Magnolia Moonlight Read online

  BOOKS BY MARY ELLIS

  SECRETS OF THE SOUTH MYSTERIES

  Midnight on the Mississippi

  What Happened on Beale Street

  Magnolia Moonlight

  CIVIL WAR HEROINES

  The Quaker and the Rebel

  The Lady and the Officer

  THE NEW BEGINNINGS SERIES

  Living in Harmony

  Love Comes to Paradise

  A Little Bit of Charm

  THE WAYNE COUNTY SERIES

  Abigail’s New Hope

  A Marriage for Meghan

  THE MILLER FAMILY SERIES

  A Widow’s Hope

  Never Far from Home

  The Way to a Man’s Heart

  STANDALONES

  Sarah’s Christmas Miracle

  An Amish Family Reunion

  A Plain Man

  The Last Heiress

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Cover by Lucas Art and Design

  Cover photo © 68 / PHOTO 24 / Ocean / Corbis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  MAGNOLIA MOONLIGHT

  Copyright © 2016 by Mary Ellis

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  ISBN 978-0-7369-6173-8 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-6174-5 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Ellis, Mary, author.

  Title: Magnolia moonlight / Mary Ellis.

  Description: Eugene Oregon : Harvest House Publishers, [2016] | Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016009185 (print) | LCCN 2016005606 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736961745 () | ISBN 9780736961738 (softcover)

  Subjects: LCSH: Private investigators–Fiction. | Criminal investigation–Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3626.E36 (print) | LCC PS3626.E36 M34 2016 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016009185

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Contents

  Books by Mary Ellis

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Midnight on the Mississippi

  What Happened on Beale Street

  Sunset in Old Savannah

  About the Publisher

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Captain T. McGehee of the Natchez Police Department. Never have I been treated so warmly while interviewing a very busy professional. My honorary officer’s badge hangs proudly over my writing desk. Thanks also to the Cleveland FBI agents who willingly share their knowledge with local mystery writers.

  Thanks to the Grand Hotel of Natchez for the wonderful hospitality. What a lovely historic gem on the banks of the Mississippi River.

  Thanks to Johnny “Vegas” Sturwold, executive host at Belterra Casino and Resort, for assisting me with the game of Texas Hold’em and with poker room procedures. Thanks especially to Mike Smith, also an executive host at Belterra, for his expertise with high-stakes poker. Although the Golden Magnolia Casino is a figment of my imagination, I’d also like to thank the Hollywood Casino of Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, and its employees, who graciously and patiently answered many of my questions.

  Thanks to the helpful guides inside the Bay St. Louis Historic Depot and the Alice Moseley Folk Art Museum. I’m also very grateful to Nicki Moon of the Bay Town Inn Bed & Breakfast, who shared firsthand stories of riding out Hurricane Katrina, including hanging on to a tree for dear life. Thanks also to the naturalists at Gulf Shores National Seashore in Ocean Springs and on Ship Island, smack in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.

  Thanks to my dear friends Pete and Donna Taylor, who helped with brainstorming, and my husband, who helped discover plenty of nooks and crannies in Natchez, Bay St. Louis, Biloxi, Gulfport, and Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Researching with friends and family is so much more fun.

  Thanks to my agent, Mary Sue Seymour; my editor, Kim Moore; and the wonderful staff at Harvest House Publishers. Where would I be without your hard work?

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Although Natchez is home to several Baptist churches, Calvary Baptist and the events which took place there are purely fictional.

  The river told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice.

  MARK TWAIN

  The river was doing what it liked to do, just as a mule will work for you for ten years for the privilege of kicking you once.

  WILLIAM FAULKNER

  ONE

  Nate Price sat down to breakfast that morning a happy man. What was there not to like about life? The sun was shining. He’d just run four miles along the levee in his best time yet. There were fresh blueberries and candi
ed pecans in his bowl of cereal. And he had married the prettiest girl ever to graduate from their high school. Lifting the spoon to his mouth, he crunched into his whole grains and soy milk with contentment.

  “Could you pour that into a to-go cup, honey? I need a ride to work today.” Isabelle entered their tiny kitchen on stiletto heels in a faint mist of sweet perfume. In her silk dress with her long hair coiled into a knot, she looked like an investment banker or college professor.

  Nate peered over his coffee mug. “It’s cereal with milk, not a breakfast shake. What’s with the snazzy getup? I thought Realty World agents were required to wear their lime green blazer at all times. And why do you need a ride when you own a perfectly good Prius?”

  “There should be a limit on the number of questions before nine a.m.” Leaning over for a kiss, Isabelle grabbed his bowl of cereal and dumped it into a plastic tub. “Take your spoon. You can eat while I drive.” She filled her travel mug with coffee.

  Nate crossed his arms and made no effort to move.

  “Okay, you win.” Isabelle held up her index finger. “First of all, my blazer isn’t lime. That particular shade of green is called ‘kelly.’ Second, Mr. Randall told his agents to wear their Sunday best, no blazers today. We’re attending a symposium on mortgage finance at the Grand Hotel. Me? I’m going for the free lunch.” She winked a magnificent green eye.

  “You usually fill up with a side salad and breadstick.” Nate snapped a lid on his mug and reached for his keys. “And now for the million-dollar question—what’s wrong with your car?”

  “Remember that little knock in my engine? The mechanic said I would need a new transmission soon, and that was four thousand miles ago. Yesterday I could barely hear the radio over the knocking.” She shrugged.

  Nate halted midway through the doorway. “You should have told me sooner, Izzy. What if you had broken down coming home from an open house? Those country roads don’t have streetlights.”

  She slipped an arm around his waist as they walked toward the car. “We’re saving for our honeymoon and to buy a house. Our budget can’t stretch any thinner.”

  “Two working people need two vehicles. With two hundred thousand miles on that car, I’d say you got your money’s worth. Nothing lasts forever.” Nate opened the driver’s door for her.

  “Well, finances are just a bit tight. You know I loved moving from Germantown to slower-paced Natchez, but fewer people mean fewer sales, and less expensive real estate means smaller commission checks.” She climbed into his SUV and tugged down her skirt.

  “It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just life, my sweet bride,” Nate said around a mouthful of mushy cereal.

  Isabelle backed down the narrow driveway between the neighbor’s picket fence and her row of azaleas. “How can I still be a bride when our second anniversary is in two weeks? I’m just another old married woman.”

  “Not to me you’re not.” Nate kissed her cheek. “New rule. You stay a bride until after the honeymoon, even if we’re in our forties.”

  She laughed, a sound that never failed to warm his soul. “Maybe we should forget our dreams and go to New Orleans for a few days. We could stay at Nicki and Hunter’s apartment while they’re in Europe. They have offered the place more than once.”

  Nate tipped his bowl to drink the milk. “Nope. I’m not honeymooning in the French Quarter. I lived there for years, remember? Let’s buy a used car with what I squirreled away for the trip and use your next commission check for a honeymoon. Saving for a new house will remain on track.”

  “Good idea. We’ll qualify for a senior citizen discount by then.” Isabelle accelerated on an open stretch of road. “Maybe we should put a bid on the place we rent. How much could the landlord want for a nine-hundred-square-foot, one-bedroom house?”

  Nate slid the empty bowl under the seat. “You have illuminated the fly in your ointment—one bedroom. Call me crazy, but someday I hope we’re surrounded by dozens of mini Nathaniel and Isabelle look-alikes. We’ll need lots of bedrooms so when they cry at night my dutiful wife can hurry down the hall while I get my beauty sleep.”

  Isabelle shot him an evil glare. “There are so many things wrong with that mental picture that I don’t even know where to start. But because we’re almost at work, we’ll continue this discussion at supper. Whose turn is it to cook?”

  “Definitely yours. I’m hoping for a nice steak grilled to perfection over hardwood briquettes, and maybe fresh asparagus with a tangy hollandaise.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “Nope, it’s your turn. So I’ll expect my usual burger, charred to a crisp, with baked beans and bag salad.” Isabelle turned into Realty World’s parking lot, the largest real estate brokerage firm in Natchez. “Good grief, look at the cars already! Let’s hope these are all eager buyers with excellent credit scores.”

  Nate jumped out and jogged to the driver’s side. He had only enough time to wrap his arms around his wife when Izzy’s boss interrupted them.

  “Good morning, Mr. Price. I’m glad you dropped Isabelle off today.” Mr. Randall, looking professional in his charcoal-gray suit, approached from the back entrance. No lime green blazer for the big shot. “Could you step inside for a few minutes? I need another man’s opinion on something. You know how these women love to gang up on me.”

  “Sure, I can spare a few minutes. In fact, I have all the time in the world.”

  Nate had finished his recent missing person investigation by locating the twenty-year-old woman in Las Vegas. The girl had agreed to call her parents but refused to come home. She was making too much money dealing blackjack to go back to selling cosmetics at the mall. And a suspected philandering spouse turned out to be someone moonlighting at a second job. The husband had planned to surprise his wife with an anniversary cruise down the Danube River. Nate felt so sorry for the guy that he had cut his usual fee in half. The agency had a corporate fraud case in New Orleans, and the suspected misuse of a power of attorney case in Vicksburg, but no new Natchez cases. He needed some more work soon, or he would be twiddling his thumbs.

  “Good. I love having you around.” Isabelle beamed as she reached for his hand. “Be sure to compliment Mary Jo on her new hairdo,” she whispered. “Chopping off that ponytail was quite traumatic.”

  However, once they entered the building, Nate had no opportunity to assess Mary Jo’s coiffure or do much of anything else.

  “Surprise!” Shouts from at least three dozen people nearly blew the roof off the one-story building.

  Dumbfounded, Nate and Isabelle gazed around a sea of familiar faces. Not only had every real estate agent beaten Isabelle to work, but Nate’s new employees and his assistant were part of the crowd, along with his partner from New Orleans, her husband, and most of their friends. “Good grief,” he muttered. “There’s my Aunt Rose. What’s going on?”

  Isabelle’s astonishment rivaled his. “My aunt and uncle from Clarksdale are here. I haven’t seen them in two years.”

  In a flurry of backslapping, handshaking, and cheek-kissing, Mr. Randall herded Nate and Isabelle toward the conference table. But instead of scratch pads, pens, and printouts of recent listings, it was covered with pink paper, confetti, and bright streamers. A weighted cluster of helium balloons offered sentiments of “Best Wishes,” “Congratulations,” and “Bon Voyage.”

  “Bon voyage?” Nate asked no one in particular. “The only place I’m going is my office.” He tightened his arm around Isabelle as though they were surrounded by dangerous people instead of their closest friends and relatives.

  “We’ll just see about that.” Michael Preston, his newest employee at the agency, clamped a hand on his shoulder.

  Then his partner, Nicki Galen, stepped front and center. “You’re not really setting sail, but I needed a short phrase for taking a trip.” She rocked on her heels, snickering. “They put me in charge of the balloons.”

  Nate narrowed his gaze at her. “What are you doing in Natchez? I thought you a
nd Hunter were vacationing in France or Switzerland, someplace hoity-toity.”

  “Nobody says hoity-toity anymore, cousin. Anyway, we flew back early when we heard about the party. Pretty nice balloons, no?” Nicki winked mischievously.

  “Check out the cakes,” a voice called. The crowd shuffled them toward the table, where decorated cupcakes spelled out Happy Anniversary. In the center one giant cake had been emblazoned with Have fun, Nate and Izzy. A small white envelope protruded from the frosting.

  “What is going on?” demanded Isabelle, as though beset with the same sense of peril. She leaned into his side as the crowd shouted several commands:

  “Open the card!”

  “Pack your bags!”

  “Stop looking so scared!”

  Nate plucked the sugar-coated envelope from the frosting. “Fine, but I have one question. Don’t any of you people have work to do?”

  Receiving only laughter in response, he ripped open the envelope, licked his fingers, and scanned the single sheet. Then he handed it to Isabelle, his mouth agape.

  “What is it?” She read key phrases aloud. “Three weeks in a luxurious beachfront mansion in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Breakfast served on the porch each morning, afternoon refreshments on the lawn, true Southern hospitality. Walking distance to shops, restaurants, and the marina. Porch swing, free use of bicycles, Wi-Fi, and two bedrooms.”

  “Two bedrooms?” Michael scratched his head. “Is someone planning to join them on their honeymoon?”

  “That’s in case they have a lover’s quarrel.” A disembodied voice floated from the back of the room.

  Nate recognized the voice of his Vicksburg based PI, Elizabeth Kirby. “You’re here too?” He feigned annoyance. “Doesn’t anyone put in an honest day’s work anymore?”

  “Not when we needed to take matters into our own hands.” Mr. Randall squeezed in between Nate and Isabelle. “When it became clear you two were never going to take a honeymoon, your fellow agents and Nate’s employees took up a collection. Then your cousin shook down your friends and relatives and fattened the purse.” Randall drew a second envelope from his pocket and handed it to Isabelle. “We were able to upgrade you to a suite, and there’s enough spending money for lunch, dinner, dolphin-watching excursions, and several bottles of suntan lotion.”