Magnolia Moonlight

by Mary Ellis

  “I can’t imagine that happening, not in light of my numerous personal shortcomings.”

  She stared straight ahead, her lower lip trembling. “I’ve never been so ashamed of myself in my life.”

  Nate kissed her cheek. “You are human, dear wife. Perfection is the domain of angels, not us mere mortals.”

  “After we get Craig straightened out, could we do something nice for Mr. Herman?”

  “You do realize we’ll be on our way home soon.”

  “I know, but if we have time?” Isabelle look at him with moist, shiny eyes.

  “Why not? We can always hang out at the beach after we retire.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Natchez

  Monday

  It wasn’t easy for a person to remain hidden for long. Not in a low-population state like Mississippi. Especially not from someone who knew your friends, your former employer, your social history, and your professional affiliations. And certainly not from your former fiancé.

  The hard part yesterday had been interviewing the Hattiesburg minister without revealing that he knew Rachel Stewart from D.K. Financials. Michael could have confessed that to his partner on the drive back to town. Surely he could have found time between discussing who had the best shot at the SEC championship and where to stop for a caffeine break and said: By the way, Elizabeth, this crooked Rachel Stewart is the same Rachel who nearly stood me up at the altar and single-handedly broke my heart.

  Michael might have had the time but not the guts.

  His second difficult challenge was convincing Beth that he should go alone to Jackson to question Miss Stewart, while Beth collected and organized their file on Spare the Children to turn over to the Natchez PD. Scams that crossed state lines and international borders were the FBI’s jurisdiction, but private investigators shouldn’t be the ones handing over evidence.

  “You’re the forensic accountant on the team,” she’d complained. “Shouldn’t you be the one putting together the file for Chris?” Her question had been legitimate.

  “Why can’t I come along when you interrogate Miss Con Artist? Why should you have all the fun?” Another excellent question Michael had no answer for.

  “Please, Beth, could you just once show some faith in my decision-making abilities?” His response, although rather underhanded, had been effective. His partner reluctantly agreed as long as he provided a full update on his way home.

  In comparison, tracking down Rachel Stewart, with her accounting degree from Auburn and mutual friends both were in contact with, had been easy. Even finding her present employer, D.K. Financials, in an industrial section of town wasn’t much of a challenge. For ninety minutes Michael watched the entrance of the storefront operation to no avail. After his equally uneventful drive to Jackson, he began to doubt the wisdom of his plan. Then God was merciful.

  Rachel parked next to the curb and exited her vehicle carrying a giant cup and a takeout bag. Even unscrupulous charlatans get hungry by two o’clock in the afternoon. As she clicked the lock on her Cadillac and headed toward the door, Michael intercepted her path.

  “Hi, Rachel. What a surprise seeing you here.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Nice car. The last time I saw you, you were driving a Jeep with a hundred thousand miles on the odometer.”

  She blinked her unnaturally blue eyes. “Mike. What are you doing in Jackson? Have you been following me?” Her expression of shock morphed into irritation as though she frowned at gum stuck to her shoe.

  “I assure you I’m not looking for work.” He straightened his spine. “My new job led me to D.K. Financials. Imagine my surprise to find you here.” He paused and watched the first crack appear in her haughty facade.

  “This company offered a great salary and better benefits. If you could leave Anderson Accountants, why shouldn’t I?” Rachel tightened her grip on her soft drink. “I love living in Jackson. Did you think I would stay in Brookhaven forever?”

  “Actually, I haven’t thought much about you since we broke up.” It was a bald-faced lie, but it felt good to say the words. “As I said, I’m following a lead for the case I’m on.”

  A second crack appeared in her demeanor. “What kind of case are you talking about? You’re an accountant.” She gave the word a distasteful inflection despite sharing the same credentials as him.

  “After you broke off our engagement, I made a few changes in my life. I’m a private investigator now in Natchez. I love what I do. Working in the field got me away from that backstabbing, gossip-spreading, competitive pack of jackals. But hey, that’s just my opinion. Some people working in offices are probably quite nice.”

  Frowning, Rachel took a step back. “Look, Mike, it’s great seeing you again, but I need to get to my desk. I wish you well in your new career.” She turned and reached for the door handle.

  “Thanks, but it’s you I came to see. Let’s step inside. I also have a few questions for your boss. You know, the boiler room operator for D.K. Financials?”

  Rachel’s perfect features contorted with rage. “How dare you demean what we do? We are legitimate fund-raisers, licensed and registered in this state. We provide funds for a humanitarian charity that serves children across the globe.” She braced the door open with her backside.

  “The fact that you’re registered proves nothing, so save the pep talk for the next naive priest or minister on your list. I represent the widow of one of your targets, Reverend Paul Dean of Natchez.”

  Suddenly the chameleon’s sneer turned into a smile. She moved toward him, letting the door swing shut. “Why don’t we go somewhere private to talk? You have the wrong idea about D.K. Financials, but I haven’t helped the situation with my attitude.” Shifting her lunch, Rachel placed a hand on his sleeve.

  Michael glanced down at her manicured fingers and smiled. “You’re right. We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s sit down with your director and talk this over.”

  “Please, Mike, is there any way to avoid speaking to Mr. Roush? He feels terrible that Reverend Dean took his own life and holds me partially responsible.” Rachel’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Care to elaborate how it could be your fault?”

  “The company policy is specific. I’m to encourage donors to be generous and to give the charity the longest possible term on their investment. Most pastors aren’t savvy about normal market fluctuations, so I’m also here to calm jittery nerves during downturns.”

  “Is that how you were trained to handle Reverend Dean?” Michael crossed his arms.

  “Yes, and I tried my best. But he insisted that we refund the original amount.” Rachel set down her lunch long enough to wipe away a tear. “I tried to explain his investment would suffer a serious loss if he cashed out early, but Reverend Dean became irate. He shouted at me and called me names. He was totally out of control. I never heard such language coming from a preacher before.”

  Michael clenched down on his back teeth. He was certain Paul Dean had never uttered a curse word in his life, let alone to a woman over the phone. “What did you do?”

  “I hung up on him. That’s how I was raised. I planned to call him in a few days after he had a chance to calm down. When we heard about his suicide, I felt just…just awful.” Rachel covered her face with her hands, accidentally kicking over her drink. Coke and ice splashed down the steps.

  “I’m surprised news of a suicide reached all the way to Jackson.” Michael laid a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  “What?” she asked with confusion.

  “How did you find out Reverend Dean was dead?”

  She shrugged. “I think Mr. Roush told me. That’s why I’m hoping you won’t say anything to him. Mr. Roush said I should have immediately complied with Reverend Dean’s wishes. I should’ve notified the comptroller to cut a check for the balance at the end of the day. The company doesn’t want unhappy investors badmouthing the wonderful work Spare the Children has done. Mr. Roush said he’ll fire me if I cause any more t
rouble for the firm.” Her lower lip trembled as she spoke. “Please, Mike, take pity on me. I can’t afford to lose this job. You have no idea how expensive it is to live here. That’s just one of the things I miss about Brookhaven.” She attempted a halfhearted laugh.

  Michael shrugged. “I have no desire to jam you up, Rachel, despite our past…differences, but I need copies of correspondence with Reverend Dean for his widow. By the way, whatever happened to the church’s money?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. The balance is probably still invested for the rest of the term.” Her hypnotic eyes locked with his. “I’m afraid to ask too many questions. You understand, don’t you?”

  “I’m beginning to.” Michael glanced at his watch. “As long as I provide some kind of answer to my client, your boss doesn’t have to get involved. Mrs. Dean and the church elders need to know their money is still hard at work saving kids. Why don’t you fax copies of your correspondence with the pastor to this email address?” Michael handed her a business card. “I’ll do my best to assure discretion on our end.”

  “Of course. Give me a few days, a week at the most, to get everything together without arousing suspicion.” Rachel tucked the card in her purse. “Before you go, may I ask you something?”

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?” He feigned a carefree attitude while his stomach tightened into a knot.

  “Would you have dinner with me tonight? You can’t believe the great selection of restaurants in Jackson. We’re not in the Mississippi Delta anymore, Toto.” Her laughter sounded almost childlike.

  “Thanks, but I need to get back to Kansas.” Michael headed down the stairs with the beginnings of a headache from her perfume.

  “I hope you don’t hate me for what I did. If there’s one regret I’ll take to my grave, it’s leaving you so abruptly.”

  Michael felt an old familiar pain in his gut. “Forget about it, Rach. I survived the trauma and walked away unscathed. Look, not even scarred or disfigured.” He slicked a hand through his hair, now longer and better styled than his former buzz cut.

  Her gaze traveled from the top of his head down to his Italian leather loafers. “You look great. Have you been working out? This new career must be the best thing that ever happened to you. Or is it a new woman?” She sounded coy as she squeezed his arm.

  Memories—some good, some horrible—flooded back with her touch. It took every ounce of fortitude not to bat her hand away as if it were a horsefly. “I have no plans to walk down the aisle anytime soon, if that’s what you’re asking, but I love Natchez. I’ve got new friends, new routines, and a better outlook on life.”

  “I’m truly happy for you.” She bent down to retrieve her empty cup. “But I’d still like to buy you supper. I could answer the rest of your questions while you could assuage some of my guilt over Reverend Dean. Is there anything I can do for his family? I want to at least send flowers to his wife. Please, Mike, let me make things up to you.”

  For a few moments, he considered her invitation. After all, he couldn’t think of a better way to discover the extent of her deviousness than to gain her trust—yet something in her coy drawl sent his self-preservation meter into the red zone.

  Shame on you for dancing me around like a puppet on a string, but if I let you do it again…shame on me.

  He glanced at his watch again, as though he had a pressing appointment. “Can I have a raincheck on dinner? There might be a few more questions after I get your email, but I don’t mind driving back to Jackson to have dinner with a beautiful woman.” He forced a smile.

  “Give me a call anytime. Here’s my new cell number.” She scribbled a number on a corner of her lunch bag.

  “I’ll do that. Good luck with your new job. Oh, and maybe you should send D.K.’s last two statements for Calvary Baptist along with your correspondence with Reverend Dean. Even though probate is months away, those should relieve Mrs. Dean’s worries that she will be held responsible for any church losses.” Michael tipped an imaginary hat, a throwback from his nerdy days that refused to die, and walked toward his car.

  “I’ll send those out as soon as I can,” called Rachel, waving like a prom queen.

  Michael slipped behind the wheel, feeling he needed a shower despite unusually cool temperatures. He felt disloyal to Beth, even though their relationship was strictly platonic. Most of all, it felt like he just danced with a three-headed serpent, who was wearing a silk dress and stiletto heels.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Beth jumped when her phone rang. She answered on the second ring. “It’s about time you called, Preston. I’ve been chomping at the bit to hear your news. What was she like—this Rachel from D.K. Financials? I’m hoping you didn’t tip your hand before you found evidence on that little crook.”

  “Simmer down before you hyperventilate,” he said, his voice muffled as though on speaker.

  “Are you back to Natchez yet?”

  “Not by a long shot. I’m tied up behind a road repair crew. Did you finish organizing our file on the charity scam?”

  “Of course I did. I’m not an idiot. It’s ready whenever you go see Jack. Me, I’m staying at least five hundred feet away from that madman.” Beth listened to chuckling on the other end. “But let’s not talk boring facts and figures now, not when you met the enemy face-to-face. Any chance this woman might have had a hand in Paul’s death?”

  Beth waited expectantly but heard only silence. “I can’t hear you, Mike. Unless you’re in heavy traffic, take me off Bluetooth and put the phone to your ear. I want to hear every detail about your trip to Jackson.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “I staked out D.K. Financials until Miss Stewart showed up. She must work strange hours because she was carrying her lunch.”

  “Okay…that’s certainly fascinating.”

  “Truth is I didn’t meet Rachel. I…actually knew her previously.”

  “You knew her from where? Stop being so cryptic and spell it out for me.” As soon as Beth asked the question, cogs started to turn. When her memory scanned every past association for that name only one answer came to mind.

  “No,” she murmured. “You can’t possibly mean your coworker at the accounting firm. Your former girlfriend?” She cupped her hands around the phone to evade Maxine’s keen hearing.

  “One and the same. My former fiancée, to be exact. Rachel was a good accountant. Too bad she’s taken her talents to the dark side.”

  Beth searched unsuccessfully for the right thing to say. “I can’t put this together. Did you know before you left this morning? Is that why you didn’t want me along?”

  Michael hesitated a moment too long. “I suppose so. Her name is fairly common, but when I factored in her vocation and the fact Rachel left Anderson six months ago, I suspected it might be her. Truthfully, I didn’t want our initial showdown to be in front of witnesses.”

  “You didn’t bloody her nose, did you? Did the other swindlers have to pull you apart?”

  His laughter sounded more genuine this time. “No, nothing dramatic like that. The meeting went well. I told her I was investigating Paul Dean’s investments on behalf of his widow, and that I had tracked the church’s account to her at this address.”

  “Did you get the name of her supervisor at D.K. Financials? Which one of them was more worried about your questions?”

  “Her boss’s name is Mr. Roush, but we talked outside her office. Rachel said if there’s any more trouble connected to Paul Dean, she might lose her job.”

  Beth stared at a picture of playful otters on the wall. “Why would you care if Rachel got fired? Her conniving led to Paul’s death…or worse. For all we know, she might have been the one kicking the stool out from under his feet.” Beth felt the muscles in her neck tighten as she spoke the words.

  “I realize that, but we gain nothing by tipping our hand too soon. Wasn’t that one of your first lessons?”

  “So what did Miss Heartbreaker say other than plead for mercy with her crooked employer
?”

  “Could you not reference our past in every other sentence?” Michael asked. “Let’s stay focused on the present.”

  “All right. Did Miss Stewart talk about her relationship with Calvary Baptist Church?”

  “Yes. She acknowledged that Reverend Dean requested the church investment be returned and that she initially refused. Rachel counseled patience during a market slump, but the pastor became irate and started cursing at her—”

  “Paul would never do that!”

  “Calm down. I know that, but I wanted to see where this was headed. Rachel said she was giving Pastor Dean a cooling-off period but had planned to refund his money in a few days. Then her boss heard about the suicide, and Rachel ended up in hot water for pushing the man too hard.”

  “And you believed this bag of bologna?”

  “Of course not, but I acted like I did. Rachel agreed to send me copies of her correspondence with Calvary Baptist.”

  “She’s not dumb enough to give you anything incriminating.” Desperate for fortification, Beth marched to the coffeemaker by Maxine’s desk.

  “Probably not, but we won’t know until we see the emails. Rachel also invited me to dinner, but I declined. She insisted that I take a rain check.”

  “Oh, really?” Beth swigged the coffee black without her standard cream and two sugars. “What else did little Rachel have to say?”

  Michael didn’t seem to pick up the sarcasm. “Let’s see…she said I looked great and that she could tell I’d been working out.”

  “Very observant of her. Anything else?”

  “She said she would regret breaking up with me until the day she died.” His inflection was downright melodramatic.

  Beth locked gazes with Maxine. “Are you falling for Rachel’s manipulations? She’s trying to con you into divulging how much you know.”

  “I realize that, Beth, but why not play along? If she doesn’t send us something the feds can use in the email, I might just accept her invitation. Maybe I’ll wear a wire the way they do in the movies.”