Magnolia Moonlight

by Mary Ellis

  “If I’m barred, Cassie will start making a ruckus outside the poker room, begging you not to squander the rent money.”

  “Cassie is here? You involved my wife?” Craig grabbed ahold of Nate’s shirt.

  “No, she involved us. Make no mistake about it. And she’s not leaving Bay St. Louis without you.”

  Craig released the fabric. “Please, Nate, take Izzy and Cassie home. I’ve fallen down a hole I can’t crawl out of. All your good intentions will only get me killed.” He dropped his face into his hands.

  “Not if you let us help you before it’s too late.” Isabelle placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Nate did too. “Trust us.”

  His simple declaration seemed to turn the tide. Without looking at them, Craig started to talk. “I just received an invitation to the big game Sam Malloy organizes in every town he visits. I have no choice. I must win big to pay Mickey Pierce what I owe him.”

  Isabelle’s pity evaporated. “Your old loan shark from Nashville? You borrowed from that creep to start gambling again?” She pounded on the back of his seat.

  “No, Izzy, I didn’t.” Craig turned to face her. “But Pierce came to my office to collect on an old debt I never paid in full. He said if I didn’t help with his ‘sure way to win,’ he would make my life miserable.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?” asked Nate.

  “And say what? A man I owe money to wants to be repaid? I’ve heard the stories. Pierce starts by poisoning your dog or torching your garage. One of his goons once pushed a man’s mother down a flight of stairs, but there’s never a way to tie it to Pierce.” Craig looked from one to the other. “He said a seat at Big Sam’s table can pay the debt in full, and then I’ll never see him again.”

  “What happens if you lose?” asked Nate. “Then the money he staked you will be added to your tab. I don’t care how good you are, Craig. The cards might not fall your way.”

  “I can’t lose, not with these.” He pulled a pair of dark glasses from his pocket and handed them to Nate. “Don’t touch the lenses.”

  Nate held them up to inspect. “Good grief! What are these—night vision?”

  “It’s a type of infrared. Pierce bought a prototype from some teenage genius and used it in Shreveport and then in Tunica. Now we’ll put them into play at the Golden Magnolia.” He tucked them back into his pocket.

  Isabelle clucked her tongue. “How will that work? You think the poker room will be pitch-dark and only you will be able to see the cards? You’re not this stupid, Craig.”

  He ignored her insult. “They’re not night vision goggles. Every deck of cards used by this chain of casinos comes from the same manufacturer. Mickey paid an employee to mark certain decks with a special ink. Wearing these, I’ll know what everybody is holding once those decks are put into play.” Craig pulled out his regular pair of sunglasses. “The shades don’t look much different from the ones I always wear.”

  “And you fell for this Star Wars baloney?” Isabelle shook his headrest with both hands.

  “Like I said, it worked twice before. Pierce sets up a different player in each town and has already taken a couple million off Big Sam. That’s why Sam is itching to play again tomorrow. He thinks his luck is about to change. This will be my only chance to get out from under that loan shark’s thumb. I’ll give him my winnings, and I swear I’ll never gamble again.”

  Isabelle looked at Nate, who seemed to share her sense of foreboding. “Did you use those glasses to win? I saw that you had a huge pile of chips.”

  “No, today I won fair and square. Imagine that. Pierce arranged for a marked deck to appear to make sure I knew what I was doing, but I faked the allergic reaction before it came into play. I needed to get you out of there before you ruined everything.”

  “You big faker.” Isabelle pulled a lock of his hair. “I was worried you were dying.”

  “You shouldn’t have been in there,” snapped Craig. “I told you to mind your own business. At least my stunt won me a return invitation to Big Sam’s game. Pierce won’t have any trouble getting his special decks into play. And that’s where the big money can be won.”

  Nate finally spoke up. “You were very close to going to jail instead of back to some high roller’s big game.”

  “What do you mean?” Craig’s grip on the armrest tightened.

  “If you had cheated today, you would be under arrest, the same as Pierce and anybody else connected to this screwball scheme. I told you security was watching Izzy, but they were also watching you. Casinos prosecute cheaters to the full extent of the law.”

  “In that case, I’m a dead man or worse. They might hurt Cassie.” Craig sounded on the verge of tears.

  Isabelle wrapped an arm around him. “When security checks the cards, they’ll know you didn’t cheat.”

  “Don’t you get it? Mickey Pierce is a well-connected man. When he finds out I ruined his perfect plan, I’ll never be able to stop looking over my shoulder.”

  Nate shook his head. “Since you haven’t cheated yet, we can find a way to get everything we want.”

  “What do you have in mind?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

  “Let’s just say Izzy and I have friends in high places too.” Nate started the engine. “Stay in touch with us. In the meantime I’ll drop you off at your car.”

  “Thanks, Nate. You too, Izzy.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said.

  We’re an odd threesome, she thought. But sometimes you just have to play the hand you’re dealt.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Natchez

  Tuesday

  Beth stumbled down the steps, still groggy even after her morning shower. In the kitchen her mother worked a crossword puzzle. “Good morning, Mummy.” Beth used her favorite childhood nickname. “Where’s Pops?”

  Rita peered over her reading glasses. “Probably in the bathroom now that you’re finally done in the shower. We have to be in New Orleans by one o’clock. He’s getting a second opinion that his benign prostatic hyperplasia truly is benign.”

  Beth stopped pouring and held the coffeepot aloft. “Why didn’t he pound on the door or shut off the hot water tank?”

  “Because you’re no longer a teenager. If we don’t treat adult children with the dignity they deserve, they’ll move out. Then we’ll be denied that fat room and board check each month.” Rita’s belly shook as she laughed.

  “Sounds like you read that somewhere.” Beth sat at the table with her coffee.

  “Heard it on The View. Usually one of those gals knows what they’re talking about. That’s why they have four.”

  “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about Pops needing a second opinion about something that sounds serious?”

  “Because your dad doesn’t want you to worry, and because there’s nothing to worry about. The second opinion just gives us a chance to check out a new buffet restaurant by the zoo.”

  “Adult children need to be kept in the loop. Check with the gals on The View if you don’t believe me.”

  Rita passed her a plate of blueberry muffins. “I will. Why aren’t you at work?”

  “My partner told me to stay home while he drops off evidence and goes to Jackson to take his former fiancée out to lunch.” Beth broke off a piece of muffin.

  “That charming little Michael Preston? Why are you letting him see his old flame? You should have sharpened your claws and tagged along.”

  “Michael and I are partners, nothing more. So please don’t stop at a mother-of-the-bride store while in New Orleans.” Beth leveled her sternest expression. “What can I do to occupy my mind while you’re gone?”

  “Are you worried because Michael’s seeing his old girlfriend?” Rita whispered with tender concern.

  Beth snorted. “I’ve got more on my mind than romance. Give me something physically demanding.”

  Rita threw her crossword puzzle in the trash and set her mug in the sink. “Well, since you volunteered, I
would love someone to rototill the garden. Everything is done growing out there. If the clumps are broken up and weeds turned under, the garden will be ready for spring planting.”

  “I’m just the woman for the job.” Beth finished her muffin in two bites.

  “Wear safety glasses and throw any stones you find into a bucket.” Her mother kissed the top of her head. “Dig around in the fridge. There are plenty of leftovers for your lunch and dinner. We’ll be back before dark.”

  “Don’t worry about me. This adult child can stay home alone without something bad happening.” Beth refilled her mug and took a quick scan of the newspaper. Within the hour, her parents left on their day trip.

  Dressed in holey jeans and a ragged Saints T-shirt, Beth was soon ankle-deep in a thick tangle of weeds and decaying vegetables. Who knew a person could get trapped in pumpkin vines just like water hyacinths in the swamp? She would need a machete to chop the mess before running the tiller.

  “Doesn’t anybody answer the door at the Kirby household?”

  A gruff voice cut through Beth’s contemplation of her task. Wiping sweat from her eyes with the back of a glove, she stared into the face of Detective Lejeune. “My parents went to a doctor’s appointment. What can I help you with, Jack? Surely I can’t be breaking the law in my mother’s backyard.”

  “Was that supposed to be funny? If so, your one-woman comedy routine has reached the end of the line.” Jack pushed up his sunglasses and shifted his weight on the uneven ground. “Put down the shovel and get over here.” Even for a man who sneered instead of smiled, he looked particularly loathsome.

  “It’s a hoe, not a shovel. Care to tell me what this is all about?”

  The detective rested his beefy hand on his weapon. “I’ll tell you after you put down the hoe.”

  Wordlessly, Beth held the implement at arm’s length and dropped it between rows of cabbage plants.

  “Elizabeth Kirby, you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice. Step out of the garden and put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against—”

  “Stop!” she shouted. “I know the Miranda warning.” Beth glanced around, praying the neighbors weren’t outside. She feared local gossip more than his bullying. “What is the matter with you, Jack? I didn’t obstruct anything.”

  “I’m not telling you again. Walk toward me nice and slow.” He unsnapped his holster.

  Blowing her breath out in a huff, Beth lifted her palms and approached the madman. “Do you have a warrant?” she asked, although she knew the answer.

  “Of course I do. Unlike you, I know my job. Hold out your hands.” When she stood in front of him, he snapped a cuff on one wrist.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Beth struggled to get away. “Let’s go down to the station and sort out whatever has tipped you over the edge.”

  He yanked her by the arm and snapped on the other cuff. “You think Chief McNeil will pull your fat out of the fire? He witnessed you interfering in my investigation. I asked you point-blank if we had everything to give to the feds and you said yes. I asked you if you were hiding anything up your sleeve. ‘Oh, no, not little ol’ me,’ you said. Then the other half of the Price tag team drops off new copies of the Baptist Church account. Even someone as incompetent as you should know that’s obstruction. You’re going to jail, Kirby. With any luck, you’ll stay in the county to serve your sentence. Maybe I’ll bring stale cookies on visiting day…or maybe not.” He dragged her through the yard to the street, where a patrol car sat idling.

  As expected, several neighbors happened to be walking their dogs or retrieving mail as Beth was propelled into the backseat like a bag of laundry. They stared at the spectacle as the car drove slowly down the street. Beth rode downtown as though she’d been knocked windless. No one spoke—not her, not Jack, not the new patrolman, who stole glances at her in the rearview mirror. At least when they reached the station, Beth was hustled through the back entrance, down familiar hallways, and placed in a holding cell. Fortunately, her new roommate, who was asleep on her bunk, wasn’t someone Beth had previously arrested. In a former life.

  Beth sat on the metal chair facing the green wall and pondered her options. One by one she ruled out calling her mom, her boss, and her partner. Her parents were on their way to New Orleans, doubtlessly worried about prostate cancer. Nate was enjoying his honeymoon with his bride and in no mood to hear that his veteran employee was in jail. And Michael was currently collecting DNA evidence to bring a potential murderer to justice. No time to post bail for his training instructor. Briefly she considered calling Kim, Cheryl, or Nina. Yet once again she’d neglected to stay in touch with her friends. Her promise of lunch or a movie had never materialized. So instead, she climbed onto the top bunk and contemplated all the ways she’d gone off track, with the case and with life in general.

  With so much to contemplate, Beth dozed off, only to dream about spoons sharpened into blades, group showers with nasty women, and poisoned cookies delivered by her archenemy.

  FORTY-NINE

  When Michael had shown up at the police station early Tuesday morning, both Chief McNeil and Detective Lejeune were already out on the road. With little time to spare, Michael sealed the yellow envelope of account statements and left it with instructions that it should go to Detective Lejeune ASAP. Briefly he contemplated explaining to the chief’s second-in-command how he came by the new evidence, but then he dismissed the notion. The man looked as though he had enough on his plate already.

  “Have Detective Lejeune call me if he has any questions.” Michael placed his business card atop the envelope.

  Within minutes he was driving northeast on Route 9 but in no particular hurry. He needed time to think, a chance to mentally prepare to meet someone capable of great evil. A woman likely responsible for a minister’s death, either directly or indirectly.

  Rachel wasn’t happy when he’d phoned last night, especially because he’d woken her up. “Do you know what time it is, Preston?” she huffed.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s almost eleven. But I wanted to thank you for sending the statements so promptly.”

  “You’re welcome. Give me a few days to track down those emails, and then I’ll be in touch.”

  She was about to hang up when Michael blurted out, “That will be fine, but I want to redeem my rain check for dinner.”

  “What? Dinner was hours ago.” Impatience edged her words.

  “I’m hoping we can have dinner tomorrow. Since my boss left town, I’ve been working way too hard. This would be a good chance for us to catch up.” Michael thought a half-truth would sound more believable than complete fiction.

  Rachel yawned into the mouthpiece. “As much as I’d like to, I gotta work from one to nine. No time for dinner.”

  “How about a quick lunch if I promise not to make you late?” Michael gave her no chance to decline. “The problem is, I don’t think copies of the statements and your correspondence with Paul Dean will satisfy my client. Mrs. Dean would like assurance that Spare the Children doesn’t expect her to fulfill any monetary commitments.”

  “The statements clearly indicate the account belongs to Calvary Baptist of Natchez, not Reverend Dean personally.”

  “I agree. It’s black-and-white from where I stand, but maybe you could sign an affidavit that her family has no obligation, especially because quite a bit of money seems to be missing.”

  Michael’s last four words hung in the air before Rachel changed her tune, literally and figuratively.

  “Why don’t you pick me up outside my office at eleven?” she drawled. “Two hours should be enough time to catch up on each other’s life. Bring whatever document you want me to sign.” Rachel ended the call without wishing him a good night.

  With their evidence in police custody and several hours before his date, he did a quick search of Rachel Stewart on his laptop and then slept like a baby. By the time he headed north the next mo
rning, he knew that she rented her furnished apartment on a month-to-month basis and her car had been leased by D.K. Financials, who held the title and registration. Other than a closetful of clothes, Rachel had nothing anchoring her to Jackson. She would have no trouble making a quick getaway once the pyramid tumbled to the ground.

  As he pulled up in front of D.K. Financials, Rachel climbed from her Cadillac. “Right on the dot,” she called with a cheery smile. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Michael.”

  He walked around to the passenger side to open her door. “That’s me, Mr. Punctual.”

  “And you’re a gentleman. I don’t remember the last time a man opened my door.” Rachel ducked into his low-slung car. “When did you get this fancy thing? I don’t remember your driving anything like this.”

  “I bought it as part of my self-improvement program. Where are we going? Your choice, my treat.”

  “Take a left at the light.” Rachel turned to face him. “Everyone needs to make changes, but you were just fine the way you were.”

  Although the traffic was light, Michael kept his eyes on the road. “If you were so happy, Rachel, why break our engagement right before the wedding?”

  “It wasn’t because of your shortcomings. It was due to my own personal unhappiness.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Turn left at the stop sign.”

  “Care to elaborate? Today is about catching up and being honest with each other.” He glanced at her, but she was staring out the window.

  “When you asked me to marry you, I was so happy to say yes, but then, as we got closer to the wedding, I took a good look at my two married sisters and started to panic. Their lives are nothing but an endless loop of cooking, cleaning, and chauffeuring kids to soccer practice. My one sister who kept her job simply added sleep-deprived and stressed-out to her lifestyle. Ugh, I couldn’t imagine that for myself.” Rachel shook her head as though dispelling the mental image. “Turn into the next plaza on your right. A Terrace in Tuscany serves the best Italian cuisine in town.”