by Mary Ellis
Isabelle looked ready to faint. “I-I don’t know what to say other than thank you from the bottom of my…our hearts.” Teary-eyed, she turned to her husband.
Clearing his throat, Nate had his own lump of emotion to swallow. “We were just discussing a honeymoon this morning. Your generosity and thoughtfulness are overwhelming. As soon as we get a break in our schedules—”
“Oh, no,” interrupted Michael. “That’s not how this works. Read the fine print. We have prepaid three weeks during prime season on the gorgeous Mississippi coast. Clear your calendars because your honeymoon begins on Sunday.”
“This Sunday?” Isabelle clutched her throat as though choking on a fish bone.
“Yep. You two lovebirds leave in three days.” Nicki picked up a cupcake and took a bite. “I would start packing if I were you.”
“But we need to look for a used car for me.” Isabelle sounded more like a child than a woman in her thirties.
Marie, Realty World’s assistant, took hold of Isabelle’s hand. “You’ll only need one vehicle while you’re at the beach, and there will still be plenty of used cars here when you get back. I’ll make sure your open houses or house showings are covered by other agents. I’ll bet they’ll even pass any commissions on to you.” She scanned the room, honing in on Isabelle’s fellow agents.
“Oh, no,” Isabelle protested. “I could never let anyone—”
“Nonsense,” said Marie. “You can return the favor sometime down the line. And when this party’s over, you and I are going to Victoria’s Secret and Bath and Body Works, my treat. Now let’s have something to eat.” Marie grabbed two cupcakes and handed one to Isabelle.
For the next thirty minutes, Nate ate sweets, drank bad coffee, and listened to advice from well-intentioned friends. He heard about every Gulf Coast landmark, restaurants worth the money, which fishing charters knew the best spots, and how to avoid sand fleas. His Aunt Rose provided tips on foot massage that made him blush. Nicki snapped a picture each time he took a bite of cupcake. And his cousin assured him she would watch the paper for great deals on used cars.
Finally, his two employees approached from the sidelines. “I hate to break this party up, but shouldn’t we be getting to the office?” Michael took Nate’s empty coffee cup and plate of cake crumbs. “We have a pile of cases to sort through.”
Nate smiled with gratitude at the ruse. Michael was the last person one would expect with aspirations of becoming a PI, but if sheer determination and willpower were indicators of future success, someday he would be one of the best. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be any day soon.
Michael had spent his high school and college years with his nose in a book or staring at a computer screen. Nerd. Geek. Egghead. The terms for studious types might change from generation to generation, but the personality remained the same. These men didn’t hunt, fish, pump iron, or race custom-built cars on dirt tracks. Instead, they made their fortunes with Internet start-up companies, investment banking, or, unfortunately, cybercrime. Michael might be an untrained PI, but in this day and age, he already possessed skills Price Investigations needed.
“Let me just say goodbye to our host,” Nate murmured to the pair. He walked over to a little group of people by the window. “Thanks for organizing this party, Mr. Randall. Isabelle and I will never forget everyone’s generosity as long as we live.” He extended his hand to the distinguished broker.
“We all cherish Isabelle at Realty World and were happy to help.”
Elizabeth stepped forward. “We’re glad you included us. I don’t know what we’ll do while Nate and his wife are basking in the sun.”
“Don’t believe a word of it,” he said to Randall. “These two won’t even know I’m gone.” Then Nate turned to address the crowd. “Thanks, everyone, for the incredible gift. Be prepared for tons of pictures when we get back.” After more handshaking, Nate finally shrugged into his sport coat, waved at his wife, and headed for the door. Across the room, Isabelle was surrounded by women, all talking at the same time.
Outside in the parking lot, Nate sucked in a deep breath. “Wow, I sure didn’t see that coming.”
“Having lots of friends comes in handy.” Michael was still staring at the back door in amazement.
“Yeah, but what goes around comes around.” Elizabeth clucked her tongue. “You and Isabelle will be invited to every graduation, bar mitzvah, baptism, and retirement party for years. Not to mention forced to buy raffle tickets and Girl Scout cookies until you drop over dead.”
Nate laughed. “You two sure have different perspectives on group fund-raising. Thanks for getting me out the door. Not that I’m not grateful, but that kind of party can last for hours.”
“There’s only so much smiling one face can handle,” said Elizabeth.
Michael shook his head. “On that note, I’ll take my leave. I have a class on Mississippi gun laws starting in twenty minutes.”
Nate watched him putter away in his fuel-efficient car before turning to his other employee. “Beth, why aren’t you in Vicksburg? Don’t tell me you drove here for a going-away party. You could have sent your ten bucks through the mail.”
She chuckled. “For your information, boss, I chipped in twenty-five. But your cupcake send-off isn’t the sole reason I’m in Natchez.” She stared at the road even though Michael was long gone. “My mother asked me to come home for Pastor Dean’s funeral. She’s worried there won’t be enough mourners.”
Nate slicked a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I heard about that. But considering the number of Baptists in town, there should be a good turnout. Isabelle and I will be there because she attended Calvary while growing up. Now we go to the nondenominational by the freeway.”
Beth shrugged. “We’ll see how many folks show up. Some members might boycott because the preacher offed himself.”
“What?” Nate was shocked by her insensitivity.
“Sorry, that was crude. I meant to say some might hold it against Reverend Dean because he committed suicide. A man of God isn’t supposed to take his own life.”
“What are you talking about? The paper said he had a heart condition, so I assumed that was the cause of death.”
Beth hiked her purse up her shoulder. “Not unless a bad ticker made him climb a stool with a rope around his neck.”
Nate shuddered. “That is just awful, especially for whoever found him.”
“My mom said it was his wife. Alice Dean was always nice to me. I used to babysit for their little girl.” Despite her earlier detachment, Beth’s eyes filled with tears.
“Well, for sure Izzy and I will be there tomorrow. Thank goodness we don’t leave until Sunday.”
“I sure am a downer today. When you’re about to leave on the best vacation of your life, I’m talking suicide and people’s fondness for being judgmental.” Beth swiped at her tears. “Go to the office and clean off your desk. Tell Maxine to clear your calendar and hold your calls. Don’t worry about me and Wonder Boy. We’ll hold down the fort while you and Isabelle have fun in the sun.”
“You do have a way with words, Ms. Kirby.” Nate climbed into his SUV and lowered the window. “Will I see you at the office later?”
“I don’t know. I left Vicksburg at four this morning and drove straight to the party. I haven’t been home yet. Can’t wait to see what else Mom has in store for me. My bedroom is probably exactly how I left it.”
“You’ll always be her little girl. So you’re willing to stay in town while I’m gone? Michael isn’t ready to be on his own.”
Beth looked everywhere but at him. “If that’s what you want, Nate, but I would prefer to go to the funeral, eat a chicken salad sandwich, and get out of Natchez as fast as I can.”
He started the engine. “Your case in Vicksburg should be wrapping up by now. I thought you had plenty of evidence to present to the DA.”
“True, but I’m following a lead for new work. I’d love to stay where I am. That town has grown on me.” She start
ed to back away.
“Any new cases had better come with a fat retainer. I know you’re living as cheaply as you can, but I can’t afford to set up a Vicksburg office.”
“Maybe if I—”
“No, Beth, I need you in Natchez. We can talk about this when I come back, but right now I need to find a Panama hat and new flip-flops. The beach and my lovely bride are calling. Isabelle and I will see you tomorrow at the funeral.” He drove away to end the argument.
Beth Kirby was a great PI, but at times she could be like a dog with a bone.
TWO
Beth awoke with a crick in her neck and a bad taste in her mouth. The neck pain was caused by sleeping on a worn-out mattress that should have been put to the curb years ago. And the bad taste? Too much Diet Coke, fried food, and local gossip she would have preferred not to have heard. Didn’t her mother know about baking or grilling skinless chicken breasts? Couldn’t she steam some broccoli or at least make baked potatoes instead of French fries? And why would she care which of her ex-friends had been dumped by their husbands?
A better question would be: Why did I come home? Beth stood under the shower long after the soap and hair conditioner were gone. It had been years since she attended Calvary Baptist, and the less time she sat around her mother’s kitchen table, the better. Rita never failed to remind her only daughter that she had made a mess of her life. Would she never live down a past mistake? She’d moved on to a new career, while the other party continued his life without a hitch. Surely the gossips in town had found tastier tidbits by now.
Ten minutes later, dressed in navy slacks with a matching jacket, she marched into the kitchen ready to face the music.
“Slacks, Betsy? Didn’t you bring a dress with you?” The furrows in her mother’s forehead deepened.
“First, Mom, please call me Beth. I’m no longer ten years old. Second, I don’t have any dresses unless you count that red strapless number I wore to the prom. That’s probably still in the closet.”
“Don’t be disrespectful. I thought you liked Reverend and Alice Dean.” Rita filled two mugs with coffee.
“I did…I do. That’s why I’m here wearing the most appropriate outfit I own.” Beth rummaged through the cupboard. “Don’t you have Special K or Total?”
“Sit. There’s a ham and cheese omelet warming in the oven, along with hash browns. Who knows how long the funeral will last? It could be hours before we eat lunch.” Rita carried enough food for six teenage boys to the table.
Beth noticed the stiffness in her mother’s gait and deep creases around her mouth and eyes. I’m gone for less than eighteen months, and Mom ages ten years? “Are your hips bothering you?” she asked, taking a small portion of eggs and potatoes. “You should see a doctor.”
“Why should I pay some quack sixty dollars to hear I have arthritis? I’m old. Everybody gets it if they live long enough.” Rita scooped twice as large a portion onto her plate.
“A doctor might prescribe exercises to improve mobility. The copay would be my treat.”
“Save your money. Without a husband to take care of you, you’ll need it for the future.” Rita patted her hand, her brows lifting in anticipation. “Will I ever meet your new boss? Is this Nate Price nice looking?”
“He’s very nice looking in a rugged sort of way—tall, blond, and wait for it…married, for almost two years. They’re finally going on a honeymoon.”
“What a shame!” Rita swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
“For Nate or his bride?” Beth teased.
“For you, of course.” Her mom topped off their mugs. “I’m surprised Nate found another case in Vicksburg. Doesn’t that town have their own PIs? And why would you enjoy living where you don’t know a soul?”
“You hit the nail on the head. Nobody knows me either.” Beth ate three more forkfuls of eggs and drained her coffee. “I’ll wait for you on the porch. I have surveillance tapes to review on my laptop, but I’m ready to go whenever you are.” Halfway to the door, she remembered her manners. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t want to get too skinny. Most men like a little meat on a gal’s bones.”
Gal? What century does my mother inhabit?
Thirty minutes later Rita emerged from the house wearing black from head to toe.
“Let’s take my car since you seldom have more than a quarter of a tank in yours,” said Beth.
“I believe your father filled it up for me, but that’s fine.” Rita climbed in and remained lost in thought for several minutes. Then she swiveled to face her daughter. “Do you think Reverend Dean is in heaven?”
Beth kept her focus on the road. “Why wouldn’t he be? He preached his faith and lived a good life.”
Rita rubbed her knuckles. “Some of the ladies think suicide is an unforgivable sin, especially when committed by a pastor. He of all people should know better.”
“Why would Reverend Dean have an easier row to hoe than the rest of us? Knowing Scripture doesn’t guarantee anyone a bed of roses.”
“What could have been so terrible? He had a pretty wife, their daughter got good grades in school, and their house was paid for.”
Beth applied the brakes at the stop sign and then turned to look at her mother. “How on earth would you know all of that?”
Rita replied without hesitation. “Carol Ann works in the school office, and Pam Henderson handles mortgages at the bank they use. And the prettiness of Alice Dean is obvious.”
“Have none of your cronies heard of federal privacy laws? Those women should be fired, and you shouldn’t pass along private information.”
Following the reprimand, both Kirby women remained silent for the rest of the drive. When they reached the church, mourners were already milling on the steps, allowing Rita to join her loose-lipped friends. Beth spotted Nate and Isabelle near the door, along with Michael, the overly enthusiastic but underachieving new PI. Nothing galled her more than when Nate referred to them as “his new hires.” With her years of experience, how could Nate lump her with an unskilled wannabe?
“Good morning, Nate, Isabelle,” she greeted. “Hi, Michael.”
“Good morning,” murmured Isabelle. “I understand Reverend Dean was your pastor, Beth. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, but it’s been a number of years.” Beth suppressed an uncharacteristic twinge of jealousy for Isabelle’s chic dress and high heels.
With a clang of church bells, Nate herded them all inside, where they sat through two readings, three hymns, one off-key solo, and several eulogies about the pastor’s zeal and humanitarian nature. The fact he chose to end his life stood like the proverbial elephant in the sanctuary. Throughout the service, Alice Dean sat with her young daughter in the front row, dabbing her eyes. Odd that no one else had joined her in the pew. Didn’t she have siblings or close friends she could lean on? It would be a question for Beth’s know-all, tell-all mother that evening. After the closing prayer, the assistant minister directed everyone to the cemetery and then invited mourners back to the social hall for lunch.
Outside in the bright sunshine, Beth wandered through a sea of polyester dresses and straw hats trying to find her mother. Unfortunately, Michael found her first.
“Hey, Elizabeth.” He stepped from behind a white column. “Mind if I ride to Natchez City Cemetery with y’all?”
He always used her formal name. Beth considered correcting him but decided she rather liked it. At least he didn’t call her Betsy, a nickname that refused to die. “My mom is with me today,” she said, shading her eyes as she peered up at him. “Can’t you ride with Nate and Isabelle?”
“Nate’s cousin from New Orleans and her husband will be in the backseat. That would mean squeezing five into an Escape.”
Beth refrained from suggesting the cargo area because Michael was at least half a foot taller than her. “Sure, but let Mom sit up front because she gets motion sick.” Beth spotted Rita’s plumed hat
in a cluster of busybodies and marched in that direction.
Michael remained on her heels. “Thanks. Having grown up in Brookhaven, you would think I would know my way around Natchez. But I’m still discovering what this city has to offer.”
“Yep. We have ourselves a booming metropolis here. Paris, Rome, and New York must be losing sleep.”
Her sarcasm only increased Michael’s glibness. He chattered all the way to the historic cemetery. Even Rita couldn’t get a word in edgewise. He didn’t stop talking until they parked between rows of blooming crepe myrtle trees, the heavy fragrance overwhelming the senses.
Climbing out, Michael offered her mother his arm. “Would you like to hang on to me, Mrs. Kirby? There’s some uneven ground ahead.”
“Thank you, young man.” Hooking her arm through his, Rita peppered Michael with questions about his people until they reached the gravesite. Then she dropped his arm and latched on to a friend, doubtlessly another gossip.
Beth sighed as Michael joined her side. “I hope my mother didn’t get too personal,” she said. “She feels any question is fair game.”
“Not a problem. She’s really very friendly.”
Beth frowned without looking at her coworker.
For the next ten minutes, the stand-in pastor delivered a final homily and then invited mourners to say their goodbyes. One by one, they stepped forward to place a yellow rose atop the casket. Beth and Michael took their turn and then stood at the back of the group waiting for her mother.
“Know anything about that?” Michael asked, pointing at a stone monument in the distance. “I’ll bet there’s a story.”
“Of course there is. This is Natchez,” she said. “That’s the Fallen Angel, but everybody calls it the Turning Angel. A drug company blew up a hundred years ago, killing most of its employees. The owner bought the plot and the monument to commemorate them.” Beth gazed at the fast-growing kudzu barely kept at bay in the cemetery.
