Magnolia Moonlight

by Mary Ellis

“We parked on the street, so lead the way,” said Beth. She watched every doorway as they moved through the house.

  “Dad, you got company!” the girl hollered.

  Good thing nobody just stepped out of the shower, Beth thought as Buckley’s daughter threw open a door.

  The finance director froze, holding a wrinkled shirt over an open suitcase.

  “You Ralph Buckley? I’m Detective Jack Lejeune of Natchez PD. These are PI consultants to the force, Kirby and Preston.”

  “I’m acquainted with Beth and Mr. Preston.” Buckley dropped the shirt.

  “Going somewhere, Mr. Buckley?” Jack moved to the other side of the room.

  “No, I just came home and haven’t had a chance to unpack yet. What’s this about?” Buckley blinked through his thick-lensed glasses.

  “This is about us having a warrant for your arrest. You’ve been charged with grand theft. You have the right to remain silent…”

  As the detective recited the Miranda rights, Buckley fixed his gaze on Beth, his expression sad rather than surprised. “Funny how I’m being arrested for a small pittance, while Paul got away with the church’s entire future.”

  “Paul didn’t get away with anything,” said Beth. “He’s dead, or have you forgotten?”

  “A fact which gives me no pleasure whatsoever,” he said, not resisting as Jack snapped on handcuffs. Buckley walked from the house with his head down and without stopping to lock his door.

  For the sake of his wife and daughter, Beth turned the knob on her way out. How odd that the finance director would refer to sixty grand as a small pittance.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Bay St. Louis

  Monday

  For the next three days the honeymooners walked the beach, rode their bikes, swam in the ocean, and read novels by the pool—all the fun things vacationers were supposed to do. Every evening they dined on fresh seafood, with sweet potato fries, coleslaw, and, of course, dessert. Tonight they had split a piece of key lime pie with vanilla ice cream, and washed it all down with sweet tea.

  “Ugh,” Nate moaned on the drive back to their B and B. He held his gut with one hand as though in pain. “Tomorrow I’m going for a run at dawn. I feel as if I’ve gained ten pounds since we arrived.”

  “Ditto about putting on weight, but I sure don’t want to run in this heat. I’ll cut back to five hundred calories a day for the next three months to make up for it.”

  Nate handed her a restaurant mint. “Five hundreds calories a day. Is that even possible?”

  Isabelle pulled her glasses down with one finger. “Only if I staple my lips shut.”

  Back at Mrs. Russo’s lovely home on the bay, they parked under the protective arms of a live oak tree. Overhead, thousands of stars and the bright moon lit the flagstone path to the porch. A cool breeze off the water brought relief on the humid night. With his arm around Isabelle’s shoulder, Nate felt like the luckiest man on earth. “What’s your pleasure, Mrs. Price? Shall we walk the beach or maybe swim to Cuba?”

  “Let’s sit in the rockers for a spell and then head to our suite. Maybe we’ll turn in early…and maybe we won’t.” Turning her face up to his, Isabelle winked impishly.

  “Sounds like a perfect ending to another day in paradise.”

  They had barely settled against the cushions when Mrs. Russo appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, folks, but someone is waiting for you in the parlor.”

  “At this hour?” asked Nate, his romantic notions curtailed.

  “Yes. Apparently, the matter couldn’t wait. The woman said her name was Mrs. Mitchell.”

  Isabelle jumped to her feet. Nate followed at a more leisurely pace.

  “Izzy, Nate, forgive me for disturbing you, but I couldn’t sleep until I spoke with you.” Sitting in an upholstered chair, Cassie Mitchell looked miserable.

  Nate immediately regretted his selfishness. “Are you staying here tonight?” he asked.

  “No. I found a less-expensive place along Highway 90, less than fifteen minutes away.”

  Isabelle pulled up a chair and reached for Cassie’s hand. “What have you found out about Craig?”

  Cassie burst into tears, making decipherable conversation impossible. Finally, she choked out a skeletal update of her husband’s life. “An assistant in Craig’s office has always liked me. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but when I went there she wanted to help. Colleen insisted Craig wasn’t involved with someone at work.” Cassie blew her nose in a tissue. “She told me that two men came to see him a couple months ago. They wouldn’t give their names but said they were personal friends. Craig wasn’t thrilled to see them. Then two weeks before he left, those men came back. Colleen didn’t know what was discussed, but they were in Craig’s office a long time. Three days later, Craig showed her an airline ticket and asked if it was possible to cash it in. She examined the fare and said yes. The next day Craig called the office and said he needed a leave of absence because his brother was sick.” Cassie broke into more sobs. “Craig doesn’t even have a b-brother.”

  While Isabelle comforted Cassie, Nate surreptitiously glanced at his watch. “Who do you suppose those men were?” he asked.

  “They weren’t old friends. By her description, one was a bookie named Mickey Pierce and the other probably a hired thug. Craig once showed me a picture of Pierce—the man had a crooked nose and looked as if he was sweating. That’s exactly how Colleen described him.”

  “Talk about a cliché,” said Nate.

  Cassie nodded. “I suppose so, but this is worse than anything I feared. I can handle being left for another woman. I can even handle Craig falling off the wagon and gambling. But this man must be forcing Craig to do something against his will.”

  “Hold up, Cassie,” said Nate. “Nobody can make somebody gamble. It isn’t like holding up a bank. What if he gambled and lost? Even if Craig owed this guy money, there’s no way he could make the cards fall a certain way.”

  “How could you be so sure? Pierce probably recruited my husband to cheat the casinos down here.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Some small-time bookie from Nashville isn’t going to rip off the Golden Magnolia of Bay St. Louis. These big casinos employ professionals to spot card sharks within minutes of them sitting down.”

  Cassie struggled to her feet. “I don’t know what’s going on, but those men bought his plane ticket here. Craig hates to fly, so he cashed it in and drove down instead. All that nonsense about another woman was smoke and mirrors to keep me away. Craig could be in real danger.”

  When Nate heard the pain in her voice, his chest tightened. “If Pierce and your husband are up to no good, we can hope they’ll be banned from the tables before they do something illegal. As much as I respect your loyalty to Craig, there isn’t anything you can do. Why don’t I follow you back to your hotel to make sure—”

  “No, thank you. I can find my way around a small town like this. I just wanted you and Izzy to know I’m here. If you see Craig before I do, I would appreciate a phone call.”

  “Of course.” Isabelle patted her shoulder. “Please call us if you’d like to meet for lunch or dinner sometime.”

  Cassie forced a smile. “Nothing would make me happier than the Mitchells taking you two to dinner. Thanks for listening to me, especially since this is your honeymoon. Good night.” She left the parlor without another word.

  Nate and Isabelle walked to their suite in a somber mood. Nate fell asleep wondering if it was something in the salty air that put a damper on romance.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Natchez

  After a restful Sunday, Beth and Michael worked feverishly on Monday to get Reverend Dean’s exhumation set for Wednesday. The state medical examiner agreed to conduct a criminal autopsy at the request of Natchez PD. Fortunately, Mississippi was experiencing a temporary dearth of suspicious crimes, freeing up the facility and the ME’s time. Beth, however, had little chance to celebrate the good news.

  Detective Le
jeune had been correct in his assumption. The judge refused to deny bail for a financial crime involving a lifelong community member, although he did express contempt for people who stole from religious organizations. Bail was set at two hundred fifty thousand, and the Buckleys were forced to surrender their passports. Ralph’s Spanish and French would be of little use in Natchez.

  Their last duty of the day before leaving the offices of Price Investigations was to call Nate. With Michael practically sitting in her lap, Beth brought the boss up to speed on their case. Nate was overjoyed, but Beth tried to divert all praise toward her partner.

  “Sounds like Nate is pleased.” Michael danced around the office.

  “I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you. Let’s get out of here.” Beth hurried out the door, almost forgetting to lock it behind her.

  “Why not?” Michael kept pace at her side. “Reverend Dean’s body will be on its way to Jackson in two days, and Ralph Buckley has been charged with a felony. Since that thief probably had to mortgage his house for the ten-percent bond, I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

  “Because Mrs. Dean hired us to prove her husband was murdered and to find his killer, not catch some financial flimflammer with his hand in the cookie jar. Remember, we’re PIs, not the police.”

  Michael rubbed the dark shadow along his jaw. “Good point, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Say, what are your plans for tonight?”

  “Let’s see…a quick workout, dinner with Mom and Pops, then maybe Castle reruns in the living room. Mom’s cooking pinto beans and cornbread with tea so sweet I’ll need a dental appointment next week. You want in on this fun?”

  “As enticing as that sounds, I thought I’d take you to dinner. Consider it a token of my appreciation. The trainer you recommended has been working with me three nights a week.”

  “You actually called him?” Beth asked, regretting the question immediately.

  “Haven’t you noticed a difference? I follow his instructions to the letter—five one-hour workouts a week, a daily four-mile run, and fifty chin-ups using a bar I installed. I hope the landlord doesn’t evict me over holes in the door frame.”

  “That’s fantastic, Mike.” Beth dug for her keys as they stood between their cars. “I doubt I could do thirty.”

  “Here, feel my muscle.” Michael pushed up his sleeve and stuck out his arm.

  Beth dutifully squeezed his bicep. “Wow. Charles Atlas as I live and breathe.”

  “Who’s he? Anyway, I’m grateful for the introduction, so let me spring for dinner. I heard Breaud’s has good food.”

  “Let me think…a bowl of pinto beans or charbroiled oysters under the stars?” Beth pretended to ponder her options. “Okay, I’m in as long as you ask for a courtyard table and understand this ain’t no date. I never go out with coworkers.”

  “Or anybody else, for that matter,” he murmured, ducking into his car.

  “What did you say?” she demanded.

  “You heard me, Elizabeth. If I’m wrong, you can set me straight at dinner.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Let’s see…exercise and then a shower. How about if I meet you in an hour and a half?”

  “Perfect. I’ll go for a run. In a few more weeks I’ll be ready for the office smackdown. See you in ninety at Breaud’s.”

  Beth watched him drive away, charmed by his sense of humor. Most male egos wouldn’t tolerate self-improvement jokes, especially not from a woman. She respected Michael’s desire to gain strength and endurance, but she liked his outlook even more.

  After a grueling workout and quick shower in her parents’ cramped bathroom, Beth slipped on a mint-green sundress from a wedding long ago and high-heeled sandals. She wound her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck and headed for the door. Unfortunately, her escape wasn’t quick or easy.

  “Where you goin’ in that getup?” asked her mother.

  Her father glanced up from his bowl of beans and ham. “Wow. You look nice, Betsy.”

  “Thanks, Pops. I’m having dinner with a coworker.” Beth grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “With that nice Michael Preston?” Her mother made no attempt to be subtle. “Thank goodness you wore something other than jeans.”

  “We’ll be discussing the case, Ma. That’s it.” Beth let the screen door slam behind her.

  “Of course. Hence the high heels and fancy hairdo!” Rita called after her.

  Beth laughed all the way to the restaurant. Mom using the word ‘hence’? What is the world coming to?

  After finding a spot on the street, Beth walked toward the entrance as Michael climbed from his tiny Fiat. Dressed in well-tailored slacks and a white shirt open at the neck, he looked…European. At least in the estimation of someone who had never left the country. Far too sophisticated for Natchez, Mississippi.

  “Who were you expecting, Preston?” she asked, the moment he reached her side. “I told you this was no date.”

  Michael glanced down at his clothes. “Is this too fancy for a weeknight?” He folded back his cuffs. “I just wanted to get my money’s worth out of some expensive duds. Nobody’s quite as practical as an ex-accountant. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of asking you out.” He opened the door for her. “I see you’re not in sweatpants and flip-flops.”

  “Fair enough. The dress is too cha-cha for church, and I seldom attend garden parties anymore.” Beth smoothed out a wrinkle as they approached the hostess stand.

  “Preston,” he said to the girl. “I requested an outdoor table.”

  Beth bit her tongue until they were seated close to the fountain. “Okay, what did you mean by ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you out’? What’s wrong with me?”

  Michael shrugged. “Not a thing. I’m simply honoring your earlier request. The curious part is why you don’t date anyone. You’re not bad looking, and this is a small town. You must have attracted somebody’s attention by now.”

  She gaped at him, both shocked and amused. “You do realize that ‘not bad looking’ isn’t a compliment.”

  “I suspect you’re immune to flattery. But if you’d rather not talk about this, we could discuss sports, religion, politics, or the worst ten TV shows ever made.”

  “Nope. I need to come clean about my past and answer your questions. Then you’ll understand the bad blood between Detective Lejeune and me.” Beth took a long sip of water. “I got…involved with Chief McNeil while I was on the Natchez police force, while Jack was my partner.”

  “Did you two have an affair?”

  “No, it never went that far. At first we were friends. He was my mentor, but I became infatuated with him. I orchestrated ways to spend time together. Other cops started to talk, but I didn’t care. I was such a fool. I built this fantasy in my mind that we would run away together. I still feel so ashamed.” Beth stared at her place mat where a wine stain hadn’t fully come out in the wash.

  “Most people are fools at some point in their life.” He sounded very matter-of-fact.

  “If I truly loved him, I wouldn’t have made trouble for him on the force. Long before rumors started to swirl, I took the detective’s exam and scored high. I was already up for the next promotion, based on merit and nothing else.” Beth emphasized the final two words.

  “I believe you, Elizabeth. Your interview and organization skills are top-notch. Certainly your marksmanship would be hard to beat.”

  She crossed her arms, wishing she’d brought a cardigan. “Jack was more popular on the force than me. If he said I had slept my way into the promotion, many were still willing to believe him.” Beth felt herself blush with shame. “And do to this day.”

  “Once a professional reputation is compromised, it’s hard to restore.”

  “You aren’t kidding. By the time Chris set me straight, the damage was already done. He didn’t want me to resign. He insisted the rumor mill would eventually find another victim, but I couldn’t face looking at him each day.” Beth lifted her chin and met Michael’s ey
e. “Too bad my schoolgirl crush didn’t happen at sixteen when consequences are far less serious.”

  “I’m surprised your partner didn’t have your back.”

  Beth scoffed. “Jack blamed me for getting passed over. Not once did it cross his mind it might have been his laziness and incompetence.”

  “That’s usually how it goes.” Michael picked up his menu.

  “Being forced to work with the newly appointed Detective Lejeune is my just reward. See what happens when people get involved at work? Lives are ruined.”

  Michael looked as though he might comment, but then changed his mind. “You’re absolutely right. Shall we order? I’m getting hungry.” He waved at a passing waiter.

  “Fine with me. I get the same thing each time I’m here.” Beth pressed the menu to her chest. “And since I’ve monopolized the entire conversation, why don’t you tell me about the special occasion which warranted those clothes?”

  Michael’s face registered surprise for a fleeting moment. “I bought them for my engagement party. Considering I’ve never been married, and I’m no longer engaged, there’ll be another true confession session in our future. But if you don’t mind, we’ll save that one for another night.”

  “Works for me.” Beth dug through her purse as a distraction until the waiter appeared to take their order. Stood up at the altar? That had to score a ten on the pain scale, while her romantic delusion with the boss didn’t rate higher than a seven.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Bay St. Louis

  Tuesday

  Isabelle awoke at five a.m. and couldn’t fall back to sleep. After thirty minutes of tossing and turning, she crawled from the tangled sheets, grabbed her bathrobe, and tiptoed out to the porch. No need to disturb Nate just because she wouldn’t get any more rest. Seated in her favorite rocker under a moonless sky, Isabelle listened to the foghorns of freighters out at sea and the mournful whistle of a train. As humidity wrapped around her like a blanket, she realized she’d done nothing but disturb Nate since the day they met.

  First, she hadn’t been very nice to him in high school. Then, when he came to Memphis to find her brother’s killer, Nate ended up saving her from a psychopathic stalker. After they married, Nate opened an agency in Natchez and then carried the lion’s share of their financial burden. And what had she done since arriving at their three-week romantic getaway? She’d been obsessed with “saving” her ex-husband, a man who expressly told her to leave him alone.