Page 110 of Call Back

Roy’s office was halfway down the hall. Without a word, Belinda moved toward it, and I shined my flashlight on the knob while she unlocked the door.

I followed her in and glanced around the shadow-cast room, surprised how much it still looked like Daddy’s office. I’d visited this office a few weeks ago, of course, but I’d been too busy dealing with Roy’s $50,000 offer to leave town at the time to pay much attention.

“Belinda,” I said as she wobbled over to Roy’s desk in the tinny light from my phone. “Why was Roy so desperate for me to leave town?”

She stopped and glanced up at me. “Magnolia, that’s water under the bridge.”

“Maybe for you it is, but it’s still pretty fresh for me.”

“I’m not sure what happened between you two, but he still holds a deep-seated grudge.”

Understatement of the century.

She sat in Roy’s chair and I stood behind her while she opened one of his desk drawers. Everything was arranged in a neat and orderly fashion. Just what I’d expected from my tight-ass brother. The keys were in the back corner. She quickly snagged them, then got up and walked toward the door more quickly than I could follow her, leaving me to shine the light behind her, casting long, creepy shadows onto the hallway wall. She seemed determined now, and that determination seemed to have sobered her up. There was barely a wobble in her step as she headed straight for Bill’s office, me trailing behind her with my little light. I held my breath as she stuck the key in the lock.

The knob turned and she stood up straighter, looking me in the eye. “Whatever we find, Magnolia, I am here for you.”

I tried to hide my surprise over her statement, not because I was shocked she’d offered her support, but because it almost sounded like a warning.

Without giving me time to respond, she opened the door and marched right over to Bill’s desk. “Shine the light over here,” she said as she started thumbing through papers. “I remember seeing them on a stack of files. There were more of them this morning.”

“If they’re not there, maybe they’re in a filing cabinet,” I suggested.

Rather than answer, she sat in his chair, opened his desk drawers, and started digging around. I was sure it was a wasted effort, but she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Excited, I hurried behind her and shined the light on the manila folder in her hand. She set it on the desk, and sure enough, my name was handwritten on the tab in block letters—Magnolia Steele.

I felt like I was going to throw up, but I had to keep it together this time. “What’s in it?”

She opened the folder and I gasped at what she found.

Nothing. It was empty.

Belinda glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide.

“Did you see anything in it this morning?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But I saw Emily’s first, and there were papers in hers—a mix of handwritten and printed documents. Bill was looking at the handwritten one on top when I walked in. Sometimes I bring the office staff pastries, and I walked in to bring one to Bill. He wasn’t expecting me, so he only tried to hide it after I slipped into his office. His hands slipped, and it fell on the floor, scattering the papers everywhere. I stooped to pick them up, and I saw the kind of information you’d get from a private detective report. Places she’d lived, where she’d gone to school, even her credit report.” She looked in the drawer again, then back up at me. “Emily’s is gone.”

“Why is mine empty?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But he became agitated when I started to help him, and told me to leave them alone. In fact, he looked agitated before he even noticed me.”

“Does he know you made the connection to Emily?” I asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I tried to play it off, but I’m no actress,” she said. “I’m positive he saw my shock.”

“Belinda,” I said sharply, suddenly wanting to take her far, far away, anywhere but here. “You’re in danger. If Bill’s the killer, and he knows you saw Emily’s file, he might kill you to keep you quiet.”

She straightened up and looked into my eyes. “This is crazy. I know I brought you here, but now it seems like a big conspiracy theory scenario. Bill wouldn’t do this,” she said, but it sounded like she was trying—and failing—to convince herself.

I heard a banging noise in the front reception area and someone coughing. My heart slamming into my rib cage, I grabbed the empty file with my name on it and stuck it back into the drawer. “Come on,” I whispered as I snagged her arm and pulled her into a closet I’d noticed by the office door.

I managed to shove her inside and push in after her before the office door burst open. Someone shuffled into the room, leaving a smoky odor in their wake. It smelled like he or she had been to a bonfire. More coughing followed.

The intruder was silent for several seconds. Then I heard a man mumble, “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

The sound of running water filtered through the side wall of the closet, and I remembered that Bill had his own private powder room off his office.

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