Beth would have given anything not to speak to Jack in front of her partner. She knew it would not go well. The detective would try to demean her, embarrass her, and undermine whatever evidence they had found. But considering Michael’s progress in the last few days, there was no way she could exclude him.
She waited until they were at the restaurant and had ordered lunch before punching in the cell number supplied by Chris.
Jack picked up on the first ring. “That you, Nancy Drew? Or are you Sherlock Holmes along with your sidekick, John Watson?”
“It’s Beth Kirby with Michael Preston, and you’re on speaker, so don’t say anything unprofessional. The chief promised full cooperation.”
“Of course he did. And you’ll receive every bit of cooperation I’m capable of.” Jack’s cackle set Beth’s nerves on edge. “What did Mrs. Dean say?”
“She agreed to an exhumation. In fact, she insisted if it will shed light on her husband’s killer.”
“Clinical depression, temporary insanity due to a guilty conscience, fear of exposure over some misdeed—any one of those could be the killer, but he acted alone. And when Paul Dean didn’t succeed the first time, he simply tried again.” Jack spoke with the ambivalence of a cynical veteran.
Beth paused as a young woman delivered their tray of burgers and Cajun fries. “I don’t think so, Jack. And because Mrs. Dean’s willing to foot the bill, we’ll get that second opinion.”
“I’ll begin the paperwork for the Mississippi crime lab and alert Doc Pallota. The local coroner needs to be present when we open the grave. I suppose you and Preston want to be there for the festivities.”
“Of course we do. While you do that, I’ll contact friends on the force in Vicksburg. Maybe their medical examiner might want to drive down.”
“Why am I not surprised you have friends on the force in Vicksburg?”
“Why wouldn’t I have friends in the police department? I was investigating a case involving a caregiver stealing from an old lady. Plenty of cops are willing to work with PIs.”
“Including this one,” Jack said. “When the chief tells me to play nice, I do what I’m told. But let me ask you something, Beth. Any of those cop pals wear skirts? You know, women?”
Beth doused her half of the fries with catsup as her temper flared. “What does the fact Vicksburg has mainly men on the force have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. Just asking a simple question.” Jack chuckled like an old friend, something he never was. “Involving Vicksburg is a waste of time. If there’s been a possible crime, that body has to go to Jackson. Period. Anyway, your second opinion is going to match the first. I spoke with Natalie Purdy at the church. She told me Pastor Dean had been forgetting to write down plenty of appointments lately. Not just this one time as you implied to Chief McNeil.”
Beth lifted her gaze to Michael, who shrugged and shook his head. “Wait for the full autopsy, Jack, with your usual open mind.” Beth’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Fine. If that’s it, I’ll call you with the date and time of the exhumation.”
“There’s something else. Michael found emails to Buckley on Reverend Dean’s computer insisting that Buckley pay back the money he stole. We found proof that he transferred church money into his own account. Paul was ready to blow the whistle. That’s why Buckley went to see him that day. Ralph Buckley is the church finance—”
“I know who Buckley is,” snapped Jack. “How much money are we talking? If it’s just a couple hundred—”
“Sixty thousand dollars.” Beth interrupted, taking her turn at rude behavior. “That’s reason enough to murder someone, especially if they would regain control of the remaining assets.”
“Let me look at your so-called evidence. I’ll decide whether or not we have a beef with the finance officer.”
Beth grinned at Michael over her sweet tea. “You won’t be disappointed, but time is of the essence. We believe Buckley to be a flight risk. Where should we meet you?”
“I’m staring at you two gumshoes right now. Look to your right.”
Simultaneously, Beth and Michael swiveled toward the window. Jack Lejeune was parked at the curb, munching a burger he must have bought at the drive-through window. “Are you following me?” Beth screeched into the phone.
“In your dreams, Kirby. How many places to eat lunch do you think this town has? Here I was, enjoying my midday break, and who do I spot thirty feet away? We’re destined to be joined at the hip.”
“Doomed, not destined. Come inside and meet Michael.”
Tossing his trash into a barrel, Jack sauntered in with his usual arrogance. Michael watched him as though memorizing the details.
“Be prepared for anything,” Beth warned under her breath.
But the detective was a model of manners. “How do you do, Mike. Jack Lejeune. I’m looking forward to working with you.” The two men shook hands, and Jack made small talk for a few minutes.
Finally, Beth cut him off. “Give it a rest, Jack. Mike’s from Brookhaven, not Natchez.”
“In that case, did you discover the gym inside the Grand Hotel?” Jack gestured for Beth to scoot over and then sat down in the booth. “I’ll tell management you’re helping law enforcement, and they’ll waive your monthly fees.”
“I work out there four times a week, so I appreciate that.” Michael grinned with joy not commensurate with saving thirty bucks.
“That’s awfully nice of you, Jack,” Beth cooed. “In the meantime, take a look at these.” She cleared a spot and laid three computer printouts across the table.
The detective picked up the papers one at a time, studying each one carefully. “Good work, Preston,” he said upon completion. “Did you obtain permission to collect evidence from both the church and the Deans’ home computer?”
“I did,” said Michael, his lunch forgotten.
“Then we’ve got enough to arrest Buckley for grand theft. Unfortunately, Miss Kirby, this does not implicate the guy for murder. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“I know that, Einstein.” She tapped the papers into a pile and handed him the file. “But it’s enough to arrest him. If the judge denies bail because of Buckley’s risk of flight, you can keep him locked up until the crime lab completes the second autopsy.”
Jack picked up her tea and sniffed. “What have you been drinking? No way will a judge deny bail to an upstanding, churchgoing member of the community. You’re fishing without a pole or bait in the Great Salt Lake.” He smiled smugly at Michael. “In case you haven’t heard the news, that lake’s got no fish.”
Beth collected her dignity and rose to her feet. “Let’s go arrest Buckley. Then we’ll worry about making a more serious charge stick.” She tossed the rest of her meal away, her appetite vanishing in Jack’s company.
He gave her a head-to-toe perusal. “You would still be a cop today—a good cop—if you could only separate fact from fiction. I’ll call the chief to get the wheels turning on the arrest warrant. Stay close to the phone. I’ll call you when the warrant’s ready. Then we’ll meet at Buckley’s house. He’s probably home on a Saturday afternoon.” The detective left the restaurant with as much swagger as he entered.
On their way back to the office, Michael said little, but his mind seemed to be whirring a mile a minute. Beth couldn’t bad-mouth Jack without revealing their past history, something she wasn’t prepared to do. So she allowed her partner to be impressed with a petty, lazy, narrow-minded blabbermouth. For the rest of the afternoon they caught up on paperwork and filled Nate in on their recent progress with the case.
When they reconnoitered three hours later in front of Buckley’s house, Jack continued on his best behavior. “I appreciate your work on this, Mike, but I’ll take the lead at this point.”
“You’ve got it, Detective.”
“Keep your weapon holstered, Kirby,” Jack said to her when they reached the front steps.
The door opened before Beth could reply. “You guys want my mom or my dad?” asked a sullen-faced teenager.
“Your father, please, young lady.” The detective smiled at the girl.
“I’ll show you where he’s at and then I’m outta here. You’d better not have blocked my car in.” She issued a rather dire warning to fully armed adults.
“We parked on the street, so lead the way,” said Beth. She watched every doorway as they moved through the house.
“Dad, you got company!” the girl hollered.
Good thing nobody just stepped out of the shower, Beth thought as Buckley’s daughter threw open a door.
The finance director froze, holding a wrinkled shirt over an open suitcase.
“You Ralph Buckley? I’m Detective Jack Lejeune of Natchez PD. These are PI consultants to the force, Kirby and Preston.”
“I’m acquainted with Beth and Mr. Preston.” Buckley dropped the shirt.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Buckley?” Jack moved to the other side of the room.
“No, I just came home and haven’t had a chance to unpack yet. What’s this about?” Buckley blinked through his thick-lensed glasses.
“This is about us having a warrant for your arrest. You’ve been charged with grand theft. You have the right to remain silent…”
As the detective recited the Miranda rights, Buckley fixed his gaze on Beth, his expression sad rather than surprised. “Funny how I’m being arrested for a small pittance, while Paul got away with the church’s entire future.”
“Paul didn’t get away with anything,” said Beth. “He’s dead, or have you forgotten?”
“A fact which gives me no pleasure whatsoever,” he said, not resisting as Jack snapped on handcuffs. Buckley walked from the house with his head down and without stopping to lock his door.
For the sake of his wife and daughter, Beth turned the knob on her way out. How odd that the finance director would refer to sixty grand as a small pittance.