by Mary Ellis
He shrugged. “My degrees in accounting and business management won’t help me here.”
“So why don’t you watch and learn?” She dragged him down the stairs toward their cars.
Michael offered a three-finger salute. “Will do, Captain. I arrived at the same conclusion a few minutes ago.”
Beth brushed back her bangs to scratch her forehead. “Some of Mrs. Dean’s answers caught me by surprise too, but grief affects people differently. A person doesn’t know how they’ll react until they lose someone close. Sobbing and teeth-gnashing are often performances for the cameras or the authorities.”
“Point well taken.” He rubbed his chin as though deep in thought.
“Always let the person talk themselves out, especially if you think they’re hiding something. Loose lips sink boats.”
“Ships.” Michael rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
“What?”
“Loose lips sink ships.”
“What’s the difference between a ship and a boat?” Beth stared at the spot between his eyebrows, unable to decide if his eyes were brown or hazel.
“Absolutely nothing.” Her partner seemed to be biting his cheek. “Did you notice the family photos on the table?”
“I didn’t have to because I’ve known the Dean family my whole life.” Beth had to plaster herself against the car as a panel truck passed too close for comfort.
“With an outsider’s objectivity, I noticed that Mrs. Dean is strikingly attractive.”
“You don’t have to live outside Adams County to see that she’s pretty. So what?”
“At the risk of speaking ill of the dead, I noticed Mr. Dean was not particularly attractive.”
Beth pointedly looked at her watch. “Is this line of deductive reasoning going somewhere? Because I have a long list of errands to run before dark, especially if I’m heading back to Vicksburg tomorrow.”
“I read in the training guide that intuition and first impressions should be taken seriously. My gut tells me something isn’t right about their marriage. Why would a rich woman, especially a beautiful one, marry Reverend Dean? If she wants us to look for a killer, maybe it’s to direct attention away from her.”
Beth shook her head. “Then why hire us at all? Once the police concluded the death was a suicide, she would get away with murder.”
“Maybe she took out a big life insurance policy. Doesn’t a suicide render the policy null and void?”
“Well done, Sherlock. Too bad policies also don’t pay if the beneficiary murders the insured.” Beth tore a page of notes from her tablet. “Look, when I talk to Nate tonight, I’ll tell him we’ll work the case together while he’s gone. But—and this part isn’t negotiable—I’m the lead. You take orders from me. Can you live with that?”
“Do I still get Sundays off, thirty minutes for lunch, and two weeks of vacation after my first year of employment?”
“Keep up that humor, and my weapon might accidentally discharge into your foot.”
“Will I get to carry one of those someday?” Michael pointed at her holstered Glock.
“Not if I have any say in the matter.”
“Okay, Miss Kirby. I will do nothing without your express approval.” He offered a small but genuine smile.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Tomorrow, I need to drive to Vicksburg and pack my stuff. On Monday, I plan to present my evidence to the DA, which should be enough to bring charges in the case I’m working. I will be ready to start training you on Tuesday. Here is what I need you to do tomorrow and on Monday.” Beth plastered a list to his chest.
“I thought I had Sundays off.” Michael was grinning, but she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Don’t worry. I’m only asking you to attend church, the Baptist in particular. Keep your lips zipped and your ears open. Sit or stand where you can hear what parishioners are saying before and after the service. If you catch someone alone, ask a few tactful questions. Don’t drop Mrs. Dean’s name or mention the fact you’re a PI. And don’t divulge a word of Mrs. Dean’s suspicions or anything else said inside her home.”
“Give me some credit, Elizabeth. I understand the concept of client confidentiality.” Michael shoved his hands into his pockets.
When traffic cleared, Beth ducked inside her car and lowered the windows. “Credit needs to be earned with me. On Monday, show up bright and early at the office of Calvary Baptist. Flash your ID and say you’re working with the police regarding the death of Reverend Dean. Then ask to see the church’s books. Be polite but persuasive, and the assistant will crack like an egg.”
Michael bent his head toward her window. “Are we working with Natchez PD?”
“We will be because we have no other choice. Remember, without jurisdiction we can’t obtain a court order to see the books. That’s why you need to sweet-talk Mrs. Purdy. You can lay on the charm, can’t you, Preston?”
His complexion turned rosy. “I probably have an average amount of experience in this area.”
“Good. Trot out your best stuff and follow the money trail. If Mrs. Purdy leaves you alone long enough, make photocopies of everything you can.”
“Tracking a pattern of pilferage can take days to find, not twenty minutes to an hour.” Michael cracked his knuckles. “I know how to do my job, but without unlimited access to the church computer, I hope you haven’t set your expectations too high.”
“Don’t worry. I haven’t. Just see if the pastor or anybody else made large transfers of funds during the last year. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”
“I’m on it. I’ll see who else had authorization to write checks. Despite her denial, I’m curious if Mrs. Dean had her hand in the cookie jar as well.” Straightening his spine, he stepped back. “Should I call you Monday evening or wait till you call me?”
“You and I will chat long before Monday night. Just don’t mess up the case before I get back in town.” Beth started the engine.
“I’ll be industrious, tactful, and utterly charming to Mrs. Purdy. You’ll be singing my praises in your next report to Nate.” Michael winked and turned on the heel of his Oxford shoes.
“Hang on a minute. You never finished explaining your gut instinct about Mrs. Dean’s marriage. You think she’s guilty because she’s pretty? Just because she is beautiful doesn’t mean she couldn’t fall in love with Paul. I knew him. He was one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. Isn’t love supposed to be blind?”
Michael closed the distance to avoid being hit by oncoming traffic. “Yeah, but it almost never is. In my thirty years on earth, I’ve only seen gorgeous women with rich men. But hey, she’s our client, and I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.” With a wave he jogged toward his car, curtailing her chance to probe his sexist preconception.
However, at the moment she had more pressing matters than if Michael was a macho, good old boy. If she was moving back home, even temporarily, she needed to make peace with her mother or find somewhere else to live. Unfortunately, she’d given up her apartment in town when Nate assigned her to the Vicksburg case. So she planned to hit the ATM, stop at the drugstore, and fill her tank with gas. And a visit to the farmer’s market made sense. Because her mother wasn’t a health-conscious cook, if she didn’t intervene, Pops would suffer a coronary before he turned fifty.
Two hours later, with her backseat loaded with fresh produce, Beth punched in her mother’s number. Rita picked up on the first ring.
“Have you started cooking yet?” Beth asked.
“Goodness, no. Your father and I ate a big lunch before he left for work. He works late on Saturdays.”
“Why don’t I pick up something on my way home? Then we can put away my groceries and relax tonight.”
“Could you swing by Popeye’s for a two-piece white meat meal? I’d like red beans and rice and mashed potatoes with gravy for my sides. Don’t forget honey for the biscuits.” Her mother didn’t sound like someone who had eaten a big lunch. “Don’t wor
ry. They have grilled things on the menu that you’ll like.”
“Sounds good,” said Beth, foregoing an opportunity to spar. No doubt there would be others that evening.
On the drive to the restaurant, she passed many of her old haunts. A few triggered painful memories, but most brought back a wave of nostalgia. She had spent the past year buried in her work and out of touch with her old life. Unfortunately, her decision to enter the restaurant instead of using the drive-through proved to be a mistake.
“I’ll have the two-piece white meat meal with mashed potatoes and red beans, a three-piece meal of blackened tenders, and an order of Cajun rice,” she said to the clerk. “And a large unsweetened tea.”
The teenager had barely entered her order when a singsong drawl called her name. “Beth Kirby, is that you, or are my eyes deceivin’ me?”
Beth turned to face her three closest friends during high school. “Hey, Kim, Cheryl, Nina. How y’all doin’? It’s been a while.”
“Just a plain ol’ ‘hello’? You can do better than that, girl.” Kim wrapped her arms around her and squeezed.
Beth smelled her raspberry shampoo and Light Blue perfume, the same Dolce Gabbana fragrance she’d worn in high school. Her feelings of nostalgia notched up a level. Cheryl and Nina crowded in, creating a four-way hug.
“You still livin’ in Vicksburg?”
“Natchez ain’t been the same without your sense of humor.”
“Looks like the old band is getting back together!”
Comments and questions were flying, but Beth’s tongue suddenly tangled in her throat.
“Give the woman some breathin’ space,” demanded Kim. Taking charge, she extracted Beth from the other two. “Pay the girl and grab your chow. We already have a table by the windows.”
Beth dutifully paid and picked up the bags. “Sorry. I can’t stay. I have to get this home to Ma. She’ll throw a fit if her chicken gets cold.”
“Your sweetheart of a mother?” Kim dragged her by the arm. “Sit and give us a five-minute update with a promise of more to come later.”
Beth slipped into the red leatherette booth. “I’m not sure if you heard, but I’m a PI now, working for Nate Price. Remember him? He was a few years ahead of us in school.”
All three women shook their heads.
“Well, I just finished a case in Vicksburg. A nurse had been ripping off an old lady. When her family got suspicious, they hired me to—”
“Are you dating this Nate Price?” asked Cheryl.
“No, he’s just my boss. Anyway, I found enough evidence to get the nurse arrested. Too bad she had already spent most—”
“I hope you’re back in Natchez for good.” Kim reached for her hand. “Nobody thinks badly of you, Beth. Nobody who counts, anyway. There was no call to run off and hide upstate.”
“I was working, not hiding.”
“Okay, but since Big Chief Christopher is getting along fine, why should you be separated from your family and friends?” Kim squeezed her fingers.
For some odd reason, Beth was shocked by Kim’s question. Although she’d been fond of her gal pals, she hadn’t lost much sleep over being friendless in Vicksburg. “That’s nice of you to say, but I have to go where the boss sends me.”
“Well, you’re back now and that’s what counts.”
“How do you know Christopher is getting along fine?” asked Beth, unable to stop herself.
To her credit, Kim didn’t exchange glances with the other two. “Because I see him from time to time, washing the car or cutting grass, when I walk Miss Daisy. Don’t you remember? J.T. and I bought a house in Oak Knolls, around the corner from him.”
Beth gulped her tea and stood up. “Okay, I’m out of here. If I don’t take this fried bird to the lovely Rita, she’ll send out a search party. Give me a week to settle in, and then we’ll do lunch, a movie, anything as long as we don’t discuss Chris McNeil.”
“You got it, girlfriend. Welcome home.” Cheryl jumped up for a final hug across the table.
Beth blew kisses to them and fled as fast as possible. Despite their repeated references to the past, she felt warm and cuddly inside. It never occurred to her she would be missed by her friends. Apparently, she’d been too busy feeling sorry for herself.
She drove the long route home so she could update her boss in private. Nate patiently listened as she described in detail the meeting with Mrs. Dean, omitting her partner’s stupid questions and inappropriate comments.
“So you believe we have a case?” Nate asked. “The pastor’s death might not be a suicide?”
“Too soon to say, but I agree with Mrs. Dean about the suit of clothes. That doesn’t sound like something he would do. Tomorrow I’ll drive up to Vicksburg and clean out my rented room. On Monday I’ll present everything to the DA. It should be more than enough to bring charges against Nurse Ratchet. Then I’ll start working with Wonder…er, Michael on Tuesday. Are you and Isabelle ready to go?”
“We’re packing the cooler and snack bag now.”
“They’ll have food where you’re going.” Beth chuckled.
“Are you kidding? It’s a four-and-a-half-hour drive to the coast. A person can starve in that amount of time.” They shared a laugh. “I appreciate your help in training Michael. You mark my words. That man will be a great asset to our team.”
“No problem, but just so we’re clear—I’m here for only as long as this case lasts. I don’t see myself moving permanently back to Natchez.”
“Understood. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Stay in touch.”
Nate hung up as Beth pulled into the driveway of her parents’ three-bedroom bungalow. She saw her mother peeking between the curtains, watching as though she were sixteen years old. As much as she enjoyed reconnecting with her friends, twenty-seven was way too old to return to the nest.
SEVEN
Bay St. Louis, Mississippi
If the expression on his wife’s face was any indication, their friends and family had made a great choice for their honeymoon destination. The town was charming, with a historic, old-world feel, despite the fact almost everything had to be rebuilt after Katrina. And they both fell in love with Aunt Polly’s Bed and Breakfast at first sight.
“Look at these rocking chairs!” squealed Isabelle. She jumped out of the car and ran toward the porch.
By the time Nate parked and carried up their bags, she was rocking as though making up for lost time. “Take it easy. Don’t wear out in the first ten minutes.”
“According to the brochure, breakfast can be served in the dining room or here on the porch,” she said. “We can watch the sunrise over the bay, or maybe the sunset, depending on the direction we face. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Nate climbed the steps and dropped their bags. “It’s lovely, but don’t get too comfortable. Let’s see if our room is as pretty as that brochure.” The moment Isabelle stood, he swept her into his arms and unlocked the door to their suite.
Isabelle giggled as he carried her across the threshold into a Victorian sitting room with fourteen-foot ceilings. “Wow, I would say that’s a definite yes. Put me down this instant so I can explore.”
Nate complied, equally impressed with the furnishings. “Look at the antiques and family heirlooms. I hope I don’t break anything.”
“Stick with me. I’m seeing what’s behind door number two.” Isabelle entered a huge bedroom where a massive bouquet of gardenias, a bottle of champagne, and two flutes sat on the table. “Look at those flowers.”
Nate plucked a card from the ribbon and read aloud. “Congratulations! Relax and have fun. Don’t even think about us working stiffs back home. Your friends in Natchez.”
Isabelle stuck her nose in the flowers and breathed deeply. “What do you say? Should we try a glass since they went to so much trouble?”
“Maybe just half a glass. I don’t want you getting tipsy.” Nate popped the cork and poured the bubbly. But before they had a second sip, s
he disappeared into the third room.
“Look at the size of the bathroom shower,” she called. “Everything looks from a different era, but with every modern convenience.”
“Did you notice the TV hidden inside the antique armoire?” Nate opened the paneled doors like a game show host. “I can keep up with ESPN.”
Isabelle perched a hand on her hip. “With the Gulf of Mexico at our back door, you want to watch sports? Just smell that salty sea air. I can’t wait to go fishing.”
“I didn’t know you fished,” said Nate, shutting the armoire doors. “Are we talking swordfish or bluegills with a bamboo pole?”
“Either will be fine. I can’t believe we have a real four-poster bed.” She threw herself down on the bedspread, her arms stretched over her head. “I feel like Scarlett O’Hara.”
Nate plopped down beside her. “That makes me Rhett Butler.” But before he could enfold her in his arms, Isabelle bolted from the room.
“Let’s walk the beach,” she called from the porch. “No, let’s rent bikes and get a feel for the area. No, let’s walk to town and go shopping. I don’t own enough vacation clothes.”
When Nate found her on the porch, leaning over the rail, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Tomorrow we’ll pick out bikes. I vote for walking along the beach to town. By the time we get there, we’ll be hungry for supper. We do need to keep up our energy.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Let’s not get sidetracked, Romeo. You bring in our bags while I take a quick shower and put on a sundress. I want our first night in paradise to be perfect. After all, this might be the best vacation we ever have.”
“And the most romantic?” He tightened the embrace.
“And the most romantic.” Isabelle kissed his cheek and squirmed away.
An hour later, they strolled hand in hand down the beachfront. In the marina, sailboats bobbed like toys in a row, while offshore, larger yachts sparkled like jewels. “How would you like to own one of those someday?” Nate asked, pointing at a speedboat.
Isabelle watched it cut through the waves. “I’d prefer something quieter and more relaxing, where I can throw out a fishing line and catch us dinner.”