Michael ordered a three-scoop chocolate sundae topped with sugared pecans and whipped cream. His trainer would have a heart attack just looking at the extravaganza. Beth ordered a banana split with two scoops of strawberry ice cream and extra whipped cream. She passed on the nuts. Seated at a metal table fashioned to look like something from the 1950s, they devoured lunch with zeal never shown romaine lettuce and grated carrots.
After five minutes, Beth pushed her bowl across the table. “Wanna try mine?”
Michael paused, his spoon midway to his mouth, and swapped bowls. “Sure, as long as you eat some of this.” Rachel had hated it whenever someone wanted to sample her food. She refused to give up as much as a French fry even though more than half her meals went uneaten.
“It’s good, but it’s still no match for strawberry,” Beth concluded after a three-bite sample. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I think you had another reason to leave the office.”
“I want to talk to Buckley this afternoon. According to Mrs. Purdy, he’s supposedly collecting files from his home to return to the church. Apparently, the board wasn’t happy about his short-term loan. Let’s make sure he doesn’t destroy evidence before I can turn over what I found to the police.”
“I just went to see Natalie and yet you know this?” Beth switched the two desserts.
“Mrs. Purdy called me as soon as you left. She doesn’t trust you, but there’s no accounting for taste, Elizabeth.”
“Okay, how do we prevent Ralph from destroying evidence?”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Sit back and trust me.”
“I suggest we finish up and get a move on. You’re all full of surprises today.”
Forty minutes later they pulled into the Buckley driveway. “That Pontiac is registered to Ralph, so I believe we’re in luck,” said Michael, turning off the powerful engine.
“Real luck will be in not dealing with his obnoxious daughter,” Beth muttered as they approached the front door.
Their knock was answered by none other than the crooked financial director. “What on earth could you two want?” he snapped. “Haven’t you made enough trouble for me? I’ve been fired from the church staff and must appear in court for nothing more than a big misunderstanding.”
“None of that was our intention,” said Beth, in a tone which couldn’t get any sweeter. “Could we come in and talk about this for a few minutes?”
“No, you cannot come in.” His emphasis left little doubt. “Why would I let you in to nose into my business?”
Michael decided it was his turn at bat. “Because we’re probably the only ones who can help you right now, Mr. Buckley. Once the FBI’s Financial Crimes Division becomes involved, the case will be out of our hands.”
Buckley paled to the color of skim milk. “What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing that could be considered a federal crime. My attorney assured me everything can be straightened out with restitution and probation if this mess even advances that far. I’m cooperating with the board of elders’ request to turn over my files.”
“Would those financial files include statements you received from the accountants hired by Elliott Rayburn?”
Buckley seemed to shrink before their eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t waste our time with lies. We have copies of the last three quarterly statements you received from D.K. Financials of Jackson. Although they’re nothing but smoke and mirrors to buy Spare the Children time to scam more congregations, they prove one thing. You were in on it with them. Despite Reverend Dean’s request to be kept in the loop, D.K. Financials sent their statements to you.”
Buckley tried to slam the door, but Michael was too quick. Shoving his boot heel next to the jamb, he grabbed hold of the door. “What’s your hurry, Ralph?”
“You’re not cops. I don’t have to talk to two PIs hired by that snooty Alice Dean. Just because she comes from money, she thinks she can—”
Michael didn’t like Buckley’s harsh words against a widow who only wanted justice for her dead husband. He threw his shoulder against the door and shoved it open.
Buckley staggered backward, while Michael and Beth practically fell into his living room. “You’ve got no search warrant and no right to push your way in. I’m calling the cops.” With a shaking hand, Buckley pulled a phone from his pocket.
“By all means, Ralph, call Detective Lejeune. It’ll save him the trip back to the station once he’s done at the DA’s office.” Michael inched forward until he loomed over the smaller man.
Beth pulled on his shirtsleeve. “Maybe we should wait on the porch until Detective Lejeune arrives with that arrest warrant.”
“Why should we stand in the hot sun when I distinctly heard Mr. Buckley invite us in?” Feeling more confident by the minute, Michael thumped an index finger against Buckley’s chest. “We’ll stay right here while Mr. Buckley gathers the financial records for Calvary Baptist. And while you’re at it, why not print a copy of the payment you received for handing Reverend Dean on a platter to Elliott Rayburn?”
“How could you have found out about that?” sputtered Buckley as he staggered back into a hall tree. “If Paul had butted out his nose, the church would have gotten their investment back with interest. He knew the time frame involved. If he would’ve left well enough alone, he’d still be alive.”
Michael looked at him with contempt. “How much did they pay you?”
“Not enough to end up dead like Paul. You’d better watch your step, Preston. You too, Beth. You don’t know how dangerous these people are.”
With his protective instincts kicking in, Michael stepped in front of his partner. “Are you threatening us?”
“It’s not me you need to worry about!” Buckley screamed without concern as to who overheard. “I didn’t kill Paul, but you’re right—somebody did.” He pivoted on his heel and strode down the hall. “Sit, stand, search my cupboards for all I care. I’m not sticking around until somebody makes sure I suffer a fatal accident.”
Michael started after him, but a tight grip on his arm slowed him down.
“Where are you going?” Beth hissed in his ear.
“To his office. Buckley invited us in and said we could snoop all we want. Let’s see what else he has in his filing cabinet.”
“Come outside right now. Don’t make me pull a gun on you.” Beth didn’t sound like the sweet woman who shared her strawberry sundae with him.
Once they reached the front porch, Beth grabbed his shirt with both hands. “What were you talking about? Jack isn’t getting a search warrant. He doesn’t know about the connection between Buckley and Rayburn. Sounds like the DA offered Buckley a plea deal and he plans to take it. Do you have proof Buckley took some kind of kickback?”
“Easy, partner.” Michael pried her fingers off his newest wardrobe addition. “No, I was bluffing. I had my suspicions and the ploy worked.”
“To what end?” Beth stomped her foot. “Once again you tipped our hand. All Buckley needs to do is deny taking payola. Then the burden will be on you to find proof of conspiracy—the proof he’s probably shredding right now. We should have updated Jack before you broke down Ralph’s door.” Grabbing his hand, Beth dragged him down the walkway like a five-year-old.
“He’s scared, Elizabeth, but I doubt Buckley is so desperate he’ll destroy evidence—”
“He’s scared all right, and you should be worried as to why.”
“Rayburn didn’t look like a cold-blooded murderer. He wouldn’t want to wrinkle his suit.”
“Considering the church invested half a million dollars, Rayburn could afford to pay someone to do the dirty work. Hitmen out in the sticks work for a couple thousand.”
“How do you know that?” Michael pulled free from her grasp.
“Don’t ask.” When they reached his Charger, Beth held out her palm. “Give me your keys,” she demanded.
“You want to drive my car? This ain’t no four-cylinder Chevy, little missy. This is a man’s car.” Michael held out his fists like a sleight-of-hand game in a carnival. “Choose correctly and I’ll let you drive.”
Beth’s face looked like it might ignite. “Give me those keys this instant!”
“Fine. I was merely concerned for your safety.” He opened the hand containing the keys.
Beth snatched the ring, unlocked the driver’s door, and then hesitated. “On second thought, I’ll walk back to the office. Checking the other names on D.K. Financial’s list can wait till later.” She tossed him the keys. “You get to drive the man’s car after all.”
“You can’t be serious. Walking will take at least half an hour.”
“Exactly. I’ll need that much time to figure out what to say to Nate. We need to explain this without sounding like you messed up. In the meantime, call Jack with a full update of what you found out. You probably have his number on speed dial.” Her face scrunched into a scowl.
“I already see the error of my ways. Ride back with me, Beth, and we’ll call Lejeune along the way.” Michael opened the passenger door.
Beth shook her head like a stubborn mule. “No, for two reasons. One, you’ll do better talking to Jack alone. That man doesn’t like me. And two, by the time I call the boss and he asks, ‘Did you inform Natchez PD of what you discovered about D.K. Financials and Ralph Buckley’s involvement,’ I don’t want to be lying when I say yes. Knowing Nate, he will ask.”
Michael climbed into his low-slung car and lowered the window. “As usual, you’re right. I guess I still have more to learn.”
Beth’s expression softened. “The thin line that a private detective must walk with law enforcement takes time to master. Don’t beat yourself up for getting excited. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Beth marched off at a pace a notch slower than a jog.
Michael appreciated her foresight. If it was the last thing he did, he would prove himself worthy of her faith in him. Might as well get this uncomfortable phone call over with. He punched in number seven on speed dial and switched to hands-free communication. By the time his Charger passed Beth power walking down the street, Detective Lejeune answered the call.
His gruff, “What’s up, Dick Tracy?” didn’t bode well for the rest of Michael’s afternoon.