Magnolia Moonlight

by Mary Ellis

  Beth leaned forward again, holding her bagel aloft. “Honestly, Mike, I can’t make heads or tails of this.”

  “That’s because the statements are gibberish. These quarterlies reflect fluctuations in the value of the charity, not the individual deposit from Calvary Baptist of Natchez. That doesn’t make sense for an investment, even if they don’t pay interim interest or dividends until the end of term.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it. Balancing my checkbook is a monthly nightmare.”

  “Most investment quarterlies are straightforward. The summary page shows the amount you either gained or lost due to market volatility since the last statement. With one quick glance, you’ll either crack open the bubbly or toss and turn for many sleepless nights.” Michael hooked his thumb toward the computer. “Those statements are purposefully cryptic, and that usually means one thing.” Using his index fingers, Michael drew a shape in the air.

  “Is that an isosceles triangle?” asked Beth. “I got an A in geometry.”

  “I believe it is. In this case it represents a pyramid marketing scheme. Dubious swindlers convince people to invest their savings with the promise of better returns than they can get elsewhere. Investors are told their money is safe, that they can’t lose if they stay the course for a certain amount of time. Victims are often lured by the promise of doing humanitarian work. Being fairly unsophisticated, Reverend Dean would have watched that video and taken the bait—hook, line, and sinker.”

  “Hey, watch who you bad-mouth, buster. Elliott Rayburn even had me going for a while. Besides, you don’t know for a fact this is a scam.” Balling up her sticky wrapper, Beth tossed it at the trash can and missed.

  “Sorry. I meant no implied disrespect to your pastor.” Michael leaned down to retrieve the wrapper. “To be honest, the director of Spare the Children was very convincing. That’s what makes charlatans as dangerous as thugs sticking up convenience stores. They can wipe out retirement accounts, wreak havoc on credit unions, and ruin a church’s dream for a new school.”

  “You think Rayburn doesn’t use the money for his charity?”

  “I suspect there is no charity, Elizabeth. It probably exists only on paper. The scammers register as a nonprofit to obtain tax-exempt status and then go to work fund-raising. They amass a fortune by making big promises. If an investor smells a rat, or needs to cash out due to unforeseen circumstances, they’re paid back with money from new investors. The scammers might even add a small profit to keep people happy so nobody blows the whistle too soon.”

  Beth’s forehead furrowed. “Sounds awfully complicated. The cons must know they’ll eventually get caught.”

  “White collar thieves see this as a faster road to riches than working for the next forty years. It’s very complex, but an exit strategy is part of their plan. They set a date to stop raising funds, grab their fake passports, and head to the airport.”

  “You mean leave the country forever?”

  “Elizabeth, you don’t think like a criminal. We’re talking millions of dollars. Do you have any idea how well you could live on that in Costa Rica or Brazil or some country without extradition to the United States?”

  “Everybody involved can’t be willing to leave the country, not in an operation this large.” Beth jumped up and started pacing between cubicles. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’re right. Only the top two or three will take the money and run. Other people involved are either oblivious to the scheme—duped like Reverend Dean—or paid handsomely to do their job. If they blow the whistle, they can be charged with aiding and abetting fraud. Most will keep their mouth shut, at least until they get caught. By the time the pyramid crumbles, money will have moved around the world, potentially beyond the reach of U.S. law enforcement.”

  Beth stopped pacing and walked back to the computer. “Do you think you found proof of a scam?”

  “I’m looking at just the tip of an iceberg, but this is now an FBI matter. Their Financial Crimes Division needs to take a look at Spare the Children International, which could already be on their radar. Nate hired me as a PI to investigate a murder. And as crooked as I believe Rayburn is, I see no evidence that he’s a killer. Not yet, anyway. He might very well have killed Paul Dean to avoid paying back so large a sum. Most churches wouldn’t have had a fraction of what Buckley amassed with his day-trading in the stock market.” Michael hit the button to print copies of the statements.

  Beth picked up one of them. “You and I need to keep looking before this case is taken away from us.”

  “We can’t impede a federal investigation, but there is something we can track down.” Michael leaned back with a sly grin.

  “What is that?” Beth placed one hand on her hip. “I’m too crabby today to play guessing games.”

  “Reverend Dean demanded to talk to someone in charge because he wasn’t getting regular statements. D.K. Financials sent them out, but not to the pastor. They sent them to the financial director. I’d bet Ralphie took some kind of commission for leading the lamb to slaughter. And if the investment went south, Reverend Dean would take the blame instead of him.”

  “You think the money is all gone?”

  “Maybe not yet, but if it is a scam, those thieves won’t stick around forever. Buckley might have an alibi for when Reverend Dean died, but he’s in this deeper than a short-term loan to pay off Tammy’s credit cards or add to his home.”

  For the first time that morning, Beth smiled. “Okay, you follow the money trail so we’ll have a better case to hand over to law enforcement. I’ll question Mrs. Purdy and Alice for what they know about Spare the Children or D.K. Financials. They might have filed away something that came in the mail. People still use snail mail for business correspondence. Then I’ll track down other churches in the four-state area that might also have invested with this charity.” She headed toward the doorway.

  “I’ll be happy to get you those names.”

  Beth halted midstride. “I know how to use a computer and the Internet. I was doing Google searches long before you came to work for Price Investigations.” Her words hung in the air like ice crystals.

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Just trying to be helpful.” Michael sat down at his desk before she saw how rattled he was by her comment.

  For several seconds he stared at his computer until he was certain she was gone. Then he racked his brain for what he’d done wrong since leaving Denver, but he came up empty. Everyone was entitled to an occasional bad day, especially someone who’d stay up half the night helping their mother in a hot kitchen. But if something else was happening behind the scenes, he needed to know. He really liked Elizabeth. He knew the dangers of falling for someone on the rebound, but that rule couldn’t possibly count in this case.

  His partner was as unlike his former fiancée as two women could possibly be.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Beth worked the kinks out of her neck and checked her watch. More than three hours had passed, and yet she was still on the outskirts of nowhere. Alice had remembered her husband talking about Spare the Children and its mission to stop human trafficking, while providing food, clothes, and medical care to the thousands of orphans around the globe. But if the charity had fallen from grace, her husband hadn’t shared that information with her. Furthermore, Alice had never heard of D.K. Financials. Nor had she come across any correspondence from them while going through Paul’s papers.

  Natalie also had little to contribute. She promised to check every drawer in the pastor’s desk, but any mail that appeared to be financial in nature would have been given to Ralph Buckley. Because he kept his files at home, only a search warrant could access them. And no judge on earth would give one of those to a PI. Beth’s attempt to locate other churches affiliated with D.K. Financials was also an abysmal failure. It was time to admit defeat. It was also time to make amends with her partner.

  Beth found Michael where she’d left him—bent over his computer in the back cu
bicle. “Hey, partner. I’m here to beg forgiveness for my chronic and compulsive rudeness.”

  Michael glanced over his shoulder. “Sounds like a new-age disease that requires years of expensive therapy.”

  “Either that or a strawberry banana split with extra whipped cream.”

  His smile was slow in coming but worth the wait. “I’m betting you hit a wall with your Google search, so you’ve come to offer an olive branch.”

  “You know me well.”

  Michael pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Actually, I don’t know you at all. You put up roadblocks at every corner.”

  “In that case I’ll grant you three questions. Ask me anything and I will give you honest answers.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Do you really prefer strawberry ice cream with bananas to hot fudge with toasted almonds?”

  “Most definitely. That was your first question.” Beth wiggled two fingers.

  “What do you really think of my Charger SRT 392?”

  She stared at the ceiling. “At first I thought it was extravagant and not worth the high cost of fuel, insurance, and possible speeding tickets. Then I changed my mind. Life is short, so why not drive something you like? Me, I’m saving twenty bucks a month for a Dooney and Bourke purse—a real one, not a knockoff.” Beth lifted a third finger. “One to go, buster, so make it count.”

  “What did I do to annoy you? We got along fine in Denver. Now there’s a wall around you a mile high.”

  “Why, because I didn’t want pancakes first thing this morning? Am I not allowed to be in a bad mood? Why would this have anything to do with you?”

  Michael crossed his arms. “You just asked three questions before giving me my final straight answer.”

  “Some questions are tougher than others,” she said after a tense few moments. “Why are you pushing this?”

  “Because I spent the last two years with my head in the sand. Everyone around me saw the breakup coming. Everyone but me.”

  Beth waved her hands through the air like an irate basketball referee. “You and I are work partners. This is nothing like you and what’s-her-name.”

  “Rachel. Her name is Rachel. And I know that. But even my friends never clued me in that I was a fool.”

  “You can’t be sure. Maybe your friends didn’t want to make trouble based on speculation.”

  Michael shrugged. “Regardless, I want people in my life who’ll let me know when I have broccoli in my teeth, or my jokes aren’t funny, or that I’m not giving them enough space. Otherwise, I might as well get a dog from the pound.”

  “First the car, now a dog? You’re putting roots down in Natchez.”

  “Maybe, we’ll see. Or maybe I’ll move to Hollywood and become a rock star. Talk, Kirby. Is my know-it-all personality getting on your nerves?”

  “Nope. A true know-it-all wouldn’t ask that. It’s something stupid my mother said.” Beth averted her gaze, hoping the answer was written on the ceiling. “I had fun in Denver too and came home with the idea we could be good friends. We have the same sense of humor.”

  “So what did Rita say to change that? I thought she liked me.”

  “She does like you, but she thinks it’s impossible for men and women to be just friends.” Beth let a few moments spin out. “One of them will develop feelings the other doesn’t share.”

  “Sounds like she bases her conclusion on your relationship with Chief McNeil.”

  Beth didn’t like where this was headed, but she couldn’t turn back now. “Maybe, and judging by my past history, she could be right. I read too much into the chief’s attention.”

  “He probably didn’t try very hard to discourage you.”

  “Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “How do we know I won’t develop a mad crush on you?”

  Michael threw his head back and laughed. “That would have already happened by now. I know you don’t fall asleep thinking about me.”

  “I dream solely about all-you-can-eat dessert buffets.”

  “As for me, I enjoy your company and have nothing but respect for you.”

  “Sounds like how I’d describe my Aunt Colette.”

  “I describe you like a partner and hopefully a lifetime friend, even if I end up in Hollywood.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time.” Beth felt herself relax.

  “We create our own future. You and I don’t have to fall into any pigeonhole your mom or anyone else creates. Let’s just be honest with each other. Then we won’t go too far off track.”

  “I gave a few pointers in the gym and on the firing range, and you teach me a new paradigm about relationships. Who knew you had this inside you?”

  “Sometimes I surprise even myself.” Michael turned his attention back to his computer.

  Beth pushed papers aside to perch on his desk. “One more thing…could you help me find the names of other churches that might have been defrauded? None of my search engines turned up even an irate blogger.”

  Michael reached for a piece of paper in the printer tray. “One step ahead of you. These are clients who contributed to Elliott Rayburn’s charity from Mississippi and the adjacent states.”

  Beth grabbed the sheet to peruse. “How on earth did you get this? Did you hack into their database? Is that legal?”

  “Probably not, but we won’t be submitting these names in any court of law. If those on the right side of the law don’t use the same tactics as criminals, we don’t stand a chance against cybercrime. This is a new world. The days of Pretty Boy Floyd sticking up a bank in Oklahoma are over. All it takes now is a geek with a poorly developed ethical code and high-speed Internet.”

  “Ah, you paid attention in PI school. The Fourth and Fifth Amendments protect citizens from the government, but not from one another. Private police, if not deputized, are just citizens and can legally do things public police cannot.” Beth pushed up to stand. “Thanks. I’ll start checking these right now. In return I’ll buy you a sundae after work.”

  “Any kind I want?”

  “Yep, and price is no object.”

  “Let’s go now and have ice cream for a late lunch. You can check into those churches later.” Michael rose to his feet.

  “What about your Iron Man competition? Aren’t you on a protein and plain vegetable diet?”

  “I’m so far ahead of the competition I can afford one high-fat meal.” He flexed a bicep. “Wrap your hand around that if there’s any doubt.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” But as she stepped past him, she punched him squarely in the solar plexus. “Wow, hard as a rock. You have been taking the workouts seriously. Good thing I’m still a better shot.” Beth grabbed her purse on her way down the hall.

  Gentlemanly as ever, Michael opened the door for her. “Soon none of the females will be able to kick sand in my face.”

  Beth doubted any could now and knew for a fact this one didn’t want to. A friend like Michael Preston was worth a barrelful of boyfriends any day.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Michael ordered a three-scoop chocolate sundae topped with sugared pecans and whipped cream. His trainer would have a heart attack just looking at the extravaganza. Beth ordered a banana split with two scoops of strawberry ice cream and extra whipped cream. She passed on the nuts. Seated at a metal table fashioned to look like something from the 1950s, they devoured lunch with zeal never shown romaine lettuce and grated carrots.

  After five minutes, Beth pushed her bowl across the table. “Wanna try mine?”

  Michael paused, his spoon midway to his mouth, and swapped bowls. “Sure, as long as you eat some of this.” Rachel had hated it whenever someone wanted to sample her food. She refused to give up as much as a French fry even though more than half her meals went uneaten.

  “It’s good, but it’s still no match for strawberry,” Beth concluded after a three-bite sample. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I think you had another reason to leave the office
.”

  “I want to talk to Buckley this afternoon. According to Mrs. Purdy, he’s supposedly collecting files from his home to return to the church. Apparently, the board wasn’t happy about his short-term loan. Let’s make sure he doesn’t destroy evidence before I can turn over what I found to the police.”

  “I just went to see Natalie and yet you know this?” Beth switched the two desserts.

  “Mrs. Purdy called me as soon as you left. She doesn’t trust you, but there’s no accounting for taste, Elizabeth.”

  “Okay, how do we prevent Ralph from destroying evidence?”

  “I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Sit back and trust me.”

  “I suggest we finish up and get a move on. You’re all full of surprises today.”

  Forty minutes later they pulled into the Buckley driveway. “That Pontiac is registered to Ralph, so I believe we’re in luck,” said Michael, turning off the powerful engine.

  “Real luck will be in not dealing with his obnoxious daughter,” Beth muttered as they approached the front door.

  Their knock was answered by none other than the crooked financial director. “What on earth could you two want?” he snapped. “Haven’t you made enough trouble for me? I’ve been fired from the church staff and must appear in court for nothing more than a big misunderstanding.”

  “None of that was our intention,” said Beth, in a tone which couldn’t get any sweeter. “Could we come in and talk about this for a few minutes?”

  “No, you cannot come in.” His emphasis left little doubt. “Why would I let you in to nose into my business?”