By the time he reached the house, his mind was clear, his thoughts focused. He wasn’t leaving Pleasant Hill until his dad was buried and his murderer brought to justice. It was a resolve forged in steel.
* * *
Cassidy did a little research, then set out to dig up as much information in the small town of Pleasant Hill as she could. Earlier that morning, the police had released the crime scene and removed the yellow tape from across the front porch. The housekeeper, Florence Delgado, had arrived, along with a cleaning crew that specialized in suicides and other traumatic events.
Cassidy had met Florence last week when she had first arrived. Flo, as the senator called her, was a round-facedsixty-year-old who had been in his employ for fifteen years. Cassidy figured Flo knew plenty about what went on in the residence but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut about it.
Cassidy approached her in the kitchen, where she stood at the sink washing dishes. She looked pale and shaken, understandably so.
“How are you doing, Florence?” Cassidy made her way toward the glass coffeepot sitting on the counter. “I know this must be very difficult for you.”
Flo glanced up and her eyes filled. “I still can’t believe it. I know there were people who didn’t like him, but he was always good to me.” She was Latina, with olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes.
“Everyone has enemies, I guess. A senator probably more than most.”
Florence nodded. She reached up, took a mug down from the cupboard and handed it to Cassidy, who filled it to the brim. “Do you think the police will catch the man who did it?”
Cassidy nodded and took a sip. “They’ll find him sooner or later. Beau and I are working together to help them.”
“You are a private investigator. I heard you and the senator talking about it.”
Cassidy wondered what else the woman might have heard. “That’s right.” She took another sip. “Beau is the one who found the senator. You don’t think there’s any chance he could have been the one who killed him?”
Flo’s dark eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Beau?Never. He was a good boy, a good son. Oh, he got in some trouble in high school, but what boy doesn’t? And look how he turned out. He has become a great success.”
Cassidy watched the woman over the rim of the mug. “I know he and his father didn’t get along. I heard them arguing. I guess it wasn’t the first time.”
Florence waved her hand as if it meant nothing. “In some ways they were alike. Both strong men and very hardheaded.”
Easy to believe that. “I heard them fighting the day before the senator was killed. The police will probably ask if you have any idea what they were arguing about. Now that the senator is gone, there’s no reason for you to keep silent, and it might help us catch the killer.”
Florence tossed her dishrag into the sink and wiped her hands on the terry-cloth apron around her waist. “I haven’t seen Mr. Beau in nearly a year. I don’t know why they were fighting this time, but it always seemed to happen when they were together.”
“Did they have an argument the last time you saw him? Is that the reason Beau hasn’t been back?”
Flo shrugged. “Always it happens. I remember that time it had something to do with tires, a plant Mr. Cain wanted to build a few miles from Iron Springs.” It was the next town over and the county seat.
“What happened?”
“Mr. Beau found out the senator intended to stop the plant from going in. They argued something awful. I could hear them clear through the walls. Mr. Beau never came back. Not until this week.”
Cassidy wanted to know what father and son had been arguing about this time. So far Beau had been cooperative. She hoped that continued. A memory arose of him striding out of the guest house in that long-legged, easy gait of his, the muscles in his back moving beneath his dark blue T-shirt, his jeans hugging a round, very nice behind.
She wondered when he’d be moving into the house, wondered when she would see him again, then wished she could make herself stop wondering.
“Is there anything you can think of that might help us figure out who killed the senator?”
Flo’s eyes welled with tears. She brushed at a drop that slipped onto her cheek. “Lots of people came to see him. Some came in the evenings after I went home. I would find dirty dishes in the study in the morning. I wish I could help you, but there is nothing that I know.”
Cassidy finished her coffee, but the conversation was pretty much over. From the house, she drove into Pleasant Hill, curious what the locals would say about the senator and his son. On Main Street in front of Big Value Hardware, she saw a parking spot and pulled her car into the angled space.
Along a row of false-fronted brick buildings, a little dress shop named Marley’s Boutique sat between Tina’s Treasures—a thrift shop—and the Pink Blossom flower and gift shop, which also sold baby clothes. At the end of the block, Pleasant Hill Drugs had dark green canvas awnings over the front windows.
She started with the drugstore, wandering in, picking up a tube of lipstick that looked appealing, chatting with the teenage girl at the checkout counter, who was more interested in texting than talking to customers. No help there.
The thrift shop next door yielded nothing. Pushing through the door of the boutique, ringing the bell above the door, she stepped inside and a slender woman in her thirties with a cap of light brown hair sailed toward her, a wide smile on her face.
“Hi, I’m Marley. What can I help ya’ll with this fine mornin’?”
