Page 16 of Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

“Maybe not, but you feel more inclined to give it a try than you did three weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” I said, surprised that it made me feel stronger. “So maybe there’s hope for me yet.”

“There’s always hope, Magnolia. And you’re doing remarkably well. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I wasn’t sure about the remarkably part, but I was relieved to know I might want to perform with Colt again at some point. He had no qualms about singing without me, but we both knew he enjoyed it more when I was by his side.

The timer announced the end of our session, so I picked up my purse off the floor and stood. “Thank you, Dr. Norton.”

She gave me a comforting smile. “Be kind to yourself, Magnolia. I can’t wait to hear how your weekend goes.”

I said goodbye and walked out to my car, both hopeful and terrified. Once I was safely inside with the doors locked, I pulled up Belinda’s name on my phone.

“I have a few places in mind,” she said as soon as she answered. “How do you feel about lying on a beach with mai tais?”

It sounded great, but then I remembered my scars, and was grateful to already have an alternative location to offer. “Actually, I have a place in mind, but it might not be your idea of rest and relaxation.”

“Where?” she asked without missing a beat.

“Sweet Briar, Alabama. I just found out that Momma owned the land she grew up on and someone wants to buy it. I’d like to go see it before I sign on the dotted line.”

“I’ll make the reservations,” she said without hesitation.

“Just like that?” I asked in surprise.

“This weekend is for you, Magnolia,” she said. “Besides, I’d love to get a glimpse of your mother’s hometown. Leave all the details to me.”

I knew I should take ownership of the trip, but Belinda was the one with the functioning credit card, and I was just proud of myself for making such a big decision. Baby steps.

Little did I know what I was getting myself into.

Part Two

Summer Butler

Chapter Six

“When is that infernal racket gonna stop?” Meemaw groaned, tossing a metal pot in her porcelain kitchen sink with a loud clang.

“The contractor says it’s not for much longer,” I said, peering out the back door. My cousin Teddy was working on his truck in front of the barn, but the racket she was referring to was coming from a house about a quarter mile away, deeper into the fields of our Alabama farm. “They should be done in a week or so.”

“I don’t see why you’re movin’ out to that overseer’s house,” she snapped, “when there’s a perfectly good bedroom for you just down the hall.”

“This house is too small for four grown adults,” I said. “We’ve been on each other’s nerves for months.”

That was an understatement.

Against my better judgment, I’d first come back to Sweet Briar, Alabama, in April when I’d accepted a role onDarling Investigations, a reality TV show that featured me as a private investigator.

Had I been a private investigator prior to the show?

Nope.

I’d been a washed-up former teen star on a kids’ sitcom titledGotcha!, in which I’d played Isabella Holmes, a teenager who solved mysteries around her high school. But like a lot of teen actors, I hadn’t had a decent gig in years, despite the fact thatGotcha!had been wildly popular and made me a small fortune.

A fortune my mother-slash-manager had squandered, then stolen, fleeing LA and running back to Sweet Briar, when I was nineteen, leaving my reputation in tatters, not only in Hollywood, but also with my family.

While my mother had always assured me she had my best interests in mind, turned out she really had her own. Once I started to stand up to her and demand more control over my career, she took off. With my money.

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