Sunset in Old Savannah

by Mary Ellis

  “Isn’t that sweet? Doyle eats lunch here so she doesn’t spend her break time alone.” Beth made a noise similar to a growl.

  “Did you catch her name?” he asked. For a moment, he forgot he was a professional investigator and not a garden-variety voyeur.

  “Bonnie. Doubtlessly, she dots the i with a tiny heart. I took several photos with my phone when they weren’t looking. Actually, I could have stood on the table clicking off shots like celebrity paparazzi and they wouldn’t have noticed.” Beth balled up her sticky wrapper. “For part two of today’s surveillance, I say we split into shifts. Why don’t you follow him back to the office to make sure he doesn’t duck out early? You can continue researching the scoundrel on your laptop.”

  Because Beth had more experience and seniority, Michael didn’t mind taking orders. “Fine. What will you do?”

  “I’m going to walk back to the hotel and hit the pool. I have a sudden urge to wash slime off my skin. I’ll take over later whenever you’re ready.” She pushed up to her feet. “Text me if anything good happens.”

  Michael watched her leave the coffee shop as though an infectious disease hung in the air. Maybe ghosts from her past refused to stay buried. Or maybe she was just being practical. As she had said in Natchez, this piece-of-cake assignment didn’t need two PIs.

  Soon Bonnie returned to her post at the milk steamer, while Doyle strolled back to his office with a definite spring in his step. By Michael’s watch, he’d been gone only forty-five minutes.

  While their person of interest cold-called clients or crunched the numbers for annuities, Michael googled him from the comfort of his car. The only photographs he found of the man online were with Evelyn. Doyle served on the boards of a barrier island preservation society and the Savannah Historical Society. He was a member of several civic organizations, the All Saints Episcopal Church, and the island’s country club. He graduated from Duke with a degree in business management and a minor in economics. The guy was no dummy, unless you considered how he managed his midlife crisis. He had never been arrested, declared bankruptcy, or been named in a civil suit. Other than one speeding ticket four years ago, he was an exemplary citizen.

  When the confines of the Dodge Charger grew claustrophobic, Michael stepped out to stretch and almost missed Doyle exiting the building. He had changed clothes since lunch. When Doyle drove out of the parking lot in a big hurry, Michael had no difficulty keeping up. Old Town traffic snarled to a stop at every intersection. Fortunately, Doyle’s destination was on the far side of Forsyth Park in a neighborhood called the Victorian District, according to a brass plaque. Instead of carved stone and fancy brickwork, these homes were rambling, pastel structures trimmed in white with gingerbread curlicues.

  When traffic again slowed to a crawl, he punched in Beth’s number. “Where are you?” he asked. “Doyle is on the move, and not in the direction of Tybee Island.”

  “I’m at the hotel, ready to go, but you have our only set of wheels. I knew we should have brought two cars.”

  “Yours wouldn’t have made the trip. After he reaches his destination, should I come pick you up?”

  Beth huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He could go somewhere else in the meantime. Tell me where you are, and I’ll take a taxi. The sooner we get the goods on him, the sooner you ride the roller coasters. Is he alone?”

  Michael narrowly missed a parked car as he pulled into the valet line at an expensive-looking bistro. “Not anymore. He just left his car with the valet at a restaurant at the opposite end of the historic district. Guess who was waiting at the front door.”

  “Little Miss Latte? Was she still wearing her cute smock?”

  Michael didn’t need much time to assess Bonnie’s attire. There was very little of it—high heels and a short dress in teal green. “Nope. My granny would describe her outfit as ‘dressed for trouble.’ Not that I’m the Savannah fashion police.”

  “Stay focused, Preston. Text me the address and keep them in your sights. I’ll be there as soon as I redo my makeup and change clothes three more times. I will not be outdone by Latte Girl.”

  After she ended the call, Michael laughed at the mental image. Not that his partner wasn’t attractive, but Beth’s beauty was down-home and down-to-earth, more jeans and T-shirt than high fashion or Victoria’s Secret. Despite her deplorable diet, she was trim and fit thanks to strenuous workouts. Unlike him, Beth had always been athletic, whereas he had only recently joined the fitness ranks after being glued to his computer for years.

  Unfortunately, the valet took his sweet time relieving him of his car, so when Michael entered the restaurant, Lamar and Bonnie were nowhere in sight. He dodged the maître d’ with a polite “I believe my party has already been seated” and wandered through the crowd. Several older men with young women, none of them familiar, sat at dimly lit tables. In a panic, Michael walked to the bar area where people of all ages milled, waiting for tables.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the bartender. “I’m meeting someone. Is there another bar besides this?”

  “Try the rooftop. She might be up there.” The bartender pointed toward the stairs.

  Michael sucked in a deep breath. Bolting up the steps in a place this posh would only draw attention. Even a novice like him knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. He asked the maître d’ to watch for his companion, Miss Kirby, and headed upstairs. On the roof, couches were clustered around low tables for private conversations under the stars.

  Spotting his prey near the railing, Michael slipped into a seat at the bar where he could spy from a safe distance.

  “What are you having, sir?”

  Oddly, the question took him by surprise. “Do you have a special house drink?” he asked, seldom one to imbibe.

  “Do you like grapefruit juice?” the bartender asked.

  After he nodded, the man mixed up a frosty beverage that Michael had yet to taste when Beth arrived twenty minutes later.

  “Pretty swanky place,” she said, climbing onto a stool. “I’m glad you left word at the front desk. It annoys me when I can’t find my date.”

  “No problem. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.” Michael looped his arm around the back of her chair.

  “Where are they? And what’s this?” Beth picked up his drink and sniffed.

  “They are at eleven o’clock over your left shoulder. And that’s called a Crowd Pleaser. I haven’t tried it yet.”

  Beth turned slowly on the stool until she spotted Lamar and Bonnie. “Looks like if the rest of the patrons disappeared, they would be none the wiser.” She sipped Michael’s drink through the straw. “My, that’s refreshing.”

  “It also has alcohol in it, so go easy.”

  Beth set down the glass and pulled out a digital camera. “I did a little research too. Bonnie’s last name is Mulroney, and she has only worked at Cool Beans for six months. Her previous work history is spotty—mainly fast-food joints. How can she support herself in Savannah unless she relies heavily on the generosity of rich men?” Beth dropped her voice to a whisper as the bartender wandered to their end.

  Michael sat so he could watch the pair but discovered he didn’t enjoy this part of the job. Having been played a fool by a woman, he found that seeing Doyle step out on Evelyn left him sick to his stomach.

  Beth picked up the camera and sashayed over to the railing. “Come over here, honey, and see the view.” Her drawl was thick and exaggerated.

  Michael joined her side. “Take a picture from every angle,” he encouraged.

  Beth clicked off several shots of ordinary trees and houses as they worked their way toward the couple. “Isn’t Savannah just the perfect spot for a honeymoon?” She grabbed hold of his arm. “Stop staring at them,” she hissed in his ear.

  Michael knew Beth was right, but he couldn’t believe how brazen Doyle acted in public. How did he know one of his friends wouldn’t be dining here? Or did people in love lose all common sense? “Let’s get one of the two
of us,” he suggested once they were in position.

  “I can’t wait to send these to Mom.” Beth snaked her arm around his waist and snapped off several selfies. Except that the angle of her camera caught the couple behind them instead.

  Michael felt discombobulated by the close proximity of his partner, but the moment soon passed. Doyle rose to his feet, dropped money on the table, and headed down the stairs with his arm tightly around Bonnie.

  “Notice Doyle used cash so there would be no paper trail,” Beth whispered on their way back to the bar.

  Michael took out a twenty to pay for his grapefruit cocktail and followed the lovebirds downstairs. “I should have put our name in for a table.” But since he hadn’t, while Doyle and Bonnie enjoyed gourmet cuisine, he and Beth dined on scrimpy appetizers with copious amounts of iced tea.

  Two hours later, Doyle stood and pulled more cash from his wallet. “They’re finally done,” said Michael. “I’ll head to the valet desk for the car while you pay our tab. Keep your eye on them.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Beth popped the last blue cheese–stuffed olive in her mouth. A few minutes later, after she joined her partner in his car, she wasn’t smiling. “Do you have any idea how much our dinner cost?”

  “Relax. It was a legitimate business expense. Here comes Doyle’s car now. Look at those two—not even remotely subtle.”

  “I hope this evening ends soon. No offense, but I’ve seen enough of your car’s interior to last a lifetime.” Beth readjusted the seat.

  “None taken.” Michael followed the Lexus, keeping another car between them at all times. “Looks like you’re about to get your wish.”

  Doyle drove down a residential street, still within the historic section, and parked in front of a huge three-story mansion that had been converted into apartments. Bonnie hopped out and waited on the sidewalk with open arms.

  Beth withdrew a second camera with a telephoto lens from her bag just as Doyle locked both arms around Bonnie’s waist. “Yuck,” Beth muttered, snapping one photo after another of the two kissing. “I feel slimy just watching them.”

  “You’re not kidding.” Michael checked the time and jotted down the address as they entered the building. “As much as I’d love to head back to the hotel, we need to document how long he’s inside.”

  “Wake me when this is over.” Beth slouched down in the bucket seat and closed her eyes. Within ten minutes, Michael heard her soft snore, indicating she’d fallen asleep despite the vehicle’s confinement.

  Michael wouldn’t have been able to sleep if his life depended on it. As darkness settled in around them, his mind raced with ideas as to what they should do next. Considering his previous missteps, he wanted to shine on this case.

  Ninety minutes later, Doyle bolted out the front door. He jumped into his car and drove down Habersham well above the speed limit. Michael waited to wake Beth until the philanderer turned onto President Street and headed toward the Islands Expressway.

  “He’s on his way to Tybee.” He nudged her awake with his elbow.

  Beth straightened in the seat and rubbed her neck. “Good. Let’s go back to the Homewood. I need a serious desliming before hitting the sack.”

  “Should we call Mrs. Doyle?” Michael spoke without thinking.

  “Are you crazy? We’re paid to gather information. What the client chooses to do with it isn’t our business.”

  So much for impressing her with how far I’ve come.

  FOUR

  Beth rubbed the back of her neck where a kink had formed. “Can you believe that guy? Headed merrily on his way home, to his exclusive neighborhood, no less.” She gulped down half a bottle of water. “What do you suppose he’ll tell the missus—that he had to work late at the office? Or maybe he had to entertain clients at the fancy little bistro? That way, on the off chance a mutual friend spotted him at dinner, he’ll have a ready alibi.”

  “I thought we were paid to gather information and not form opinions. You’re sending mixed signals to the new trainee.”

  Beth blew out her breath. “I’m entitled to an opinion, the same as you. We’re just not allowed to voice them to the client. If you had a brain, you’d know that. And we’re certainly not allowed to influence behavior, which is what we’d be doing if we called Mrs. Doyle in the middle of the night to say, ‘Check your husband’s collar for lipstick,’ or ‘That perfume you smell isn’t from the car’s air freshener.’ ”

  Michael braked to turn onto River Street. “If we’re simply expressing opinions, you seem to have changed yours in a hurry, Kirby.”

  She pressed a palm against her forehead where a headache had taken hold. “Maybe, but seeing that guy in action turned my stomach. So brazen, so arrogant. He has it made with a society wife on the island where he’s a pillar of the community. Mrs. Doyle is well educated, well connected, and not bad looking. She probably saves sea turtles in her spare time. We know she supports the arts. Then her husband keeps a size 2 blonde in town in a loft apartment for when policy riders and sales meetings become too dull. The best of both worlds.”

  Michael pulled into the last spot in the lot. “His behavior seems to have hit a nerve.”

  Beth turned in the seat. “It would hit a nerve with any self-respecting female. I can’t believe Miss Mulroney thinks so little of herself that she’d barter herself for free rent and two-hundred-dollar dinners.”

  Michael held up a hand. “Okay, but right now we don’t know that Mr. Doyle pays for Miss Mulroney’s apartment. You’re making assumptions—something you taught me not to do.” He pressed the button to lower the windows. The breeze off the river was humid, with a slight smell of diesel from the freighters that passed twenty-four hours a day.

  “You know what, Mikey? This workday is officially over. Before I throttle you with my bare hands, I’m going to my room and locking the door. Don’t call me in the morning, and don’t get me any quinoa with dried pea pods for breakfast. I’ll call you once I’m ready for day four in paradise.” Beth opened the door and swung her legs out of the car.

  “Wait, Beth. I didn’t mean to get under your skin. I was just making conversation.”

  “I’m too tired for polite conversation.” She climbed out of the low car, slammed the door, and leaned in through the window. “Nate promised this trip would be a reward for a job well done on the last case. So far it’s been more like three days in a Navajo sweat lodge.”

  Michael appeared to be fighting back a smile. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better and the world will look different tomorrow.”

  Beth marched toward the entrance without waiting for him. She’d had enough of Pollyanna for one day.

  The next morning, after fifty sit-ups in her room, forty laps in the pool, and a long, hot shower, Beth did indeed feel better. When she spotted her partner in the breakfast room, she felt guilty from her scalp to her toes. She strolled over with her tail between her legs and sat down.

  Michael was sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. “Good morning, Miss Kirby,” he said without glancing up.

  “Good morning. I’m sorry for the things I said last night.” She sighed as she filled her mug with coffee.

  “Which part exactly? When you accused me of having no brain or when you threatened to choke me to death?”

  She cringed. “All of the above, and please don’t tell Nate about the threat. I’m already on thin ice with him.”

  Michael finally met her eye. “The list of what not to tell the boss keeps growing. However, you could have thrown me under the bus tons of times and didn’t, so my lips are sealed.” He pointed toward the buffet. “Let’s pick out our breakfast. Unfortunately, quinoa and pea pods aren’t available or I would already be gulping them down.”

  “Seriously, I was out of line and I apologize. You have the best brain in Mississippi.”

  “We have a low population state.” Michael’s face softened, not that his features were ever unyielding. “But I accept your apology, so let’s mo
ve on.”

  “No, we should talk about this. I had an epiphany last night when I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You slept just fine in my car. I heard you snoring.” He arched an eyebrow at her as they made their way to the buffet. “Tell me about your epiphany.”

  “You were right. Watching Lamar in action affected me. I thought Mrs. Doyle hired us to pave the way to a substantial divorce settlement. Now I think she’s entitled to every dime her creepy husband has.”

  “This might not be about money, Beth,” he said on the way back to the table. He’d taken his usual fruit, egg, and yogurt, while she chose cinnamon oatmeal with a slice of ham—sort of halfway between healthy and a heart attack on a plate.

  “Maybe not, but I don’t like him pulling the wool over her eyes.”

  He nodded in agreement. “What’s on our agenda for today?”

  “Since you’re a forensic accountant, find out the particulars on the apartment on Bull Street. I’ll dig up the dirt on Bonnie at the coffee shop. Usually coworkers love to gossip if given half a chance.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you. My sleepless hours are from five through seven.” Michael finished his hard-boiled egg in three bites. “Lamar Doyle does indeed pay for that apartment. It’s not owned by Town and Country Insurance. He probably writes it off as a business expense from an account his wife isn’t aware of.”

  “That explains Bonnie’s ability to pay the rent from a coffee shop paycheck.” Beth stirred sugar into her chicory-flavored coffee. “Make copies of everything for Mrs. Doyle. They’ll come in handy should she want to take the guy to the cleaners. Track down any secret bank accounts. Doyle might be paying all Bonnie’s bills or have additional women on the side. Who knows how deep his pockets are?”