Sunset in Old Savannah

by Mary Ellis

  Mrs. Doyle’s composure faltered. “He may not be. In which case, my hopes for the future will come crashing down. But I’m willing to wait and see. God knows what’s best for all parties concerned.” With supreme dignity, she rose to her feet. “Thank you both for a job well done. I have what I need to confront Lamar. According to the dates on the credit card statements, this midlife crisis has gone on long enough. It’s time for him to make a decision.”

  Michael tapped the papers into a neat pile. “You’re welcome, ma’am. We’ll be in town for a few days to do some sightseeing. Should you need the agency’s help in any way, please don’t hesitate to call. We’re at your disposal twenty-four-seven.”

  Beth jumped up and followed him from the room. When they reached the front door, she pivoted on her heel. “I apologize, Mrs. Doyle, for what I said before. You do what’s best for your family. I’m hardly an expert on love and marriage.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kirby. I know beneath that suit of armor beats a heart of gold. Your turn will come someday.” She waved from the doorway as Beth beat a hasty retreat down the steps.

  Michael waited until they reached the car to comment. “Can you believe her reaction? I sure didn’t see that coming. And why didn’t you help me explain what we found out? Discussing a private matter with an older lady embarrassed the heck out of me.”

  “Like you told me earlier—this is part of our job. Besides, you were doing so well, I simply let you continue. I’m the one who insulted the woman for having forgiveness in her heart. Talk about putting faith into action. Honestly, Michael, I was impressed with how you handled yourself.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding. You certainly didn’t act uncomfortable.” Beth shook her head.

  “Hopefully, Mr. Doyle will come to his senses and get a second chance. Marriage is for better or for worse—I guess this is the ‘for worse’ part.”

  “Of course you would say that. You’re a man.”

  “And I’ve heard you’re a woman with a heart of gold beneath your steely exterior.” Michael hooted. “Where did that come from?”

  “Mrs. Doyle might not be a good judge of character, on any level. Now take me back to the hotel. I can’t wait to jump in the pool and do my laps. Plus, it’s taco night at the hotel.”

  Michael switched off the AC and rolled down the windows. The sea air might help him figure out two confusing women. Somehow he’d just impressed his partner during the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of his life.

  SIX

  Few other things annoyed Beth Kirby as much as being awakened in the middle of the night by the phone. Pleasant dreams didn’t happen very often. She usually dreamed about drug-addled thugs chasing her down the street with butcher knives. Invariably, she would blunder into wet concrete, quicksand, or off the end of a cliff. Glancing at the clock, Beth burrowed her head under the pillow. Almost four o’clock… Who would call at such an hour? Throwing back the covers, she reached for her phone. “Hello?”

  “Miss Kirby?” asked a scratchy voice. “This is Evelyn Doyle. I’m so sorry to wake you, but you said I could call anytime…”

  Beth sat up, regaining full awareness. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  There was a hesitation of several moments. “Is there any way you could come over?” she whispered. “I’m terrified and didn’t know who to call.”

  Beth rubbed the top of her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “What are you afraid of, Mrs. Doyle? Isn’t your husband home yet?”

  “He’s not, but I didn’t expect him to be. The agency has a three-day sales conference in Augusta.”

  Several possibilities ran through Beth’s head. Is she afraid to be alone? Surely this wasn’t the first time her husband had left on business. Is she afraid to confront her husband with evidence of his infidelity? Any courage bolstering could wait until tomorrow. “Please tell me what you’re afraid of.”

  “Someone is trying to kill me,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Beth jumped out of bed and began to pace. “Is your security system turned on? Where’s your maid?”

  “My maid goes home every evening. My system is armed, both doors and windows, but electronics won’t stop a bullet, will they? Someone shot at me when I was down at the beach.”

  “Did you call Tybee police or the Chatham County Sheriff’s Department?”

  “No. I-I don’t want to make a report. What if I’m mistaken? The local police will think I’m a crazy woman. Could you please come over?”

  “Of course. I’m on my way. In the meantime, lower those hurricane blinds and keep the phone handy. If you hear any more shots, call the police.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kirby. I’m grateful you would do this for me.”

  “No problem. Make sure the security guard at the gate knows I’m coming.” Beth ended the call, pulled on some clothes, and retrieved her Glock from the wall safe. On her way to the elevator, she remembered she had no vehicle. She tried calling her partner without success. Michael finally answered his door the third time she knocked.

  “What are you doing here, Kirby? Is the hotel on fire?” He checked the hallway in both directions.

  “Sorry to bother you, but I need your car keys. I’m going out to Tybee Island.”

  He leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “You want to talk to Mrs. Doyle now?”

  “She’s in a panic. She thinks someone took a shot at her down at the beach.” Beth stepped past him into the room and found his keys exactly where she thought they would be—with his wallet and phone on the nightstand. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe just a car backfiring on the street. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” She headed for the door.

  Michael blocked her path with a far bulkier frame than when he started with Price Investigations. “If you’re going, I am too. Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

  Beth released an exasperated sigh. “This doesn’t take two people. It’s probably just nerves after the horrible news she received. The woman is scared, which is perfectly understandable.”

  “Did you forget you’re supposed to be training me?”

  “A partnership doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip,” she said. “Mrs. Doyle is facing a lonely future after spending forty years with someone she loves. You’re a guy. You’d be no help.”

  “You don’t know that it’s nothing. I can check the yard and down by the dunes while you and the client discuss how creepy men are.”

  She tried to argue, but Michael pulled open the door. “Wait for me in the car, Kirby. If you leave without me, I’ll report the Charger stolen. You can enjoy a second night in jail until the misunderstanding gets straightened out.” He motioned her out with a flick of his hand.

  Beth stomped down the hallway. As irritated as she was about not getting her way, she also felt a smidgen of pride. Michael’s moxie proved his PI training was just about finished.

  On the drive to the island, he made her repeat the conversation with Mrs. Doyle verbatim. Then he hypothesized possible explanations, from a drive-by shooting or a passing speedboat with engine trouble to teenagers setting off firecrackers.

  “So you don’t think her life is in danger?”

  Michael glanced at her. “Who knows? I’m just making conversation until we can check out the evidence.”

  “What’s wrong with the radio or simple peace and quiet?”

  “I’m not good with quiet. I’m afraid people will think I’m dull and boring.”

  “Trust me. That should be the least of your worries.”

  Once they reached Mrs. Doyle, they both took her assertion seriously. The woman was weak with terror. While Michael went to get a glass of water, Beth helped her to a chair. “Tell us exactly what happened,” she instructed.

  “After you left, I drank a glass of wine to celebrate. I was so happy that Bonnie wasn’t a woman Lamar would take seriously. Then I read for a while and went to bed. When I couldn’t fall asleep, I went down to the beach. I
have steps over the dunes to the water. Sometimes a long walk calms my nerves.”

  “Is it prudent to walk alone in the middle of the night?” Michael asked.

  Mrs. Doyle sipped her water. “Everyone does it, and I’ve never been afraid. We have little crime on Tybee. But I hadn’t gone very far when I heard a loud popping sound from the direction of the street. I looked back toward the house but saw nothing. Then I heard a second crack and felt something buzz past my head.” She lifted a shaking hand to her ear. “I’m not stupid. Someone shot at me, twice.”

  “Did it sound like a rifle or a handgun?” Michael asked.

  The woman blinked. “How on earth would I know that? I told you I didn’t see anyone. I switched on the security lights with my remote control. I keep them off so they don’t bother nesting turtles. The lights illuminated me but not whoever had the gun.” Her voice trailed off as she ran out of breath.

  “Take it easy, Mrs. Doyle.” Beth placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tell us what happened next.”

  “I turned off the lights and dropped to the sand, hoping the dunes would block the view. I couldn’t outrun a sand flea, so I just lay there, waiting for them to…to…shoot me at close range.” She closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. “I crouched on the wet sand for ten or fifteen minutes until my back started to spasm. I was in so much pain I didn’t care if someone shot me. All the way back, I expected someone to finish me off, but nothing happened. When I got inside the house, I called you.” She looked up at Beth.

  “I’m glad you did, but your first call should’ve been to the police.”

  Mrs. Doyle shook her head stubbornly. “You’re both investigators. Let’s not involve the authorities until we have to.”

  Beth exchanged a look with her partner. “Michael, why don’t you look around outside while I stay with Mrs. Doyle?”

  “Good idea.” Michael pulled out an LED flashlight. “Please turn off the security system, ma’am, and lift the hurricane shutters. I want to see how much of the home’s interior is visible from the beach.”

  As soon as he went out, Beth got down to the heart of the matter. “Other than the current situation with Miss Mulroney, are you in a contentious relationship with anyone else? Maybe one of your neighbors on the island?”

  “I’m not sure what it’s like where you live, Miss Kirby, but people on Tybee don’t shoot each other over loud music or grass getting too long.” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in Mrs. Doyle’s statement.

  Beth thought about a neighborhood brawl last summer over a dog barking too much, but at least only fists had been used and not guns. “That’s a good point. What about your husband? Does he have any enemies at work that you are aware of?”

  “Lamar is an insurance salesman for a well-respected firm, not an underworld mobster.” She pulled a prescription bottle from the drawer and swallowed a pill with her last sip of water.

  “Can you think of anyone who might harbor a grudge?”

  “Honestly, Miss Kirby, I’ve thought about nothing else since it happened. I was hoping you would have some ideas.”

  Do you mean other than your fickle husband or his sleazy girlfriend? She said, “May I trouble you for a cup of coffee? Instant would be fine.”

  “I could microwave some from lunch.” Mrs. Doyle pushed to her feet.

  “That would be perfect.”

  As soon as she left, Beth checked the prescription bottle in the drawer. Xanax. Most likely uncertainty over the future was wreaking havoc on Mrs. Doyle’s nerves. But even a single glass of wine could cause problems if someone was on sedatives. Beth slid the drawer shut and considered her options. Their client was paying their firm a lot of money. She was owed kindness in return, even if that meant sitting with her until another friend or one of her children could be located. The world would look like a different place in the morning. Michael could either stay or go back to the hotel and retrieve her later.

  “Here’s your coffee, dear. Plus I started a fresh pot in case Mr. Preston would like some.”

  “Speaking of Mr. Preston, there’s something we need to discuss while he’s still outside. I questioned one of Miss Mulroney’s coworkers at the coffee shop and found out a scheme she could be plotting.”

  Evelyn lowered herself to the couch. “What kind of scheme?”

  “She might be trying to get pregnant, hoping to snag support for her and her child. This is a new form of blackmail among unethical young women.”

  For the second time, Mrs. Doyle’s reaction wasn’t what Beth expected. She snorted derisively. “If that little hussy thinks she’ll soak Lamar for big support checks, she has another thing coming.”

  “The courts will always put the needs of an innocent child first, no matter the mother’s motivation.” Beth shifted uncomfortably.

  “As they should, but if that’s Miss Mulroney’s plan, it won’t work. Lamar had a vasectomy years ago right after our son was born and the doctor advised me not to have more children. All we need to do is demand a DNA test so the child’s true parent can bear the financial burden.” Mrs. Doyle’s expression hardened.

  “All right then. One thing we don’t have to worry about. Now we just have to determine the nature of the mysterious popping sound.”

  “It might not be your intention, but please stop patronizing me, Miss Kirby. I know what gunfire sounds like.”

  Beth was ready to assert that even she could confuse the backfire of a car with a shot from a gun, but at that moment her partner walked into the living room with a grim expression. “What did you find?” she asked.

  “There’s a spot in the yard where someone could have been hiding. Several stalks of pampas grass are trampled, and there are indentations in the mulch. Unfortunately, mulch doesn’t retain shoe imprints like soft soil.” Michael looked from her to the client.

  Beth shrugged. “Neighborhood kids could’ve been playing hide-and-seek. We have no way of knowing it happened last night.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “My landscaper was here yesterday morning. He always weeds and rakes the landscaped beds. Besides, there are no young children running through the yards like hooligans. Tybee has several community playgrounds.”

  Unlike the neighborhood where I grew up. Beth lifted her gaze to Michael, her senses on red alert.

  “There’s more,” he said. “Several feet away, I found a shell casing under a shrub. I forgot to bring gloves and an evidence bag, so I left it where it was.” He turned a bright shade of pink.

  “You shouldn’t touch it even if wearing gloves. We’re not law enforcement.” Beth stood and set her empty cup on the table. “Speaking of whom, that’s who we need to call.”

  “Absolutely not,” Mrs. Doyle snapped. “I want Price Investigations to do their job, not the police. Why do you think I called you?”

  “You called because you were scared and rightly so. But if Michael found evidence that someone is trying to kill you, we would be remiss—”

  “Stop arguing with me. If you call the police, I’ll tell them I made up the whole story. Then you can explain to Mr. Price why you were fired.”

  Speechless, Beth and Michael stared at each other. “What exactly do you want us to do?” she asked.

  “Figure out who shot at me. Since I haven’t annoyed anyone at Pilates or the garden club, it must have been that floozy. Find proof so that when I confront my husband, he’ll be shocked out of his midlife stupor.” Mrs. Doyle swayed unsteadily on her feet.

  “All right, as long as you agree to leave the house for a few days. Even with the hurricane shutters closed, you shouldn’t stay here alone.”

  “Where would I go?”

  “To stay with one of your friends or maybe to your son’s house.”

  Mrs. Doyle considered for less than a second. “There’s not a single friend I could share this with. And as much as I would love to talk to my son again, Jamie was killed in Afghanistan a dozen years ago.”

  “We’re so sorry, Mrs. Doyle,” Michael
interjected. “You have our deepest sympathy.”

  “Thank you, young man.” Mrs. Doyle turned toward Beth. “But I will go to a hotel on the mainland.”

  “You’ll leave today before nightfall? And you’ll call me later with the location?” Beth asked.

  “I promise.” Mrs. Doyle forced a smile.

  “Keep in mind, we’re agreeing to investigate. You may still have to file a police report down the road. It depends on what we find out.”

  “I understand. Would either of you like fresh coffee?”

  Michael started to accept, but Beth shook her head. “That’s very kind, ma’am, but we should get to work. Lock everything up and turn on your security system again. We’ll be in touch.” She started for the door with Michael following at her heels.

  “Try not to worry. We’ll get ’em, Mrs. Doyle,” he added, sounding like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral.

  Once outside, Beth rounded the house to the backyard. “Take out your flashlight. We’ll need photos in case it rains and obliterates our crime scene.”

  But instead, Michael stopped and pointed at the water. “Wow, Beth. Look at that.”

  She halted midstride. “Now we know why people want to live at the beach.”

  The sun’s corona, just below the waterline, streaked the sky with every shade of orange, pink, and purple. Soon the coast of Georgia would be flooded with blinding light, but for the next few minutes, dawn took their breath away.

  “And why property values are so high,” Michael whispered in reverential awe. “Could you imagine waking up to that every morning?”

  “What’s the big deal? I have a perfect view over the neighbor’s fence of a race car up on cinder blocks.” Not taking her eyes off the sky, Beth sat down on a bench. “We might as well wait for full light to take pictures.”

  “Will we take the shell casing with us?”

  “That would be tampering with evidence.” Beth offered her nastiest scowl. “The casing stays where it is.”

  “What if the gardener comes back or a chipmunk carts it off?”