Natchez
Are you awake, child?”
Beth opened one eye to see her mother’s lined face. “I am now.”
“There’s a young man waiting for you on the porch. I told him you got home from Vicksburg very late last night, but he said he would keep himself busy until you were ready.” Rita ruffled the back of her head. “He said he’s your partner. Is that true?”
“Just for a while.” Beth bolted upright and kicked off the covers. “Why doesn’t he meet me at the office?” She peeked through the curtains. Sure enough, Michael’s tiny Fiat was parked on the street.
“That’s what I suggested, but he said Maxine is taking a few days off. The office is locked up tighter than a drum. Should I invite him in for pancakes and bacon?”
“If you do, we’ll never be rid of him. I’m jumping in the shower. Then I’ll take breakfast to go. Thanks, Ma.” Beth kissed her cheek on her way into the bathroom.
“What should I do in the meantime?” Rita whispered as though Michael might be within earshot.
“Nothing, trust me. Like a cockroach at a garden party, just pretend you don’t see him.”
When Beth emerged twenty minutes later, Michael was in the porch swing, his laptop propped on one knee. “How did you find me?” she asked.
“Maxine gave me your address. She made sure I had everything before she left on vacation. Did you need anything from the office?” He slipped his laptop into his bag.
“If I do, I have a key.” Dropping into a chair, she opened a waxed paper packet and handed him one just like it. “Breakfast from my mom. Don’t get used to it.”
“What is this?” Michael unwrapped his curiously.
“A bacon, egg, and pancake sandwich, perfect for on-the-go lifestyles.”
“Is this an ethnic concoction?” He sniffed and took a small bite.
“I have no idea. Eat or don’t eat, but tell me what you found out.”
While Beth enjoyed her breakfast, Michael explained in great detail what she already knew. “We already talked about insurance,” she said. “Why would Mrs. Dean want it to look like a suicide if she had a large policy? And the fact she signed her husband’s name to pay bills means nothing.”
“That’s forgery and potential fraud, which isn’t nothing.”
“Do you have any idea how many wives sign their husband’s name in this country? We’d have to build a lot more prisons. Don’t call the FBI unless you saw a forged signature on a bank transfer to a Cayman Island account.” Beth tipped up her travel mug for a mouthful of coffee.
“Roger that, but wire transfers wouldn’t be in a checkbook register. I need access to the church’s hard drive.” Michael pulled out a piece of bacon and ate it separately.
“All in good time. At least you ingratiated yourself to Mrs. Purdy. That woman doesn’t usually cotton to outsiders.” Beth finished her sandwich and scrambled to her feet.
“So where to today, partner?” Carefully rewrapping his pancakes, Michael tucked them in his briefcase.
“That’s what we need to discuss. When I ask the chief for copies of the police report and Pastor Dean’s autopsy, I’d like to be alone.”
Michael shook his head like a stubborn mule. “No way. Nate told you to train me while he’s gone.”
“Try to be mature about this, Mikey. I will train you, but just not today.” Beth walked down the steps toward her car.
Michael shuffled his feet behind her. “Might I know the reason for my exclusion and what I should do in the meantime?”
Turning to face him, Beth peered into his soft brown eyes. “Do you know that I used to work for the Natchez PD? There were some hard feelings when I left. This will be my first conversation with the boss since my resignation.”
“Ah. I understand. Sorry if I pushed too far.”
“No problem. You can’t be expected to read my mind.” Beth opened her trunk to lock up her firearm.
His face brightened with a smile. “Why don’t we spit on our palms, shake hands, and call it even?”
She slammed the trunk and stepped back. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes, Elizabeth, I’m kidding. I’ll look into Calvary Baptist Church in case any financial dealings made the papers. Then I’ll check the backgrounds of Alice and Paul Dean and this Ralph Buckley. When you’re done at the station, how about if I buy us lunch…or dinner?”
“After that gourmet meal? You better hope Mom doesn’t find out you stuck it in your briefcase.”
“If I can sweet-talk Mrs. Purdy, I can handle your mother. Tell her thank you, by the way.”
“I bet you can. We’ll talk later.” With a wave, Beth drove off and laughed halfway to her destination. Who would have guessed Michael was the type to handle Rita Kirby? He just earned one point on the tally board. But as the one-story brick building loomed into view, Beth forgot about tally boards and eccentric mothers. She thought solely about Christopher McNeil, a man who had wormed his way into her heart and ruined her life.
She should have made an appointment instead of marching in and demanding to see such an important man. Unfortunately, preplanning had never been her strong suit. Inside the outer lobby, she picked up the wall phone and waited for the dispatcher. “Good morning,” she greeted. “I’m Elizabeth Kirby. May I see Chief McNeil for a few minutes?”
“Who?” came the standard reply as the woman searched for her pen.
“Elizabeth Kirby.” She omitted saying she was a former employee so she wouldn’t be frisked or scanned for explosives.
“Do you have an appointment, Miss Kirby?” The dispatcher asked politely, despite already knowing the answer.
“No. I just arrived in town, but this shouldn’t take long.” Beth drew a breath and held it.
“Let me check if Chief McNeil is in the building.” It was the standard reply so that undesirables could be avoided.
While Beth waited, the heavy steel door swung open and the shift sergeant appeared in the doorway. The man wasn’t one of her loyal fans. “You carrying a firearm, Miss Kirby?”
“I certainly am not.”
“Wait here,” he barked, and the door swung shut.
During the several-minute interim, Beth pictured Chris as balding, fifty pounds heavier, and twenty years older. When the sergeant reappeared, she was led down the hallowed hallway into an office that once held great significance for her. When she stepped across the threshold, her heart seized in her chest.
“Buzz if you need backup, Chief,” said the sergeant, closing the door behind her.
Chris hadn’t grown paunchy, or bald, or dissipated during the last twelve months. If anything, the additional gray at his temples made him look more distinguished. How unfair was that?
He rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Beth, what an unexpected pleasure! Have you moved back to Natchez?”
Beth shook hands clumsily. “No, I’m just here temporarily for a case.” Like a bashful schoolgirl, she shifted her weight between her hips.
“Please make yourself comfortable.” He pointed at a chair and sat down.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Beth perched on the edge of her seat as though prepared for quick flight.
“Not at all. How have you been?” He offered the same snake-charmer smile that made her hear wedding bells.
Remembering how easily she’d fallen for him, Beth stiffened her spine. “I’m fine, but this isn’t a social call. I’ve been hired by Mrs. Paul Dean to investigate the pastor’s death.”
He looked flummoxed. “I’m not sure what there is to investigate. All indications pointed to suicide, as tragic as that is for the Dean family.”
“Did your officers scratch beneath the surface or just go by their gut instincts?”
Chris’s pleasant demeanor slipped a notch. “My detectives did their job, Beth. I personally reviewed the evidence connected to his death. Paul was my pastor as well as my friend.”
Beth felt her face grow warm. “Sorry. That was about the rudest thing I could possibly say.” She focused on the wall clock, trying to regain her composure.
“You’re forgiven. I’m sure approaching me on behalf of Mrs. Dean wasn’t easy for you. Tell me what you need.”
Somehow his attitude struck her as condescension. “A copy of the police report, along with the coroner’s autopsy report. Mrs. Dean believes her husband was a victim of foul play. Certain details of the reverend’s death don’t fit his character.” Foul play. Did I really use that term with my old boss?
He folded his hands over his flat belly. “Such as?”
“Such as the perfectly tied hangman’s noose around his neck. How would a minister know how to tie one of those?”
He nodded in agreement. “That also struck Detective Lejeune as odd. Apparently, instructions on constructing one are online, and the detective found the website in Paul’s browser history.”
Beth felt her shirt sticking to her back. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I assure you, I’m not. What else troubles Mrs. Dean?”
“Her husband was wearing his best suit of clothes. Wouldn’t he have saved that to be buried in?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Frankly, if I’d reached so low a point that I wanted to end my life, I wouldn’t care what outfit I wore.”
She swallowed hard to erase the mental image. “Mrs. Dean also thought the wording on the suicide note didn’t reflect her husband’s speech patterns.”
Chris focused his gaze on her as he drew a manila folder from his drawer. His piercing gray eyes were the ones she’d seen in her dreams for months. “I still have Paul’s file handy. That’s how hard it is for me to let this go.” He shuffled through until he found a piece of notebook paper. “Shall I read this aloud or would you like to see it?”
“Could I see it, please?” Beth’s stomach clenched with apprehension as she read the short note. “I’m so sorry, Allie. This sure is a coward’s way out. I hope you and Katie will forgive me. But I can no longer forgive myself. If God’s merciful, I’ll see you again someday.” Mutely, she laid the note on his desk.
“The wording sounds normal to me. What did Mrs. Dean object to—sure instead of surely, or maybe the contraction of God with the word is?”
Beth shrugged. “I don’t know, but I had to follow up with you.”
“I’ll have copies made of the autopsy, the police report, and the note, but regrettably Detective Lejeune found strong motivation for Paul’s suicide.” Chris slicked a hand through his wavy hair. “Close to five hundred thousand dollars appears to be missing from one of the church’s accounts. According to Ralph Buckley, Paul had taken control of the building fund. Because the money wouldn’t be needed for another year, it was to have been prudently invested. If the reverend suffered serious stock market losses, he might have been unable to face the congregation.”
“That’s a whole lot of assumption, Chris.”
His crow’s feet deepened with his smile. “It certainly is, but right now I have nothing else to offer you.”
His choice of words took her back twelve months when she’d wanted everything he couldn’t offer. Beth scrambled to her feet. “I appreciate your making time for me. I’ll wait for those copies in the outer office.”
“It was good seeing you, Beth. If anything changes on my end, I’ll let you know. And I’d appreciate the same courtesy from Price Investigations.” He tapped the papers into a pile. “How do you like being a PI? I heard Nate Price is a stand-up kind of guy.”
Once again his casual nonchalance annoyed her. Does he expect me to discuss my new boss like we’re old friends? Or that we can just pick up where we left off? “Things at work are hunky-dory, Chris. Life sure has a way of marching on.”
And though she was shaking on the inside, she left his office without a backward glance.