Scent of Magnolia

Chapter 1

Scout

Scout adds her unmarked car to the cluster of Seattle’s first responder vehicles parked haphazardly at the crime scene. Turning off the engine, she grips the steering wheel, bows her head, and squeezes her eyes tight. Please, God, don’t let it be Sally Strickland.

She stuffs her stubby ponytail into a black baseball cap and grabs her trench coat from the trunk. Blue and red flashing lights are dim in the early morning fog as she hurries up the dank alley to the back door of a pool hall where the victim is lying facedown in the mud. Scout’s heart skips a beat when she notices the young woman’s blonde hair, the same white-blonde shade as Sally.

Talk to me, Scout says to her friend and coworker, homicide detective Sandra Reyes.

Looks like a drug overdose. Fentanyl would be my guess.

The smell of frying bacon from a nearby diner mixes with the stench of death. Locals are starting their day off with a hearty meal while, less than fifty feet away, a young woman is dead from drugs that either some jackass hoping for sex forced on her or that she willingly took to satisfy an addiction. Some days this job really gets to Scout.

Crouching down next to the body, Scout turns the girl’s right hand over to inspect the inside of her wrist. Instead of the heart tattoo Sally’s mother has described in detail, she discovers an angry red scar from an apparent suicide attempt.

Can I see her face, please? Scout says to a crime scene investigator.

The investigator rotates the victim’s head so the right side of her face is visible. The girl’s young age is apparent despite the caked mud covering her cheeks and forehead. She can’t be over fourteen years old. And she’s definitely not Sally Strickland.

Do you have any idea who she is? Sandra asks.

Nope. Scout gets to her feet. I’ve never seen her before in my life.

She walks over to a group of young people standing behind the yellow crime scene tape at the opposite end of the short alley. Morning.

The kids respond in unison, Morning.

She a friend of yours? Scout asks, tossing a thumb over her shoulder toward the dead girl’s body.

A dozen sets of eyes dart about, avoiding Scout’s gaze.

I’ve memorized the faces of every reported runaway in this country, and she’s not one of them. Which means I have no way of getting in touch with her family. What if that were one of you lying dead in a dirty alley? Wouldn’t you want your family to know your fate? Wouldn’t you want them to bring you home and bury you in the family plot where you belong? Wouldn’t you want to end their constant worry so they could try to put the pieces of their lives back together?

Her lecture is met with stony silence.

Call your parents! If nothing else, let them know you’re alive. From an inside coat pocket, Scout removes a stack of McDonald’s gift cards and hands them out to the runaways. Get yourself some food. And try to stay out of trouble. You know where to find me if you learn anything about our Jane Doe.

Mumbling their gratitude for the gift cards, the group, with chins tucked and eyes glued to the ground, disperses into different directions. One runaway remains at the yellow tape—a tiny girl with pale hair and skin and electric blue eyes. The others call her Tinker Bell because she’s light on her feet and walks on her toes. Scout wonders if she was a ballerina in a previous life.

Tinker Bell bites down on a quivering lip. Her name is Chloe Thompson. She’s from Spokane and has only been on the run for a few days, which is probably why you don’t know about her. I tried to help her, but she was a real mess. Tinker Bell taps her forehead. She has some serious emotional problems. She left home on a whim, and she desperately wanted to go back, but she was afraid to contact her parents.

Scout takes out her phone and types the victim’s name and hometown in her Notes app. Was she into drugs?

I don’t think so. She’s been hooking up with some guy, though. I know nothing about him.

Scout pockets her phone and gives Tinker Bell’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. You did the right thing in telling me. She presses a business card into the girl’s palm. Call me if you think of anything else.

After spending a heart-wrenching afternoon with Chloe Thompson’s parents, Scout enters the Bail Out a few minutes after five and orders a tequila on the rocks from the bartender. Drink in hand, she bypasses several tables of coworkers and chooses an empty booth on the far wall.

She’s nursing her tequila, replaying the day’s events over in her mind, when Barrett sits down in the booth across from her. Setting down his whiskey shot, he sheds his leather jacket, draping it over the back of the bench seat. Her heart flutters at the sight of his black T-shirt stretched tight over his muscular chest. With his scruffy beard and dark locks curling at the nape of his neck, her father would label him a thug, but beneath his rugged exterior lies a gentle giant. I heard what happened. How’re you holding up?

It’s been a long day. I’m relieved it wasn’t Sally Strickland, but I’m devastated for the Thompson family. Scout tugs her wheat-colored hair free of the elastic, letting it fall to her shoulders. Every time I lose a runaway, I travel back in time seventeen years. Why can’t I move on from my brother’s disappearance?

Barrett cocks his head as if to say really. You know why. Because you need closure.

Right. If only I knew how to get it. Scout drains the last of the tequila and sets the glass on the table with a clunk. Ford would never intentionally leave me hanging like this. I have a strong social media presence. There must be a legitimate reason he hasn’t contacted me.

Because he doesn’t want to be found. Barrett kicks back the shot of whiskey. Your parents still live in the same house. Ford knows the way home.

Scout refuses to accept the possibility her brother is avoiding her on purpose. I can think of other legitimate reasons that would prevent him from going home. Scout ticks them off on her fingers. He’s incapacitated and can’t travel. He’s in jail. God forbid he might be dead.

When we idolize someone, Scout, we have a tendency to overlook their flaws.

Scout glares at Barrett. You’re always so hard on him when you’ve never even met him.

I’m a homicide detective, trained to deal with the facts. Your brother disappeared during the early hours of the morning three days after Christmas seventeen years ago. The police ruled out the possibility of abduction. Which means he ran away. While visions of sugarplums danced in your head, he climbed out of his bedroom window with his guitar slung over his back. He may very well be unable to travel, but he still has access to a phone. He called your mother for crying out loud.

Scout’s pointer finger shoots up. Once. Five years after he left. It was late at night and the line was static. Mom could barely hear what he was saying. What if Ford escaped from his kidnappers and made it to a phone to call Mom, but the kidnappers caught him and killed him?

Barrett snorts. You’re letting your imagination get the best of you again.

Scout laughs at herself. Okay, so maybe that is far-fetched. But I can’t rule out the possibility something happened to him. He could have amnesia.

If he has amnesia now, he didn’t have it when he left home or when he called your mom five years later. Running away is a coward’s way of solving one’s problems.

Says the man from the happy family with loving parents and close-knit siblings. Scout’s phone vibrates the table, and she glances down at the screen. Why are Mom and Mary Beth calling me at the same time? This can’t be good.

Barrett grabs their empty glasses. I’ll get us some refills while you talk to them.

Scout picks up the phone but hesitates as she decides whose call to accept. Finally, she clicks on Mary Beth’s number. You and Mom are calling me at the same time. What’s wrong?

Alice committed suicide this morning, Mary Beth blurts.

While she’s relieved it’s not bad news about Ford, Scout feels guilty she hasn’t thought about her childhood friend Alice in years. That’s too bad. How’d she do it?

Scout! That’s awful. Only you would ask such a thing.

I’m a detective, Mary Beth. It goes with the territory.

If you say so. Anyway, the funeral’s on Friday. You need to be here.

Since when did you get so bossy?

Since I became the mother of a toddler. Besides, if I’m not firm with you, you’ll try to weasel your way out of coming. And there’s no excuse for missing Alice’s funeral, Scout.

One legitimate reason pops into Scout’s mind. Did you call Kate?

I left several messages with her assistant. I’m waiting to hear from her now. You can no longer hide behind your animosity toward Kate. We’re all adults now, Scout. The time has come for you to put this petty vendetta behind you.

Scout sighs. I don’t expect you to understand my feelings for Kate. But you’re right. I should be there for Alice’s family. Can I stay with you?

As much as I would love that, your mom would be heartbroken if you don’t stay at home.

Scout notices Barrett heading back toward the table with another tequila for her and a Miller Lite for himself. I’ve gotta run, Mary Beth. I’ll text you my flight information.

Barrett slides her drink across the table. Why the long face?

Scout stares at the clear liquid in her glass. An old friend committed suicide.

Gosh. That’s awful, Scout. I’m so sorry.

Thanks. Alice lived across the street from me growing up, but we haven’t been close since we were kids. Life has not been good to her. She has a drug addiction, suffered from bipolar disorder, and self-medicated a lot with illegal drugs. She’s been in and out of rehab most of her adult life.

That must have been tough on her family.

Scout looks past him to the back room. The pool table is open. Let’s grab it. She crawls out of the booth and makes a beeline for the poolroom at the back of the pub.

Barrett racks the balls and Scout breaks, sending the solid blue number two ball to the far corner right pocket. She sinks three more solids in two turns before missing.

How long will you stay in Alabama? Barrett asks as he lines up his shot.

Scout props herself against her cue stick. As short amount of time as possible. The funeral is Friday. I imagine I’ll head back to Seattle on Saturday.

Barrett makes his shot and scrutinizes the table for another opportunity. You have years’ worth of vacation time built up. Why not stay for a while?

Why would I do that? There is literally nothing to do in Langford, Alabama. And two days is as long as I can stand to be in the dictator's presence.

Instead of laughing at her father’s nickname, he scolds her with his dark eyes. Give your parents a chance, Scout.

People don’t change, Barrett.

Maybe people don’t, but circumstances do. He takes an angle shot and misses. You’re an adult now. You might find you have more in common with your parents than you think.

She considers the possibility. I haven’t thought about it like that, but maybe you’re right. After all this time, we’re virtually strangers to one another. Maybe we can start over on a level playing field.

You never know. At least stay through the weekend. Besides spending some much overdue time with your parents, you could search for clues about your missing brother.

That investigation is dead, Scout says, leaning over the table as she lines up her next shot.

Says who? Your eighteen-year-old self? You’re an accomplished detective now, Scout. With your keen senses and seasoned eyes, you’re bound to come up with something. The answers are there. You just need to find them.

Maybe. She cleans the table and returns her cue stick to the wall rack. That’s a wrap. I’m outta here.

Hey! What about dinner? They have a standing deal that the loser pays for dinner.

I wish I could. But I need to make travel arrangements.

Barrett tugs on his jacket. I might as well go home too. I’ve been procrastinating on some paperwork.

They exit the Bail Out together, pausing in front of Barrett’s motorcycle parked on the curb. Good luck in Alabama, kiddo. If you need me. I’m only a phone call away.

When he kisses her cheek, she imagines what his lips might feel like on hers. But she’s not his type. He prefers beautiful women with sexy bodies. He would never look twice at a girl with a lopsided smile and boyish figure.

Scout experiences a sick feeling in her gut as she watches him speed away on his bike. And she can’t shake the feeling of impending doom during the drive home. Her life is about to change, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

She’s lived in the same dingy apartment building in a seedy part of downtown since first arriving in Seattle fifteen years ago. Many of her friends have upgraded to swanky buildings with open floor plans and rooftop pools. Scout doesn’t see the point in paying premium rent for a place to lay her head. She no longer believes in the concept of home. Over the years, she’s witnessed too much heartache born out of dysfunctional families and broken homes. Creating a happy home is a pie-in-the-sky dream only a blessed few ever achieve.

Barrett’s words come back to her as she books her airline ticket. She’s a confident young woman now, no longer the confused teenager who left home for college and never looked back. Maybe a fresh perspective will lead her to a new discovery about Ford’s disappearance.

Scout folds an assortment of black tops and blue jeans into her small rolling suitcase. There was a time when she enjoyed wearing fun clothing in festive colors. But Ford drained all the life out of her world when he abandoned her.

Chapter 2

Kate

Kate studies the eager faces gathered around her conference table. She’s toying with her staff, making them wait for her reaction. She plants her hands on the table, as though bracing herself to deliver bad news, and says, I absolutely love it!

The men and women exhale a collective sigh of relief.

This is our most spectacular line of handbags we’ve launched to date. Our clients will be thrilled come spring. You’ve clearly put forth your best efforts. You can all look for fat bonuses in your next paychecks.

Cheers and applause fill the conference room.

She closes her laptop. Take the rest of the day off. Grab an early dinner. Celebrate. You deserve it.

How generous of you, says Anya, her head designer. It’s already five thirty.

Is it really? Kate checks her Apple Watch. I didn’t know it was so late. In that case, enjoy your evening. First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll start executing the new designs.

As the designers and marketers exit en mass from the conference room, her administrative assistant brushes past them on her way in. Vivian waves a stack of pink while-you-were-out messages at her. Some woman named Mary Beth has been trying to reach you. She’s called three times in the past hour. She claims it’s urgent. She says she knows you from Alabama. Vivian peers at Kate over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. When did you attend Alabama? I thought you graduated from NYU.

The state, Vivian. Not the university. I grew up in Alabama. Kate takes the messages from her assistant and walks down the hall to her office. Seated at her desk, she stares down at her phone screen. She hasn’t spoken to anyone from Langford since she moved with her father to New York seventeen years ago. Something tragic must have happened if Mary Beth went to the trouble of tracking her down. Please don’t let it be June.

Kate inhales an unsteady breath before punching in the number.

Mary Beth answers on the first ring, and the old friends exchange a moment of awkward pleasantries. I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mary Beth says finally. Alice committed suicide last night.

Kate relaxes back in her chair, relieved the news isn’t about June. I’m sorry to hear that. Her family must be devastated.

Alice hasn’t been well for a long time. Naturally, they’re upset, but this wasn’t her first attempt, and no one was surprised. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know. We were so close as children.

Memories rush back to Kate of swimming parties and summer nights playing kick the can in the neighborhood. But those happy times quickly slide away, and visions from her miserable high school days flash before her.

The funeral is Friday. I hope you can make it. It would mean a lot to Alice’s family, and I’d love to see you again. We have much to catch up on.

As Mary Beth rattles on, Kate opens her top drawer and removes a tattered photograph taken in the Montgomery’s backyard at one of their many talent shows. Ford’s fan club—Kate, Mary Beth, Alice, and Scout—surround him while his guitar dangles from his neck. I assume Scout will be there.

She’s flying in from Seattle tomorrow.

Since when does Scout live in Seattle? Kate wonders. She really is out of touch. She opens her mouth to tell Mary Beth she can’t make the trip. Instead, she asks for a hotel recommendation.

Try the Meeting Inn. I’ve heard amazing reviews about their recent renovations. I hope you’ll come for a casual dinner tomorrow night. I’ll text you the address.

I’d like that, Mary Beth. I look forward to seeing you then.

Dropping her phone on the desk, Kate spins around in her chair and stares down seven flights at Madison Avenue. What just happened? She vowed never to return to Langford. Yet she gave Mary Beth zero pushback about attending the funeral. Kate rarely makes impulse decisions. She attributes her success as a top fashion designer to her cautious nature and sound business acumen.

Dad is going to freak when I tell him. And speaking of Phillip. She glances at her watch. His reception starts in a few minutes.

In the adjoining bathroom, Kate freshens her makeup and ties her mahogany hair back in a tight knot. Grabbing her tote bag, she takes the elevator down to the lobby and summons a taxi. The trip to Washington Heights takes longer than usual in rush hour traffic, and she arrives as a hospital’s senior vice president is announcing her father’s appointment to head of pediatrics.

Kate stands on her tiptoes to glimpse her father as he takes the podium. He looks sharp in a navy suit with red-and-white stripe tie. She snickers when he struggles to adjust the microphone to accommodate his tall frame.

Bart appears beside her with two glasses of red wine. Kate! You’re looking as lovely as ever, he says, offering her a glass.

Thanks. She accepts the glass and turns her attention back to her father.

Bart leans in close. Can we talk afterward? he whispers near her ear.

Shh! She presses a finger to her lips as her father begins his speech.

Phillip expresses his gratitude for his appointment before attributing his success to his humble beginnings as the only pediatrician in a small Alabama town. I treated patients with everything from strep throat to leukemia. I learned many valuable lessons from my time in Langford, from those courageous patients and their loving parents. But I gained the most wisdom from being a single parent for my daughter from the time she was a year old.

Her father talks on about how parents are the real heroes and the hardships families face when coping with critically sick children. He’s wrapping up his comments when Bart tugs on her coat sleeve and leads her outside to a small courtyard.

I miss you, Kate. Won’t you please give our relationship another chance?

Kate is tempted to say yes. She misses having a date for certain functions. And she misses having someone to spend Friday nights with when she’s not in the mood to go out. But she doesn’t miss Bart. There’s no point, Bart. You know how I feel.

Come on, Kate. True love is overrated. Compatibility is what matters. We belong to the same social circles, and we share the same political views. We both like to sail and snow ski and go for long walks in the park on Saturday afternoons.

Those are things friends do together. But when it comes to marriage, I’m holding out for more. She kisses his cheek. It was good to see you, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to congratulate Dad.

Returning to the reception, Kate makes her way around the room, speaking to her father’s many colleagues. The crowd is thinning by the time she locates Phillip near the door. She hugs his waist. You did great, Dad! Congratulations. I’m really proud of you.

Thanks, sweetheart. He kisses the top of her head.

She pulls away from him. Are you almost finished here? I need to talk to you about something important.

Sure thing. He gestures at the door. My driver’s waiting out front. Can I give you a ride home?

That would be great.

They exit the hospital and climb into the black sedan waiting at the curb. Phillip pats his longtime driver on the shoulder. Good evening, Charles. Please drop us at Duke Ellington Circle. We’ll walk the rest of the way.

Charles finger salutes him. Yes, sir, Dr. Baldwin.

Her father settles back in his seat. Is this about Bart? I saw you two talking. He’s a fine young man and a good friend. Is there any chance you’re getting back together?

None. Kate offers him a sympathetic smile. "I’m sorry to upset you, Dad. I know you hoped Bart would be your son-in-law. He is a fine young man and a good friend, but he’s not the one for me."

Phillip gives her a solemn nod. I understand. I just want to see you settled and happy.

When they reach their destination, they get out of the car and head south on Fifth Avenue. The leaves haven’t begun to change, but the air has the crispness of fall as they walk along Central Park.

Kate takes hold of her father’s elbow. You surprised me when you mentioned Langford in your comments earlier. Why don’t you ever talk about the past?

I thought it best, since your childhood was so unhappy.

My childhood was happy. It’s my high school years I’d like to forget. Kate stares down at the sidewalk. Mary Beth called me today. Alice Johnson committed suicide.

I’m sorry to hear that, her father says with a sympathetic cluck of his tongue. I remember Alice well. She was my patient.

As was every other child in town.

Phillip chuckles. True. But poor Alice struggled with anxiety from early on. She was in high school when I sent her to Atlanta for treatment. They diagnosed her with bipolar disorder.

Kate shakes her head in disbelief. I knew she had problems, but I didn’t realize they were that bad. She inhales a deep breath. I told Mary Beth I’d come for the funeral.

Phillip stops walking and turns to face her. Why? You haven’t been friends with Alice since you were children.

I can’t explain it. I feel a powerful pull, like a magnetic attraction, to Langford. Maybe it was hearing Mary Beth’s voice. Or maybe I’m intrigued by the prospect of seeing June again.

June isn’t your mother, Kate, he says, and they start walking again.

Maybe not, but she played a major role in my upbringing. Is it wrong of me to want to see her again?

Under the circumstances, it’s dangerous for you to revisit the past. After your mother left, I should’ve married the first woman who came along. Any mother would’ve been better than no mother.

"That’s not true, Dad. You were