Page 54 of Call Back

“What did he say?”

“He looked me in the eye with his sneaky smile and said, ‘If you’re smart enough, you can pull one over on anyone and everyone.’”

I shook my head. “As eager as I am to pin this on him, that’s pretty generic.”

“The way he looked at me . . . I would bet everything I own that he knows I’m the one who called in the tip.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Just a gut feeling.”

“So how’d you find out he owns the house?”

“When I need to think, I drive around, and sometimes I would find myself driving past this house. I saw it was for sale; then a few days after that dinner, I discovered it had been sold. I don’t know why—maybe it was intuition—but I had a dying need to know who had bought it, especially since months passed without anyone moving in. That’s how I found out.”

“And you barged in and checked it out?”

“No. I only checked it out after you came back and everything was all boiling to the surface. Now I’m certain Bill James killed his wife and he bought this house to help cover his secret.”

My mother truly believed Bill James had killed his wife, and she was not prone to fanciful ideas.

“So he bought the house to ensure his secret,” I said. “What about all this other stuff?” I made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the filing cabinet, table, and boxes.

“The Jackson Project. Photos of big-name clients. Files on everyone in his group.” She paused and looked into my eyes. “It’s his trophy room, Magnolia.”

Oh, God.

Panic shot through my body. This time sitting down wouldn’t be enough to stanch it. I was going to throw up on the floor.

“I can’t stay down here.” I bolted up the stairs and found the bathroom just in time. I vomited into the toilet full of mold and water stains, then threw up again from the stench of the toilet. When I was sure I wouldn’t barf a third time, I turned on the water in the sink. It sputtered, but nothing came out of the faucet.

“The water’s turned off,” Momma said from the hall. “But the electricity’s on.”

Great. I was leaving evidence of our trespassing behind. “So he can see when he goes down into the basement,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Can we leave now?”

“We need to get back anyway. Tilly’s probably in a tizzy running the kitchen by herself.”

I made a beeline for the front door. “How can you calmly tell me that Daddy’s old partner is a monster, then talk about the catering kitchen in the next breath?”

“I’ve known about this a helluva lot longer than you. The shock’s worn off.”

We went out the front door and Momma locked it behind us. As we walked toward the car, I noticed she was moving slower than before. Our visit to the house had taken something out of her too, only she had a lot less energy than I did right now. I held out my hand. “Let me drive. I miss driving out here in the country.”

She handed me her keys with a look that told me she didn’t buy my excuse for a minute.

“Aren’t you worried about Roy working for Bill?” I asked after we were both in the car.

“Of course. I’ve tried to warn him that Bill is dangerous, but he always tells me not to worry.”

“As in he’s not worried because he doesn’t perceive a threat, or he thinks he can handle it?”

“I’m not sure,” she said as she rested her head on the seat back. “But I have to trust he’ll be okay. I don’t know what else to do.”

Roy didn’t think Bill was a threat to him because he was probably part of whatever his boss was currently mixed up in. Now I was even more worried about Belinda getting ensnared in something deadly.

“I remember going for drives when I was a kid,” I said as I started the car, “but I don’t remember ever driving by this house.”

“I didn’t start driving by here until . . . after your father died.”

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