Sunset in Old Savannah Page 12

  He leaned back in his chair. “You do realize, Ms. Hancock, that we’re a reputable private investigation firm, not the real-life counterpart of Dog the Bounty Hunter.”

  “All righty, then,” interrupted his partner. “Thanks so much for coming in, Anita. We have a few more candidates to interview, and then we’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Beth. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Candidate number one extended her hand solely to Michael’s partner and left quickly.

  He held his breath until the woman went out the door. “Good grief! She was your first choice?” He covered his face with his hands.

  “Anita sounded better on paper than in person. Looks like we’ll have to see who’s behind door number two.” Beth glanced at her watch. “While you vet the other applicants, I’m going to the coffee shop for a chat with Crystal.”

  “Do you remember what Nate said about letting the police do their job?”

  “I do, but aren’t we still on Mrs. Doyle’s payroll? Now that we did what the boss wanted, I want to see what Bonnie’s alibi has to say. I’ll be back in time for the free food. What surprises will we discover tonight?” She gave his arm a squeeze as she headed for the door.

  With Beth’s touch, Michael completely forgot his next argument. Instead, he watched her leave, feeling an entirely different set of emotions than those he experienced with Ms. Hancock.

  THIRTEEN

  Beth chuckled all the way to Cool Beans. Could a job interview have gone any worse than that? As soon as Ms. Hancock called her partner “Mike” not once but three times, Beth knew Anita’s future at Price Investigations was doomed. But honestly, why would a tax compliance officer think PIs had exciting, action-packed lifestyles? So much of their time was spent searching databases, combing through files for overlooked details, or surveilling people who did nothing for hours. Although Beth enjoyed her current job, work for her wasn’t as intense as it had been when she was a detective on the Natchez police force. But working with a partner she trusted made up for any dearth of excitement.

  Beth spent so much time reliving the interview that she arrived at the coffee shop without a plan. Fortunately, her target, Crystal, was manning the pastry oven, while the ethically impaired Bonnie was nowhere in sight. For someone suddenly without a sugar daddy, the girl took many days off. Beth considered nursing a caramel latte in the corner until Crystal took her break, but her cover as a hopeful new employee had been played to death.

  Without a better idea, Beth settled on a park bench across the street with mini binoculars and a paperback book. Long before the Victorian-era debutante caught the duke’s eye, Beth spotted Crystal heading to the alley for her smoke break. The hopeful heiress will have to wait.

  Beth sprinted across the street. “If it isn’t my old friend Crystal Callahan. How you been?” she asked sweetly.

  “What do you want? And don’t give me that baloney about looking for a job. You’re some kind of cop, aren’t you?” Crystal glared down her nose, her superior height courtesy of six-inch platform shoes.

  “I knew I couldn’t fool a smart girl like you for long.” Beth arched up on her tiptoes until they were nose to nose. “Actually, I would love to work at a fun place like this…so many chances to meet cool men. Too bad I already have a job—finding out who killed my friend’s husband. You remember Lamar Doyle, don’t you? He was supposed to set your pal Bonnie up for life.”

  Crystal almost fell off her shoes trying to move away. “Look, I’ll tell you the same thing I told that lady cop yesterday. I have no idea who killed Mr. Doyle and neither does Bonnie.” She spat out the words. “Go look for your killer someplace else. After we closed the shop, Bonnie came home with me Saturday night. And she stayed there all night.”

  Beth studied the girl’s defensive posture—crossed arms, jutting chin, squinting eyes. This young egg won’t crack the old-fashioned way with intimidation. So Beth tried a softer, gentler approach.

  “Look, could you cut me some slack here? Mrs. Doyle employed me to find out details. I won’t get paid unless I come back with the same story you told that detective. If Bonnie didn’t do it, fine with me. I just want to fill out my report.”

  “What do I care if you get paid? You’ve been nothing but a pain in my neck.” Crystal lit another cigarette, even though she just stubbed out the last one.

  Beth smiled slyly. “Because the sooner I report back it wasn’t your gal pal, the sooner the cops will look someplace else.”

  Crystal considered that in a haze of blue smoke. “I just told you what I know.”

  Beth pulled out her notebook and pen. “From the top, everything you said to Detective Rossi. Then I’m outta here.”

  Crystal sighed heavily but began talking. “We first had to clean the displays. Then Bonnie came to my house for a sleepover. We left here around nine thirty. I had my car here that day.”

  “Did you set this up ahead of time or spur of the moment?”

  “Spur of the moment,” Crystal said after a brief hesitation.

  “What about her stuff like a nightgown or toothbrush?”

  “Stop interrupting me! And who wears nightgowns anymore other than old grannies?” As punishment, Crystal blew smoke into Beth’s face. “I gave her a T-shirt to sleep in, and maybe she used my toothbrush. I don’t know.”

  Yuck, Beth thought, but wisely she stayed silent.

  “Like I said, we were at my place all night, watching movies and playing video games. Then I went to bed, and Bonnie slept on the couch. I don’t know what time that was. In the morning, I took a shower and went to work. Bonnie had the day off. I don’t know what time she left or where she went.” Crystal punctuated her story with a glare.

  Beth jotted notes prodigiously. “Okay, where do you live—in a house or an apartment? Do you have other roommates?”

  “I live with my grandmother, but it’s like having my own place.” She recited the address while picking at her cuticle.

  Beth stopped writing. “How so? I live with my mom and dad, and it’s nothing like having my own place.”

  “My bedroom and bathroom are in the back of the house, with a separate entrance off the porch. My grandma watches TV in the front room. I come and go as I please.” Crystal’s expression was nothing but smug.

  “Huh, I gotta work on that when I go home. What about food? Did you guys send out for pizza that night?”

  “Nope. We had chips and Coke. We didn’t get very hungry.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have seen Bonnie at your place Saturday night?”

  Crystal checked the time on her phone. “Look, you wanted what I told the other cop, and that’s what you got. Sorry if it didn’t meet your expectations, but I gotta get back to work.” She pushed away from the wall.

  “Just one more question, I promise.”

  Crystal offered a disgusted eye roll. “What?”

  “Have you seen her since you left for work Sunday morning?”

  “No. Bonnie’s taking some time off. I don’t know when she’ll be back. You know, she’s sad about losing Lamar.” She headed for the street with Beth at her heels.

  “So she didn’t stop over or call in order to synchronize your stories?”

  “I haven’t talked to her.”

  “Then how do you know she’s sad about Mr. Doyle dying? He wasn’t dead the last time you two talked.”

  Crystal stopped on a dime. “I want you to get away from me, or I’ll tell that lady detective you’re harassing me.”

  Beth lifted her hands and stepped back. “Just trying to help you out since you gave me good advice on the job application.”

  “Yeah? Well, here’s a little more advice…”

  Beth tucked her notebook in her purse. “I’m all ears, Crystal.”

  The young woman’s grin brightened her rather bland features. “Get your own place to live. You are way too old to live with your parents.”

  Beth burst out laughing. Ain’t that the honest-to-goodness truth. />
  Back at the hotel, Beth spotted her partner in the lobby. Michael sat reading the paper while tourists and businesspeople milled around him noisily. “What are you doing here? This place is a zoo.”

  He folded the paper in half. “I was waiting for you. I wanted to catch you before you went to your room.” In his cotton shirt and chinos, Michael looked cool, casual, and handsome.

  “Couldn’t wait to hear my news? Well, let me say that Miss Cappuccino shouldn’t count on a stage career. Her rehearsed delivery of Bonnie’s lies wasn’t very believable. I’m sure Detective Rossi saw right through her performance. Just the same, I’d like you to delve into Crystal Callahan’s background. Maybe we’ll learn something to help pry out the truth.” She tore the sheet with Grandma’s address from her notebook.

  “Consider it done, but Bonnie’s alibi isn’t why I’ve been watching for you.”

  Beth perched on the arm of a chair. “Discover some skeletons in our applicants’ closets?”

  “I found out George Faraday’s former career as a CSI tech was a bit of a stretch. He did work in a medical lab, but mainly in prep and cleanup work, not analyzing data as potential evidence.”

  “People love to spin straw into gold. We’ll see if he comes clean tomorrow.” Beth pulled off the tight band holding her ponytail. “Ready to hit the free food? I’m hoping for buffalo wings on Tuesdays.”

  Michael stretched to his full six feet two and smiled. “That’s why I was waiting for you. What do you say we skip the freebies tonight and go to dinner in one of Savannah’s best restaurants? Seafood, steak, whatever you have a taste for.” He seemed to look at her oddly.

  “You mean burn through some of the expense money we’ve been hoarding?”

  He shrugged. “Either that or let me buy dinner. Real people do spend their own money even while on assignment.”

  Beth scratched her scalp, which had started to itch. “This sounds very much like a date.”

  “It could be, or it could be two partners burning through our expense stipend. That’s up to you,” he added softly.

  “Nothing like springing this on me when I had free sliders and slaw on the mind. Now you dangle fancy cuisine in front of a starving woman?” She jumped to her feet and started to pace, oblivious to a cluster of nearby children. “Let’s go someplace snazzy, and we’ll both order whatever we want. Price will be no object. Then, at the end of the night, I’ll decide whether you or Mrs. Doyle picks up the tab.” She stopped in front of him. “I suppose capris and sneakers aren’t going to cut it.”

  Michael appraised her outfit far longer than necessary. “How about a dress and heels if I put on my funeral-and-wedding suit?”

  Beth threw her hands in the air. “Fine, but we’re eating Italian at some place with white tablecloths and real espresso. I’ll meet you at the car in two hours, and don’t call me in the meantime. I need that long to pull this rabbit out of my hat.”

  During the next ninety minutes, Beth showered and dressed in a long, sleeveless silk dress. Then she carefully applied makeup to the best of her ability, which truly wasn’t saying much. She used pressed powder to even out her skin tone, a bronzer to simulate a tan for cheeks that only freckled, and navy mascara to highlight her blue eyes. At least that’s why her friend Jacklyn told her to buy it. But the seldom-used eye shadow palette had her baffled. Which shadow is supposed to go under the brow and which into the crease above my eyes? With a sigh, Beth selected the prettiest of the four shades and dusted it over both lids, leaving her time to stare into her mirror and wonder what she was doing.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like Michael, because she did. A lot. He was no longer the nerdy, pocket-protector-wearing number cruncher, thanks to his high-protein diet, weight training, and a better haircut. Although she was glad to see the old buzz cut go, she had never agreed with his personal appraisal. And there was plenty about the old Michael she hoped he wouldn’t lose. Learning to defend himself and how to handle firearms were necessary in their line of work, but she appreciated his compassion and self-deprecating sense of humor. How many men listened when others talked and treated everyone respectfully, whether their behavior warranted it or not?

  Truth was, she really liked Michael, but was simple fondness a solid foundation for romance? She felt none of the stomach-wrenching, breath-snatching, heart-pounding excitement that she had with Chief McNeil, her former boss at Natchez PD. Where was all that fiery passion now?

  She knew she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try. Michael would survive if they simply remained work pals. He would meet someone else and live happily ever after. But she would always wonder what she missed. Beth took a final look in the mirror, whispered a prayer, and inhaled a deep breath.

  Downstairs, Michael was leaning against his car, talking on the phone. He looked fit and handsome in a tan sport coat, dark slacks, and Italian loafers. “You’re in luck,” he said after he ended the call. “We have reservations at Belford’s in the City Market. They assured me their tablecloths are white and their espresso machine works. They also have a good selection of steak and seafood.” He swept open the car door. “You look nice by the way. And so tall in those heels.” He winked at her.

  “Are you mocking me, Preston? That’s never a good idea.”

  “I’m merely stating the obvious as a conversational icebreaker.”

  “Let’s stick to sports or the weather until something clever comes to mind. And remember, we’re no longer in the eighth grade.” As he backed from the parking space, she caught a whiff of aftershave. Oddly, she never had noticed the spicy scent before.

  “Let’s see…” Michael tried to look serious. “The weather is lovely and I have no idea what’s going on in sports, so let’s bring each other up to date on the case. Anything else you’d like to share from your interrogation of Bonnie’s alibi?”

  While Michael wove through Savannah traffic, Beth recounted several details from the conversation, including Crystal’s slipup about Bonnie’s melancholia, even though they hadn’t spoken since Saturday night.

  Michael was grinning by the time she finished. “Doubtlessly, a seasoned veteran like Rossi can smell a fishy story a block away, just like you. She’s probably ferreting out where Mulroney really was Saturday night as we speak.” He pulled into the valet queue at a very fancy restaurant. “We’re here, Cinderella.”

  “I hope the Charger won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight. I can’t walk far in these shoes.” When the attendant opened her door, Beth climbed out as gracefully as possible. How do those red carpet stars manage long dresses and high heels from a low center of gravity?

  Michael gave his name to the hostess, and they were shown to a table next to a fountain in the courtyard. “Or would you prefer something indoors, Beth?” he asked, pulling out her chair.

  Michael always had impeccable manners, but tonight his attention was practically solicitous. “No, this is lovely.” She accepted a menu from the waiter and made her selection without gasping at the prices. After Michael had given him their order—Caesar salad for two, linguini with clam sauce for her, veal marsala with angel hair pasta for him—Beth steered the conversation back to comfortable ground. “Tell me more about the other two applicants.”

  “I believe George Faraday vastly stretched the truth when he described his former position. But I don’t want to influence your opinion before tomorrow’s breakfast appointment.”

  “Fair enough, since he was my second favorite choice. Let’s hope he works out better than Ms. Hancock.” Beth nibbled at a bread stick.

  “And I discovered something else interesting while you were gone, something that had been gnawing at me since I visited Town and Country Insurance. The assistant had so low an opinion of Doyle’s performance that she felt sorry for the guy. I learned today that he made only thirty-three thousand dollars last year in commissions while Mrs. Doyle had no income whatsoever.”

  Beth reached for a second bread stick, wishing she’d eaten more lun
ch. “So what? Evelyn already told us her husband inherited the big bucks from his father. It’s probably invested to throw off a stream of income.”

  “True, but why would the largest insurance agency in the state keep a nonperforming slug like Doyle on the payroll?”

  “Didn’t you say he only received commissions, instead of a regular nine-to-five paycheck?”

  “Yes, but a sales manager’s bonus is tied to performance—namely, the dollars generated by the agents under his supervision. Why not hire someone ambitious, someone hungry enough to set the world on fire? The better the agents perform, the better the boss looks.”

  Beth set down the rest of her bread as the Caesar salad was served with great fanfare. “I see your point,” she said, after the culinary performance was complete. “He’s worked there for a while, right? Maybe Doyle and his boss were friends.”

  “That’s not the impression I got from the woman I spoke with. I smell something fishy at Town and Country Insurance. Call it my own gut instinct. I intend to find out why Mr. Reynard didn’t replace the weakest link on his team.”

  She nodded and dug into the best Caesar salad of her life, followed by an entrée that should be in every Italian cookbook in the world. Michael ordered a bottle of the house’s best sparkling cider, and they discussed everything from their happiest childhood memory to what each considered their dream vacation if price were no object. The food was sublime, the conversation easy, and Beth laughed more than she ever had before.

  Then, without warning, the waiter laid the bill on Michael’s side of the table. It commanded their attention as though neither had ever seen one before. Michael’s hand hovered above the leather folder like a magician performing a trick. “The moment of decision has arrived. What’ll it be—the stash of cash advanced by Nate or my personal platinum MasterCard?”

  “You have a platinum card?” she asked, wide eyed. “That must be the difference between someone with an accounting degree and someone who never balances her checkbook.”