As I walked through the door into Ava Milton’s kitchen, I knew I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. After the way I’d handled our conversation the day before, I suspected she’d make a fool out of me, but the unlocked back door also seemed like an open invitation—or a dare. Probably both.

The kitchen looked messier than usual with unwashed pots and pans in the sink, but the table was covered with the usual display of food. I heard voices in the living room, and I walked toward it, the clicking of my shoes ensuring there would be no sneaking up on anyone.

Miss Ava was standing in the front of several rows of chairs, as usual, and she stopped talking as I approached the group and sat in a chair in the back. Her mouth sagged open with what appeared to be shock, a new sensation for her, I was sure.

A shudder rippled through her body before she said, “Magnolia Steele, what do you think you’re doing?”

I crossed my legs and tried to look prim and proper. “I’m here for the Bible study, Miss Ava.”

“You were not invited. You are not a member.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Do you want me to take notes to justify my presence like you had me do last week?” I looked around the room. “Is anyone else on the chopping block?” I focused my attention on a woman in the second row and pointed my finger at her. “Georgine, have you been stirring up shit again? I bet you’re next.” She was Miss Ava’s nemesis and had challenged her at every opportunity at both meetings I’d attended. Miss Ava must have some reason for keeping her around.

Multiple gasps filled the room.

“Magnolia, will you kindly leave?” Miss Ava said in a tight voice. Her eyes were slightly bugged out, and her cheeks were pinker than usual.

“No . . .” I said, tilting my head to the side. “I have some old business to discuss . . . or is it new business?” I sat up straighter and held her gaze. “Maybe I should just bring it up between the two discussions. That way we can cover both.”

Miss Ava’s face started turning red.

“By all means,” I said with a slight hand wave. “Go on with your meeting. I’ll wait.” When no one said anything for a few seconds, I said, “Oh. Did you just finish with old business?”

The woman next to me, an elderly woman named Ruth, turned to me with a downturned mouth and patted my arm. “Magnolia, are you feeling all right? Your mother died less than a week ago. It must still be quite a shock.”

I gave her a sweet smile. She was one of the kinder members of the group. “Thank you, Miss Ruth. And thank you for the flowers you sent to the funeral. That was so sweet of you. I’ll be sure to send you a thank you card once I have this whole serial killer situation under control.”

Her mouth dropped open as if I’d tripped a lever, and the room filled with louder gasps than before.

“Serial killer?” Georgine burst out. “What serial killer?”

I shifted in my seat so I could see Georgine. “The one who killed Emily Johnson last week. And Amy Danvers a few weeks ago. And Melanie Seaborn ten years ago, Margarie Turnwell fourteen years ago, and Tiffany Kessler seventeen years ago. Twenty years ago, poor Stella Hargrove was the first victim . . . as far as I can tell.” I cocked my head as I turned my attention on Miss Ava. “There was also a murder three years ago, but you forgot to give me details on that one.” I glanced around with a sheepish look. “Sorry. Please let me know when it’s my time to talk.”

Thirty-two sets of eyes stared at me.

Good thing I thrived on attention.

“So does that mean it’s my turn after all?” I asked sweetly.

Miss Ava seemed to get control of herself. “You’ve already hijacked the meeting, so by all means, carry on, Magnolia.”

I stood and gave her a good-natured grin. “You know you want to hear what I have to say.”

“You’re wrong about Amy Danvers,” Georgine said with a smug tone. “She committed suicide and wrote a note confessing to the murder of those two men.”

“And that’s exactly what the serial killer wanted you to think,” I said, walking toward the front of the group where Miss Ava stood. “Only, I know for a fact that Amy Danvers didn’t kill Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton.”

“And how do you know that?” Miss Ava demanded.

I swung around to face her. “Because my father killed them.”

The gasps were even louder this time.

“What do you mean your father killed them?” Miss Ava asked. “How do you know that?”

“Because he and I had this lovely chat last night—a real tête-à-tête.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Georgine, in case you’re wondering, that means face-to-face and private.” She undoubtedly knew what it meant, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to screw with Miss Ava’s nemesis.

“And what was discussed in this supposed meeting?” Miss Ava asked, clearly flustered.

“Well . . .” I said with a hint of a drawl. “I can’t tell you everything. Father-daughter stuff, you know, but I can tell you he told me that he killed a number of people. When I asked how many, he would only say they all deserved it. I think there might be more murders, but none of you have anything to worry about unless you think your name might be on my father’s naughty list . . .”

Miss Ava’s face paled.

“I knew you made a huge mistake by hiring her!” Georgine shrieked as the room broke out into chaos.

From the hysteria behind me, I suspected more than a few were worried they might be next on Daddy’s list. The fact that over half of them ran out of the house confirmed it.

Miss Ava composed herself once more, placing her hand on her stomach as she inhaled deeply. Georgine was shouting at her, telling her she’d pay dearly for putting them all in danger.

Poor Ruth approached me, her hand shaking as she reached for me. “I hope you tell your father I sent the flowers for your mother.”

Struggling to keep a straight face, I said, “I’ll be sure to let him know.” With that, she scurried out with the others.

What in God’s name had these women done?

Only a handful of them had the gumption to stay, Georgine included. She seemed worried, so I suspected she’d be the most likely to cave.

I pivoted to face her. “There was a murder three years ago, around the same time Christopher Merritt disappeared. Who was killed?”

Her face paled. “She was Walter Frey’s niece.”

I resisted the shiver creeping along my spine. “His niece? What happened to her?”

“She was murdered in Florida.”

“Florida?”

“She was going to college there. They never found the killer.”

“Why did you think it had something to do with my father?” I asked, whipping around to look at Miss Ava.

“Because,” Miss Ava said in a dull voice, “Walter received an anonymous text from someone who said he hoped his warning had been understood.”

“What did the police say?”

“He never told them.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “How did you find out?”

“A year later, Ruby told us. She was distraught because Walter was in trouble over some land deal and their daughter was getting married, and after all the trouble from the past . . . she was considering leaving him.”

“And that’s when you hired Colt. For protection. Did he know why?”

“No,” Ava said, taking a seat in a now-empty chair in the front row. “I told him I’d had an intruder and observed how he handled it. I needed to know he’d protect me if the need arose.”

“And you rented the apartment to me to find out what I knew about my father.”

She nodded.

“I told you it was stupid!” Georgine shouted, agitated again. “You’ve only riled him up again!”

“How did his niece die?” I asked.

“Her throat was slit.”

I expected as much, but it was shocking nonetheless. One more innocent woman brutalized for what? So many lives had been lost.

“My father didn’t kill Walter Frey’s niece,” I said, hoping I was right. He’d seemed confused by the idea of a serial killer, and he’d flat-out denied any involvement in Amy’s death.

“Then who did?” Georgine asked in a snippy tone.

“Look,” I said, turning to face her again, “I just admitted that my father killed people. I have no reason to lie about this, and I’m trying to find out myself.”

“Why aren’t the police handling it?” another woman asked as she twisted the fabric of her shirt at the base of her throat. It took me a second to remember her name was Jackie.

“Because the police don’t seem to be taking this seriously. I need to stop the man before he kills someone else.” I leveled my gaze at Miss Ava. “I need you to tell me everything you know. No more games.”

She glared at me, and Georgine shouted, “Oh, for God’s sake, Ava! Let go of your stubborn pride!”

Miss Ava took a breath, then pursed her lips into a thin line. “Magnolia, take a seat. I’m straining my neck looking up at you.”

I grabbed a chair from the other side of the aisle, plopped it in front of Miss Ava, and then sat facing her. “I’m tired of playing twenty questions. Just save us all a lot of trouble and spit it out.”

Miss Ava tried to look offended, but it didn’t take. She seemed too worried to pull it off effectively. “We all invested in your father’s project,” she said, her voice sounding deflated. “Some of us lost a lot of money. We wanted our money back.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, I’m not buying that. Sure, you wanted your money back, but you’re pretty vindictive. I suspect you wanted your money back, but only as a side dish to your revenge entree.”

She pursed her lips and nodded her head slightly.

“How’d this group work?” I asked. “Christopher Merritt’s and Walter Frey’s wives were part of your group, not to mention Rowena Rogers herself. Didn’t you see them as enemies?”

Miss Ava gave me a condescending smile. “You know the saying, my dear. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

Jackie sat down next to Miss Ava, and the older woman gave her a distasteful look, not that Jackie seemed to notice. “That’s not who they wanted revenge on,” she said.

“My father.”

“We knew he was still alive,” Miss Ava said, her attitude returning.

“So we laid a trap,” Jackie said.

“You did no such thing,” Miss Ava snipped. “You were no part of it.”

A pouty look washed over Jackie’s face. “I voted for it.”

“And that’s not the same thing at all,” Miss Ava said.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t give a flip who voted for what. I want to know what you did.”

Miss Ava’s sense of indignation resurfaced. “I will not stand to be spoken to in such an insolent manner, Magnolia Steele.”

“Perhaps I should call my daddy,” I said in a syrupy sweet tone. “And ask him who else is on his list.”

She scowled and I was pretty sure I’d made an enemy for life.

“So,” I prodded, “you all decided to plot against my father. I take it the partners’ wives and Rowena were part of the plot.”

“We knew he’d stolen that money, and we wanted it back. And sure enough, he took off with millions.”

I gave her a look of disgust. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me that at the start?”

Her thin silver eyebrows rose. “Would you have believed it? Everyone knew you maintained his innocence when you were a child. I was determined to find out if you still believed it.”

“Which was why you decided to keep an eye on me.”

“And once you found out that I believed he was murdered . . .”

“I decided I could gently guide you toward the truth. Colt was supposed to help me, but he dragged his heels. That’s why I needed the cameras.”

“Gently guide me toward the truth,” I mocked, but even as I said the words, I realized she was absolutely right. The evidence she’d presented me with—those old newspaper clippings, the small teases of information—had been the best way to hook me in and challenge my beliefs.

“Good job.” I brought my hands together with one clap, startling the three of them. The only women still left. “Mission accomplished. We’re all on the same page that my father is a thieving murderer. What’s next?”

Ava’s mouth opened, then closed.

“We were hoping to get you on our side,” Jackie said. “So you’d help us.”

“Only, we planned to be more conniving than that,” Georgine said.

“Well, of course,” I said. “That’s a given since Miss Ava’s involved.”

Miss Ava scowled.

I held my arms out. “Phase one complete. I’m on your side. What’s the plan?”

Georgine leaned closer. “We want you to find out where he’s hidden the money.”

“So you can get it back?” I asked.

“Of course.”

I narrowed my eyes at Miss Ava. “What’s the real plan? Not the one you fooled your friends with.”

When she refused to look me in the eye, it hit me. “Oh . . . I was part of the plan.”

Georgine looked confused. “Of course you were. You were supposed to find out how we can get the money back.”

“Georgine,” I said as though I was talking to a toddler. “Really? You believe that? Does that sound like Ava Milton to you?”

“Like I said, we were going to be a lot more conniving.” She cast a glance at Miss Ava, who kept her eyes down.

The fact that she wouldn’t look at me was freaking me out. “You wanted your money, and you also wanted to make him pay. So you were planning on blackmailing him by using me, but how?”

Ava looked up. “What does it matter now?”

“It matters a whole helluva lot. I want to know how far you were willing to go.”

The defiance in her eyes told me she’d planned to go pretty far.

“Why’s this so personal for you?” I asked.

Ava continued to hold my gaze and said, “Jackie. Georgine. The meeting’s over. Leave.”

They both blustered about the injustice of it all, but in the end, both of them got up and left.

Miss Ava continued her staring contest with me, and once it was just the two of us, she said, “Oh, Magnolia. You’ve been more fun than I expected.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” I said in a flippant tone. “Now, why is it personal to you?”

“I don’t have to tell you a thing,” she said, lifting her chin.

I stood. “You don’t, but I bet I can figure it out.” I was certain this involved a someone—not a something—and I was willing to bet there was evidence of him or her somewhere in this house. I knew I wouldn’t find it on the first floor. I’d spent enough time dusting her knickknacks and artwork to know it was all impersonal. That meant the information I needed was upstairs, so I headed for the staircase.

Miss Ava got to her feet. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Finding answers.”

I expected her to follow me; instead, she headed toward the kitchen. I took that as a bad sign and pulled my phone out of my pocket to call Colt.

“Are you done?” he asked. “You ready for me to pick you up?”

“Not quite. I might need you to pick me up from the Franklin police station.”

“Did Detective Martinez call you back in for more questions?”

“No, I might get arrested for trespassing. At least I think that would be the charge,” I said as I reached the top of the stairs.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding anxious.

“Miss Ava won’t give me the answers I need, so I’m searching for them myself.” I cracked the first door on my right, revealing a generic bed, nightstand, and dresser. Guest room.

“What are you doing, Maggie?” He sounded even more nervous.

“She was going to use me to get back at my father,” I said, “not just to find information. I think she was going to do something drastic, like hold me for ransom.”

“She told you that?”

“No, she didn’t have to. I could see it on her face. I called her on it, and she definitely didn’t deny it.”

“That sounds pretty extreme. Even for Ava.”

“I know, which means my father must have hurt her really bad.” I poked my head into the next room. This one looked like her bedroom. Jackpot. There were photographs spread all across the room. “If I can find out how he hurt her, maybe I can help make it right.”

“It’s not your job to right his wrongs, Mags.”

“I know, but part of me feels like I have to do it anyway . . . if nothing else, to keep her from having me kidnapped and held hostage.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I have to go. I’ll tell you what I find.” Then I hung up so I could focus on snooping.

Three photographs in elaborate filigree frames sat on her dresser. One was a black and white wedding photograph of an ecstatic young bride and groom. I didn’t have to look very hard to see that the bride was Miss Ava, even though the genuine smile almost threw me off. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. The next photo was of a young girl. Based on her dated clothes and her facial features, I placed her as Miss Ava’s daughter. The third photo was of a young family—a couple and their daughter, who looked like she was around ten years old.

“My granddaughter,” Miss Ava said behind me. Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before she said, “She was twenty-one when she died seven years ago.”

A heaviness settled on my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“She was murdered.”

My heart skipped a beat as I spun around to face her. “How?”

“She was going to school out on the West Coast. She went out to a bar with friends and told them she was leaving with a man she’d just met. Said she’d get a ride home.”

“She never came home,” I finished, staring at the happy girl in the photo.

“No.”

“She had multiple cuts,” I said in a dull voice.

“The police kept that part quiet. They told the public she died of stab wounds.”

My breath stuck in my chest as grief and guilt washed over me. “Did she?”

“You tell me,” she said, her words laced with anger.

I set the photo on her dresser and took a step toward her. “This is not my fault.” But as soon as the words left my mouth, I couldn’t help wondering if that was a lie. What if I’d been brave enough to stay and go to the police ten years ago? What if I could have prevented her senseless death as well as the others’?

“But it is your father’s.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because after her funeral, Steve Morrissey received a single white flower in the mail. Do you know what that flower was?”

I swallowed the terror rising in my throat. “No.”

“A magnolia blossom. Only, the stupid fool didn’t realize what it was. My granddaughter was killed to send him a message, and he didn’t even understand it.”

I felt light-headed, so I grabbed the edge of the dresser. “Oh God . . .” I waited a moment for my faded peripheral vision to return before I asked, “Why your granddaughter? Why send the flower to Steve Morrissey?”

“My son-in-law was Steve Morrissey’s brother.”

My mouth dropped open. “And the death in Florida? She was Walter Frey’s niece?”

“There were rumors about him and her,” she said.

Rowena Rogers had said the same thing, only she’d been a lot blunter. Incest.

Ava frowned. “I didn’t put it together at first. I didn’t even know about Steve Morrissey receiving that flower until his wife told me a few years later. And then Walter’s niece was killed, and the warning he was given . . .”

“You put it together.”

I sat down on the edge of her bed, my head still fuzzy. “You think my father did this. To what purpose?”

“Every single death is tied to seven of the nine original partners.” She narrowed her eyes. “Everyone but your father and Bill James.”

I blinked hard, trying to keep myself together. “What?”

“I looked into the murders you told me about. Every single victim has some tie to one of the nine original partners of the Jackson Project. A niece. An old—but significant—girlfriend. An old neighbor. Someone whose death would hit hard, yet a connection distant enough to evade the attention of the police. Only the people involved would understand.”

I tried to catch my breath. So much premeditation . . . yet why was I surprised? I’d known there was a link. I just hadn’t put it together on my own.

“What about Amy and Emily?”

“Amy was the daughter of a woman Max Goodwin actually fell in love with years ago, then lost to his philandering.” The look in her eyes was full of both fear and pride. “She may have even been his secret daughter.”

“You told her.”

Her eyebrows raised slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You were the one who told Max Goodwin’s girlfriend that he was cheating on her.”

She lifted her chin, but she looked smug, not remorseful. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“How much do you actually know about people in this town?” I asked in disgust. “And who made you important enough to destroy people’s lives?”

“I save them as well, you insolent girl. I do what is best for everyone.”

“According to you and your rules,” I countered. “What about Emily? What was her connection?”

“Emily . . . as far as I can tell, she wasn’t related to anyone.”

Then why was she killed? Because she got too close to the truth?

“So you’re telling me that you think my father had something directly to do with their deaths?”

“Why would the killer send Walter a text saying he hoped he liked his warning and Steve a magnolia flower if it wasn’t tied to your father?”

She had a point, but he’d seemed so surprised at the suggestion of a serial killer. And he wasn’t the one who’d hurt Melanie. I’d been there, and apparently Roy had witnessed it too. So what was the serial killer’s aim?

More to the point, who was he?