His mouth sagged; then he recovered enough to ask, “Did you see him?”

“No, but he did it to save me, so I’m sure it was him.”

“In the basement of Savannah House?” he asked.

“Yeah. Rowena found out that I had Daddy’s gold. She sent her goon to tell me to deliver it to her last Saturday night.”

“Gold?”

“It’s what Geraldo Lopez was looking for in my apartment,” I said, suddenly feeling exhausted. It felt good to tell someone else who might help me, but it was also emotionally draining. “I’d found it days before, hidden in a ceramic dog in my mother’s garage. Momma didn’t even know it was there. My brother had moved the entire contents of Christopher Merritt’s Nashville apartment into her garage, telling her the items belonged to a friend who’d been transferred to Hong Kong.”

“What?”

“I told you I know things.” It was a smug statement, really, but I didn’t sound smug. If anything, I sounded defeated. So many secrets. So many destroyed lives.

“Who told you this? Your mother? Your brother?”

“My sister-in-law. Belinda. My brother won’t tell me anything.” I shook my head. “Except at the will reading, he was upset I got Momma’s house, more upset than he should have been.” Then I told him what Roy had said, or rather what he’d implied, and Belinda and Brady’s differing accounts of the confrontation that had come later.

He was quiet for a moment. “How well do you trust Belinda?”

“Before last week, implicitly. Now . . . I don’t know.” I told Owen about Belinda’s parents, and how she blamed herself for Roy’s abuse because she’d encouraged him to work for Bill. I considered not telling him the rest, but we’d made an agreement, and I planned to see it through, so I went on to tell him that she’d held me at gunpoint to draw my father out of hiding.

“And you don’t know if you trust her?” he asked as though I were insane to consider it.

I supposed he had a point, and yet Belinda was more than the mistakes she’d made. “She’s a good person who made a few errors in judgment.”

“Errors in judgment that could get her arrested.”

I gasped. “You swore that—”

“Calm down, Magnolia,” he said with a frown. “I’m not telling anyone, but you need to think about what you just said. If your sister-in-law risked your life, do you really want to trust her?”

“She had her reasons.”

“And she could still have them. You did say that she stayed with your brother last night.”

He was right.

“And the musician?”

“Colt?”

“Yeah. Him. How’s he involved in this?”

“He’s not up for discussion, Owen.”

He looked irritated, but his expression softened. “Sorry. I realize it isn’t easy to share these things.”

Which made me realize that I was spilling out my life story and he’d hardly shared anything. “Why are you so certain your uncle is innocent?”

“I thought you believed Rowena Rogers.”

“Yes, but what made you decide he was innocent?”

His shoulders rose as he took a big inhale. “I saw how the accusations ripped him apart. How he let it define him, even after he quit the force. He’s an old man now and still bitter. I just never thought someone who was guilty could let his department’s betrayal rip him apart like that.”

“So you became a cop to avenge him?”

“No, more like to show them they could damage one Frasier, but they couldn’t destroy us all.” A wry grin twisted his mouth. “Which is funny since I’m about to lose my job.”

“Only, you don’t seem devastated by the thought.”

He chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’ve been bucking the status quo for years now. I would have been kicked out ages ago if not for Brady. He’s the sensible one.” His smile fell. “If you have to choose between Brady and Belinda, Brady’s the safer bet.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I figured it didn’t matter. I wasn’t counting on either one of them right now.

Debbie emerged from the kitchen carrying two plates, and I gestured to the photos. “Debbie’s coming out.”

Owen picked up the pile, flipped it over, and began to stuff the papers back in the envelope.

“Y’all doin’ okay?” she asked as she set our plates down. “Let me get you both some refills; then I’ll let you get back to it.”

“So why are you so interested in clearing your uncle’s name?” I asked after she left. “You’re about to hang up your badge.”

“It was never about me. It was more about helping Uncle Gordon get his pride back. I figured that I could help him get closure by proving that your dad was shady.” Then, as if realizing what he’d just said, he grimaced and added, “Sorry.”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m here with you now, Owen.”

Debbie returned with a pitcher of tea and water and refilled our glasses before heading back into the kitchen.

“You didn’t go to the police after you woke up in the woods?” Owen asked as he set the envelope down at the end of the table.

“No, I completely blocked out what happened in that house.”

His brow furrowed in a thoughtful look. “How did you explain the cut on your leg or your concussion? To your mother or yourself?”

“I didn’t. I was covered in mud from the rain, which helped disguise the blood on my clothes, and Momma thought I had a hangover, which explained my vomiting the next morning. But I knew I had to leave Franklin, so I bought a plane ticket to New York City. Every time I even thought about coming home, I had a panic attack.” He started to say something, so I added, “The only reason I came back a month ago was because I was humiliated, homeless, and broke. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“But you’re still here. You could have gone back.”

“I found out my mother was dying. And then I decided to dig into my father’s disappearance. You know I never believed the story about how he’d run off, so I was dead set to prove it wasn’t true. Now . . .” I paused. “Now, I’m trying to figure out his connection to the serial killer, because I know there is one. Every time something big happened with my father, the serial killer struck.”

Owen glanced down at the envelope.

“The file showed that there were murders twenty, seventeen, fourteen, and ten years ago. And now these recent ones,” I said. “Twenty years ago was the Jackson Project, and Daddy being accused of murdering Tripp Tucker’s fiancée was seventeen years ago.” I paused. “If you’ve investigated him, you knew about that one.”

He nodded.

“That coincided with his lawsuit with Tripp. Then fourteen years ago, he ran off.”

“And ten years ago?” Owen asked.

“I think Daddy came back for my high school graduation.”

“Holy shit,” Owen said. “What if your father is the killer?”

“My father is a lot of things, but I know he loves me. He saved me in the Savannah House basement. Besides, I would have recognized his voice.”

“We need to go out to that house,” Owen said. “The one where you witnessed the murder.”

“Brady’s been trying to get me to go out there since last week, and I keep putting him off.”

“Why?”

“Because it scares the crap out of me. When my memories of that night returned, I went out there to see if it was real. It’s still there—and still abandoned—but I couldn’t bring myself to go down into the basement. But I also didn’t go with him because I don’t trust him. Still, I’m not sure how I feel about going out there with you and leaving him hanging.”

“Then go with him.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“I’m serious. We’ve both established that Brady’s not the kind of guy who would hurt you. That way he’ll see it, and you’ll get him off your back.”

“You don’t want to see it?” I asked.

“I’ll see it. You can see it first with him.”

“I’m only going one more time, and that’s one time too many.”

“Fair enough.”

I toyed with the lettuce on my plate, suddenly losing my appetite.

“You said the killer has been texting you.”

“Ever since I got back into town.” I told him about all of the texts, including the warning that had specifically targeted Belinda. Plus the magnolia blossoms, the necklace Brady had given me, and the dead cat he’d left on Momma’s porch. It had looked like my childhood cat.

“So the killer has some connection to your past?” Owen said. “Maybe it was a professional relationship that was also personal. Someone who visited your father at home.”

“Bill James came over,” I said. “And Momma said that Tripp Tucker used to come over for dinner. Apparently several of his other young, up-and-coming country music clients used to come over too. I don’t remember any of them, but I was also pretty young.”

“Did your father ever host dinners for other clients? Your mother was a caterer. It stands to reason he would invite people over to impress them with your mother’s cooking.”

“I don’t remember, but I can ask Tilly, Momma’s best friend. There’s something else too.” I held his gaze. “Daddy and Bill James had another partner in the beginning. Eric Duncan. Tilly told me that Daddy and Bill kicked him out of the business because he tried to rape Momma.”

“Did they file charges?”

“No. They decided to keep it quiet.” I paused. “And there’s one more thing—Eric’s son, Clint Duncan, hired Daddy as his financial consultant instead of using his own father. He was an up-and-coming country star, and Daddy handled his money. Tilly said he was one of the guys who came over too.”

Owen looked interested in that one. “So Eric could have been pissed at your father for stealing his son as well as his career. I’ll look into it.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “I also need to pull the names of the victims to try and figure out the connection—if there is one—to your father.”

I shuddered. “I don’t want to look at those photos again.”

“I’ll take care of that part, but after I look at them, we need to return them.”

I groaned. “Not it.”

“Brady and I aren’t getting along right now.”

“Neither are we, yet I sucked it up and got the file. You get to replace it. I found them in the bottom of his underwear drawer.”

He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t protest.

“So now what?” I asked.

“After we finish, I’ll take you back to your car and go through the files. You’ll go home, lock your doors, and hide.”

“That’s it?”

“What did you think you were gonna do? Go interview people with me? Your part is done now.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit around and wait?”

He gave me a look that suggested that was exactly what he expected me to do.

“I need to know what you’re doing, Owen. You’re going to look at the files, but why don’t I investigate the women too?”

He gave me a wary look. “What are you suggesting?”

“Look, it only makes sense for both of us to work on this. You can do the police detective stuff—”

“I’m on leave, Magnolia. I won’t be doing police detective stuff. Not officially.”

“Fine. If you want to get technical,” I said, “then you do the dangerous stuff, and I’ll do the desk stuff like internet searches.”

He considered my suggestion for several seconds. “That’s actually a good idea.”

I gave him a smug look. “I have a few.”

“I’ll take another look at the files and pull some names and other information for you.”

We were silent for a few moments while he ate his sandwich. I picked at my salad, my stomach a mess with nerves.

Owen pulled out the envelope. “If you’re done eating, I’ll pull that information from the files.”

I set my napkin on the table. “Yeah. Go ahead. I think I’ll go to the restroom while you have the photos out.”

I had no desire to ever see them again. I slipped out of my seat and headed to the hall behind Owen.

I took my time in the restroom, rolling my eyes when I checked out my appearance in the mirror. I looked rough, but I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I tried to take enough time to ensure Owen would be finished by the time I got back to the table.

When I walked out of the restroom, he heard the door squeak and turned around to glance at me. “Ready to go?”

“You’re finished?”

He stood and laid some cash on the table, then handed me a page from his notebook. “Their names and information.”

“Thanks.” I tucked into my purse and pulled out my wallet. “How much was my part of the bill?”

He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. If you were a real informant, I’d pay you somehow. I got off easy with lunch.”

“Well . . . thanks.”

We headed out to his car, and I got in the backseat again. We were silent for most of the ride, but when Owen parked in the lot behind the catering business, he turned back to look at me. “I just can’t help thinking about the reason your father’s back. I think there’s something to the theory of the serial killer flushing him out, but why? Do you think he’s really back to collect an annuity?”

I stared at him, knowing something was off, but I couldn’t quite pick up on what. “Uh . . . I don’t know. He hasn’t tried to contact me, so I know that’s not his reason.”

He nodded. “Thanks for your help, Magnolia. Maybe you should get a burner phone too. Make it less likely anyone can tie us together.”

“Yeah,” I said absently. “Good idea. Thanks again, Owen.”

“Thank you. You’ve given me hope for the first time in years.”

I got out and watched him drive away, wishing I wasn’t feeling the exact opposite.