Magnolia Moonlight Page 26

  Beth set down her coffee before she crushed the Styrofoam cup. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Why not? Since I’m a private citizen and not law enforcement, I don’t need a court order to tape our conversation. Any confession on her part most likely would be admissible.”

  “I’m not talking legalities. You need to avoid her like the plague.”

  “Do you mean conflict of interest?” Michael sounded genuinely confused.

  “I’m talking about your having dinner with a woman you once loved. Rachel had you wrapped firmly around her finger. What makes you sure you won’t fall under her influence again?” Beth hadn’t meant to phrase it exactly like that, but unlike in an email, she couldn’t highlight and delete to express herself correctly.

  Michael released a whoosh of air. “Wow, nice to know your faith in my abilities remains ironclad.”

  “You’re a fine PI, Mikey, but you’re also a man, subject to male pheromones or whatever they’re called.” Beth spotted Maxine slashing a finger across her throat, but the damage was already done.

  “I’m going to forget you said that. Instead, why don’t you make arrangements to present our evidence to Chief McNeil and Detective Lejeune?”

  “You want me to face the Natchez police department alone?”

  “There’s no reason to wait for me since I’m still ninety minutes from home. And unlike you, I have full faith in your ability to act professionally with someone you were once romantically involved with.”

  “Okay, maybe I deserved that, but later on, why don’t we grab a sandwich and compare notes?”

  “No, I’ll pass. I’m going to delve into Rachel’s bank account. I would love to know if the woman I dream about every night could possibly be a murderer.” He ended the call before she could say another word.

  Beth slumped into a chair and laid her head on Maxine’s desk. “Am I the stupidest person you know?”

  “At the moment, yes.” Maxine refilled her coffee mug. “While I get Chief McNeil on the phone, you go pull yourself together.” She pointed at the bathroom.

  Beth walked in, turned on the taps, and washed her hands and face. When she reached for the towel, Maxine stood in the doorway, the cordless phone in her outstretched hand.

  “Chief McNeil is on the line if you’re back to reality.”

  Beth mouthed her thanks and closed the door. “Chris? My partner and I have compiled a file on Spare the Children International. Their fund-raising tactics in Mississippi came to light during our investigation of Paul’s mur—” She stopped just shy of the line because she was no longer a cop or homicide detective. “In the course of our investigation on behalf of Alice Dean.”

  “Detective Lejeune is here in my office. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  “Thank you. This concerns him too.” Her unnecessary comment grated on her ears. “We’ve compiled investment statements sent to Paul along with copies of email correspondence between the Denver charity and Calvary Baptist. As you suspected, this case has federal implications because the organizers ripped off churches in at least five states.”

  “You got proof that other churches were scammed, Kirby?” Cordial as always, Jack barked the question in the background. “Or you just talking out of your hat?”

  “In addition to the file my partner put together, we have a minister in Hattiesburg willing to testify that he was a victim of the same scam. He’s facing charges right now for theft of church funds, a crime he didn’t commit.”

  “Why bother with judges and lawyers when we got Beth Kirby, who knows more than a dozen Supreme Court justices?” Lejeune’s cackle rubbed Beth’s nerves raw.

  “All right, enough,” said Chris. “Are you prepared to turn over what you have to us?”

  “I can be there within fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll be waiting. Thanks for the update.” He clicked off, leaving Beth staring into the bathroom mirror.

  Should I comb my hair? Put on fresh makeup? At least brush my teeth? In the end she brushed her teeth and drove to the station on autopilot. Once the clerk had buzzed her into the station, she walked down the hallway as though a prisoner on death row.

  Chris, in his immaculate suit coat without a hair out of place, stood when she entered the room. His greeting was cordial but his smile held no warmth. Across the desk, Jack remained rooted to the chair, his expression bored and annoyed.

  “This is everything that could be helpful in a financial crimes prosecution, including a taped interview with Reverend Daniel Huff of Hattiesburg. Mr. Preston and I will be available to answer the FBI’s questions down the road.”

  “How extraordinarily helpful of you, Kirby,” said Jack. “Now will you butt your nose out?”

  Beth addressed the chief. “Our client is Alice Dean. Because she had nothing to do with the church’s investment, our involvement with Spare the Children International is finished.”

  Jack tapped an index finger on the bulging file. “And you’ve given us everything to turn over to the feds? The state crime lab reexamined the physical evidence, and their high-tech equipment found a drop of sweat on the stool and a partial print on the rope. So, you’re not hiding any secrets up your sleeve?”

  “I’ve given you everything.” There was only one acceptable answer to his question. Yet as soon as she gave it, apprehension crawled up her spine like a spider.

  Beth couldn’t wait to get out of the station. Even though she took the long way home to clear her head, she couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Michael. Why on earth had she implied he couldn’t be trusted around Rachel? Even though Chris was polite and professional, his presence made her just as uncomfortable as Jack did. Her romantic allusions were long gone. Whatever attraction he once held merely embarrassed her now.

  But, apparently, she wasn’t done being a fool.

  FORTY-SIX

  It wasn’t the traffic through a construction zone spiking Michael’s blood pressure. Even after he turned up the radio, his conversation with Beth kept running through his mind on a continuous loop. Just when he thought they had reached a place of mutual respect, she could still find it within herself to ask, “What makes you sure you won’t fall under her influence again?”

  Wasn’t he capable of using his past history with Rachel Stewart to help solve their case? He could no more fall in love again with that cold, calculating viper than with the girl who sat behind him in eighth grade homeroom. But after weeks of physical workouts and months of classes, both off and on the firing range, his partner still saw him as weak. And that hurt just as much as Rachel’s declaration: “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  When Michael finally passed the last yellow barrel, he rolled down the window and stepped on the gas. He needed time to think and some distance from his partner. As much as he would like to speak his mind, a cooler head would be better for their future. If they did ever close the case, Beth might return to Vicksburg or move to the south of France—somewhere she wouldn’t bump heads with Detective Lejeune. In the meantime, Michael planned to learn what he could and keep his personal life personal. Dwelling on Beth’s lack of confidence in him wouldn’t help any more than believing Rachel regretted breaking off their engagement.

  A mistake I’ll take to the grave, indeed.

  By the time Michael reached Natchez city limits, he’d lost the bad taste in his mouth from fickle women. He drove straight to the Grand Hotel and headed for the fitness room. After a grueling workout, followed by a cold shower, he was back to normal. What he needed now was an order of crawfish étouffée from Cotton Alley and he’d be ready for what he did best—work.

  Michael left his takeout food on the counter, popped open a Coke, and turned on his laptop. After scanning and deleting the usual assortment of emails, he completed his daily report for Price Investigations. He was ready for dinner in front of the TV when the chime of a new email caught his attention—an email from Rachel that would change the course of hi
s evening and the case forever:

  Great seeing you today, Mike. Attached are copies of the statements sent to Paul Dean on behalf of Calvary Baptist Church. If there’s anything else I can do to help Mrs. Dean, just say the word. Don’t forget o plan a return trip to Jackson in a week or two. I’m not comfortable with how we left it, and I’d like a chance to make things right. Rachel.

  Michael downloaded the statements and compared them to the copies provided by Elliott Rayburn’s assistant, same as those in the file turned over to Natchez PD. Then he sat back and smiled. Give people enough rope, and they don’t usually make hammocks. When his phone rang some time later, his attention was still riveted to his computer.

  “Hello?”

  “Thanks for taking my call, Mike. I was afraid you might ignore me. Not that I don’t have that coming.” Beth sounded unusually contrite.

  “I didn’t check Caller ID before answering.” Michael set the crawfish étouffée in the microwave and pressed the button.

  “Oh…okay, but I’m still grateful. I would like to make up for the stupid things I said with an extra cheese, black olive, and double pepperoni—just how you like it. Then we can compare notes on what we found out today.”

  “Do you think forgiveness can be bought with a deluxe pizza, Miss Kirby?”

  “I’m hoping it will work.”

  “Thanks, but I already picked up crawfish from Cotton Alley. It’s in the microwave now.”

  “Great. I can bring over my pizza and we can share both of them—a cross-culture smorgasbord.”

  Michael wasn’t the type to refuse an olive branch, but he hesitated nevertheless. “I do have news, but it can wait until tomorrow. Why don’t we meet for breakfast?”

  “So you still hate me?”

  “We’re not in junior high anymore,” he said, releasing a weary sigh. “I’m not pouting over our conversation, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

  “Okay. I’ll take my pizza and go home. Eating alone will give me a chance to contemplate the errors of my ways. At least, that’s what Mom used to say.”

  “Wait. Where are you?” Michael pulled back the curtains at the front window. Sure enough, Beth’s car was parked across the street. She flashed her headlights as her answer. “Have you already bought the pizza?”

  The driver’s window lowered and the corner of a box appeared.

  “For heaven’s sake, come upstairs.” Michael hung up and scrambled around his apartment, picking up discarded clothes and empty soda cans. By the time he changed the towel and wiped toothpaste off the bathroom mirror, Beth was at the door. She walked in with the pizza and two grocery bags.

  “I take it you finished contemplating your errors. What’s in the bags?”

  “Before you stands a reformed woman bearing gifts of power drinks, vitamin water, protein bars, and dark chocolate. But first, a super-charged pizza.” Beth spread her bribes across his counter. “I’m really sorry I doubted you about Rachel.”

  Michael divided his crawfish between two plates. “I forgive you, so let’s forget it. Tell me about your meeting with Lejeune and the chief. I hope no one had to separate you two with Tasers.”

  Beth picked up her plate and took a bite. “Thanks for sharing your étouffée.” Then she summarized the transfer of evidence over to law enforcement. “As usual, Jack acted like a junkyard dog tied just beyond reach of a steak,” she said in conclusion.

  “At least we followed protocol.” Michael finished his half and took two slices of pizza.

  “Now it’s your turn. What did you learn from Rachel about her role at D.K. Financials?”

  “Better than anything we could have hoped for. I played down our work for Alice Dean. I implied we merely wanted to separate the reverend’s financial affairs from those connected to the church in preparation for probate of his estate.” Michael paused to gauge her reaction.

  “Sure, so Alice would know where she stands financially.” Beth took a bite of pizza but kept her focus on him.

  “Exactly, but I didn’t mention that we had statements from Elliott Rayburn. Apparently, no one at Spare the Children told Rachel they already provided copies of Calvary Baptist’s account. Now we have our lucky break.” Michael set down his plate.

  Beth’s brows knit together. “Sorry, but you’ll have to spell this out for me.”

  “The copies that Rachel emailed me didn’t match the ones provided by Elliott Rayburn. In fact, those that D.K. Financials sent to Reverend Dean clearly showed a steady erosion of principal. I think I know why Rachel didn’t want me talking to her boss. And I better understand why Reverend Dean had started to panic. Half of the church’s money was gone, at least on paper. Rachel probably had some kind of arrangement with the guy, payola for each church she lined up in the South. D.K. Financials provided a different set of statements to Spare the Children.”

  “So Elliott Rayburn isn’t the crook here?”

  “Doubtlessly the executive director lives very well on the money he raises for charity. These organizations operate in a gray area of the law. It might not be ethical to keep a cut of the funds, but it is legal. From what I could find out, the bulk of the money goes overseas to orphanages and outreach centers.”

  “And Rachel and the Jackson storefront boiler room?”

  Michael couldn’t help but smile. “Somebody at D.K. Financials is setting up for one big score before hightailing it out of the country. Her boss could be packing his bags right now.”

  Beth set down her piece of pizza. “You’ve got my full attention.”

  “Not only do I have proof two different statements were being created for Mississippi clients, but I have proof Rachel accepted thousands of dollars directly from George Roush, her employer at D.K., far beyond even the most generous salary and benefits package.”

  Beth’s eyes practically bugged from her head. “How on earth did you get copies of her bank statement? You just saw her today.”

  “Remember what I said about some things not being ethical but still perfectly legal?” Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Michael bit into another slice to hide his discomfort.

  “Put down that pizza and talk to me, Preston. What did you do?”

  He chewed and swallowed. “If you recall, I’m the former fiancé of our person of interest. Like many engaged couples, she and I opened a joint account for wedding expenses and to save for the future.”

  “Don’t tell me your name was still on that account.”

  “Nope. When Rachel broke the engagement off, she sent a check for the amount she felt I was entitled to and then removed my name. We had opened the account at her favorite bank, not mine, and she kept the account open.” Michael cracked his knuckles one by one. “Lazy Rachel never changed the password.”

  “You hacked her bank account?” asked Beth, awestruck.

  “Well, yes. I could claim that I was making sure everyone we owed money had been paid back. You know, to protect my credit rating.”

  “Aren’t you quick with a rationalization? You just earned yourself more pizza.” Beth handed him the box. “This story is getting good.”

  “Rachel’s account contained over thirty thousand dollars. That might not be enough to start over in a new town, but if Roush is expecting a final payday, Rachel’s probably expecting one too.”

  “D.K. Financials was already skimming profits from the fund-raising. Then they cooked the books for select Mississippi churches with substantial sums to invest. George Roush was wiping out their accounts one by one and paying Rachel a cut of the loot.”

  Michael wiped his hands on a towel. “Granted, some of this is conjecture on my part, but I’ve also got proof Rachel paid off Buckley, probably to keep him quiet. The feds need to act fast before the thieves disappear. Rachel bought an airline ticket with her debit card. Her flight to the Maldives is in ten days.”

  “Those are islands in the Indian Ocean, right?”

  “Exactly, and they have no extradition treaty with the U.S. I can’t ima
gine Rachel spending the rest of her life there, no matter how beautiful the beaches. Probably once interest in her dies down, she’ll move back to the States under a new identity.” Michael crossed his arms behind his head.

  However, the expression on his partner’s face was anything but joyous.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be glad my siren-temptress was planning to run away even faster this time. Rachel’s offer of a candlelit dinner was just a smoke screen.”

  Beth scraped a hand through her hair, frowning as though her tooth ached. “I told Natchez PD we were handing over everything on the pyramid scam. Now you’ve come up with additional evidence for Jack.”

  “Are you never happy, or is this your idea of training the newbie?” Michael flung the kitchen towel across the room. “No matter what I do, it’s never quite what you had in mind.”

  “Settle down. It’s just that Jack will use anything to discredit my ability to work with law enforcement.” She picked the towel off the floor.

  “You’re worried how you’ll look to Chief McNeil, your old heartthrob?”

  Beth’s nostrils flared. “I suppose I had that coming, but no. I’m more worried about my future with Price Investigations. A PI must be able to get along with the police or they’re worthless.”

  Michael carried their plates into the kitchen to diffuse the tension. “Sorry. I guess I’m still sore about your not trusting me with Rachel.”

  “No more apologies for the rest of the day.” Beth rose to her feet. “I’ll let you get back to your evening while I take that second set of statements and Rachel’s bank deposits to Jack.”

  Michael grabbed hold of her sleeve as she walked past him. “Elizabeth, there’s something I need to get off my chest. I hope you don’t see me as weak and easily fooled by women. I used to be that man, but I’m not anymore. I’ll probably never fall in love again, but if I do, I plan on keeping my eyes wide open.” He released her shirt, but she didn’t move.

  “Falling in love isn’t a sign of weakness, Mike. It’s a sign of being human. I’ve always been a little envious of how open you are. That’s the last thing you should change about yourself.”