by Mary Ellis
Michael cleared his throat. “Coming from an accounting background, I have a decent understanding of the concept. You encourage your agents to sell policies to people who can’t afford them in the long run in order to collect the commission. One minor budgetary setback and people are forced to let the policy lapse, wasting whatever money they’ve paid in thus far. According to his emails, Doyle felt that’s what you were doing at Town and Country. And he wasn’t very happy about it.”
“If you hacked into our corporate database, I’ll have you arrested, Preston. We have laws that protect privacy in this country.” Reynard puffed out his chest as though he’d scored a goal.
“Actually, I found the thread of emails between you and Mr. Doyle on his home computer, sent from a personal account—an account I’ve been given full access to. So I’m not the one who’s broken the law here.” Michael’s inference didn’t go unnoticed.
Reynard took a step back, narrowly missing the Dumpster. “Policy pushing isn’t illegal. I own the company, so technically I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Ah, therein lies the rub, as that famous British guy once said.” Beth closed the space between them, cutting off a possible escape route. “Your inclusion of the word technically leads me to believe what you did wouldn’t impress the folks who own the name you paid a lot of money to use.”
Michael closed in from the other side. “Correct us if we’re wrong, but isn’t your agency a franchise of a major corporation? Agents are required to maintain a certain persistency rate during a two-year period. If too many customers let their policies lapse during that period, the agent’s rate plummets and he or she could be fired. But you would still keep your five percent commission on each policy that agent wrote.”
Reynard twisted the ring on his left hand. “Agents have no way of knowing who will or won’t maintain premiums on policies.”
Michael smiled. “Lamar also found proof you’d been writing policies for certain friends and relatives.”
“A sales manager can write all the policies he wants.”
“Yes, but many of those pals have college-aged children with expensive cars parked on campus. You indicated those cars were kept in their parents’ suburban garages in areas with substantially lower rates of theft. If there’s ever a claim, the adjuster could refuse to pay the policy amount if deception was involved.”
Beth clucked her tongue. “National brands don’t like agents with shady ethics tainting their image. They might revoke your franchise and put you out of business. That spells motive in my book.”
“You’d better have proof of your allegations,” sputtered Reynard. “Or I’ll sue your fly-by-night PI firm for defamation of character.”
Michael couldn’t stop smiling. “Doyle had proof. That’s why he wanted a meeting with you on Monday. He wanted to give you a chance to make this right. If you refused, he planned to go to the Georgia Department of Insurance. But someone killed him before that meeting could take place.” His expression changed to one that reflected contempt.
Beth moved in for the final thrust. “And the proof Mr. Doyle had? We have it now. And we’re turning it over to the Tybee Island police. Anything you want to say before they haul you away in handcuffs?”
“The next words I say will be to my attorney.” Reynard pushed her out of the way and strode to his car.
“That’s probably a wise choice,” called Michael.
“And we’re not ‘fly-by-night,’ buster,” Beth hollered. “We drove here in a high-performance Charger, which is a much cooler car than your boring sedan.”
Michael covered his face with his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Beth asked as Reynard drove away. “I didn’t like the way he defamed our agency.”
“Not a thing.” Michael slipped an arm around her waist. “You said something nice about my car and you didn’t shoot Reynard in the leg. I’m happy as a clam.”
For the first time, Beth didn’t shrug off his touch. “Yeah, but don’t think for a minute that winging him didn’t cross my mind.”
EIGHTEEN
It was almost six thirty when Beth walked through the doors of Homewood Riverfront Suites. She was tired, but at least she was no longer hungry. She and Michael had a huge early dinner at a restaurant on West Bay mainly frequented by local residents and business travelers, not tourists. The restaurant described their menu as Southern cooking—a bizarre definition, to be sure. It certainly wasn’t the Creole/Cajun dishes of New Orleans, or the rich delta cuisine of barbecue and corn bread of her hometown. Instead of French fries, sautéed greens, and pinto beans, this place offered shrimp corn dogs, chargrilled oysters, and Brunswick stew. But it was all good, and she’d eaten more than her share.
Beth was pleased with how things turned out on Tybee Island. She liked Charlotte Harper. Although the woman badgered Evelyn a bit, the two sisters obviously truly loved each other. And she liked Hilda Gwinn. She was smart, professional, and experienced. The fact she’d cornered Michael not once but twice went a long way toward showing that she wanted this case to have a happy ending. The Price Investigations master plan included finding the real murderer of Lamar Doyle. But if she and Michael failed, Hilda had enough courtroom experience to blow holes in the flimsy, circumstantial evidence against Mrs. Doyle.
When Michael dropped her off in front of the hotel, he drove away to find a car wash and a health food store. He was running low on nutritional supplements, and he couldn’t stand his beloved Charger to be dirty a minute longer. Beth thought they shouldn’t spend every evening together now that they were officially dating. Didn’t absence make the heart grow fonder? After her past disaster with the chief of police in Natchez, she needed to slow things down. Not because she was unsure of her feelings for Michael, but because she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. After deciding to call her mother, paint her toenails and fingernails, catch up on email, and then head to the rooftop for a late-night swim, Beth wasn’t thrilled when someone called her name. As she scanned the crowd in the lobby, her gaze landed on a familiar face.
Kaitlyn Webb stood in the doorway of the Lodge. “Could I speak to you for a minute, Miss Kirby?”
“Of course. What a surprise finding you here.” Swallowing her disappointment, Beth followed Kaitlyn to a high-top table.
“I intend to fully explain, but first can I buy you something to drink?” Kaitlyn patted the empty seat next to hers, her green eyes sparkling in the reflected light.
“You can’t buy a drink here. Snacks and libations are free during the social hour for guests, but I don’t imbibe. I’m going to get a glass of iced tea.”
“I usually don’t either, except for a glass of wine at the holidays. This is just sparkling water with a wedge of lime.” Kaitlyn lifted the frosty glass.
“That sounded good, so I got the same,” Beth said when she returned with her drink. She climbed up on the stool. “Since you’re not staying here, you must have been waiting for Michael and me. He’s running errands tonight. I have no idea what time he’ll be back.”
Kaitlyn picked up her glass and took a sip. “Actually, I’d hoped to talk to you alone.”
“Why? Michael and I are partners. We’ll make the hiring decision together.”
“I understand, but I wanted to explain a few things to you. Then you could either relay the information to Mr. Preston or tell me I have no chance of getting hired at Price Investigations. And I will slink away quietly.” Kaitlyn stared at the lime bobbing around in her drink.
“Aren’t you two girls eating? Would you like a bowl of mixed nuts?” asked the Lodge attendant, looking at Kaitlyn. “You’re probably getting hungry by now.”
“Yes, that would be nice,” said Kaitlyn.
“No, thanks,” answered Beth at the same moment.
“I mean, no, thank you,” Kaitlyn sputtered.
“Please give us the nuts,” Beth said to the confused woman. Then she turned to Kaitlyn. “Look, I just ate a huge meal ten minutes ago. If you
’re hungry, snack. But please get what you came for off your chest.”
“I must seem like a crazy person.” Kaitlyn laughed nervously. “Truth is I didn’t come across well during this morning’s interview. If there’s any way I can rectify the poor impression I made, I want to do so.” She poured some nuts onto her cocktail napkin. “I would work harder with more dedication than anyone for your agency.”
Beth nodded sagely. “Michael’s concern is that the ad specified a Savannah resident, and you appear to be a recent transplant. If the Georgia Industrial Commission terminates your assignment, wouldn’t you be sent back to Florida?”
“No. I was overjoyed when my boss found me this out-of-town assignment. She knows I have no intention of returning to the Panhandle. When the IC no longer needs me, I’ll find a job someplace else. But I fell in love with Savannah the moment I arrived. I want to plant my roots here. I wasn’t lying about that.”
Beth sipped her drink but didn’t take her eyes off Kaitlyn. “It sounds like you’re running from something…or someone.”
“I suppose I am, but I promise you it’s nothing illegal or unethical or immoral. It’s mainly bad memories.” She popped a few almonds in her mouth.
“Could you be more specific than that?” Unable to stop herself, Beth reached for a Brazil nut from the napkin.
A tortured expression filled Kaitlyn’s face. “I’m afraid not, but I can assure you it has nothing to do with my ability to work.”
Beth didn’t like the woman’s bizarre cloak-and-dagger act. Anybody looking for a PI job should be up front about who they were. Yet something about the fact that Kaitlyn had apparently staked out the lobby for hours made Beth reluctant to send her away. She poured a handful of nuts to help her think. Kaitlyn did the same. They both sat crunching while the TV ran the local news and the crowd grew louder by the moment.
“Did you ever want to go away and make a fresh start?” Kaitlyn finally asked. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time but have been too afraid. When my boss suggested this transfer, I saw my chance. I’ll never be that frightened, pathetic woman again, no matter where I end up working. Please give me a chance, and I promise you won’t be sorry.”
Beth wiped her salty fingers on the napkin. “I believe you. If I’m able to convince my partner, the position is yours on a trial basis.”
Kaitlyn’s green eyes filled with tears. “Look at me, crying like a teenager.”
“Hey, I cry during commercials for the Humane Society. It’s a woman thing.” Beth eyed the empty nut bowl. “You want me to take you for a real meal?”
“No. You should get back to whatever you had planned for the evening. I’ll wait for your call as I was originally instructed. However this ends, I appreciate you and Mr. Preston making the time for me. And I wish your agency the best of luck.” Kaitlyn laid a five-dollar tip next to her napkin and pushed in her stool.
Beth watched her go with her mind firmly made up. Two hours later, after talking to her mom and doing her nails, she sent Michael a text: “Can you meet me on the roof? There’s something we must discuss or I won’t be able to sleep.”
Michael soon materialized beside her on the outdoor sofa. “What’s up, Kirby? Did you decide you couldn’t spend another minute without me?”
“Yes and no. Kaitlyn stopped me in the lobby after you dropped me off. She wanted to talk.”
He made a face. “Kaitlyn Webb? I’m thinking you’re ready to propose, and you asked me here to discuss a job applicant? What don’t you understand about downtime?”
“Kaitlyn had been waiting for a while, so I talked to her. After hearing why she was so evasive about her past, I can’t possibly think about romance.” Beth pulled out her hair clip and fluffed her wavy mane.
“All right. Let’s hear the story.” Michael’s face softened.
“I suspect she might have been abused by a spouse.”
Michael grew serious. “Did she actually say that? She described her marital status as single on her résumé.”
“Maybe she’s divorced or maybe she’s running away from a boyfriend, but I got the distinct impression she’s leaving a bad relationship behind. I’m good at reading facial expressions and body language.”
“More of Beth Kirby’s gut instincts? You read entire paragraphs between the lines of everything Kaitlyn says. You know how famous Florida is for drug smuggling. She could be on the lam from the DEA.”
“For crying out loud, how can you slander an entire state based on old reruns of Miami Vice? I’ve seen what you have stored on your DVR.”
Michael winked. “That Crockett and Tubbs—they knew how to bring bad guys to justice. And they dressed cool too.”
“Getting back to Kaitlyn, it would be easy to check for any outstanding arrest warrants. I think she’s a nice person looking to make a fresh start in life—the same choice you made not long ago, and one I made too. Nate hired you even without an ounce of investigative experience, and he hired me despite my bad blood with Natchez PD.”
“To be precise, Nate hired me for my forensic accounting expertise and hired you because you were a crack shot with firearms. Although the opportunity to shoot aluminum cans off a fence rail has yet to present itself.” The lines around Michael’s eyes deepened with his smile.
Beth balled her fingers into a fist and shook it before his nose. “Nate hired me for my ability to incapacitate cretins—a skill I’m fully prepared to demonstrate right now.”
“Considering how often you threaten me, how could we hire someone who might have been abused?” Michael crossed his arms over his chest. “Your bullying tactics will scare her.”
“I will be on my best behavior for at least six months. Think of the plus side: Kaitlyn is smart, motivated, trained in firearms, and experienced with long stretches of uneventful surveillance. Please, Michael? Let’s hire her on a trial basis. Then we can tell Nate to forget about the headhunter and give us some of those small cases he has piling up. Kaitlyn can handle them while we find Doyle’s killer. Working a case will prove she can do the job.”
Michael burst out laughing. “Fine. I’d already come to the same conclusion before you opened your mouth. I just wanted to hear you fight her battle.”
Beth dropped her chin to her chest. “And you wonder why I threaten you with bodily harm,” she muttered.
Michael wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You’ll change your tune once you see how many pounds I can bench press now. You’ll start calling me Mister Preston.”
NINETEEN
Saturday morning dawned sunny and clear. If weather counted in such matters, it was a perfect day for a funeral. Because the memorial service wasn’t until one o’clock, Michael had a little time to relax. He’d spent most of yesterday reviewing the new cases Nate had sent him. Luckily, none of the referral work contained any measure of urgency. The boss wasn’t thrilled with the news they wouldn’t need the headhunter’s applicants. Price Investigations had already paid the employment agency two hundred dollars up front. Of course, résumés filled Michael’s email in-box all morning, now that they were no longer needed.
But Nate, being a nice guy, respected their judgment and agreed to hire Kaitlyn Webb on a trial basis. He would fly to Savannah with Isabelle next month to meet the new investigator and hopefully sign a contract. With her own career in real estate, Isabelle wasn’t involved in agency decisions, especially as she was expecting their first baby. But who could blame her for wanting to visit Savannah, a city whose beauty lived up to its reputation?
While Michael had been prioritizing new cases, Beth had contacted the three candidates for the position. The two unsuccessful applicants weren’t surprised by the news. Both had to have been aware that their interviews hadn’t gone well. And Kaitlyn Webb? She was so grateful for the chance, Beth didn’t think she’d ever get off the phone. Kaitlyn planned to ask her supervisor at the Industrial Commission for a leave of absence. If they denied the leave, she would give her one-week notice. In the meant
ime, Kaitlyn would work for them a few hours each evening starting on Monday.
With the hiring decision made, Michael and Beth had only another week or two in Savannah. Sunday would mark two full weeks, and as eager as he was to see the muddy Mississippi River, they both wanted to do more sightseeing before returning to Natchez. Michael sent the file of applications back to the headhunter and spent his morning at tourist websites. Time waited for no man—especially not one in love.
Promptly at eleven, Beth phoned his room. “What’s wrong with you, Preston?” she demanded. “I sent you two SOS texts that you ignored.”
“Is the hotel on fire? Because it’s too early to leave for Tybee Island.” Michael smiled, even though she couldn’t see him.
“I want to stop by Mrs. Doyle’s in case she needs help. Please tell me you’re ready to go.” Beth sounded close to tears.
“Why are you so nervous? Her sister is with her.”
“Yes, but they’re older women who might be emotionally overwhelmed. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
Michael considered pointing out that sixty wasn’t old, and that Mrs. Doyle had a funeral director, a minister, the women’s guild, and a professional caterer helping her, but then reconsidered. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes.”
Beth stepped off the elevator wearing a dark sleeveless dress, high heels, and a penitent expression. “Sorry if I barked at you on the phone. Apparently, I’m the one who’s overwhelmed.” She wrapped her hand around his elbow. “This day has to go smoothly.”
“Mrs. Doyle and Mrs. Harper have had more experience with funerals than us. Everything will be fine.” He savored the touch of her fingers all the way to the car.
“Is this dress okay? It’s not too short, is it? Should I have bought a hat? I think women are supposed to wear hats to funerals, but all I own are baseball caps.”
“Your dress is fine and a hat is unnecessary. Please try to relax, Beth.” Michael turned on the AC full blast.
