Magnolia Moonlight

by Mary Ellis

  “All in. I’m just waitin’ for the sun to work her magic. Your ma said you came back to Natchez. Thanks for paying the country folks a call.”

  When Dorrie finally released her, she turned her attention to Michael. “You Betsy’s new boyfriend?” Dorrie let her gaze travel from his shiny loafers up to his sandy-colored hair.

  Shamelessly, Beth did the same as though seeing him for the first time. Actually, Michael Preston wasn’t a bad looking guy.

  “Unfortunately, ma’am, I am not,” he said. “We work together. She’s training me this week. Nice to meet both of you.” He shook hands with her uncle.

  “Too bad.” Dorrie stopped ogling and shuffled to the stove.

  Beth thought she’d better nip this in the bud. “Training—that’s why we’re here. Is it okay if we shoot some targets in the west pasture? Mike wants a few pointers.”

  “Of course,” said Pete. “Nobody leased those acres this year. Don’t forget the bucket of soda cans in the barn.” Turning to Michael, Pete said, “If anybody can give marksman lessons, it’s my niece. Her cousins called her Deadeye for years. Too bad she had no stomach for hunting. Betsy could’ve kept us in venison and rabbit stew forever.”

  “We better get started.” Grabbing Michael by the sleeve, Beth headed for the door. “Thanks for the trip down memory lane.”

  “Don’t you dare leave without eating supper,” Dorrie hollered through the screen. “That boy needs something sticking to his ribs.”

  “Sorry about the wisecrack about your being skinny,” Beth said once they were out of earshot. “Why do relatives think they can say anything that pops in their heads?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I certainly won’t take offense with a crack shot who has guns for every occasion.”

  “Dorrie and Pete are good people. They are just not loaded with sensitivity.” Opening her trunk, Beth picked a gun from her assortment and handed it to Michael. “This is what you’re going to shoot today—a forty caliber Mini Glock. Medium weight, not a lot of recoil, but it has plenty of stopping power.” She selected a second weapon. “I’m going to use this—a nine millimeter Glock. I can’t understand why this isn’t standard issue for the force.” Beth slammed the trunk on the rest of her arsenal.

  Michael examined the gun gingerly. “She’s a beauty.”

  “It’s not loaded, but keep the barrel pointed at the ground. Never joke around with a firearm. Plenty of fools have shot themselves or their friends with supposedly unloaded weapons.”

  “Will do. That part was thoroughly covered in class.” Michael double-checked that the safety was on.

  “Watch your step along the way. Remember, this is a farm.”

  When they reached the barn, temporarily devoid of livestock, Beth pointed at the overflowing bucket of cans. “You carry the targets and I’ll bring the ammo.”

  Michael shifted the mini Glock to his other hand and grabbed the bucket’s handle. “Thanks for not telling your uncle I never shot before.”

  “Pete wouldn’t have believed me. Then he would have insisted on seeing for himself. I love my uncle, but we don’t need him launching into one of his two-hour stories about the good old days.”

  Michael suddenly halted on the path. “It’s really beautiful out here. Does all this land belong to Pete and Dorrie?”

  Beth shaded her eyes to appreciate the familiar view. “For as far as you can see. It might be beautiful, but it’s hard to make a living farming. Agribusiness has too much control. See that fence?” She pointed at a sturdy split-rail fifty yards away. “It’s there to keep cattle back from the steep drop-off to the creek. Pete replaced the top rail with a flat board for target practice. We’ll be shooting downhill with a high embankment on the other side. Stray shots won’t go anywhere. You can set up a row of cans while I load our guns.”

  Michael remained rooted in place. “How do the cows get a drink of water?”

  “Downstream. It’s only steep right here.”

  As though pleased with the answer, Michael walked downhill to line up two dozen cans. When he returned, Beth reviewed basic safety instructions and then aimed her weapon at the fence rail. She fired nine shots at the row of cans. “Your turn. Try to duplicate my manner and interval between shots.”

  Michael lifted his weapon, took aim, and pulled the trigger nine times. He didn’t flinch or blink or do a single thing wrong.

  “Perfect, that was great,” she said.

  “You might need glasses, Elizabeth. Neither of us hit a thing.” The corners of his mouth turned up.

  “We weren’t meant to. I filled the clips with blanks for the first round to get you accustomed to the recoil and sound of discharge. And, in case any small critters were in those weeds, they’re long gone by now.”

  “Very smart of you, Deadeye. Your uncle said you weren’t fond of killing animals.”

  “Bambi and Thumper are safe, but the same can’t be said about those who call me Deadeye. And since we’re on the subject, forget about calling me Betsy. That honor is reserved for relatives over the age of fifty.” Beth loaded live ammo into her clip, met his gaze for a brief moment, and then turned and fired. The first nine aluminum cans fell from their perch. “Now it’s your turn, Mr. Preston.”

  Michael stepped up, aimed, and fired. However, his result duplicated his clip full of blanks. “How can that be? You made it look so easy.”

  “Nothing in life is easy. We’re going to move up to twenty feet and use that upturned log to brace your arm. You must keep your arm steady when you fire, or you won’t hit the barn, let alone a moving target. When you can hit nine out of nine, we’ll move back to thirty feet. Eventually you’ll be able to keep your arm steady without bracing it.”

  His forehead furrowed. “All that in one afternoon?”

  “Nope. Take all the time you need. We can even come back here if you want to take a chance with my relatives.”

  Michael watched as she reloaded his gun. “What kind of chance? I think they’re very nice.”

  “They are. They’ll graciously welcome you back, invite you to supper on the back porch, and maybe even send a sweet potato pie home with you. Then one day Uncle Pete meets us in the yard with a shotgun. You notice tables and chairs have been set up, like they’re ready for a shindig. On the porch will be the preacher and my girlfriends in matching dresses. You will be forced to make a choice, Mikey.”

  He hooted with laughter. “People don’t do things like that. Anyway, he’s your uncle, not your dad.”

  Beth shrugged. “All I know is Dorrie and Pete have four daughters—all younger than me, but every one of them is married. Uncle Pete always complains that my dad is too lenient.” She handed him the loaded gun. “So I suggest you either improve your aim or your hundred-yard dash. Because Uncle Pete never misses.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Bay St. Louis

  Wednesday

  Isabelle tried to remember the last time she’d relaxed and enjoyed herself so thoroughly and came up empty. Certainly not in high school when insecurities about her hair-clothes-makeup and who-was-saying-what behind her back interfered with any sense of security. And definitely not in college when she became obsessed with meeting and marrying the “right” man. Who didn’t want a future filled with sunshine, blue skies, and shopping malls? She married Craig two weeks after graduation and then worked two jobs to put him through law school. Whatever free time they had was spent arguing about his gambling. Perhaps if she had pulled her head from the sand sooner, his debts might not have mushroomed out of control.

  After their divorce, Isabelle moved to Memphis and filled every waking hour with work to pay off her share of their debt. Meeting Nate Price had been a gift from heaven, although it hadn’t seemed so at the time. Thanks to Nate’s persistence and patience, her emotional wounds healed. With a husband who loved and respected her, Isabelle didn’t mind evening open houses or manning the agency every other Saturday. She and Nate were building a life together with each deposit int
o their savings account.

  Yesterday, splashing through the waves at the water park and walking the beach at night, Isabelle had never felt so happy. Nate had become more than her husband and partner in life—he’d become her best friend. Nothing else in life could compare to that.

  Today they chose Ship Island for their adventure, an uninhabited island owned by the National Park Service. They caught a ferry in Gulfport for the hour-long trip to miles of pristine beaches, along with a historic fort to tour. She and Nate played in the surf, ate a picnic lunch surrounded by hermit crabs, and spotted bottlenose dolphins on the ride back. Seagulls followed in their wake, watching for fish in the churned-up water. Neither of them wanted the day to end.

  “Where should we have dinner?” she asked as the boat docked.

  Nate withdrew his trusty tour guide from their daypack. “How about Captain Frank’s? Menu looks good, prices look great, and they have every kind of seafood imaginable.”

  “Perfect.” Isabelle attempted to apply makeup over her sunburn using the car’s rearview mirror.

  Once they were seated at their table with a view of the Gulf, Nate ordered peel-and-eat shrimp as their appetizer and iced coffees. “I’m going to miss looking at water every day.” He interlocked his fingers behind his head. “Should we get a plastic pool for the backyard?”

  Isabelle laughed at the mental image. “Maybe we’ll just save the money for a weekend trip every year.”

  Soon a heaping platter of boiled shrimp was placed between them, along with their drinks. They dug into the feast as stars appeared in the evening sky, one by one. Midway through entrées of red snapper, Isabelle felt her cell vibrate in her pocket. “Let me answer this on my way to the ladies’ room.”

  In the time it took to dig the phone from her pocket, she decided upon two possible callers—Nicki from New Orleans with an update on life with Hunter as parents-to-be, or Marie from her office, checking to see how the honeymoon was going. Unfortunately Caller ID produced a third and unforeseen choice—Cassie Mitchell. For a brief moment Isabelle considered ignoring the call and letting voice mail kick in. But how charitable would that be? After all, she was the one who had called Craig’s ex-wife and set plates spinning on sticks.

  “Hello, Cassie?” Isabelle rallied a pleasant tone of voice.

  “I’m so relieved you picked up.” Cassie sounded breathless, as though she’d just finished a marathon. “I didn’t know who else to call. You were my only option.”

  “What’s going on?” Spotting a door to the patio, Isabelle altered her path to the ladies’ room.

  After a brief hesitation, Cassie released a verbal flood. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Craig. Something smelled fishy from the start, but my pride didn’t let me acknowledge it. After our conversation, I started poking around where he worked and found an intern willing to talk to me.”

  Isabelle’s stomach tightened into a knot. “What did you find out?”

  “Craig took a leave of absence from the company. According to his file, it was for an unspecified medical reason. All this time I believed he was still a law clerk until he was reinstated to the bar. Why would he leave, Izzy? They are one of Nashville’s biggest law firms. The senior partners really liked Craig, despite his past problems. His boss had been willing to give him another chance.”

  Isabelle had only straws to grasp. “Maybe he took a job elsewhere for more money. Maybe you should—”

  Cassie wasn’t interested in maybes. “The intern said Craig left town. She had a number to reach him in an emergency, but under no circumstances was she allowed to give that number out. Just relay the information back to him. All very cloak-and-dagger, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do. That’s why you should forget about him, at least for the time being.”

  Cassie continued as though Isabelle hadn’t spoken. “That’s not all. I asked the intern point-blank if Craig was involved with another woman at the office. She said no. Her exact words were: ‘When would Craig have time for an affair? He was the first one here in the morning, the last to leave, and worked all the overtime he could get.’ ”

  “They could have been very secretive, Cassie. People go to great lengths to be devious.”

  “That’s basically what I said, but the intern insisted nothing in that office stayed a secret. The women were gossip magnets and spread every bit they heard. She said Craig was a stand-up guy at work. He never flirted or even laughed at sexist jokes. The intern thought the medical issue had something to do with me, but federal law prohibited the partners from asking specifics.” Like a leaky balloon, Cassie finally ran out of air.

  Racking her brain for the right thing to say, Isabelle listened to the second wife sniffle.

  “There is no other woman, Izzy,” Cassie continued. “I believe my competition is the queen of clubs or maybe a royal flush.”

  Isabelle closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. How could she keep silent now? It would be the same as lying to a woman who had never caused her a bit of grief. “You’re correct. Craig fell off the wagon. He’s definitely in Bay St. Louis. I saw him coming out of a casino. He’d been playing cards all night.”

  While Cassie processed the information, Isabelle listened to birds twittering in overhead branches, children giggling at a nearby table, and customers calling to their waitress for extra napkins.

  “You weren’t planning on telling me this?” Cassie asked in a stiff voice.

  “I wanted to, but Craig specifically told me not to call you. He doesn’t want you to know about his backward slide.”

  “He’s sick, Isabelle. If Craig had cancer or dementia, people would be horrified if I abandoned him. How is this disease different? We’re not divorced. He’s still my husband, and I married him for better or for worse.”

  Isabelle was temporarily flummoxed. “That’s true, but what if there is another woman? I didn’t see anyone with him, but he could be keeping her under wraps. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m already hurting, so I might as well know the truth. I will ask for time off from work. Then I’m finding out exactly where Bay St. Louis is and driving down to help him get straight. I don’t know when, but as soon as I can. Don’t say anything to Craig. This is between him and me. You and Nate enjoy your honeymoon and forget about us. You deserve a nice vacation. Take care, Izzy.” Cassie ended the call.

  Isabelle pondered Cassie’s words on her way to the ladies’ room. Hadn’t Craig given her the exact same advice? But on her walk back to the table, the only question on her mind was, How will I explain all this to Nate?

  NINETEEN

  Nate had a bad feeling the moment Isabelle returned from the restroom. If eating in restaurants was upsetting her stomach, they needed to stock up on fresh fruit and vegetables and maybe cold cuts from a local deli. They both hailed from middle-class families and were unaccustomed to heavy sauces and exotic spices.

  “Are you all right, Isabelle?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She offered a weak smile and picked up her fork. But from that point on, she consumed less than a sparrow on a diet.

  Nate finished his meal, declined dessert, and asked for the check. During the drive back to the B and B, he asked again, “Are you feeling okay? Should I pull to the side of the road?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.” Isabelle patted his knee and then fixed her focus on the road until they reached Bay St. Louis. Once inside their suite, she locked herself in the bathroom for at least twenty minutes.

  Nate couldn’t sit on the porch watching boats forever if his bride was queasy. He knocked timidly on the door. “Can I bring you some peppermint tea or a can of ginger ale? There are Pepto Bismol tablets in the glove box.”

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll just hit the sack.” The door opened, and she emerged wearing a long nightgown. She headed straight to bed and crawled under the covers.

  Nate returned to his rocking chair on the porch until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any l
onger, and then he, too, headed to bed. When he awoke at midnight alone, he started to panic. He found Isabelle in the third place he looked. Wrapped in a terrycloth robe, she sat on a bench close to the water. “Was I snoring, dear wife?” he asked. “Is that why you abandoned me?”

  She turned her tear-streaked face in his direction. “No. You were as quiet as a mouse for a change.”

  Nate plopped down next to her. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you. And if you say ‘nothing,’ I’m going to pull your hair.”

  “Oh, it’s something, all right. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

  “Why not start with the honest-to-goodness truth?”

  Isabelle released an exhausted sigh. “My stomach is fine, but that was Cassie Mitchell calling at the restaurant.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She’d been asking questions at the last place Craig worked. One of the interns said he was away on a medical leave of absence, but he hadn’t taken up with another woman. Cassie knows Craig fell off the wagon and that he’s here in Bay St. Louis.” Isabelle met his gaze for a moment. “She called me, Nate. Not the other way around. I respected your wishes about butting out.”

  “I believe you.” He took hold of her hand. “You have no control over her.”

  A tear ran down Isabelle’s cheek. “Tomorrow she’s requesting time off from work. She plans to confront Craig and encourage him into rehab. She considers this her wifely duty and feels sorry for him because addiction is a disease.”

  Nate tipped back his head and considered the stars. Amazing that the bright lights of Biloxi fifteen miles away didn’t interfere with the billion-piece light show overhead. Nate sensed they stood at an important crossroad in their marriage, so he chose his words carefully. “And you feel sorry for Cassie.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I can’t turn my back on either of them. Craig seemed miserable the other day, as though he’d lost control of his life.”

  “And you want us to somehow intervene before Cassie gets to town? Or at least find out if Craig has fallen in with loan sharks again?” asked Nate, without letting himself think about the questions.