“He was murdered, Charlotte. That isn’t going to change. I’m going to find the man who did it. I won’t rest until I do.”
Her lips thinned. “You listen to me, Beau Reese. Your father is gone. There’s nothing either of us can do to bring him back. It’s best for all of us if this whole thing disappears as quickly as possible.”
“You’ll only be marginally involved, Charlotte. Your marriage has been over for more than a year.”
“I know how this works. Your father was an important man. Reporters will show up at my door. They’ll be trying to dig up dirt on Stewart, and that will rub off on me.”
She wasn’t wrong there. Their divorce had been messy, to say the least. Infidelity was always a juicy subject for the tabloids. In this case, the tables had been turned on his dad. The senator had come home to find his wife in bed with a much younger man.
“I’ll be attending the funeral, of course,” Charlotte was saying. “But after that, I’m going to disappear for a while. Betsy Durant has invited me to stay with her for as long as I want.” Betsy Durant was a mega-wealthy patron of the arts, a Dallas socialite who owned a house as big as a palace in the exclusive Highland Park district.
“Betsy knows how trying all of this is going to be forme,” Charlotte said. “She insists I stay with her at least for the next few weeks, perhaps longer.”
Relief filtered through him. Charlotte would be busy in Dallas while Beau planned to stay in Pleasant Hill. He’d get a room at the Holiday Inn for the night and hope the crime scene was released sometime tomorrow. As soon as that happened, he would move into the house.
He needed access to his father’s study, to his private personal files. He knew where they were, had walked in on his father once when he was a kid, while his dad had had his special hiding place open. Beau had gotten a good talking-to for coming in without knocking, and neither of them had ever mentioned it again.
He’d decide whether to turn the information over to the police after he had looked at it. He needed to find out who benefited from Stewart Reese’s death. He needed to know the names of his father’s associates—and enemies.
Which one of them had hated the senator enough to kill him? Or hire someone to do it?
He thought of the pretty lady investigator and hoped to hell she didn’t cause him too much trouble.
“What about the funeral service?” Charlotte asked, regaining his attention.
It had to be done, but he wasn’t ready to think about it. “I’ll take care of it.”
She took a step closer, rested her hand on his arm. “I could take care of it for you, Beau. Get things lined up and then get your approval. I know how difficult this must be.”
It seemed like a cop-out, letting someone else make the arrangements for the last major event in his father’s life. On the other hand, finding his killer was far more important than handling inconsequential details.
“I could make sure it’s done in a tasteful style, something befitting a senator.” Of course she would think of that. “I could call his former assistant in the senate,” she said, “get a list of all the people who need to be invited.”
He nodded. “All right. When you have everything tentatively set up, let me know and we’ll go over it together.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said.
Beau looked up to see the door open and Tom Briscoe walk into the hall. Tom spotted Charlotte and headed in her direction.
“Mrs. Reese. I’m Detective Briscoe. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
She dabbed her handkerchief against her eyes. “Thank you, Detective. You know, even after our divorce, the senator and I remained close.”
“I appreciate your coming so quickly. The sooner we can find out what happened, the sooner we can get justice for Senator Reese.” Tom glanced at Beau over Charlotte’s head. “You can go now, Beau. I have your cell number. But don’t leave town just yet.”
“I’ll be staying out at my dad’s,” Beau said. He’d be busy. Along with finding a killer, he had a company to run.
He still hadn’t called Linc. His business partner would take care of things back at the office, he knew. He was a man you could count on. Truth was, Beau hadn’t called Linc because his best friend was the one person in the world who would hear the pain in his voice.
Beau headed out to his car, a million questions circling around in his head. For an instant he considered hiring the lady detective. She knew how to go about finding answers. Digging was what she did for a living. Then he thought of her pretty face, heavy dark curls, and sexy curves, and knew he couldn’t afford the distraction.
Better he figure things out on his own.
* **
Darkness hung over the flat East Texas landscape by the time Cassidy returned to the guest house that evening. Dampness seeped through her clothes and a chill wind sent gooseflesh over her skin. Clouds crept past, obscuring the stars. The front door of the main house was still blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape but when she went around to the guest house, the police officer was gone and no tape blocked the door.
A few things had been moved around inside, drawers had been opened and closed, but she had only been there a few days and she hadn’t brought much with her from Dallas.
