by Mary Ellis
As the progression of events marched through her head, Isabelle dropped her chin to her chest. Poor Nate. What did a hardworking, God-fearing man like him do to deserve a wife like me? All he wanted was to spend some quality time with her away from work and household responsibilities. Their family and friends had taken up a collection for a relaxing vacation. Instead, she had looked for another mess for him to straighten out. As much as she hoped Cassie and Craig would get through these dark days, she had a responsibility to the man who had pledged to love, honor, and cherish her forever.
And the rest of their life started today.
Isabelle sprang from the rocker, letting it thump against the wood. She took one of each tourist brochure from the rack and tiptoed back to their suite. By the time he woke up, she would be ready with a plan.
Two hours later she was showered and dressed. She set a cup of coffee on his nightstand, gave his arm a shake, and then bolted from the room. A note propped up on the mug read: Dress casual. I have big plans for us, honey. Meet me on the porch for breakfast. I’ll be wearing a pink sundress at a table with purple amaranths.
Isabelle was sipping her second cup of coffee when Nate strolled outside, mug in hand. He perused the porch, where two other couples and a family of five were dining on croissants, omelets, grits, and fried ham.
“It’s a good thing you told me the color of your outfit, Izzy, because I would have had trouble spotting you in this crowd. And I have no idea what an amaranth is.” Nate dropped into the opposite chair.
“This is an amaranth.” Isabelle lifted the vase. “But today isn’t about horticulture. I have a fun-filled agenda for us. And you’ll be pleased with breakfast too—no fussy chick food today!” Isabelle lowered her voice to a whisper as Mrs. Russo appeared with two heaping plates. The woman must have built-in radar, considering she always knew when all members were present.
Nate leaned back and inspected the food. “Breakfast looks great. Tell me what’s on your mind.” His tone revealed little enthusiasm for what was to come.
“How would you like to drive up to Kiln to the Lazy Magnolia Brewing Company? They give family-friendly tours with samples of their craft brews at the end. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Nate ate a forkful of eggs. “Absolutely, if one of us liked the taste of beer. Because we don’t, it’s not worth the drive.”
“You have a point.” Isabelle slipped the brewery brochure to the middle of the stack. “How about Biloxi Schooners? They have a sixty-five-foot, double-mast replica for a two-and-a-half-hour cruise or a half-day charter.” She read the caption beneath the picture.
“Do you even know what a schooner is?” Nate cut his ham slice into pieces. “It’s an old-fashioned sailboat. What if a big storm develops while we’re out in the Gulf? You’ll be hanging your head over the side for the entire trip.”
Isabelle tucked that brochure on the bottom and selected her next candidate. “What about the Hurricane Katrina Memorial on the Biloxi Town Green?”
Nate leaned over to inspect the brochure. “I would like to see the Katrina Memorial and pay my respects. Lots of people along the coast lost their lives while we watched hurricane coverage on CNN, safe in our living room. That one’s a yes. Got anything else?”
“We could rent bikes in Ocean Springs and do the fifteen-mile tour through the historic section, maybe grabbing lunch along the way.”
He wiped his mouth and stared at her. “I can’t believe you want to rent bikes in this heat. We’ll get halfway out and need to call a taxi with a bike rack.”
Isabelle felt her hopes for a fun day slipping away. “I’ve always wanted to see an alligator.”
“What do you mean? One of those roadside attractions where they’re kept in pens? Or maybe somebody wrestles one in the mud?” Nate smirked and dug into his grits.
“No, I want to see one in the wild.” She tossed her last brochure across the table. “Let’s go to Gulf Islands National Seashore. They have nature trails along Davis Bayou and boat rides with a park ranger. We’re bound to see plenty of wildlife.” Isabelle took a bite of croissant, waiting for objections to roll in.
“Is this far away?”
“Fifteen minutes past the Biloxi Town Green.”
“Then get a move on, Izzy. We have places to go, and I’m ready right now. Well, at least as soon as we’re finished here.”
Isabelle ate all she could, her appetite still not back to normal, and filled their cooler with bottles of water. Changing from her sundress into a T-shirt and shorts, she decided that no matter what happened today, she would smile and have a good time.
After the Katrina Memorial they drove into the lush, serene world of a national park, well removed from the hubbub of the coast. The helpful guide at the visitor center pointed out the best spots to view herons, osprey, terrapin, and fiddler crabs.
“Where can we see a gator?” asked Isabelle, opening her map on the counter.
The ranger considered for a moment and then drew a big red X on the map. “Big Bob hangs out here most mornings expecting tourists to throw him marshmallows. Not that I want you to do that.” She shook her finger at them. “It’s against the law to feed our wildlife, but poor Bob still waits patiently, snacking on frogs and crabs in the meantime.”
“Thanks so much,” said Isabelle to the ranger. She grabbed the map and they jumped in the car.
“Slow down, Izzy,” Nate warned at the next curve. “We’re not allowed to run over tourists either.”
“I can’t wait to see a gator,” she said, dutifully slowing her speed. “I sure hope Bob doesn’t pick today to lower his expectations.”
Although they had no trouble finding the indicated spot, after a full hour of watching from the platform at the swampy pond below, Bob failed to make an appearance. As their skin turned pink and their clothes dampened with sweat, Nate finally spoke the voice of reason.
“Sorry, Izzy. Looks like it’s not to be. Let’s head to where we catch the tour boat.”
“Where’s a marshmallow-packing band of hooligans when you need them?” she muttered, pulling out her map. “Why don’t we leave the car where it is and take this trail inland? It should be a shortcut to the fishing pier.” She tapped her finger on a dotted line.
Nate leaned over her shoulder. “I don’t know about that. What if the trail turns swampy or we get lost? We left our water in the car. According to the brochure, cottonmouths live in this park.”
“Nate Price, I cannot believe this. You were a big, brave PI in New Orleans and Memphis—unafraid of anything, according to your cousin. Now you’re scared to leave the pavement? If we’re going to see gators in the wild, we must be adventurous.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Lead the way, missy. I’m right behind you.”
Isabelle stuffed the map into a pocket and started down the path. Their second hour of gator patrol produced sightings of crabs, turtles, fish, and a fat raccoon. Even though they saw no alligators, Isabelle did find a nest of fire ants. While she was watching for movement among the reeds and cattails sixty feet away, dozens of red bloodsuckers crawled up her legs. Before she could react, several burrowed into her socks and under the legs of her shorts. With little alternative, Isabelle dropped her shorts in the middle of nowhere, while Nate swatted and batted to his heart’s delight.
It wasn’t a very dignified moment.
They left the backwoods as quickly as possible, found a spray bottle of Benadryl in the car’s glove box, and caught the park’s last tour for the day. When Isabelle climbed into the flat-bottom boat, she tried her best to smile…and not to scratch.
The ranger’s narrative about life in the swamps and bayous took her mind off her ant bites. Nate loved hearing about life on the Gulf Coast, and Isabelle loved seeing him so happy. One of their fellow passengers, a former schoolteacher, asked many questions the ranger happily answered.
“What about alligators?” Nate asked during a break in the conversation.
The ranger nodde
d. “We had several nests in the area this past spring, each one producing a dozen or more offspring. The female will guard her clutch for the first year against predators, usually other adult alligators.”
“Any chance of seeing a mama gator with her babies?” asked Isabelle.
The question caused the schoolteacher to pivot around on her seat. “Mothers are highly protective of their young. This boat won’t go anywhere near one of those nests for our safety, along with theirs.” The woman frowned at Isabelle as though she just proposed mass suicide. “I’m glad there are places in the world they can live unmolested. Every square foot of land shouldn’t be landscaped.”
“I agree, ma’am,” murmured Isabelle, “but I’d still like to see one.”
“Try the gator ranch in Moss Point.” The schoolteacher returned to her face-forward position.
Nate rolled his eyes and slipped an arm around her. “You thinking about a gator pond in our backyard someday? That rules out miniature poodles for pets.”
“I’d be satisfied with goldfish and a few bird feeders.” Isabelle released a weary sigh. “I wanted today to be perfect, but my big plans turned into one disaster after another.”
“I enjoyed every minute of it, especially fire ant extermination.” Nate tickled her neck. “And the day’s not over.”
“Let’s just get back to Aunt Polly’s before this boat sinks with all hands lost.” Isabelle curled into his shoulder to watch the scenery on the return trip.
“Look there, Izzy.” Nate extended a finger to indicate a long, watery aisle between tall rows of cordgrass. The former schoolteacher and everyone else were distracted by a flock of pelicans. Isabelle glanced up to see a scaly reptile gliding through the water with a miniature replica of itself on its back. It lasted only a moment, not enough time to alert the group, but Isabelle knew for certain—a mama gator was taking her baby for a ride through the bayou.
“Still think today was a disaster?” Nate whispered in her ear.
“Not anymore,” she croaked, overcome with emotion.
She decided then and there to forget about Craig and the mess he’d created. If Cassie called, she would encourage her to hire a local investigator or call the police. Nate deserved a wife who paid attention to him, not one who worried endlessly about a man bent on self-destruction.
On the drive home they stopped at the Biloxi lighthouse, a shining beacon against the night sky, and then ate fish tacos and fried green tomatoes at Shaggy’s on the beach.
“Anything else on your agenda?” asked Nate. “Maybe a nighttime dive for sunken treasure in the bay?”
“Nope. Let’s head back to our suite at Aunt Polly’s before we run out of steam.” Isabelle winked at him.
“I’ll go pay the check while you start the car.” He tossed her the keys. “This day keeps getting better and better.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Natchez
Michael couldn’t believe he’d pushed Beth to talk about her personal life. What was the matter with him? He was worse than the ladies who worked at the bank with his mother. They could sniff a marital problem at fifty yards and then badger the person for details. Maybe misery did love company. Those unlucky in love took comfort from those equally challenged. He’d left himself wide open with his comment about the clothes. He hoped his partner would forget all about last night.
As for him? It would be a long time before he forgot how nice she looked in that green dress.
Michael downed a cup of coffee, punished his body with pushups and sit-ups, and then ran five miles at an easy pace. After a shower and more coffee, he considered his workday. With Beth on her way to Vicksburg to talk to old contacts, he was a boat without a rudder.
When his phone buzzed, he answered on the second ring. “Michael Preston.”
“Hi, Mike. Jack Lejeune, Natchez PD. How’s it going?” Beth’s nemesis greeted him as though they were old friends.
“Good, thanks. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Nothing. It’s what I can do for you. Lo and behold, Ralph Buckley, with legal counsel present, gave us a videotaped confession last night.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Michael tossed the rest of his coffee in the sink.
“Caught us by surprise too. Maybe Buckley got the idea that if he’s up-front, the DA might charge him with a lesser crime, maybe even a misdemeanor. And he could be right.”
“He confessed to murder and wants a misdemeanor?” Michael barked into the phone.
“Simmer down. No, not murder. I told you and your partner Buckley was no killer. He ain’t the type. He wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty or rip his shirt.”
“What exactly did he confess to?” Michael dropped into a kitchen chair.
“Come down to the precinct. I’ll let you watch the video. Because Buckley asked to make a statement, nothing on that tape is confidential. It’ll be good for your training. And who knows? Maybe you’ll want to apply to the police academy. You’re the right age and all that.”
Michael considered his response carefully. Having Lejeune on their side would be advantageous. “I appreciate your offer, Detective, but my partner is in Vicksburg today. Can we come by the station tomorrow morning? Will that work?”
There was a raspy laugh before Lejeune answered. “It will not. This is a one-time offer which will soon expire. Come this morning or kiss your chance goodbye.”
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Good. You’ll find me at my desk. Oh, and Mike? You’ve probably heard that Beth and I are no longer besties. Since the chief ordered me to cooperate with Mrs. Dean’s ridiculous investigation, I thought you and I would make a better team. Catch my drift?”
“Loud and clear. See you soon.”
Michael hung up, feeling sweat soak his shirt despite a cold shower less than ten minutes ago. He didn’t like Lejeune. Maybe it was because the guy didn’t defend Beth with the backstabbing good old boys. And Lejeune still was sneaking around her back. Or maybe his irritation stemmed from Lejeune’s eagerness to dismiss the case. Lazy, just like his partner described. Either way, he had a job to do. Sixty minutes later Michael was buzzed through the reinforced door and shown to the detective’s cubicle.
Lejeune smiled and shook his hand heartily. “Follow me, Mike. I’ve got the camera set to replay.” With his boot heels clicking on the tiles, Lejeune led the way to the conference room.
Michael took a chair on the opposite side of the table and opened his binder to a fresh sheet.
“Taking notes for your new boss? Betsy won’t be happy when she gets back to town. She was ready to tie the noose around Buckley’s neck. Too bad Mississippi uses lethal injection for their mode of execution.”
“I’m still new on the job. I want notes to review for my sake.”
“A fine idea.” Lejeune started the camera and leaned back in his chair.
For close to two hours, Michael watched Buckley admit to stealing sixty thousand dollars from the church he attended. According to his testimony, his wife had run up a huge credit card bill with a vicious interest rate. After their son moved back home with his wife and new baby, Tammy demanded a two-story addition be added to their house. After all, Ralph Junior had bravely served his country overseas and now needed a decent place to live. Ralph Senior decided sixty thousand would be sufficient for both requests.
“Why didn’t you take a second mortgage like every other American?” asked Lejeune during the interview.
Buckley had a ready answer: “The bank wasn’t issuing new loans until after the first of the year. The manager told me to reapply after January first but assured me that with my credit score it would be approved.”
“Why didn’t you request a short-term loan from Pastor Dean and the board? You were a longtime member of the church.”
“You seem to know very little about the rules governing nonprofits, Detective. The board was in no position to grant such a request. Otherwise, half the congregation would be lining u
p for loans.”
Michael had to agree with Buckley’s assessment. He glanced at Lejeune. The guy’s mood was almost gleeful.
“So you helped yourself from Calvary Baptist’s account to keep the little wife happy.”
Buckley shook his finger at the camera. “I planned to pay back every dime as soon as I got my loan. No one would have been the wiser, but Paul decided to check the books with a magnifying glass. He called me on the phone all furious, threatening to call the church attorney. That hypocrite!”
“Why would you call Reverend Dean that?”
“Because he was doing the same thing but on a much larger scale. Paul demanded I come to his house to discuss this. When I agreed, I had no idea he’d already told Robert Scott, one of the church board members.”
“Was this the day Reverend Dean died?”
Buckley glanced at his attorney, who nodded his head. “It was, but in the meantime I got a call from Bob Scott. Reverend Dean had forwarded an email about the sixty thousand dollars. So the night before my meeting, I did my own audit of the church accounts, including the building fund.”
“Didn’t Reverend Dean take control of that account because he didn’t like your investment strategies? Weren’t they pretty fast and furious for a small Southern church?”
Lejeune pressed “Pause” and slapped the table with his palm. “I got that info from you, Preston. Good background prelims.”
“Thanks,” said Michael, unable to take his eyes off the monitor. Lejeune pressed “Play.”
“Yeah, and my fast and furious investing turned two hundred K into half a million in less than four years. If I’d been left alone, I might have tripled the amount by the time we broke ground for the new school.”