Beth regretted crying like a baby in front of Michael last night. Nothing looked less professional than bawling in front of your coworker. She was supposed to be training him as a professional PI, but picturing Reverend Dean duped by an agency he would have naturally trusted broke her heart. Had one of those charlatans killed him over the scam? They would just have to wait for the second autopsy. If any evidence led to someone at Spare the Children International, she would take special pleasure seeing them brought to justice.
She arrived at the office of Price Investigations juggling three extra-large lattes: two plain and one mocha with whipped cream.
“Beth, you’re the best!” said Maxine, lifting the mocha from the carrier. “Nate never brings in morning treats.”
“That’s because he and Isabelle are saving for a house. Me? I’ll probably live with Mom and Pops my entire life.”
“Nonsense. Someday a handsome man will knock you off your feet.”
Beth wrinkled her nose. “Not unless he’s driving a bulldozer. Where’s Michael? He usually beats me here. We have that exhumation in less than an hour.”
Maxine wiped away a foam mustache. “He’ll be a few minutes late due to ‘an extraordinarily cool surprise.’ His words, not mine.”
Beth blew on her latte, but before it was cool enough to drink she heard a cacophony on the street. Some idiot was laying on his horn at nine o’clock in the morning. “What on earth?” She jumped to her feet.
“Your ride is here, sweetie,” crowed Maxine, peeking from between the blinds.
The assistant’s joke wasn’t far from the truth. When Beth reached the street, a shiny red convertible idled in front of the building with Michael Preston behind the wheel. “Whose car is that?” she demanded, shading her eyes from the sun glare.
Mike reached out the window and patted the door. “Mine, Miss Kirby. All mine.”
“No, it isn’t! You drive a little green Fiat—forty-five miles to the gallon, room for two people with a dog in the back.”
“Not anymore. I traded in that peanut for a man’s car. Jump in and we’ll go for a ride.”
Beth narrowed her gaze as she processed the information. “Did you forget today’s the day we disinter Paul’s body?” She pointed at her subdued black slacks and white blouse.
Michael immediately sobered. “Of course not, but the delivery date for the car had already been set. Please, Elizabeth, just a quick ride across the bridge and back. I promise we’ll be at the cemetery before anyone else.”
“Okay. A short ride, but no more horn blowing.” The moment Beth climbed in the passenger seat and clicked her seat belt, Michael peeled away from the curb. “Are you sure you didn’t steal this?” she asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Of course not. I have the bill of sale if you want to see it. This 2016 Dodge Charger SRT 392 is all mine.” Michael turned onto the road that followed the river.
“You paid cash instead of making payments like everyone else in America? Did you win the lottery, or maybe your rich uncle died?”
Michael kept his gaze fixed on the road. “Neither. Let’s just say I spent every year since college fiendishly saving money. I have more savings than the average sixty-year-old. One thing about an accountant, they know how to pinch every last penny.” His tone contained scorn instead of pride.
“That’s a good thing. Most folks can’t even save five bucks a week.”
“It’s only good if you have something or someone to save for. Since I don’t, my frugal days are behind me. You want a cup of coffee to take to the cemetery? I’ll even spring for a donut with sprinkles on top.”
“No, thanks. I already bought three lattes for the office. Yours and mine are getting cold while you burn more gas than that Fiat used in a week.”
Michael accelerated on the ramp to the bridge. When he encountered surprisingly little traffic, he opened up the Charger for the entire expanse before turning into the riverside park on the Louisiana side. “Do you think I’m wrong to change my ways?”
Beth reflected before she answered. “I guess not, since you’re not hurting anyone. But what brought this on?”
He shrugged. “I woke up one day and didn’t want to be the skinny nerd who gets sand kicked in his face.”
“Which beach did that—”
“Metaphorically speaking, Elizabeth. I like myself better since I started getting in shape. This car is my reward.”
“I usually get a DQ sundae after a punishing workout. Have you considered the high cost of insurance or your likelihood of speeding tickets?”
“Wouldn’t a banana split defeat the purpose? I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“I am, but who goes out and pays cash for something this expensive?”
Michael shrugged and pulled a computer printout from the sun visor. “My personal trainer gave me this recently. I plan to take part in this competition eight weeks from now.”
Beth gazed at the fuzzy pictures, trying to make sense of them. “Looks like some kind of marathon, but I can’t tell if it’s running or biking or swimming in the ocean.”
“You hit the nail on the head. It’s sort of an Iron Man contest off the coast of Louisiana.”
“Have you lost your mind, Mike?” Beth swiveled in the bucket seat. “People train for years before participating in this kind of competition. I think you’re making great progress, but you could die trying something like this.”
“Stop worrying. Tony set this up over a three-day weekend for his clients, not for anyone else. It’s a personal best kind of race. But your concern touches me deeply.” Michael held his hand over his heart. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re starting to like me.”
“If you want to put yourself in a hospital, that’s your business. But Nate will be gone for another week and, frankly, we’re getting along fine, much to my surprise. So I would appreciate not having to train your replacement.”
“The competition is still weeks away, and I promise to wear a crash helmet, knee and elbow pads, and a life vest in the water. Satisfied?”
“Relieved, actually. And now you have a get-out-of-jail-free card for the future.”
“What do you mean?” He cast her a sideways glance.
“One free chance to stick your nose into my business. Now if you have nothing else to show me, let’s head to City Cemetery. I want to be there when Alice arrives so she doesn’t face this alone.”
Michael put the car in gear and headed up the ramp. “We’re less than ten minutes away. Regarding that Monopoly card? I plan to play it when you least expect it.”
They rode to the cemetery in total silence. Beth wasn’t sure why she wasn’t happier for Michael. Maybe it was due to the somber occasion or maybe she was jealous. She’d never ridden in a nicer set of wheels in her life. But once she was at the gravesite, surrounded by men with shovels, a backhoe, and the coroner, all thoughts of fast cars were forgotten. Beth held Alice’s hand throughout the exhumation until the hearse drove away with her husband’s body.
On their way back to the office, Beth’s sense of guilt kicked in. When Michael pulled into the lot, she blurted her confession. “I didn’t handle your good news very well. Seriously, I’m happy for you about the car. Life is short. Since you can afford it, why shouldn’t you drive something cool?”
“Thanks, Elizabeth.”
“And I’m proud of your self-improvement. Most people only talk about changing, but you’re doing it. Truth be told, I’d like to get rid of a few bad habits too.”
“I can’t imagine what those might be.” Michael leaned across her to open the door.
“Maybe I’ll start today. Aren’t you coming inside?”
“I promised Maxine donuts, and this guy delivers. We need something to eat with our cold coffee. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Beth closed the car door and watched him drive away. Is this what it meant to have a real friend? Michael had every reason to be mad at her but he wasn’t. Become a nicer person moved to the top of her to-do list. Or was something else simmering beneath the surface? She had to admit there was something appealing about a man without pretense, someone comfortable in his own skin. If she wasn’t careful, she could become attached to her new partner. And if she’d learned anything from the past, falling for someone at work was a bad idea.