Natchez
After a restful Sunday, Beth and Michael worked feverishly on Monday to get Reverend Dean’s exhumation set for Wednesday. The state medical examiner agreed to conduct a criminal autopsy at the request of Natchez PD. Fortunately, Mississippi was experiencing a temporary dearth of suspicious crimes, freeing up the facility and the ME’s time. Beth, however, had little chance to celebrate the good news.
Detective Lejeune had been correct in his assumption. The judge refused to deny bail for a financial crime involving a lifelong community member, although he did express contempt for people who stole from religious organizations. Bail was set at two hundred fifty thousand, and the Buckleys were forced to surrender their passports. Ralph’s Spanish and French would be of little use in Natchez.
Their last duty of the day before leaving the offices of Price Investigations was to call Nate. With Michael practically sitting in her lap, Beth brought the boss up to speed on their case. Nate was overjoyed, but Beth tried to divert all praise toward her partner.
“Sounds like Nate is pleased.” Michael danced around the office.
“I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you. Let’s get out of here.” Beth hurried out the door, almost forgetting to lock it behind her.
“Why not?” Michael kept pace at her side. “Reverend Dean’s body will be on its way to Jackson in two days, and Ralph Buckley has been charged with a felony. Since that thief probably had to mortgage his house for the ten-percent bond, I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
“Because Mrs. Dean hired us to prove her husband was murdered and to find his killer, not catch some financial flimflammer with his hand in the cookie jar. Remember, we’re PIs, not the police.”
Michael rubbed the dark shadow along his jaw. “Good point, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Say, what are your plans for tonight?”
“Let’s see…a quick workout, dinner with Mom and Pops, then maybe Castle reruns in the living room. Mom’s cooking pinto beans and cornbread with tea so sweet I’ll need a dental appointment next week. You want in on this fun?”
“As enticing as that sounds, I thought I’d take you to dinner. Consider it a token of my appreciation. The trainer you recommended has been working with me three nights a week.”
“You actually called him?” Beth asked, regretting the question immediately.
“Haven’t you noticed a difference? I follow his instructions to the letter—five one-hour workouts a week, a daily four-mile run, and fifty chin-ups using a bar I installed. I hope the landlord doesn’t evict me over holes in the door frame.”
“That’s fantastic, Mike.” Beth dug for her keys as they stood between their cars. “I doubt I could do thirty.”
“Here, feel my muscle.” Michael pushed up his sleeve and stuck out his arm.
Beth dutifully squeezed his bicep. “Wow. Charles Atlas as I live and breathe.”
“Who’s he? Anyway, I’m grateful for the introduction, so let me spring for dinner. I heard Breaud’s has good food.”
“Let me think…a bowl of pinto beans or charbroiled oysters under the stars?” Beth pretended to ponder her options. “Okay, I’m in as long as you ask for a courtyard table and understand this ain’t no date. I never go out with coworkers.”
“Or anybody else, for that matter,” he murmured, ducking into his car.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“You heard me, Elizabeth. If I’m wrong, you can set me straight at dinner.”
She glanced at her watch. “Let’s see…exercise and then a shower. How about if I meet you in an hour and a half?”
“Perfect. I’ll go for a run. In a few more weeks I’ll be ready for the office smackdown. See you in ninety at Breaud’s.”
Beth watched him drive away, charmed by his sense of humor. Most male egos wouldn’t tolerate self-improvement jokes, especially not from a woman. She respected Michael’s desire to gain strength and endurance, but she liked his outlook even more.
After a grueling workout and quick shower in her parents’ cramped bathroom, Beth slipped on a mint-green sundress from a wedding long ago and high-heeled sandals. She wound her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck and headed for the door. Unfortunately, her escape wasn’t quick or easy.
“Where you goin’ in that getup?” asked her mother.
Her father glanced up from his bowl of beans and ham. “Wow. You look nice, Betsy.”
“Thanks, Pops. I’m having dinner with a coworker.” Beth grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
“With that nice Michael Preston?” Her mother made no attempt to be subtle. “Thank goodness you wore something other than jeans.”
“We’ll be discussing the case, Ma. That’s it.” Beth let the screen door slam behind her.
“Of course. Hence the high heels and fancy hairdo!” Rita called after her.
Beth laughed all the way to the restaurant. Mom using the word ‘hence’? What is the world coming to?
After finding a spot on the street, Beth walked toward the entrance as Michael climbed from his tiny Fiat. Dressed in well-tailored slacks and a white shirt open at the neck, he looked…European. At least in the estimation of someone who had never left the country. Far too sophisticated for Natchez, Mississippi.
“Who were you expecting, Preston?” she asked, the moment he reached her side. “I told you this was no date.”
Michael glanced down at his clothes. “Is this too fancy for a weeknight?” He folded back his cuffs. “I just wanted to get my money’s worth out of some expensive duds. Nobody’s quite as practical as an ex-accountant. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of asking you out.” He opened the door for her. “I see you’re not in sweatpants and flip-flops.”
“Fair enough. The dress is too cha-cha for church, and I seldom attend garden parties anymore.” Beth smoothed out a wrinkle as they approached the hostess stand.
“Preston,” he said to the girl. “I requested an outdoor table.”
Beth bit her tongue until they were seated close to the fountain. “Okay, what did you mean by ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you out’? What’s wrong with me?”
Michael shrugged. “Not a thing. I’m simply honoring your earlier request. The curious part is why you don’t date anyone. You’re not bad looking, and this is a small town. You must have attracted somebody’s attention by now.”
She gaped at him, both shocked and amused. “You do realize that ‘not bad looking’ isn’t a compliment.”
“I suspect you’re immune to flattery. But if you’d rather not talk about this, we could discuss sports, religion, politics, or the worst ten TV shows ever made.”
“Nope. I need to come clean about my past and answer your questions. Then you’ll understand the bad blood between Detective Lejeune and me.” Beth took a long sip of water. “I got…involved with Chief McNeil while I was on the Natchez police force, while Jack was my partner.”
“No, it never went that far. At first we were friends. He was my mentor, but I became infatuated with him. I orchestrated ways to spend time together. Other cops started to talk, but I didn’t care. I was such a fool. I built this fantasy in my mind that we would run away together. I still feel so ashamed.” Beth stared at her place mat where a wine stain hadn’t fully come out in the wash.
“Most people are fools at some point in their life.” He sounded very matter-of-fact.
“If I truly loved him, I wouldn’t have made trouble for him on the force. Long before rumors started to swirl, I took the detective’s exam and scored high. I was already up for the next promotion, based on merit and nothing else.” Beth emphasized the final two words.
“I believe you, Elizabeth. Your interview and organization skills are top-notch. Certainly your marksmanship would be hard to beat.”
She crossed her arms, wishing she’d brought a cardigan. “Jack was more popular on the force than me. If he said I had slept my way into the promotion, many were still willing to believe him.” Beth felt herself blush with shame. “And do to this day.”
“Once a professional reputation is compromised, it’s hard to restore.”
“You aren’t kidding. By the time Chris set me straight, the damage was already done. He didn’t want me to resign. He insisted the rumor mill would eventually find another victim, but I couldn’t face looking at him each day.” Beth lifted her chin and met Michael’s eye. “Too bad my schoolgirl crush didn’t happen at sixteen when consequences are far less serious.”
“I’m surprised your partner didn’t have your back.”
Beth scoffed. “Jack blamed me for getting passed over. Not once did it cross his mind it might have been his laziness and incompetence.”
“That’s usually how it goes.” Michael picked up his menu.
“Being forced to work with the newly appointed Detective Lejeune is my just reward. See what happens when people get involved at work? Lives are ruined.”
Michael looked as though he might comment, but then changed his mind. “You’re absolutely right. Shall we order? I’m getting hungry.” He waved at a passing waiter.
“Fine with me. I get the same thing each time I’m here.” Beth pressed the menu to her chest. “And since I’ve monopolized the entire conversation, why don’t you tell me about the special occasion which warranted those clothes?”
Michael’s face registered surprise for a fleeting moment. “I bought them for my engagement party. Considering I’ve never been married, and I’m no longer engaged, there’ll be another true confession session in our future. But if you don’t mind, we’ll save that one for another night.”
“Works for me.” Beth dug through her purse as a distraction until the waiter appeared to take their order. Stood up at the altar? That had to score a ten on the pain scale, while her romantic delusion with the boss didn’t rate higher than a seven.