We left the cake shop just under an hour after we’d arrived, and Rosemarie had one more thing to check off in her growing binder.

When we made it back to the alley, I was surprised and relieved to see the van was just where I’d left it. The only difference was that Nick was leaning up against it.

“I drove by and saw a couple of patrolmen looking it over,” he said. “Said they got calls about a bad odor.”

“You don’t want to know,” I said, leaning in to kiss him. “We have cakes. How do you feel about bison?”

He cocked his head to the side, looking at me curiously. “I don’t hate them.”

“Good,” I said. “Let’s just stick with that.”

He kissed me again. “Your lips taste really good.” And then he kissed me once more, licking at my bottom lip a bit.

“It’s the cake. I tried to get her to marry us so she’d make us cakes every day, but she’s single and she likes to mingle.”

“It’s a shame,” he said. “I’ve always fantasized about having two women, especially one who bakes cakes.”

“Then the fact she has a penis would probably throw you off your game,” I told him.

He jerked back at that, the fantasy clearly ruined.

“Suzanne is a dude, but she makes the best cakes you will ever put in your mouth.”

He kissed me again, and little harder and longer this time, and I melted into him.

“I’d have to agree with that,” he said, coming up for air, out of breath. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got another meeting with the mayor. I might get fired.”

“That usually means you’re doing something right,” I said. “Give him hell. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve still got cases to wrap up before we can leave on the honeymoon. I want to make sure I’ve got nothing on my mind for the next two weeks but being naked and warm.”

“Something we both agree on,” he said. “Stay safe. I’ll call when I can.”

He kissed me one more time and walked out of the alley, and I turned to see Scarlet and Rosemarie.

“Glad to see you’re all toasty warm,” Scarlet said. “I’m freezing my bippy off. Open the damned doors.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, but couldn’t help my grin. Nick sure knew how to kiss.

“All that cake made me hungry,” Rosemarie said once we got in and I started the car. “Maybe we should drive through somewhere.”

“I could eat,” I said, and we found the nearest Chick-fi-let, mostly because it was the only drive-thru where I could fit the van under the clearance sign.

I placed our order and we were in and out with the kind of efficiency that only Chick-fi-let was capable of, and I pulled into a non-metered parking space next to one of the cemeteries so we could eat.

Now that wedding stuff had been taken care of, I needed to get my head back in the game for work. Most specifically, for Pastor Charles. Something had been bothering me ever since I’d called that number on the reference sheet that morning.

I looked in the rearview mirror and Scarlet and Rosemarie had pulled the little table down between the two seats so they could eat. They were engrossed in conversation, so I took advantage of the moment and put my earbuds in so I could make the call to the church.

It rang several times before a woman’s voice answered. “Silver Springs United Methodist Church,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“May I speak to Tilda Sweeney, please?” I asked.

“This is Tilda.”

“My name is Addison Holmes, and I’m calling from Whiskey Bayou, Georgia about Pastor Charles Whidbey.”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “We heard the news. We miss Pastor Whidbey so much. He was such a kind man.”

“I’m actually a private investigator working on a case. I was hoping you might be able to help me with my investigation. Do you remember if there were any congregation members who had issues with the pastor, or if there was ever any trouble from non-congregation members? Maybe even some women?”

“That makes sense,” she said, and then she blew out an audible breath. “Everyone loved the pastor. And I can’t think of a single problem we ever had, or a congregation member who got out of hand. Sure, there were women from time to time who’d want to meet with him privately or they’d stop by his home with home-cooked meals. But he’d never engage. He was young and handsome, after all. He was very firm about always leaving the door open and making sure everything was above board. He was a kind and gentle soul.”

“If anything comes to mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. The pastor’s life could be in danger.”

She was silent for several seconds. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” she snapped. “It’s not funny.”

“No,” I said, thoroughly confused. “Pastor Charles has been having problems with a stalker recently, and has received threats. I’m just following up to see if something from his past maybe followed him here.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, young lady, but Pastor Charles’s body was found last fall. He was a good man who doesn’t deserve whatever sick joke you’re playing.”

“Wait…” I said, but she’d hung up. I stared at the phone and then dragged out my laptop. “That certainly adds a twist to things.”

I did a search for death certificates in the database, and sure enough, there was one for Charles Robert Whidbey, dated October second of last year. I read through all the personal information. The DOB and place of birth matched what was in Pastor Charles’s personnel file.

“Caucasian,” I said. “Six-foot-one and a hundred and sixty pounds. Green eyes and brown hair. No physical markings or characteristics on the body. Mother’s maiden name was O’ Sullivan. That’s very Irish.”

“Who you talking to, girl?” Aunt Scarlet asked from the back seat.

“Myself,” I answered back and shoved another fry in my mouth.

“Crazy as a June bug,” I heard Scarlet say, but I ignored her.

Nothing was adding up. The real Charles Whidbey was a tall, thin, Irishman. The Charles Whidbey that was sitting in his office at the church in Whiskey Bayou was short, stocky and swarthy.

Then I scanned the bottom of the page that listed cause of death. Blunt force trauma to the head, multiple broken ribs and other bones. He was beaten to death.

I called Savage and waited while the phone rang, but it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me,” I said. “Can you get me the coroner’s report for the death of Charles Whidbey? I’m looking at his death certificate as we speak, and it looks like my client isn’t exactly who he claims to be. No hurry. I’ll be in the field for a little while.”

I hung up and then called Beverly at the church, not having a clue what I was going to say.

“First United Methodist Church of Whiskey Bayou,” she said cheerfully.

“Man, you guys need to get a shorter greeting,” I said. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I just say hello. Who is this?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s Addison Holmes. Is Pastor Charles in? He’s not answering his cell and I need to follow up on a couple of things.”

“I haven’t seen him today,” she said. “His car is parked at the rectory, but he’s not been to his office today. I went to check on him a little while ago to see if everything was okay because he missed a couple of appointments this morning. Sometimes he likes to go on long prayer walks and he’ll lose track of the time.”

“Okay,” I said. “Would you just have him give me a call whenever he gets back?”

“Sure thing,” she said.

“No unusual activity this morning?”

“Nope, same as usual. Everyone’s real excited about the street party at your wedding. Where did you register? I’ve had several people ask.”

“Oh,” I said, going blank. I’d completely forgotten about registering. And it’s not like we needed stuff anyway. We had a house and all the stuff that went in it. “Just tell everyone to make a donation to the church instead in lieu of gifts.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s very nice of you.”

I mmhmmmed and said goodbye as quickly as I could. I didn’t tell her they were probably going to need all the help they could get after it was discovered Pastor Charles was an imposter and he might have killed a man to take over his identity. Whatever the outcome, it was going to be a scandal for the church.

After we were finished eating I pulled out my file for Zoe Willis.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Scarlet said. “But I could use a nap. They must put that turkey tryptophan in their chicken. I have a little of that stuff and I’m out like a light. I can barely make it through the meal before falling asleep in my gravy.”

“Or it could be that you ate five pieces of cake, a chocolate shake, chicken nuggets and a large fries,” Rosemarie said. “Anyone would want a nap after that.”

“That’s why I always wear stretchy pants,” she said. “Goes back to my days as a spy. You never know when you’re going to have to scale the side of a building or make room for a little extra dessert. They’re all-purpose pants.”

“I don’t wear anything else,” Rosemarie said. “Nobody ain’t got time for buttons anymore. It’s a health hazard if you ask me. I sat down once and had a button pop right off. My pop had to wear an eyepatch for the rest of his life.”

“Y’all put yourself together,” I said. “We’re about to go shopping.”

“What for?” Scarlet asked. “I didn’t bring my shopping shoes. I’ve got to dress for comfort when I go shopping. I can’t be wearing my fancy duds. They make my feet hurt.”

I looked down at her sensible white sneakers and wondered what her shopping shoes looked like.

“This is a different kind of shopping,” I said. “We’re shopping for a criminal.”

“I’m good at shopping for those,” Scarlet said. “Who are we killing today?”

I pinched my lips together and shook my head. “No one,” I said. “It’s not our job to kill.”

“Ridiculous,” Scarlet said. “Some people need killing. You can’t deny that.”

“Maybe so, but today we’re just trying to catch a thief. Zoe Willis is the daughter of Gerard Willis.”

“The actor?” Rosemarie asked.

“That’s the one,” I said.

“He’s so hot. I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed.”

“Which one is he?” Scarlet asked.

“Looks great in a tuxedo,” I said. “Doesn’t shy away from the nude scenes. Little dimple in his chin.”

“Oh, yeah,” Scarlet said. “I’ve seen him. He’s not bad. They don’t make ‘em like they did in my day though. Where are the Clark Gables and Errol Flynns? No one knows how to romance anymore. Too much women’s lib crap. All the men are too scared to give them flowers because of sexual harassment. I tell you, in my day if a man sent you flowers or romanced you in the moonlight you might as well leave your underpants at home.”

“I thought women waited for marriage to have sex in your day,” Rosemarie said.

“Pfft,” Scarlet said. “That’s an old wives’ tale. We were just a lot faster picking husbands back then. Try ‘em on for size and then make a decision. Bam. All done. Plus, we didn’t have birth control so it was kind of a crapshoot. Sometimes you had to take what you could get or convince the other guy it was his baby.”

“Yikes,” Rosemarie said.

I’d learned to just let Scarlet’s stories roll off. “Anyway,” I said. “Gerard’s daughter has a beach condo on Tybee Island, but she’s been cut off from daddy’s pocket book. Last month she reported an armed robbery and told police she’d been tied up and assaulted while her condo was ransacked. She had a few abrasions around her wrists and some scratches on her face, but nothing too serious. Between the jewelry and art, almost a million dollars of stuff was taken. She filed a claim with insurance, but insurance isn’t buying it that it went down as she said it did. The insurance company hired us to decide whether or not they’re going to have to make a million-dollar payout to Miss Willis.”

“How are we going to catch her?” Rosemarie said. “A little B&E like that one case you and Kate did? Maybe she’s got all the goods hidden away in her safe.”

“Nothing that exciting,” I said. I was barely proficient at B&E when I was with an expert like Kate. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like with Rosemarie and Scarlet tagging along. “There was an alert from a pawn shop in Charleston where some of the stolen goods were brought in. We’re going to check it out and see if the items match up with our list and if the clerk can give a positive ID on whoever brought it in.”

“I love going to Charleston,” Scarlet said. “I think one of my husbands was from there. Or maybe it was his brother who lived there. Whichever it was, I remember a big white balcony and a bathtub full of vodka.”

“Your trips to Charleston and mine are very different,” I said.