Page 52 of Call Back

Chapter 11

Halfway down the dark staircase, a mildew odor filled my nose. I stopped, holding the wood handrail in a death grip.

“Did you get lost?” Momma asked from around the corner.

“Sorry,” I said, trying not to sound breathless as I reached the concrete floor. The space was dimly lit and confining. There were a few towers of boxes in front of me, and an ancient-looking washer and dryer hulked against the wall to my left. “Why are we down here? It stinks.”

“You said you wanted answers.”

I rounded the corner and found my mother standing beside a filing cabinet and an old kitchen table with metal legs. There was a stained map spread out on the tabletop.

I moved closer to the map, seeing that it was a plot survey. My mouth dropped open. “Is that a map of the Jackson Project?”

“So you’ve figured that part out, have you?” I heard the pride in her voice.

“Yeah. But only bits and pieces. Daddy sold shares to the Jackson Project, but the people in charge of it had gotten permission to tear down historic homes through bribery. Once that was made public, the whole project fell through because of legal fees, and a lot of investors lost money.”

“And you know who his partners were?”

“Bill James.”

“Obviously.”

“Walter Frey was the CFO, and Neil Fulton was Winterhaven’s defense counsel.”

“Very good. And who else?”

I didn’t know for certain, but decided to take a stab at the answer. “Steve Morrissey, Christopher Merritt, Geraldo Lopez . . .” I hesitated, scared to have my fears confirmed. “And Max Goodwin.”

“Yes, but not the Christopher Merritt who disappeared three years ago. His father, Christopher Merritt, Sr. And yes, that snake was part of it too.”

I shook my head as I studied the map. “How did the police not put them together in any of their investigations?”

“Some of them were silent partners.”

“There was one more,” I said, turning to face her. “Someone with a name ending in –ogers.”

She nodded. “Rowena Rogers.”

I tried to hide the shock that my mother had known all along. “Did Geraldo Lopez kill her too?”

“No. She disappeared, out of sight, although it never made the news. She used to be one of Ava Milton’s cronies,” she said. “And I had no idea how people were vanishing, although I did suspect Steve Morrissey was behind your father’s disappearance.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” I asked incredulously. “He would have literally gotten away with murder.”

“We all have our reasons, Magnolia,” she said, lowering herself slowly into a folding chair. “Why didn’t you go to the police ten years ago?”

I stared at her as the blood rushed to my feet. “You’re not going to ask me why I didn’t tell you?”

“I know why you didn’t tell me. But you could have reported it without telling me. Was it because the officers didn’t believe your story about your father arranging to meet with Walter Frey the night of his disappearance?”

“No. You want to know the truth?” I asked, feeling the weight of my past pressing on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I tugged at the neckline of my shirt. “I blocked it out.”

Her eyes narrowed. I could tell she suspected I was trying to get out of answering.

“I remembered running into the woods, but at some point, everything blacked out. I woke up hours later, lying on the ground at the edge of the woods, soaked to the skin from the rain. I had a massive headache and a lump on the side of my head, and I was so dizzy I could hardly walk up the hill to the house. I stopped to vomit, but all I could think about was getting in the house so I’d be safe.”

“And I berated you,” she said quietly.

---