by Mary Ellis
She leaned back on the headrest. “Okay, then talk to me. What are your thoughts about Reynard? You think he’s a killer?”
Michael considered his reply carefully. “I want to see where the evidence takes us on Reynard. It’s Lamar Doyle I’m having a hard time figuring out.”
“What do you mean?”
“From all accounts, he was devoted to his wife. So why the affair with Bonnie?”
“People make mistakes. Men especially have weak moments.” She pulled her sunglasses down to glance his way. “I’m not excusing him. I’m just saying that humans sometimes veer from the right path.”
“It’s not only the affair I don’t get. How could he be so happy-go-lucky at work? The guy made so little money, he was at the bottom of the rankings among agents.”
Beth swiveled to face him. “Why should someone work hard if they don’t need the money? Doyle apparently loved kibitzing around the coffeemaker and meeting new people on sales calls. I see nothing wrong with that.”
“Maybe not for women, but men are hardwired to compete. It’s not normal to be content in last place. Most men would strive to improve their sales figures and reach the President’s Gold Club, even if advancement and year-end bonuses weren’t necessary. Doyle should have tried harder to prove he was just as good as the other agents.”
“If you really believe that, maybe my mother was right all along.”
“Okay, what sage advice would Rita Kirby dispense on the subject?” Michael asked as he accelerated around a slow-moving truck during a break in the traffic.
“That men aren’t playing with a full deck of cards.”
“Please be serious, Beth.”
She patted his arm. “Not all men are competitive. You are, and that’s okay. It’s how you’re hardwired, but Doyle wasn’t like that. Maybe the people in his office wouldn’t have loved him so much if he were competitive. He knew the other agents needed money more than he did. Lamar Doyle won by simply refusing to play the game.”
Momentarily flummoxed, Michael said the first thing that popped into his head. “Joe Reynard certainly didn’t love him.”
“No, he didn’t. And we need to find out just how deep Reynard’s resentment went.”
Michael switched on the radio to give him time to process everything Beth said. He probably needed much longer than the drive to Tybee Island. At least when they arrived at the beach house, the funeral director had the situation under control. A waiting limousine would take family members to the church, including Charlotte Harper’s husband and children, who had arrived late last night. An assortment of flowers had been delivered to the church, where the casket would remain open for viewing for one hour. Following the service, mourners would then be served lunch at the community center. Lamar Doyle’s mortal remains would travel to Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah for a private interment later on. Beth approached the widow, who stood like a statue in head-to-toe black. “Everything seems to be ready, Mrs. Doyle. How are you holding up?”
Evelyn reached out to clasp Beth’s hand. “Much better now. Will you please ride in the limo with us? There’s plenty of room. For some reason, I feel safe when you’re around.”
Beth shot Michael an unreadable look. “Of course. I’m here for whatever you need.”
Funny how Beth made Evelyn feel secure when no one else did, but Michael didn’t mind. This would give him a chance to watch the crowd. Didn’t murderers love to attend their victim’s funeral? If that were true, he soon had a list of potential suspects. Half the island jammed the Chapel by the Sea Baptist on Butler Street, along with several Town and Country employees, including Violet Frost and Joseph Reynard.
As Michael entered the church, he locked gazes with his recent adversary long enough to learn that absence hadn’t made Reynard’s heart grow fonder. Beth sat in the front row next to Mrs. Doyle, while the Harper clan filled the rest of the pew. Michael found a good vantage point where he soon learned Reynard wasn’t the only suspect in attendance.
The infamous other woman entered the church after the casket had been closed. Bonnie and her cohort Crystal Callahan sat in a pew on the left side, a position that allowed Bonnie to shoot dagger looks at Mrs. Doyle while Reverend White read Scripture and delivered a poignant homily. Then several insurance agents gave tearful eulogies about their friend Lamar. As the saying went, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
A man identified as a brother of the deceased delivered the final tribute. For someone Evelyn had never mentioned before, Curtis Doyle had nothing but kind words for his late sibling. Although Michael noted that every reminiscence was from childhood or their teenage years.
Throughout the forty-five-minute funeral, Evelyn Doyle bobbed like driftwood in choppy seas, clinging to Beth or her sister as though they were life rings. Several times he thought she might fall to the floor. Her grief was genuine and almost palpable, erasing any doubt as to her innocence in his mind.
After the benediction, Michael followed the crowd down the center aisle, most still dabbing their eyes. When he reached the main foyer, the female Tybee Island detective stepped out from behind a potted plant.
“Ah, perfect timing,” said Rossi. “One of the two people I wanted to see.”
“Hello, Detective. A pleasure to see you again,” Michael said as they walked from the church into blinding afternoon sunshine.
“Likewise, I’m sure. Could we chat in the shade a spell?” Rossi pointed at a weather-beaten palm tree that provided a little protection.
Beth squeezed in beside Rossi. “There were still seats toward the front. Why did you stand in the back the entire time?”
“It’s much easier to gauge people’s reactions when they don’t know they’re being watched. I was hoping for a balcony, like in the big Savannah cathedrals. I love balconies, lofts, crow’s nests—anyplace I can spy on the world.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Beth lifted the hair off her neck with one hand.
“In exchange, maybe you can explain why you ambushed Joseph Reynard when he left his office.”
“We didn’t exactly—”
Rossi dismissed the denial with a wave of her hand. “Joseph Reynard’s attorney called this morning. Before I drank my first cup of coffee, I listened to a tirade about stalking and verbal intimidation in the alley. Are you going to deny this?”
“No,” Michael conceded, “but we stayed on the tree lawn until Reynard invited us onto Town and Country property.”
Rossi shook her head. “You Mississippians really know how to make friends on the East Coast.” Rossi directed her statement at him.
“I’ll admit we could be more selective regarding those we admit to our inner circle.”
A dimple deepened in Rossi’s cheek. “Maybe I wouldn’t like Reynard either, but it makes no difference if the vampire invites you in.”
Beth held up a hand. “You have that backwards. The victim must invite the vampire in, and in your analogy—”
“Never mind,” Rossi interrupted. “The law says you can’t harass people in public. Reynard is threatening to file charges. And he plans to sue Price Investigations for defamation of character if you release any documents to the press. His lawyer insists everything in the emails Lamar collected can be explained. Now, I believe one of you has evidence to give me?” She peered from one to the other.
“Yes, ma’am, we do. But I didn’t bring the file to Mr. Doyle’s funeral. The papers are locked in my hotel room safe.”
“Drop the file off at the station later, but give me the gist of it now.”
Beth took over the explanation. “We have evidence that Doyle caught his boss in shady dealings within the agency. Reynard encouraged his agents to sell policies beyond the client’s ability to pay for in the long run. That way he got his cut of the commission and looked great in his quarterly reports to the parent corporation. He also had clients lie about where cars were being garaged in the under-twenty-five bracket.”
“High-handed and unethical to
be sure, but Reynard’s attorney assured me none of his client’s actions were illegal. Not that an attorney has never been known to lie.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.
“Maybe the evidence won’t land Reynard in jail, but it’s still important to the case. We think Reynard would stop at nothing to hang on to his franchise agreement. What we have is motivation for murder.”
“I do like your enthusiasm, Kirby. Ever consider joining the police force? If you score high enough, you might be able to skip the academy and go straight to the department exam. Assuming, of course, you don’t have ghosts lurking in your own closet.”
“No, thanks. I’m content working as a PI with Michael as my partner.” Beth bobbed her head in his direction.
Rossi pulled her sunglasses down with one finger as she studied him. “And I can see why.”
“Do you two not see me standing here?” Michael felt a flush rise up his neck. “Getting back to the file on Joseph Reynard, I would like to wait until Monday to drop it off. Miss Kirby and I plan to leave town for the weekend.”
“I don’t have a problem with that, especially since Reynard has an alibi for the night Mr. Doyle died.” Rossi spoke quietly as several mourners passed on the way to their cars. “He was at a wedding in Savannah, a high-society shindig. That means photographs and videos of the event will be available. It’ll be easy enough to verify.”
Beth huffed out her breath. “Weddings don’t continue all night. He still could have driven out to Tybee.”
“My wedding sure didn’t,” Rossi agreed. “But apparently a select group had booked rooms at the hotel, including Mr. and Mrs. Reynard. The lawyer said they didn’t leave until after brunch on Sunday. Again, easily verified.”
Michael felt sweat run down inside his collar. “Are you coming to the luncheon at the community center, Detective? We can continue this conversation later in air-conditioning.”
Rossi clicked open her car door. “Nope. Luncheons are for family and friends. I’ve seen what I came for. Drop that file off on Monday, but I doubt your so-called evidence has anything to do with Doyle’s murder.” She focused on Evelyn as Charlotte helped her inside the limousine. “And whatever your weekend plans, make sure you stay away from Reynard. That guy really doesn’t like you two. Don’t worry. I’ll check out his alibi. That’s my job.”
Beth rode in the limousine while Michael drove to the community center alone, lost in his thoughts, but Beth was waiting for him on the walkway.
“Where’s Mrs. Doyle?” he asked.
“She’s already inside with some church ladies. She sent me to find you so you wouldn’t eat lunch alone.”
“Sweet of her to worry, but I’m fine.”
Beth took his hand as they climbed the steps. “Looks like the creepy sales manager is off the hook if his alibi holds.”
“He’s not our problem if he didn’t kill Lamar.” Michael pulled open the massive door. “Why don’t we eat a sandwich and then make sure Mrs. Doyle is okay. If she no longer needs you, we can go to the hotel to pack.”
“Pack?” Beth halted halfway across the threshold. “I thought the line about leaving town was a ruse because you didn’t want to fight traffic twice in the same day.”
Michael pulled her to the side. “Rossi ruined my surprise. I booked us one night in Charleston at a hotel in the heart of the action. Charleston is the cultural capital of the South.”
“Why are we going there? We haven’t finished seeing Savannah yet.”
“We can take a horse-drawn carriage ride, walk the battery, and dine at Magnolias or the Chop House. Tomorrow we’ll take the ferry to Fort Sumter to see where the first shots of the Civil War were fired.”
Beth placed her hands on her hips. “Other than Civil War stuff, we can do those things here in Savannah. We should finish checking out this town first.”
“If we stay here, you’ll find something urgent to do on the case. You can’t help yourself. We’ll see the rest of Savannah during the week and see the city named by Foder’s as one of the best vacation destinations in the world. Who knows when we’ll be back to the East Coast?”
Beth considered less than a moment. “That makes sense, but no funny stuff. We just started dating.”
“Relax. I booked two rooms at a cost easily covered by our expense money. If there’s enough time, could we take a plantation tour? I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Sure. We can visit a wide variety of interesting tourist traps if they fit our budget. I, for one, would love to dine lavishly on Low-Country cuisine.”
“I have no clue what kind of food that is. What if I don’t like it?”
“Then I suggest you eat something from the sandwich trays.” Beth pointed at the buffet set up along the wall. “I’m going to spend time with Mrs. Doyle before we leave for Charleston.” Beth snaked her way through the mourners, soon disappearing from sight.
Instead of heading toward the food for a snack, Michael wandered the room and observed the crowd. Detective Rossi had been smart to watch from the back. People might let their true selves show if they thought no one was looking.
Doyle’s former boss didn’t come to the luncheon.
Neither did Bonnie. Apparently, being odd-woman-out had its limits. Mainly those in attendance were neighbors from Oleander Drive and Doyle’s coworkers, business associates, and fellow country club members. As Michael observed the behavior of those remaining, he had to agree with Charlotte’s assessment: Evelyn didn’t have many friends on Tybee Island, but at least two of her known enemies had already gone back to the city.
TWENTY
On the drive up the coast from Savannah to Charleston, Beth made several new realizations. First, these historic cities on the East Coast had been settled and were still populated by far wealthier people than the towns along the Mississippi River. Sure, Natchez had many gorgeous, stately mansions built by antebellum planters and postwar titans of commerce. And several of its upscale restaurants stayed in business year after year. But after touring the historic downtown area south of Broad Street, between Bay and Battery, Beth thought it looked as if everyone who lived here for the last three hundred years was loaded. Reservations were needed at Charleston’s four- and five-star restaurants seven days of the week.
Michael not only had reserved a table at Magnolias but had arranged for a private carriage ride with a guide who knew an amazing amount of history. His fanciful ghost stories and tales of broken hearts during wartime entertained them for more than an hour. Then they walked the Battery, making up their own stories about the people who lived in the pastel mansions. When Beth finally fell into bed that night, she dreamed of dashing sea captains and brave Confederate generals—and all of them looked uncannily like Michael.
By Sunday morning, Beth had come to her second realization: She enjoyed being with Michael and might really be falling for the guy—a fact that scared her socks off. This wasn’t the same heart-racing, gut-fluttering excitement she had felt with her former boss, a man she’d developed an unhealthy crush on. This was the simple desire to spend the rest of her life with him, along with the knowledge that without him she would never rise to her full potential. And she’d be absolutely miserable in the meantime.
Beth jumped when a knock jarred her from her woolgathering. She yanked open her door to find Michael with his hair still damp and his cotton shirt clinging to his chest.
“Are you packed and ready?” he asked.
“We don’t have to go back already, do we?” Beth tried not to whine but failed.
“Not until this evening, but we need to check out. We can hit the Grace Episcopal Church on Wentworth—a huge Gothic cathedral, the kind you love. Then we’ll hit a Sunday brunch and catch the ferry boat out to Sumter.” He picked up her suitcase and headed for the elevator.
“Instead of going to the fort, why don’t we get hitched and buy a house after lunch? I remember that pink mansion on South Battery with four wrought iron balconies is for sale.”
<
br /> Michael tripped over an imaginary hump in the carpeting. “Don’t tease me like that. It’s not nice. You know you’ll want your friends and family present when we walk down the aisle. Besides, we can’t afford to fly everyone to Charleston for a destination wedding.”
“What about our expense money?”
“Not enough left, so let’s get moving.” Michael almost dragged her into the elevator.
After church and during brunch there was no more talk about elopements or weddings, but Beth noticed Michael watching her slyly. He also spilled his coffee, dropped his fork, and knocked over the little pitcher of cream during the meal. Much to his dismay, they missed the last tourist boat to Sumter, so after a final spin around town, they hit the coastal road south to Savannah.
“I didn’t want to bring up the case while on our getaway, but I didn’t tell you about my conversation with Mrs. Doyle,” said Beth, keeping her focus on the incredible scenery.
Michael turned down the radio. “Now is a perfect time to shed your burdens.”
“Evelyn asked me to remain on her payroll. She wants you too, but I said our boss has new work for us. More accurately, she begged me not to leave.”
“Sounds like her sister convinced her that innocent people sometimes go to jail.”
“Yep. Since there are no other suspects, Evelyn could be in trouble. She asked me to come for lunch tomorrow before her sister returns to Atlanta.”
“Are you going to run this by Nate? I have to call him later to see if he agrees with my prioritizing of the new cases.”
“We won’t have to. Evelyn is calling Nate sometime today. How could he turn her down?”
“And Kaitlyn? She starts work tomorrow.”
“I’ll be at the appointment with you when we discuss the case. I won’t abandon you. Set the meeting up for around six.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Michael swigged his bottle of water.
“I know.” Beth sighed and shook her head. “I’m praying Kaitlyn needs little supervision.”
