Page 50 of Midnight at the Magnolia

Celeste appears at every major break in the case.

Her fighting style matches witness descriptions.

The timing of disappearances aligns with her schedule.

The way she touched my gun that night, familiar, confident.

I shake my head, trying to focus. I can’t let my personal feelings cloud my judgment. Not now. Lauren died because someone got too close to the truth. The fabric of my shirt clings to my back, damp with nervous sweat as I hurry out the door.

My mental evidence file grows with each step:

How Celeste’s accent slips when she’s tired, revealing something wilder.

The precise way she handles kitchen knives, like weapons.

Her intimate knowledge of poisons and herbs.

The waking nightmares she won’t talk about.

“Follow the evidence,”Lauren’s voice echoes in my head.“No matter where it leads.”

Even if it leads to the woman I love?

Even if it destroys everything?

The early morning streets of New Orleans blur past as I drive, my mind racing faster than my car. Every memory of Celeste now feels like a crime scene I need to reprocess:

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