Sunset in Old Savannah Read online

  Michael bumped Beth’s knee under the table. “I understand you’re on assignment. If you were our successful applicant, the position we offer has a trial period. Our boss would make any permanent hiring decisions. What if we or you decided we weren’t a good fit?”

  “I would take a three-month leave of absence from my current employer.”

  “If you were our successful applicant, when could you start?” He emphasized a level of uncertainty.

  “I’d like to give the Industrial Commission a week to replace me, but if you needed me sooner, I could moonlight every evening. I’m able to survive on very little sleep. If I’m the successful applicant, of course.”

  “That is very accommodating of you.” Beth reached for her hand and shook vigorously.

  Michael kept his enthusiasm in check as he extended his hand. “Thank you for coming in today, Miss Webb. We’re considering several candidates, and we would need to verify your references. But you’ll hear from one of us within the next few days.”

  Kaitlyn shook his hand, straightened her spine, and squared her shoulders. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I must. If you hire me, I’ll work harder than any other trainee to prove you made the right choice for the company. Thank you for your time, Mr. Preston, Miss Kirby.” She bobbed her head and then hurried toward the door.

  “Wow. I’ve never seen anyone so eager to please,” Beth said.

  “Or someone so desperate to change jobs.”

  “You didn’t like her?”

  “I liked her just fine, but I don’t trust her. And I’m not sure why.”

  “You have a bug up your nose because she’s not a native. Can’t we give her a chance? After all, it’s on a trial basis. Nate has the final say-so.”

  Michael studied the face of the woman he was falling in love with. Beth’s blue gaze bored through his skin, his chest muscles, and his rib cage to reach his heart. He hoped she would never ask him to rob a bank, because he was almost incapable of telling her no.

  “Let’s wait a couple days to see if that headhunter comes up with any viable candidates. After all, Nate has gone to the trouble of hiring one.”

  “All right. Two days and then we hire Miss Webb.” In the middle of the Homewood’s breakfast area, Beth threw her arms around him and gave him a hug.

  Michael was both thrilled and mortified by the gesture. Feeling heat rush to his face, he said sternly, “Control yourself, Miss Kirby. We’re in a public place.”

  She snickered with amusement. “We’re both single adults in a town where no one knows us. You don’t think Nate sent Maxine to spy on us, do you?”

  “I don’t, but I expect all women with a crush on me to maintain a sense of decorum.”

  Beth tapped her temple as she pondered. “Let’s see…that would be Maxine, my Aunt Dorrie, the assistant over at Calvary Baptist, and me. Have I left anyone out?”

  Michael bit the inside of his cheek. “No. I think that’s probably everyone.”

  “Okay, then I’ll use Aunt Dorrie as my example because I know her best. But just so we’re clear, she pulled all kinds of pranks on Pete Kirby before he proposed, including throwing his car keys into Lake Concordia and burning all his old issues of Field and Stream. Just thought I should mention that.” Beth checked the display on her cell phone. “Looks like I missed a call from Mrs. Doyle. I’m going somewhere private to call her back. Where do you plan to be?”

  “I’ll be in my room trying to dig up something on Joseph Reynard.”

  Beth headed for the door with a spring in her step. “All right, I’ll call you if this is something important.”

  If he were the same man as he was a year ago, Michael would have been worried about Beth’s choice of mentors. But because he recycled old magazines and had four extra sets of keys to the Charger, Aunt Dorrie was no threat to him. He whistled a tune all the way to his room as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  SEVENTEEN

  Michael had barely reached his room when his phone rang. His heart rate spiked when he spotted Beth’s name on caller ID. “Did you miss me already? What’s up?”

  “Not quite yet. Mrs. Doyle wants me to meet her sister from Atlanta and talk to her new attorney. Care to join me on a trip to Tybee, or would you rather remain at the hotel?”

  “Considering the Doyle residence would be a likely place to find out how Lamar felt about his boss, I’ll join you. While you pump the lawyer for an update, I’ll snoop into Mr. Doyle’s personal emails.”

  “If Evelyn gives you permission. Right now she trusts us, and I don’t want that to change.”

  “I’ll be a model of good behavior, but their home computer could hold the break we’re looking for.”

  “We sure could use one of those right now. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Beth needn’t have worried about how Michael would be received. Mrs. Doyle practically bowled them over as they climbed the front steps. “Beth, Michael. Thanks so much for coming to see me. Charlotte and Mrs. Gwinn practically have me under house arrest, or I would have driven to the city.” She wrapped her thin arms around Beth and hugged, the reserve demonstrated in previous visits gone.

  Michael used the time to digest the woman’s appearance. Grief often diminished appetite and disrupted sleep, but Mrs. Doyle looked ten years older and ten pounds thinner in a period of a week.

  When she finally released Beth, she extended a hand to him. “Thank you for coming as well, Mr. Preston. Let’s talk in the library. It’s cozier than the living room on windy days like this.”

  He and Beth exchanged glances on their way to a room with three walls of floor-to-ceiling books, mostly leather-bound classics and literary novels, and a fourth wall of glass overlooking the ocean. Today the wind churned the waves into frothy whitecaps.

  Seated in a high-back chair was a younger, rounder version of Mrs. Doyle. “Miss Kirby? I’m Charlotte Harper. We spoke on the phone. I can’t thank you enough for calling me. Evelyn would have waited until the last minute.”

  As Beth greeted her, Michael locked gazes with the other stranger in the room. “How do you do, ma’am? Michael Preston from Price Investigations. We’re here to provide any assistance Mrs. Doyle might need.”

  “Hilda Gwinn,” the woman said, nodding. “A pleasure to meet you both. And Evelyn most likely will need investigative help. She refuses to acknowledge the uphill battle we face.”

  “If that’s the case, I’m glad someone with your courtroom experience agreed to represent her,” Michael murmured.

  Mrs. Doyle’s sigh of relief precluded further comments. “I’m just glad the ME released Lamar’s body to the funeral home. I can’t believe he’s been lying on a slab in a drawer instead of on his way to his just reward.”

  “The spirit leaves the body upon death,” Charlotte instructed. “For better or for worse, Lamar’s soul has been set free.”

  “Not until Reverend White gives him a proper Christian sendoff.” Evelyn reached for Beth’s hand. “We can bury Lamar on Saturday, and we’ve made the arrangements except for the luncheon menu. Please tell me you and Michael will be there.”

  “Of course we will, ma’am.” Beth squeezed the woman’s fingers.

  Michael spoke quietly to the lawyer. “If Mr. Doyle’s body has been released, then the medical examiner must have issued his findings.”

  Mrs. Gwinn nodded with a frown. “His death has officially been ruled a homicide, hence my concern for Evelyn.”

  The widow shook her head. “They can’t possibly think I killed Lamar. Anyone who knows me knows that I loved him.”

  “Unfortunately, that rules out most people on Tybee Island,” said Charlotte. “Few people know you since you weren’t as…sociable as your husband. Only your family knows what a kind person you are.”

  “What about the Tybee Island Flower Club?” Beth demanded. “You mentioned you were a member.”

  Charlotte didn’t let her sister answer. “If active means forwarding pictures of your plants
but skipping the meetings and luncheons, then Evelyn fits the description.”

  “My sister has always considered me a recluse. Can you guess which one of us was the homecoming queen?” Evelyn asked, smiling at her sibling.

  “You can’t simply assure the police of your innocence and expect them to believe you.” Charlotte wrung her hands in her lap. “I can’t believe how insulated from reality Lamar has kept you all these years. He doted on you endlessly. I should have visited here more, instead of you coming to Atlanta to go shopping. This could be my fault.”

  Beth jumped in to prevent another teary episode. “Nonsense. Most of life’s challenges can’t be avoided. You’re here now, Mrs. Harper, and that’s important.”

  “I will help give Lamar the send-off he deserves.” Charlotte dabbed at her eyes. “He was a very devoted husband.”

  “In the meantime, I’d like to pursue a lead on another suspect.” Michael directed his words at Mrs. Doyle. “But I need permission to look at your husband’s personal emails.”

  “Of course you may. Lamar’s laptop is in his office down the hall. His email address and password are written on the box of staples in the drawer. Lamar always feared growing forgetful in old age.” Evelyn’s voice cracked with emotion. “Look at anything you want. No one needs to protect Lamar’s secrets anymore.”

  The attorney stood. “I’ll accompany you to the office, Mr. Preston.”

  Michael didn’t know if the lawyer didn’t trust him or was simply curious about Lamar’s correspondence.

  Hilda clarified her motivation once they were halfway down the hall. “I wanted to talk to you privately about the case. Although Mrs. Doyle refuses to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation, the police are building a strong case against her.” She motioned him into the office and closed the door behind them. “Let’s talk about what the police know. First, they know about Lamar’s affair, and that he’d been supporting this young woman for a while. They’re aware Evelyn sent the maid home early so she and Lamar would be alone that night. Lamar was shot with the same caliber gun that he owned—a gun that was either kept in Evelyn’s bedside table or locked in the safe. A safe that only he and Evelyn knew the combination to.”

  “Unless Lamar wrote it on the bottom of a box of paper clips,” Michael interjected.

  The lawyer’s gray eyes warmed. “True, but unless we find proof of that, the police will stick to cold, hard facts, such as that the security cameras at the guard booth showed no one coming into the complex who can’t be accounted for. And the fact that Evelyn showered and washed her clothes after finding him dead. Who does that sort of thing?”

  Michael settled into the chair at the desk. “Mrs. Doyle gave a legitimate reason to Detective Rossi. And I’ll bet there’s a way to reach this house without driving past the security guard. Or maybe someone who belongs on Oleander Drive harbored a grudge against Doyle.” He opened the laptop.

  Hilda’s smile was slow in coming. “I like the fact you and Beth are fond of Evelyn. For what it’s worth, I not only like her, but I also think she’s innocent. However, thinking it and proving it aren’t the same.” She gestured toward the computer. “I’ll leave you to your snooping because time is of the essence. The only reason our client isn’t behind bars is because the police didn’t find the murder weapon or GSR on her hands. But rest assured, they’re racking up overtime looking for that gun. I believe Tybee Island detectives will do their job, but sooner or later the DA will pressure them to put someone behind bars and close the case. Let’s make sure that someone isn’t Evelyn.”

  Michael found Doyle’s email address and password exactly in the high-security spot described by his wife. Although the man regularly dumped his trash, his Sent folder contained the original emails at the bottom of Lamar’s replies. Michael almost fell asleep reading an assortment of messages that featured such topics as “What time are we meeting for golf?” and “I won’t be at the club Saturday because we have a wedding in Hilton Head.” Abandoning the sent email, Michael checked folders Lamar had created for a variety of reasons: school board business, warranties for major appliances, correspondence regarding a trip planned to Spain and Greece. In the folder labeled “Golf courses along the Gulf Coast” were emails pertaining to Bonnie Mulroney. Apparently, Bonnie had been in an ongoing battle with the building association. She’d been given an eviction warning because of her loud music and disrespect for assigned parking spots. Doyle had been the woman’s champion, her advocate in a world where Bonnie had a difficult time fitting in.

  Who will fight your battles now, Miss Mulroney?

  When Michael opened a folder labeled “March Madness,” he hit the mother lode. Instead of Doyle’s brackets for past NCAA basketball tournaments, he found a string of email between Doyle and the sales manager at Town and Country Insurance. In each case, the email contained the sentiments from both men, in some cases a back-and-forth exchange with half a dozen responses. In short order, Michael drew three conclusions. First, there was no love lost between Lamar Doyle and Joseph Reynard. Second, Doyle had discovered that his boss had attained his superior sales figures using duplicitous measures, and when confronted, Reynard had reacted with a level of hostility unacceptable at most places of employment. Third, Michael realized he could be looking at motive for murder.

  He copied the folder and sent it to his email address, Beth’s phone, and Maxine in Natchez for safekeeping. Then he printed hard copies for the case file. On his way down the hall, Hilda intercepted his path. The lawyer had been watching for him from the library doorway.

  “Find anything useful, Mr. Preston?”

  “Michael, please. I think I have, but I want to check it out before I get your hopes up.”

  “I’m an optimistic sort of woman. Just don’t do anything illegal tracking down your lead.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said as they rejoined the others. “Are you about ready?” he asked Beth.

  She extracted herself from a conversation about Saturday’s funeral. “I am.” To the sisters she said, “You have the situation under control here. Michael and I will be at the church on Saturday. Call me if you need us for any reason before then.” She gave both women hugs, yet it was still ten minutes before the PIs were able to leave the residence.

  “Mrs. Doyle is growing quite attached to you.” Michael waited until they were inside his car to state the obvious.

  “I know, but I can’t bring myself to discourage her. Her sister is nice enough, but Evelyn needs a little coddling right now.” Beth pulled sunglasses from her purse.

  Michael chuckled. “If there’s ever been a woman up to the challenge of having two mothers, it’s you, Kirby.”

  “Very funny. I take it by your gleeful mood that you discovered something helpful on Doyle’s computer. Either that or you’re thinking about a late lunch at the beach.”

  “No time to eat. We’re on our way downtown to see Joseph Reynard. I found out what Doyle had on his boss.”

  “Didn’t that creepy guy threaten to have us arrested? Unlike you, I’ve been to the slammer and didn’t like it—bad food, no Internet connection, and friends who promise to stay in touch but never do.”

  “Trust me, Kirby. Nobody’s going to jail but Reynard.”

  “You really think he could have murdered Doyle? Motive is one thing, but what about opportunity? No one who didn’t belong in the development showed up on the security tape.”

  “I haven’t dotted every i, but Reynard could have been an invited guest at a neighborhood party.”

  “How did he get his hands on the gun?” Beth crossed her arms.

  “If Doyle wrote the password to his laptop on a box of staples, he could have left personal information in his office. Or he might have given his boss the combination so that important documents could be accessed in case of emergency.”

  Beth remained quiet for a long while.

  “What are you thinking? That I’m crazy?”

  “Nope. Cases have been cracke
d from far thinner leads than this. I say full speed ahead to Slimeball Insurance. If nothing else, we can beat a confession out of the guy.”

  Michael tamped down a surge of exhilaration. “I’m so glad I can finally tell when you’re teasing.”

  “Ha! That’s what you think.” Beth lowered the window and turned so he couldn’t see her face. “I intend to keep you guessing forever.”

  When the distinguished Joseph Reynard exited his office at five fifteen, Michael and Beth were waiting under a shady tree.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Reynard. Could we talk to you for a few minutes?” Michael’s cordiality belied the tension of their previous encounter.

  When the sales manager determined the source of the sound, his complexion flushed to a dark hue. “I made myself perfectly clear yesterday. Get off Town and Country property before I call the police.” Reynard held up his cell phone as a warning.

  “Actually, this strip of land belongs to the fine city of Savannah.” Michael pointed at the narrow tree lawn. “So we’ll stay right where we are.”

  “Stay all night for all I care.” Reynard dug his keys from a pocket and unlocked the door.

  “We were just curious why Lamar Doyle wanted to discuss policy pushing with you.” Being smaller than Michael, Beth had to stand on her tiptoes and shout to be heard. But her efforts didn’t go to waste.

  Reynard jumped out of the vehicle as though he’d encountered a swarm of hornets. “Keep your voice down. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He scanned the parking lot for a potential audience.

  “Are you inviting us onto your property to discuss this like adults?” Beth asked loudly.

  “Fine. I’ll talk to you.” But instead of remaining between parked cars, Reynard led them into the alley to a choice spot next to the Dumpster.

  “Couldn’t you pick a less malodorous location?” Beth asked, pinching her nostrils.

  “We won’t be here long. I need to pick up my son at school in twenty minutes. What questions do you think you have about policy pushing?” He dropped his voice to a whisper.