When Michael had shown up at the police station early Tuesday morning, both Chief McNeil and Detective Lejeune were already out on the road. With little time to spare, Michael sealed the yellow envelope of account statements and left it with instructions that it should go to Detective Lejeune ASAP. Briefly he contemplated explaining to the chief’s second-in-command how he came by the new evidence, but then he dismissed the notion. The man looked as though he had enough on his plate already.
“Have Detective Lejeune call me if he has any questions.” Michael placed his business card atop the envelope.
Within minutes he was driving northeast on Route 9 but in no particular hurry. He needed time to think, a chance to mentally prepare to meet someone capable of great evil. A woman likely responsible for a minister’s death, either directly or indirectly.
Rachel wasn’t happy when he’d phoned last night, especially because he’d woken her up. “Do you know what time it is, Preston?” she huffed.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s almost eleven. But I wanted to thank you for sending the statements so promptly.”
“You’re welcome. Give me a few days to track down those emails, and then I’ll be in touch.”
She was about to hang up when Michael blurted out, “That will be fine, but I want to redeem my rain check for dinner.”
“What? Dinner was hours ago.” Impatience edged her words.
“I’m hoping we can have dinner tomorrow. Since my boss left town, I’ve been working way too hard. This would be a good chance for us to catch up.” Michael thought a half-truth would sound more believable than complete fiction.
Rachel yawned into the mouthpiece. “As much as I’d like to, I gotta work from one to nine. No time for dinner.”
“How about a quick lunch if I promise not to make you late?” Michael gave her no chance to decline. “The problem is, I don’t think copies of the statements and your correspondence with Paul Dean will satisfy my client. Mrs. Dean would like assurance that Spare the Children doesn’t expect her to fulfill any monetary commitments.”
“The statements clearly indicate the account belongs to Calvary Baptist of Natchez, not Reverend Dean personally.”
“I agree. It’s black-and-white from where I stand, but maybe you could sign an affidavit that her family has no obligation, especially because quite a bit of money seems to be missing.”
Michael’s last four words hung in the air before Rachel changed her tune, literally and figuratively.
“Why don’t you pick me up outside my office at eleven?” she drawled. “Two hours should be enough time to catch up on each other’s life. Bring whatever document you want me to sign.” Rachel ended the call without wishing him a good night.
With their evidence in police custody and several hours before his date, he did a quick search of Rachel Stewart on his laptop and then slept like a baby. By the time he headed north the next morning, he knew that she rented her furnished apartment on a month-to-month basis and her car had been leased by D.K. Financials, who held the title and registration. Other than a closetful of clothes, Rachel had nothing anchoring her to Jackson. She would have no trouble making a quick getaway once the pyramid tumbled to the ground.
As he pulled up in front of D.K. Financials, Rachel climbed from her Cadillac. “Right on the dot,” she called with a cheery smile. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Michael.”
He walked around to the passenger side to open her door. “That’s me, Mr. Punctual.”
“And you’re a gentleman. I don’t remember the last time a man opened my door.” Rachel ducked into his low-slung car. “When did you get this fancy thing? I don’t remember your driving anything like this.”
“I bought it as part of my self-improvement program. Where are we going? Your choice, my treat.”
“Take a left at the light.” Rachel turned to face him. “Everyone needs to make changes, but you were just fine the way you were.”
Although the traffic was light, Michael kept his eyes on the road. “If you were so happy, Rachel, why break our engagement right before the wedding?”
“It wasn’t because of your shortcomings. It was due to my own personal unhappiness.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Turn left at the stop sign.”
“Care to elaborate? Today is about catching up and being honest with each other.” He glanced at her, but she was staring out the window.
“When you asked me to marry you, I was so happy to say yes, but then, as we got closer to the wedding, I took a good look at my two married sisters and started to panic. Their lives are nothing but an endless loop of cooking, cleaning, and chauffeuring kids to soccer practice. My one sister who kept her job simply added sleep-deprived and stressed-out to her lifestyle. Ugh, I couldn’t imagine that for myself.” Rachel shook her head as though dispelling the mental image. “Turn into the next plaza on your right. A Terrace in Tuscany serves the best Italian cuisine in town.”
Following her instructions, Michael spotted the restaurant at the end of the row. “Couldn’t you have figured that out before we put down deposits everywhere in town?”
“That is my one regret,” she whispered. “I made the right choice by not getting married, but I’m sorry I hurt you, Michael. You could be the only man I’ll ever love.”
He ignored the manipulative lie as though no more consequential than a radio commercial. “Shall we go inside? I can smell the garlic and sweet basil even in the parking lot.”
Inside the dimly lit bistro, Michael waited to resume serious conversation until after they had ordered. “Does this accounting firm that specializes in nonprofits have what you were looking for?”
Her response was an unexpected burst of laughter. “Hardly. Jackson might be bigger than Brookhaven and have more restaurants, but it has basically the same family-oriented mind-set. Plus my work here is just as boring as it was at Anderson. I want excitement and adventure before I’m too old to enjoy it.” She blotted her lipstick on the linen napkin.
Michael realized that was probably the most honest thing she had ever said. “So what’s next on your agenda? Any plans for the future?”
Her eyes turned luminous in the candlelight. “Yes. That’s why I need you to reassure Mrs. Dean. Not that I have no compassion for a grieving widow, but I can’t have her causing a ruckus for me.”
“Care to elaborate?” Beneath the table, Michael’s hands bunched into fists.
Rachel took a piece of crusty bread from the basket. “A few weeks ago I applied for a position at a global consortium of accountants. Their clients are either wealthy individuals or international corporations. Every one of them places discretion high on their list of requirements. I recently found out they’ve narrowed the field to three candidates. I can’t tell you how much I want this job. The consortium has branches in Rome, Paris, London, and Tokyo. If hired, who knows where I could be sent? I would travel the world on private jets, be able to set my hours, and have conversations without catty secretaries listening in. D.K. has been no different than Anderson in that regard.”
“Sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime, but I fail to see what Mrs. Dean has to do with your career aspirations.”
Rachel leaned toward him as though about to divulge state secrets. “With competition so fierce, I don’t want my potential employer to find out about my misunderstanding with Paul Dean. That’s why I need to keep my current boss out of the loop. Who knows what George Roush could put in my employment file?”
A misunderstanding with Paul Dean? Michael dabbed his bread in the olive oil for distraction. He had forgotten how self-serving Rachel was. Living in a big city had done little to nurture compassion or empathy.
She took a bite of bread. “Please smooth things out with Alice Dean, at least for a few weeks. This new job can get me out of Mississippi forever. If you help me, I’ll be more than grateful. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be ready to put these cotton fields in your rearview mirror, and I’ll be in a position to help you. There’s a whole world out there if you could stand working with me again. The woman who stupidly let the best man she’d ever met slip away.” Rachel settled back as the waitress delivered a huge salad and a heaping platter of smoked meats, cheeses, and olives.
“I don’t believe Mrs. Dean will present any problems.” He forced his lips into a smile. “Why don’t we get started? All this talk about the future made me hungry.”
It was a bald-faced lie. Talking with the conniving scammer had nauseated him, but as Rachel pointed out, appearances were everything. Michael ate a portion of salad and tasted several different meats and cheeses. He feigned interest when she gave updates on a few mutual friends.
Then, at the appropriate moment, his hand knocked over her water glass into her lap. Michael apologized profusely for his clumsiness, and when Rachel left to pat herself dry a bit more privately, he slipped her lipstick-smeared napkin and water glass into plastic bags. He quickly scanned the room, stowed the evidence in his briefcase, and replaced the napkin and goblet from an empty nearby table. When she returned from the restroom, he was refilling her water from the carafe.
“I apologize again, Rachel.”
“Don’t mention it. Soon I’ll be good as new.”
Thank goodness for shadowy bistros where patrons minded their own business. If any of the waitstaff or fellow patrons had witnessed his sleight of hand, no one made mention. Soon Michael dropped off the three-headed serpent at her office amid a flurry of air kisses and false promises to stay in touch.
Then he was on his way back to Natchez, eager to see Beth, the antithesis of Rachel in every possible way.