Magnolia Moonlight Page 9

  And that had made him physically weak, emotionally immature, and socially inept. At least, according to his former fiancée. And how could he not believe the woman he loved?

  Changing into sweatpants and a T-shirt, Michael headed for the hotel along the riverfront. Because many business travelers had little time or energy to work out, the upscale property allowed locals to use their well-equipped fitness room. In exchange for a small monthly fee, he hoped to turn his flabby muscles into arms of steel by next spring. Michael was a patient man, and he planned to eventually leave every trace of his boring self behind.

  THIRTEEN

  As soon as Beth had copies of the Dean reports in hand, she ran, not walked, from the Natchez Police Department. She couldn’t wait to get away from Chris. She’d forgotten how great looking he was, the way words rolled off his tongue, and how electricity spiked up her spine whenever he spoke her name. Actually, she hadn’t forgotten. She’d simply forced those memories to a dark corner of her mind to be revisited late at night when sleep wouldn’t come. How had he managed to undo all the progress she made during the last year in less than fifteen minutes?

  Shaking off the feelings their encounter had generated, Beth forced herself to concentrate on the case. She shuddered as she read Detective Lejeune’s notation that Reverend Dean studied noose-making on a website. Someone had once told her you can learn to do anything on the Internet—construct a bomb, grow vegetables without dirt, build a house. So Pastor Dean could have figured out how to hang himself as though Natchez were the Wild, Wild West. I suppose if you were planning to end your life, you wouldn’t bother to clear out your search cache or worry about ruining your best suit of clothes.

  Chris was right. Most men didn’t concern themselves with such things. When her parents were about to take their twenty-fifth anniversary cruise, Mom had organized her outfits in the guest room to make sure each piece was clean, pressed, and mended, but Beth’s father packed only the shorts he washed the car in and a few logo T-shirts. Fortunately, her mother had taken over the task or they would have dined poolside on the ship’s formal night. So it was entirely possible Reverend Dean forgot to change into old duds before heading to the outbuilding.

  As Beth parked next to her mother’s minivan in the driveway, she reread the suicide note a second time: I’m so sorry, Allie. This sure is a coward’s way out. I hope you and Katie will forgive me. But I can no longer forgive myself. If God’s merciful, I’ll see you again someday. To her that sounded exactly like Reverend Dean. He’d always talked about God as though they were on a first name basis. And one night when she was babysitting, she’d heard him call his wife by the nickname “Allie.” Maybe it was just once, but she’d heard it nonetheless. Beth slipped into the kitchen, poured a glass of sweet tea, and sat down to study the police reports. However, she’d barely skimmed the coroner’s conclusions when her mother interrupted her solitude.

  “Why are you home from work so early?” she asked, shuffling to the refrigerator.

  Beth kept her focus on the crime scene photos. “I don’t work at the bank, Ma. Secret agents and private detectives keep odd hours. Their time is their own.”

  “Secret agents, bah. Next will you tell me your new partner is James Bond?” Rita pulled out a package of frozen pork chops.

  The question made her laugh. “Michael isn’t exactly Roger Moore or Sean Connery. He’s not even Daniel Craig.” Beth regretted her unkind comparison the moment the words left her mouth. She owed her partner loyalty, at least for the next three weeks.

  Rita sat down with a familiar look on her face. She wanted to chat.

  Beth did not. Glancing at her watch, she shoved the police reports back into the folder. “I have just enough time to work out,” she said, strolling toward the door. “I’ll be home for supper.”

  “You plan to exercise in that outfit?” Her mother didn’t miss a trick.

  “My gym bag is in the car.” Beth sprinted for her car before Rita could tack half a dozen errands onto her trip to the Grand Hotel.

  Twenty minutes later, in her favorite shorts and shirt, Beth had just stepped onto the stair-climber when she heard her name.

  “Elizabeth!” Michael called from across the room. “Funny running into you here.” Jumping off the treadmill, he headed in her direction.

  “Are you following me, Preston, like some sleazy stalker?” Her tone conveyed little camaraderie. Exercise for Beth was akin to meditation for Hindu mystics. It cleared the mind, connected a person to their inner self, and prepared the body for the next challenge.

  “Of course not,” he said, his cheerfulness gone. “But how many places to work out do you think there are around here? I only found this fitness room and one in the Hampton Suites. I can’t believe this town has no gyms.”

  “Natchez is in between gyms at the moment. The last two closed.”

  “Yet you found it odd that I’m here.”

  “I didn’t take you for a treadmill kind of guy.”

  He shrugged, looking everywhere but at her. “I didn’t used to be, but it’s not too late to give up my sedentary lifestyle.”

  “Because now you’re a PI instead of an accountant?”

  “Yeah, that’s part of it, but mainly I’m ready for a change.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Beth switched her machine back on.

  Michael walked to the end of the row and climbed on a bike. After adjusting the dial, he pedaled at a rate that guaranteed he wouldn’t get out of bed tomorrow. At least, not without a massive amount of pain relievers.

  Beth wondered if her bad temper was due to seeing the man she had once thought of as the love of her life. But no matter what the reason, she needed to get along with her partner. Turning off the bike, she approached Michael with a contrite expression. “I’m sorry. Things didn’t go well at my appointment. I’m one of those females who turn cranky when they don’t get their way.”

  Michael paused to study her. “I have a sister like that—sweet as can be for hours. Then she suddenly explodes without provocation. So I accept your apology.”

  “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Elizabeth. Isn’t that an odd coincidence?”

  Beth’s chin snapped up. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Cool as dew on a lawn in January, Michael smiled. “Yes, I am. My sister’s name is Caitlyn, but I decided to mess with you.” He resumed his frenetic exercising.

  “Okay, I had that coming. But if you’re serious about getting in shape, you need to slow down. Like most beginners, you’re starting out too aggressively. Either you’ll hurt yourself or you’ll lose interest before you see much improvement.”

  Michael flushed a deep shade of red. “Aren’t you just an unlimited font of criticism? I think I’ll check if the Hampton Suites accepts local residents.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Beth glanced around. They were attracting attention from the other patrons. “Honest, this is me trying to be helpful, not critical. If you want to build stamina, you have to slow down. It’s just a suggestion.”

  “I’ll take it easy on the machines. Anything else, Miss Kirby, while you have my attention?”

  “No, that’ll do it.”

  Beth slunk back to the end of the row. For the next hour, she concentrated on her workout without gauging his progress or to check if he’d passed out on the floor. But, oddly enough, they both finished their showers and headed to their cars at the same time.

  Michael pretended not to see her, but she closed the distance in a few strides. “Look, Preston, I’m here to apologize and give you the number for the best personal trainer in town. When I first joined the force, I used this guy for two years. He’s reasonably priced and very nice. Nonjudgmental. He’ll take you from your current condition to wherever you want to go without injury.” Beth held out a business card.

  “Nicer than you, Elizabeth?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “By leaps and bounds.”

  “Then ma
ybe I’ll give him a call.” Michael plucked the card from her fingers, stuck it into his pocket, and walked away.

  “Wait!” she demanded. “I still owe you for my rudeness. How about if I buy dinner tonight? We can discuss what we found out on the case.”

  He turned back slowly. “What kind of dinner?”

  “Anything you like, or I can invite you to eat with the Kirbys. Mom’s fixing her specialty—stewed possum with turnip greens.”

  His smile was slow in coming. “The Carriage House out at Stanton Hall looks interesting. Can you afford that on your salary?”

  “Yes, even if I have to sell my plasma to make it happen. Anything you want to order is on me.”

  “All right, but we’ll take separate cars. My male ego can’t handle any more insults in case my driving doesn’t measure up.” Michael opened the door to his Fiat and climbed in. “Lead the way.”

  “You won’t be sorry.” Beth skipped back to her car, happy for two reasons: One, she would finally try a place she’d wanted to for years, and two, Michael probably had the healthiest ego she’d seen in a long time, which made a world of difference with partners.

  FOURTEEN

  Bay St. Louis

  Isabelle opened one eye to a handsome face.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Nate kissed the tip of her nose.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” She snuggled deeper under the silky sheets.

  “How are you feeling?” He drew circles on her back.

  “Great. Just a little tired.”

  “You can go back to sleep. I’m going for an early run before breakfast. The humidity is at its lowest point for the day.”

  “Take all the time you need,” she said from beneath the sheet. “I’m dreaming of hot oil massages under a beach cabana.”

  However, the moment Isabelle heard the door close, she jumped out of bed and into the shower. She didn’t have much time, but she hoped she wouldn’t need much.

  With a map of Bay St. Louis in hand, she backed the Escape from its assigned spot and drove north on Beach Boulevard. Ten minutes later she was parked outside Golden Magnolia Casino in a spot where she could watch the main entrance. Who’s the sneaky little PI today? She basked in her ingenuity.

  Fifteen minutes later, with her blouse plastered to her back, Isabelle decided to abandon her ridiculous idea. Just as she started the engine, her ex-husband walked out the door. Craig squinted in the bright sunlight and slipped on mirrored sunglasses, disguising his already bizarre appearance. But after four years of marriage, Isabelle couldn’t be fooled. She jumped from the car, crossed the valet lanes at a full run, and hurtled herself at him.

  “Craig Mitchell? Is that really you?”

  “Izzy?” he sputtered.

  “Yes, but you may call me Isabelle,” she sniffed, stopping inches from his face.

  “Sorry, Isabelle. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m honeymooning in Bay St. Louis with Nate.” She glared at him.

  “That much I figured, but why are you at a casino? You don’t drink, smoke, gamble, chew gum in public, spit watermelon seeds, or anything else that could be considered vulgar.” Craig pulled off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

  Isabelle noted the deep creases under his bloodshot eyes. She considered his question and opted for the truth. “Nate said he spotted you while bike-riding yesterday. I wanted to see for myself.”

  “Are you satisfied? It’s really me. Now you may carry on with your life.” He tried to walk around her.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, blocking his path. “Why are you getting mad? I thought we parted friends. Why not come back and have breakfast with us? The inn where we’re staying serves delicious food.”

  “We are friends, and I’m not mad. But you need time alone with Nate and I’m busy today.”

  Again he tried to circumnavigate her, but she grabbed his arm. “Craig, you look terrible. When was the last time you slept or ate a decent meal? Or called your wife?”

  He reared back as though she’d slapped him. “Don’t you recall the part where we got divorced? You no longer get to sit in judgment of my appearance or bad habits.” His face flushed a warm shade of red. “And the frequency of my phone calls home is none of your business.”

  Isabelle loosened her grip. “You’re right. It’s not. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Craig removed his cap and scratched his scalp, his expression changing to one of resignation. “It’s nice of you to be concerned, but things are under control.”

  “Didn’t you join Gamblers Anonymous?”

  “Yes, but turns out I wasn’t the compulsive addict everyone thought I was. I’m down here to blow off steam before starting a new job. Cassie couldn’t take off work right now, so I came alone. The Gulf Coast is too hot this time of year for her anyway. When I’m back in Nashville, I’ll start GA meetings again just to make sure my life doesn’t spiral out of control.”

  Isabelle was no expert on gambling addictions, but she’d become an expert at when Craig was lying. “I spoke with Cassie on the phone. She said you left her.”

  “Oh, Isabelle. What have you done?” He moaned as though in physical pain.

  “I called Cassie to thank her for the money…and…and that’s when she told me you’d fallen in love with another woman.” Isabelle tasted something sour in the back of her throat.

  Craig seemed to be silently counting to five. “Think back. Did you tell her I’m in Bay St. Louis?”

  “I said Nate thought he saw you, and she knows where we’re honeymooning. Cassie said Nate must be mistaken because you’re living in Nashville with a woman you met at work. None of that is true, is it?”

  He sighed wearily. “Things just didn’t work out with Cassie. We fell out of love, and I needed to get away. I thought it would spare her feelings if there was another woman. She would be angry instead of hurt.” Craig met her gaze briefly.

  “Speaking from experience, the truth is usually best,” she said, bitterness edging her tone.

  “Maybe for you, but Cassie’s different. She’s thin skinned. Please stay out of this. Whatever you do, don’t confirm where I am. She’ll come down and insist we see a counselor or some nonsense like that.”

  “It’s not nonsense. A professional can—”

  “No, I’m telling you nicely to butt out. Trust me when I say it’s for the best.” Despite his harsh words, Craig looked on the verge of tears.

  “Very well. It’s your life.” She stepped back, repulsed.

  “Forget you saw me, Isabelle. Cassie’s better off without me. Enjoy your vacation with Nate. I wish you two nothing but the best.” This time when Craig stepped around her, he moved with the force of a steamroller.

  She stood sweating under the marquis of the Golden Magnolia Casino, knowing that her ex had told her nothing but a pack of lies. And she wanted to know why.

  FIFTEEN

  Nate had already showered, dressed, and was drinking coffee on the porch when Izzy pulled into the driveway. She bounded up the walk, carrying plastic sacks from a grocery store.

  “Greetings, husband. I feared we wouldn’t have enough snacks, so I bought chips, salsa, and two six-packs of Peach Snapple.”

  Nate met her at the steps to relieve her of her burdens. “Wow, plus boiled peanuts and two kinds of Twizzlers. Your stomachache must be past history.” He set the bags inside the door of their suite.

  “It is. I feel on top of the world—Oh, good morning, Mrs. Russo. Let me get that for you.” Isabelle held open the door for their innkeeper.

  “Did I hear someone mention they’re hungry?” Mrs. Russo set down her silver tray in front of Nate. “We have spinach and cheddar omelets, hash browns, and turkey sausage. What kind of juice would y’all like?”

  “Tomato for me, and coffee, please.” Izzy settled into the opposite chair.

  “Couldn’t fall back asleep after I left?” Nate shook his napkin across his lap.

  “I was just
tossing and turning, so I decided to make myself useful.” She cut her omelet into pieces.

  “Good thing we have a small refrigerator in our room.”

  “What do you mean?” She swallowed her first bite.

  “For the twelve Peach Snapples you couldn’t live without.” Nate studied her over his coffee mug.

  “I already forgot what I bought,” she said, chuckling. “I see you’ve been studying the brochures. Where to today, Skipper?”

  “It’s going to be a hot one, so I narrowed it down to the water park in Gulfport or snorkeling from a catamaran. They take you out over a coral reef where we’re guaranteed to see fish.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Nate. I’d hate to get sunburned and look like a lobster all week.”

  “We brought plenty of sunblock, and you have a swim T-shirt. Which reminds me, how about seafood tonight as long as we avoid any crab dishes? I thought I’d get a lock on supper before we finish breakfast.” Having beaten Izzy to the punch with her favorite joke, Nate laughed uproariously. She loved to plan their next meal while eating the current one.

  But Isabelle missed his clever humor. She was eating mindlessly while staring at a dish of butter.

  Nate cleared his throat. “Or we could sign up for the submarine that dives off the continental shelf. It’s a battery-powered submersible that two people operate themselves. We can bounce along the ocean floor in search of giant squid.”

  Isabelle picked up her glass of tomato juice. “Whichever excursion you prefer,” she murmured. “I’ll let you decide. All three sound great.”

  Nate set down his fork. “Out with it, Izzy. What’s bothering you? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  Instead of denying the allegation, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Nate. I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain where I went this morning.”

  “I thought you went to buy food we don’t need,” he said softly.