My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket, cringing when I saw Brady’s name on the screen. I knew I should share Miss Ava’s information with him, but I suspected he was calling about my chat with his partner. In fact, it was nearly noon. I was surprised it had taken him this long to call.

Against my better judgment, I answered. “Hey, Brady.”

“Magnolia, where are you?” His tone was short.

“I’m at Miss Ava’s.”

“Again?”

“It’s Thursday. Bible study.”

Miss Ava snorted.

“I need to talk to you ASAP.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be done here. Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“You’re done now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I hung up, feeling anxious about Brady’s insistence as well as how short he’d been. He had undoubtedly heard about the statement I’d made to his partner the night before. My trust in him was plummeting by the second, and I really wasn’t sure getting into a car with him was a good idea. As I dropped my phone back into my pocket, Miss Ava looked pissed.

“You and I are not done,” Miss Ava said. “We are far from done.”

She must have heard Brady’s side of the call. “Then you have ten minutes to finish it.” Or less if I decided to bolt before Brady showed up.

She walked toward her door. “We’re not having this discussion in my bedroom.”

I followed her out of the room, then turned back and gave her photos one last glance before going downstairs. I was scared, and more than tempted to call Colt and beg him to run away with me and never come back. The revelations Miss Ava had shared with me were just so . . . heavy. So terrifying. But that smiling face of Miss Ava’s granddaughter kept me rooted to this mess. She might not have died if I hadn’t run before. No one else was dying because of me.

My phone rang again, and I recognized the number as the one Detective Martinez had used to call me the other day. I answered her call too.

“Magnolia Steele,” she said in an icy tone. “We need to chat.”

“I feel so popular today,” I said in a fake-sweet voice as I descended the stairs.

“I’m not calling to bolster your ego. I need to talk to you more about the murders.”

“Which murders?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“Just get your ass down here.”

“Well, it just so happens Brady’s on his way to pick me up. I’ll have him drop me off at the station.”

“Brady Bennett is picking you up?” Her tone suggested this was not something that should be happening.

“Do we have a bad connection? Is that why you’re asking me to repeat myself?”

“You get down here by yourself. Or, better yet,” she said, sounding a little flustered, “let me send a squad car.”

My heart stuttered and I stopped at the bottom step. “Am I being arrested for something?”

“No, but do not get into a car with Detective Bennett. He has been instructed to have no contact with you.”

I almost defended him, but I cut myself off. I needed to think this through a little bit more. “Thank you for the information.”

“I’m serious, Magnolia Steele.”

“And so am I, Detective Martinez.” I hung up and continued to follow Miss Ava into the dining room, where she had begun to dismantle the food display on the table.

I could see why Brady wasn’t supposed to have contact with me—it was surely a conflict of interest at this point—but why hadn’t he told me to keep quiet about meeting him?

“So chummy with so many police detectives,” Miss Ava muttered.

I stopped several feet from the table. “What does that mean?”

“It’s surprising is all.” She swung her head to glance at me. “But then everything about you has been a surprise.”

I flashed her a smile. “You can’t help but love me.”

Her gaze met mine for a long moment, and then she abruptly turned her back and carried two platters to the kitchen. “You remind me of her.”

I grabbed a plate half-filled with mini quiches and a decanter of orange juice and followed her. “Your granddaughter?”

She set the platters on the kitchen counter, and I did the same. “She was feisty. Not afraid of anything. At first, we figured that was why she was killed, because she had no fear.”

“I have plenty of fear.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. “Do you?” She turned away and headed back into the dining room. “The irony is that it wasn’t her lack of fear that got her killed. It was something she had no control over.”

She picked up two more trays, and I grabbed the last two plates and followed her.

“Would you really have used me to get back at my father?” I asked.

“I thought we had already established that I would,” she barked, but the words sounded forced and full of false bravado.

“Are you still going to try to get your revenge?”

She studied me for several long seconds before she said, “You’ll be the weapon of our revenge, just how we planned.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your father still sees you as the teenage daughter who worships him. The fact that you’re bringing him down will be the best revenge of all.”

I almost argued that he knew I didn’t still worship him, but he hadn’t seemed to accept that. “Who says I’m bringing him down?”

“Going to the police station and telling Detective Martinez that your father confessed to killing three people is a great start to his downfall.”

“I’m positive my father’s not the serial killer, Miss Ava. He was taken by surprise, so it has to be someone who has known him for at least twenty years.” I paused. “I need to know more about Eric Duncan.”

“I don’t know what more there is to know.”

“Come on, Miss Ava. When I asked you yesterday, you said his son had hired my father as his financial planner, but you changed the subject when I asked you how Eric took it.”

“He didn’t handle it well at all. He vowed to get even with your father. He had a temper and he showed up at your father’s office once and your home twice. The police were called.” She paused. “One of the officers who showed up at your house was Gordon Frasier.”

“The detective who handled Daddy’s disappearance . . .”

“There are multiple connections to the Franklin Police Department,” she said. “You’re friendly with one of them.”

“Brady?” When she nodded, I said, “How?”

“Eric Duncan is his uncle.”

The bottom fell out of my stomach. “This town is like the six degrees of Kevin Bacon, only there are only two degrees.”

“Eric Duncan is the brother of Brady’s mother, Amanda. The families became somewhat estranged when Clint signed with your father. Clint’s father refused to see him, so Brian had him spend a lot of time at your house.”

“Like Tripp Tucker.”

“Both of them looked up to Brian. He replaced their absent fathers.”

“And after he lost all their money?”

“Tripp never forgave him, especially after what happened with his fiancée. Clint, on the other hand, never blamed Brian. He was a staunch defender of your father until he disappeared. And after.”

“He might have believed the partners wronged my father.”

“Possibly.”

“Clint Duncan was an adult when he came to my house, and I don’t remember him. Brady’s not much older than me . . .”

“Clint was eighteen when he hired your father as a financial planner. His father, Eric, is a good ten or more years older than Amanda. They were never close, and Brady’s father couldn’t stand Eric. When Eric disowned Clint, Brady’s father tried to cut off all contact with him.”

“Tried?”

“Amanda and the kids still saw her brother and his family at their parents’ house on a few occasions. Brady knows both his uncle and his cousin.”

There was no denying that Brady had a connection to the serial killer. He’d known about Melanie Seaborn’s murder before starting at the police academy. Had he suspected his uncle?

The doorbell rang and I jumped. “That’s Brady.”

“He’s here to take you to the police station?”

I gave her a look of impatience. We both knew she’d overheard my phone calls. “Detective Martinez said he’s not supposed to have contact with me.”

Her eyebrows rose. “And yet he’s still here. He must really want to see you.”

The doorbell rang again.

“What are you going to do?” There was a challenge in her eyes.

Ultimately, there wasn’t much of a choice at all. “I’ve got questions and he’s got answers.” I pushed the swinging door open and headed into the living room, pausing only to scoop my purse up off the chair I’d left it on earlier. I was almost to the door when I heard Brady pound on it and shout, “Magnolia!”

I opened the door and relief filled his eyes.

“Why are you so worried?” I asked.

“There are a lot of people who don’t have your best interests in mind, and I’m concerned for your safety.”

There were so many red flags where Brady was concerned, but I still believed he was genuinely worried about me. “Your partner says you’re not supposed to be talking to me.”

Disappointment turned his mouth down. “Why didn’t you tell me, Maggie? Why did you tell Maria instead?”

“I hadn’t planned on it. I went in to talk to her, and it just came out. I’m sick of all the lies, Brady.”

“You really saw your father?”

“Last night. It wasn’t planned. I ran into him.”

The hard look in his eyes softened. “Are you okay? I know that had to be a difficult reunion.”

I nodded. “It was.”

“He admitted to murdering those three people?” he asked.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame. “Martinez says you’re not supposed to be talking to me.”

He scowled. “They don’t like that you know things that haven’t been released to the public.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“I told them you snooped and found my files.” He cringed. “Sorry to throw you under the bus like that.”

“Why?” I asked. “It’s true. Like I said, I’m good and finished with lies.” I tilted my head and looked up at him. “Brady, I need to ask you some things.”

“Shoot.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Ava, who’d joined me by the door and was avidly listening to our conversation. “Thanks for your help.”

Her eyes hardened. “Bring him to his knees.”

I gave her a grim smile. “I’ll do my best.” Then I shut the door behind me.

Brady forced a chuckle. “I hope she wasn’t referring to me.”

She’d been referring to my father, but I didn’t correct him.

He had started down the porch steps, but I gestured toward two wicker chairs on the porch. “I’d rather talk here.”

He turned on his heels to face me. “You don’t trust me.” He sounded hurt.

I didn’t answer, and he glanced around before shifting his gaze pointedly to the front door. “Do you think discussing this here is a good idea?”

“No,” I conceded.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Maggie. I think I’ve proven that time and time again.”

He was right. Besides, I really did need answers. I followed him down the stairs, and he opened the passenger door.

“You really want to defy Detective Martinez?” I asked.

“Do you really think you should be alone?” he asked.

After the text I’d received this morning, no. I got inside the car, and Brady shut the door behind me before walking around and slipping behind the steering wheel.

“What exactly did your father confess to?” he asked as he backed out of the driveway.

“Not to the serial killings. He admitted to killing Max Goodwin, Neil Fulton, and Steve Morrissey. I’m sure he killed Rowena and her goon. I asked him how many people he’s killed, and he gave me a vague answer. He said only the people who deserved it.”

“What if he thought Amy Danvers deserved it?”

“He didn’t kill her. But whoever is killing these women has known Daddy for at least twenty years and knows all the original partners in the Jackson Project.”

“How do you know that?”

“Every woman with the exception of Emily has some personal tie to one of the partners. Seven of them.”

Brady pulled to a full stop at a four-way intersection, then turned to gape at me. “How do you know that?”

“You already know?” I asked.

“You know I’ve been investigating the murders. But you’re wrong. There were only five.”

I shook my head. “You’re missing two. Steve Morrissey’s niece was killed seven years ago in California, and Walter Frey’s niece was killed in Florida three years ago.”

“How’d you find that out?” He groaned. “Ava Milton.”

“Steve Morrissey’s niece was Ava’s granddaughter.” I pinned my gaze on him. “She also told me something else. About you.”

“That my uncle used to be your father’s partner?” He cast a glance at me. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you sooner,” he said in defeat. “Ava Milton knows everything about the people in Franklin.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, sounding more hurt than I’d intended.

“I had my reasons, Maggie. And I didn’t want their connection to bias you against me.”

“Why did you really get interested in Melanie Seaborn’s murder?”

“I think my cousin might be the serial killer.”