her in her reception area, creating a new display table with gold-rimmed china plates and crystal goblets.

She looked up at me as I walked in the door. Setting the goblet in her hand on the table, she said, “Magnolia, are you okay?”

I didn’t answer as I walked toward her, stopping only a few feet away.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” she said, absently smoothing out the wrinkles in her cream-colored linen pants.

“Is that what you want?” I asked. “Do you want him?”

She glanced down at her shoes. “It’s complicated, Magnolia.”

I tried to stuff down my pain. “I understand why you took him home—I do—but . . .” It was none of my business why she stayed with him. As hard as it was to accept, it was her choice. “I need to know what happened after you left.”

“I drove him home, Magnolia,” she said indignantly. “He didn’t drink and drive.”

I spun back around to face her. “I’m talking about after you took him home.”

“You’re upset with me for leaving you alone?”

“No . . . about the serial killer.”

She shook her head, slack-jawed. “What are you talking about?”

I hesitated. “Did Brady come to your house?”

“Yes, and he warned Roy to stay away from you.”

Was she lying to me? She looked genuinely confused.

“Belinda, I’m talking about the fact that Roy knows something about what happened to me ten years ago. He knows about the serial killer.”

“How would Roy know about the serial killer?”

“You heard what he said to me. He told me I was lucky and asked if I ever wondered how I got that way.”

“That could have meant anything,” Belinda said in frustration. “It’s a stretch to assume it had anything to do with the serial killer. Brady must be grasping at straws.”

“What did Brady say to Roy?”

“I told you. He warned Roy to stay away from you or he’d arrest him.”

“Were you with Roy the entire time he spoke with Brady?”

“No. Brady said he wanted to talk to him about something else. They exchanged looks and Roy told me to go inside.”

Brady claimed to have discussed everything in front of Belinda. One of them was lying, but which one? “How long were they outside alone?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a couple of minutes? I barely had the alarm turned off and my purse put away before Roy came inside.”

I had no idea what to believe. I desperately wanted to believe Belinda, but things weren’t adding up with her or Brady.

“I think Roy knows something,” I said. “Momma told me Roy hid my bloody clothes.”

Her face paled. “What?”

“The day after my graduation . . . She said Roy hid my bloody skirt.”

“How did your skirt get bloody?” she asked. While Belinda knew I’d had an encounter with the serial killer, I hadn’t told her all the gory details.

I’d worn yoga pants to clean Miss Ava’s house, so I grabbed the waistband and jerked them down to mid-thigh, showing Belinda and anyone walking past her office my black panties.

“Magnolia!” she shouted, turning away. “What are you doing?”

“Look at it!” I pointed to the scar on my leg. “This was why my skirt was bloody.”

When she realized I wasn’t going to pull my pants up until she looked, she slowly turned around and then focused on my leg. “Is that a scar?”

“This is the scar I told you about Saturday night. The serial killer cut it into my skin to remind me to keep my mouth shut. Emily had one too. So did Amy.”

“Is that why they asked me if she was a cutter?” Belinda asked in bewilderment. Then things started falling into place. “The killer . . .”

I pulled my pants back up. “Roy knows something about the killer. Either he was there in that house, or he saw the killer dump me at the edge of the woods, but he knows something.”

She slowly shook her head. Her eyes were wild. “No, Magnolia. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Think about it, Belinda. I was in that basement and lived through that hell, and the only way my mind could handle it was to block it from my memory. What if Roy saw something? How did he process it? What if he’s abusive because of that night?”

“That’s crazy!” she shouted. “Roy doesn’t know anything about the serial killer!”

“Are you sure?” I asked quietly. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

She started to say something, only to close her mouth before a word came out.

“I think the killer has something to do with Daddy,” I said. “Last week, Brady said he thought there was some connection, and I think he’s right. As best as I can tell, this all started twenty years ago, when the Jackson Project failed. Three years later, Tripp Tucker’s fiancée was murdered.”

“You think it was Tripp Tucker?”

“What if he did it and blamed Daddy?”

“So he killed random women?” She sounded incredulous.

“Were they random?” I asked. “No one other than Brady has connected the deaths.” Hopefully the FBI would show up soon and help catch this guy.

She was quiet for several seconds. “So tell Brady what you’re thinking. Let him investigate it.”

Except one of them was clearly lying, and I didn’t know which one of them to trust. “Why didn’t you come back to Momma’s house last night?”

She looked surprised by the sudden change in topic. “Roy needed me.”

“He needed you,” I said in a flat voice.

She sighed. “I know when you look at Roy, all you see is an angry man who lashes out. But he wasn’t always like that, Magnolia. He used to be happy.”

“That’s his problem, Belinda. Not yours.”

“It is my problem. I’ve made him unhappy.”

That just pissed me off. Colt was right—we all needed to stop coddling Roy. “You are not responsible for my brother’s happiness. Roy is responsible for his own happiness.”

Belinda looked down at the floor. “I made him take that job, Magnolia,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I made him take the job with Bill James.”

“No. You said he took it to find out the truth of what happened to Christopher Merritt.”

“He did, but I encouraged him to do it. He knew about my parents, and he hated your father. He saw it as a way to get revenge.”

“Then it was his decision, not yours.”

“He didn’t want to do it. I pressured him into it.”

I wasn’t sure how to handle that. Roy had told me that he’d groveled to get Bill to hire him—something that seemed to have humiliated him. Had Belinda really coerced him into it?

“Did he hit you back then?” I asked, sounding more accusatory than I’d intended.

“No! That only started over the last year and a half. Only once before the wedding, and he swore he’d never do it again.” Her voice trailed off, and she sounded embarrassed. “He’s just under so much pressure, and I haven’t been supportive—”

I held up my finger and wagged it at her. “Oh, hell no. Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare accept responsibility for his abuse.”

She fell silent.

“So now what?” I asked. “You stay with him forever? Until he doesn’t feel so much pressure?”

“He’s not like you, Magnolia. He doesn’t have anyone like you do.”

Her thought echoed the one I’d had the night of Momma’s funeral, but I didn’t feel sympathetic anymore. “And whose damn fault is that? You deserve better than him, Belinda. Momma begged you from her deathbed to leave him.”

“Don’t you bring your momma into this,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “She didn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand. Help me understand.”

“If I leave him . . . I have no idea what he’ll do.”

“And what does that mean?” I asked. “You don’t know what dry cleaners he’ll use to press his shirts? You don’t know how he’ll figure out what to eat for dinner? You don’t know how much he’ll drink if you’re not there to monitor his intake?”

I saw a flicker in her eyes that suggested I wasn’t far off with that one.

“You don’t know what he’ll do to manage his temper?” I asked. “You don’t know who he’ll use as his new punching bag?”

Humiliation filled her eyes, and while I was sorry for hurting her, I wasn’t sorry for what I’d said. I suspected she was worried about the last two, but if Roy was that much of a loose cannon, he shouldn’t be left to his own devices. And she definitely shouldn’t be monitoring him. He needed professional help.

“Belinda, you can make excuses for him until the cows come home, but I’m never gonna buy a word of it, and if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t buy it either. And you know that.”

More tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t contradict me.

“Just like Roy has to want help and has to want to change, you are the only person who can help yourself,” I said. “I love you, and I’m here for you, but it’s up to you, Belinda.” Then I turned around and walked out of her office. She didn’t call me back.

I had no idea what to do. I was devastated about Belinda, but I knew it was true. I couldn’t help her until she was ready to be helped. And I couldn’t trust her until I figured out the source of the inconsistency between her story and Brady’s.

Who could I turn to? Of the people who knew enough to help, I trusted Colt the most, and yet there was no getting around the fact that he’d been tangled up with my father (willingly or not).

My phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Magnolia Steele?” I recognized the voice. Detective Martinez. “We need you to come to the police station right away for an interview.”

“An interview?” I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her right now. “That’s funny,” I said in a flippant tone, “I don’t remember applying for a job at the Franklin Police Department.”

“You might think you’re cute, Ms. Steele, but I assure you that you’re not. If I don’t see you in an hour, I’ll send a patrol car to pick you up.”

I wasn’t sure if that was an empty threat, but testing her didn’t seem like a good idea. “I can’t wait to see you, Detective Martinez. I’m passing Starbucks on the way. Can I pick you up a drink? You seem like a Caramel Macchiato kind of girl. Nonfat?”

What the hell was I doing? But I was pissed at the world right now and apparently setting it on fire.

I’d psychoanalyze myself later.

“Sure, Ms. Steele,” she said in a saccharine voice, “you can get me something. A confession. See you in thirty minutes now.” Her cheerfulness was unnerving.

Good Lord, I was stupid.

I considered going in and asking Belinda if she’d gotten a call too. We were supposed to share an attorney, but I had a feeling I should leave her alone for the time being. Let her sit on what I’d said. Besides, I’d had an attorney with me on my first interview at the police station, and a fat lot of good it had done me. Emily had practically turned into a statue and left me to my own devices.

I could do this on my own.

I decided to walk to the police station to buy some time. I needed to take Brady’s advice and play a role. I was good at playing roles, but I’d gotten too comfortable in Franklin. I’d started being myself, which might be the most dangerous thing I could do.

As soon as I walked into the police department, I headed up to the reception window, big as I pleased. My role was an innocent woman with nothing to hide, but this wrongly accused woman I was playing was no passive wallflower. She was tired of taking shit, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

Essentially, she was me . . . with less knowledge.

I suspected this wouldn’t go over well.

The receptionist picked up her phone. Moments later, the door to the back opened and Detective Martinez walked out wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt—it wasn’t a blouse because there was nothing feminine about it. She was dressed for police business. And the way she held the door open, her back ramrod stiff, her head slightly turned so her gleaming eyes were trained on me, told me her current police business was taking me down.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “If it isn’t Magnolia Steele ready to give me my confession.” She looked me up and down, taking in my yoga pants and fitted T-shirt. “You just walk out of a Pilates class?”

“You really ought to try it,” I said with a whole lot of attitude. “It’ll do wonders for your figure.”

Her eyes flashed with vengeance.

Well, if I was going down, I was leaving a scorched earth behind me.

She seemed to recover slightly and gestured to the back. “Right this way, Ms. Steele.”

I walked through the door, past a few desks, then down a hall into an interrogation room. The same one she’d used when Brady had called me and asked me to come in for questioning, although he was conspicuously absent this time.

I took the same seat I’d used before.

She followed me in, shutting the door as she chuckled. “You seem familiar with the drill.”

I crossed my legs and stared at her, trying to keep my face emotionless. Her statement didn’t need a response.

“What have you been up to, Magnolia?”

“Have we moved on to first names, Maria?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “I’ll be sure to update our relationship status on Facebook.”

A grin spread across her face, but she didn’t look amused. “Why the hostility? What are you trying to hide?”

“Hide? Maybe I’m hostile because I don’t like you. You showed up after my mother’s funeral while I was still entertaining mourners. I’d just buried my mother, Detective, and your attitude was callous and cold. And maybe I feel inconvenienced at being forced to come down here at your whim,” I said. “Maybe I had plans this morning. Dealing with estate issues is messy business.” Little did she know.

“You know what else is messy?” she asked, sitting in the chair across the table from me. “Murder.”

“That seems like your area of expertise, Detective Martinez, so I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, but you’ve witnessed a murder or two, Magnolia,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Have I?” I asked, sounding bored. Finding two dead bodies wasn’t the same as witnessing a murder. “I think I’d remember something like that.”

Detective Martinez leaned forward. “You’re telling me you’ve completely blocked it out?”

Ice slid down my spine, but I reminded myself she didn’t know anything about that night ten years ago and quickly covered any possible reaction. She was trying to get me to break on Rowena Rogers’s murder. “Blocked out a murder? I must have if I don’t remember it.”

She looked pissed. “So you’re saying you don’t remember when Geraldo Lopez was shot?”

“Geraldo Lopez? Of course I remember Detective Frasier shooting him,” I said, shaking my head in confusion. “But I didn’t consider it murder. Dr. Lopez was about to slash my face with a knife. Detective Frasier shot him to protect me.”

“Detective Frasier ended his life with his gun. We call that murder.”

“You’re charging Detective Frasier with murder?” I asked incredulously, then instantly regretted breaking character. But Detective Martinez didn’t seem to notice.

“Our internal investigation has determined that Detective Frasier acted appropriately in the line of duty. But the death certificate still states the cause of death as murder by gunshot wounds.”

What was she hoping to prove? “Why am I here, Detective? I don’t think you want to question me about the night Geraldo Lopez died.”

“Maybe I do. Were you two friends?”

“I met Dr. Lopez briefly at my father’s office when I was a child.”

“Not Dr. Lopez. Detective Frasier.”

“No, but we’re acquaintances.”

Her eyebrows rose. “How so?”

“Through Brady . . . Detective Bennett. I met Detective Frasier outside the police station when I dropped by to see Detective Bennett. Then I saw him again at a bar called the Kincaid. I was there singing with Colt Austin, and Detective Bennett was there with friends. Detective Frasier was one of them. After we left the stage, Detective Bennett invited me to his table.”

“Did you talk about the case at all?”

“Which case?” I asked. “Dr. Lopez hadn’t broken into my apartment yet.”

“The Walter Frey case. You were the one to discover his body. Surely you met Detective Frasier during the investigation of that case.”

“When Detective Frasier arrived at the murder scene—the Walter Frey murder scene,” I added to be clear, “he seemed to have his hands full. Detective Bennett was there, so he took my statement.”

“You never talked to Detective Frasier about the Walter Frey case at all?”

“When we were at the Kincaid, I asked him if there had been any progress, and he said he couldn’t talk about it.”

“And that’s it? He never called you? Never dropped by to see you?”

“What is this?” I asked, getting irritated. I needed to derail this fast. “If Detective Frasier is interested in dating me, perhaps he should man up and call me himself.”

Detective Martinez was getting pissed. “He doesn’t want to date you.”

“Then why all the questions about whether or not he called me or dropped by to see me?”

“We’re trying to determine if there was any irregularity about the Frey murder investigation.”

“That sounds like a Franklin Police problem. Why involve me?”

From the look on her face, I was pretty sure Maria Martinez would shoot me dead if she thought there was a remote chance she could get away with it. “As I said, we’re trying to determine if there were any irregularities. When you found Mr. Frey, did you notice anything unusual?”

“I found a bullet hole in his head,” I said in a dry tone. “I consider that unusual.”

She waited a second. “Did you see anything else?”

“I was too busy freaking out that I’d found another dead man to notice anything else.”

“Did you see a cell phone?”

“Yeah. My own. The bartender found me right after I stumbled upon Mr. Frey’s body. He had my purse. I got out my phone and called Detective Bennett.”

Her eyes lit up. “And why did you call Detective Bennett instead of 911?”

“You want the truth?”

She held her hands out from her sides—a Eureka! gesture—and gave me a fake-friendly smile. “At last. That’s why we’re here.”

“I called Brady because of the way your department treated me after I found Max Goodwin’s body. I was utterly traumatized and received no sympathy whatsoever. Instead, you treated me as a suspect. I wasn’t over the trauma of that ordeal, so when I found Walter Frey’s body, I panicked. I didn’t think I could handle those accusations again, so I called Brady.” At least all of that statement was true.

“What made you think Detective Bennett would help?”

“Because I knew he would be less likely to automatically consider me a suspect.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because he told me that he had believed I was innocent of Max Goodwin’s murder.”

“How did you have his number?”

“After Amy Danvers’s death, Brady made it clear he was interested in dating me. He gave it to me.” But that wasn’t true. He’d given it to me before that, but it didn’t seem prudent to tell her so.

Surprise filled her eyes. “Detective Bennett said he wanted to date you?”

“Are you serious?” Was she messing with me? According to Brady, half the department knew I’d lived with him for nearly a week, which meant his partner had to know.

The scowl that covered her face was so deep, I suspected she’d have permanent lines. “Have you dated Detective Bennett?”

I resisted the urge to cross my arms; I knew that would make me look like I was on the defensive. Instead, I rested my hands in my lap and said in a bored tone, “I’m not sure what my personal life has to do with Walter Frey’s murder investigation.”

“Are you or are you not dating Detective Bennett?”

“I most certainly am not.”

She watched me for several seconds as though trying to determine if I was lying. “Why does your brother think you killed your mother?”

“He doesn’t. Like we told you the other day, my mother had a DNR. She was tired of fighting cancer after three years of chemo, especially since the doctors had told her there was nothing more they could do for her. So when she came down with an infection, she refused antibiotics. My brother and I both tried to convince her to change her mind, but she refused. Roy told the nurse he was going to contact his lawyer. Momma changed her mind the next day—” I paused when my voice broke. “But it was too late, and she died that night.”

“Why did your brother blame you?”

“Because he couldn’t believe our mother would voluntarily leave him. He had to blame someone, and I’ve always been his favorite scapegoat.”

“Did you go to the masquerade ball?”

She was employing my whiplash technique, but I was ready for her. “The answer’s still yes. I attended with Colt Austin. I wanted to stay at the hospital with my mother, but she insisted that I go. She missed seeing me dressed up for prom, so she insisted I dress up for the ball so she could take photos.”

She made a face that suggested I’d mentioned something interesting to her. “Aww . . . Colt Austin. He works at your mother’s catering business?”

“Yes.”

“Are you romantically involved with him?”

“I’m not sure how that’s pertinent to this discussion.”

She grinned, but there was danger in her eyes. “Answer the question anyway.”

“At the risk of sounding cliché, it’s complicated.”

“And what makes it complicated?”

I gave her a deadpan look. “Shouldn’t we be painting each other’s nails while we discuss our relationships? Is there anything you’d like to share about yours?”

“Answer the question, Ms. Steele. What makes it complicated?”

“My mother died five days ago, Detective Martinez. It seems like a bad time to make a decision about dating someone.”

“And yet he’s living with you?”

“Colt Austin isn’t living with me.”

“Then why has he spent every night with you since your mother died?”

“And how would you be in a position to know that?” I asked. Had she been spying on me?

Her grin was confirmation enough. Why would she put so much effort into knowing who was staying at Momma’s house?

“Colt is a friend. He’s been my friend since the night I moved back to Franklin. He worked for my mother and her partner for three years. He was close to them both, so he took my mother’s death hard. We’re both dealing with her loss, and neither of us wants to be alone.” I tilted my head. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So you attended the ball with Colt Austin. How long did you stay?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but we left early. And since I know you’ll undoubtedly want to know why, it’s because we had a disagreement. Colt didn’t like the way I reacted to seeing Brady at the ball.”

“You saw Detective Bennett at the ball?”

“He attended with his mother.”

“And what was your reaction?”

I was treading on dangerous ground. “I was unnerved and slightly embarrassed,” I said. “I’d had a brief relationship with Brady, and I was there with Colt days later. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Brady.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You were with Brady Bennett romantically? You dated?”

Why was she acting so surprised at the thought of a connection between us? “Yes. But like I said, it was very brief. I’m not sure you could call it dating.”

“And what would Detective Bennett call it? A hookup? A one-night stand?”

The door behind her opened and Brady walked in with a dark look on his face. “I’m sure she’d call it the beginning of a relationship.”