Page 10 of Call Back

“I do, but I’m just not ready yet.”

“Because of Colt?”

“Colt and I are just friends, Belinda. You know that.”

“Colt doesn’t have any female friends.”

“Well, he’s friends with me,” I said, sounding more defensive than I would have liked.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to sound like your momma.”

I laughed. “No worries there. Momma would have been a lot more blunt. I know your warning comes from love, but there’s nothing to worry about. Rushing into a relationship with Brady seems like a bad idea, and there’s absolutely nothing to worry about with Colt. I’m not stupid enough to become one more woman in his revolving door.”

“I know you’re not, but it’s my job as your sister-in-law to worry about you.”

I smiled, my heart feeling full. Out of all the people I’d gotten close to since coming back to Franklin, I valued my relationship with Belinda the most. “You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you.” I paused to swallow the lump in my throat. “I wish I could have dinner with you, but maybe we could have lunch tomorrow instead.”

“I have lunch with a client. I know you’re not a morning person, but what about breakfast?”

“I have to be at Ava’s to clean her house at eight thirty.”

“Surely you don’t have to clean her house if you aren’t even staying there.”

I snorted. “Have you met Ava Milton? Of course I do, but I want to see you, so are you willing to meet at seven thirty?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I miss you, Magnolia.”

“I miss you too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hung up as the house came into view up ahead.

I was glad I’d had the call to distract me, because I wasn’t as nervous as I’d expected to be when I pulled into the driveway.

The crime tape was gone when I parked my car in front of my second-floor garage apartment. I hadn’t been back since Brady had whisked me away to his place late Saturday night. I’d left with only the clothes I was wearing and my cell phone.

But now that I was here, I was beginning to have second thoughts about going back up there. I’d almost been killed in this place. It had taken me years to get over the trauma I’d suffered in the basement of that abandoned house in the woods ten years ago. Even though the memories hadn’t returned to me until recently, the experience had scarred me in every way possible.

The problem was that I needed this apartment, however little I wanted it. I couldn’t stay with Brady indefinitely. It was out of the question to move back in with my mother, given that I planned to keep digging into my father’s disappearance—and God knew how unlikely it was that Ava Milton would let me out of my six-month lease without charging me an arm and a leg.

I got out of the car and wasn’t surprised when the screen door instantly opened at the back of the house. Ava Milton, my landlady, stuck her nose in everything and knew all about my comings and goings. She’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted a quiet tenant, so I was sure to get an earful considering her house had essentially become a Law & Order episode last Saturday night.

“Magnolia Steele,” she said in a stern voice. “You’re back.”

I spun around to face her. “Detective Frasier came to see me at the shop today to tell me the apartment had been released. I thought I’d check it out.”

She stepped through the door and walked toward me. The look on her face told me I was in trouble. “He told me the same thing. We’ll walk through the place together and assess the damage.”

A horrifying new thought occurred to me: I wouldn’t put it past her to hold me responsible and make me pay to repair the damages. That was money I didn’t have.

She headed up the staircase to my apartment, leaving me to follow. When we got to the top, she stopped and stared at the door. “This will have to be completely replaced,” she said in a snippy tone.

Since the wood around the lock on the door and the door frame had been fragmented by bullets, I saw no reason to disagree.

She pushed the door open and took several steps inside, but I stayed in the opening, taking in the damage that had been done to the open-floor-plan, one-bedroom apartment.

The living room furniture had been shoved around, and there was a shattered lamp on the floor that had apparently gotten broken in the scuffle—or the ensuing investigation. The utility closet door in the kitchen was open, and cleaning products were strewn across the kitchen floor. Otherwise, the only sign that a man had been murdered here was the sickeningly large stain on the hardwood floors.

“That will likely need to be replaced,” Ava said.

“But I can move back in before it’s done, can’t I?”

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