“I’m looking for something to wear out to dinner, nothing too fancy, you know? Something nice enough to wear in Pleasant Hill, but not overly expensive.”
“I think we can help you with that.” Marley drew her over to the dress rack. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you new to the area?”
“Yes, I am.” Cassidy sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m notsure how long I’ll be staying. I just started a job working for Senator Reese a few days before he was killed.”
“Oh, my, such a tragedy. Do the police have any suspects? Any idea who might have done it?” She rolled heavily lashed blue eyes. “There’s all kinds of rumors floatin’ round. I’m sure you can imagine.”
Cassidy smiled at the woman. A real Chatty Cathy. “No suspects yet, I’m afraid.”
“I heard Beau was the one who found him. Why, there’s talk he might even have been the one who killed him. Crime of passion and all that—you know, what with the letter opener and all. You don’t suppose that could be true, do you? I mean, everyone in town likes Beau, but then the two of them did fight like cats and dogs.”
Marley slapped a hand over her mouth as she realized how much she’d been talking. “Here I am, rattlin’ on and on, and you just wantin’ to find a dress.”
“Oh, no, I’m enjoying the conversation. I don’t really know anyone in town yet and I just feel so bad about what happened.” She leaned closer. “You really think Beau might have done it?”
Marley glanced around. “Like I said, him and his daddy never did get along. There’s lots of speculation. Winnie Barker, over to the library, said it coulda had somethin’ to do with Missy Kessler, her comin’ up pregnant and all, and no one knowin’ who’s the daddy. Missy’s only just turned nineteen, you see, and such a sweet little thing. Lollie Tilford down at the flower shop said she saw Beau and Missy sittin’ together in the café the day before the murder. Lollie overheard Beau sayin’ something to her about money. Missy’s mama was there with them—Josie? She owns the café, you see.”
“I think I’m beginning to.”
“Well, Beau’s got all that money, and last year when he was coaching Little League out at the baseball diamond,I saw him without his shirt—oh, that man has the most glorious musclesever—not to mention the sexiest blue eyes of any man alive on this earth. If Beau paid her the slightest attention, poor Missy woulda been toast.”
Cassidy tried to block the images those words created but instead her mind conjured fantasies of Beau in bed with her, his naked body pressing her down in the mattress, those incredible blue eyes gazing down at her as they made love. Furious with herself, she told herself that stories linking Beau to a pregnant young girl were nothing but gossip, not something he would actually do.
Marley seemed to get her second wind. “Why, there was a time, you know, if Beau Reese had asked, half the women in Pleasant Hill woulda dropped their panties for him.” She took Cassidy’s hand and started along the rack. “Now let’s find you that dress.”
An hour later, her mind spinning with local gossip on every subject from the mayor’s drinking habits to the principal’s affair with the president of the PTA, Cassidy left with a couple of casual tops and a little black cocktail dress with a short, floaty skirt that was inexpensive and didn’t look half bad.
Determined to find out more about Missy Kessler and the remote possibility that Beau was the father of her unborn child, she headed for the Pleasant Hill Café.
Sitting in a pink vinyl booth sipping a Diet Coke gave her time to watch the young woman with the enormous belly waiting on customers seated at the counter. Missy Kessler wasn’t beautiful, but with her long blond hair and blue eyes, she had a certain appeal. When Cassidy finished her Coke and walked up to pay the bill, she gave the girl a friendly smile. “You’re Missy, right?”
Missy returned the smile shyly. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m Cassidy Jones. I was working for Senator Reese before he was killed. Beau mentioned you.”
The girl’s face turned paper white. She swayed like a blow-up clown on paper feet. “He . . . he did?”
Cassidy resisted the urge to reach out and steady her. “Yes, he did. You’re . . . umm . . . friends . . . aren’t you?”
Missy didn’t miss the implication. Her chin wobbled an instant before her lips firmed. She rang up the check and gave Cassidy her change. “Excuse me. I have to get back to work.”
As Cassidy took the money, guilt swept over her. The last thing she wanted was to cause the girl more pain. But she had a job to do, a killer to find, and to do that she needed information.
Leaving a double tip on the counter, she headed out the door, satisfied she had accomplished what she’d come for. She had met Missy Kessler and seen her reaction to the mention of Beau’s name. Clearly they knew each other and it wasn’t just a casual acquaintance. Add to that, he had been seen with her at the café, been overheard talking to her about money.
The hard truth was—there was every chance Beau Reese was the baby’s father.
By the time she got into her car and drove back to the guest house, Cassidy was quietly seething. If Beau and his dad had been fighting about the girl, the argument could well have gotten out of hand. The letter opener must have been right on top of the desk. Had the senator’s accusations sent his son into a violent rage? Had he picked up the letter opener and stabbed it into his father’s heart?
Cassidy paced the living room of the guest house, her thoughts in turmoil. She remembered the articles about Beau, the way he’d turned his life around after a rocky start, his philanthropy, his support for troubled teens. She thought about the attraction that seemed to grow every time she was with him.
Was the image she had built completely false? Was he a cold-blooded killer? She told herself to stay calm, do her job, behave like a professional. It wasn’t her place to condemn Beau Reese for taking advantage of a naïve teenage girl.
When Beau knocked on her door, she reminded herself that aside from discovering his guilt or innocence, what he did was none of her business.
She was telling herself not to overreact as she walked to the door and pulled it open, warning herself to hold on to her temper—the instant before she drew back her hand and slapped his handsome face.
Chapter Seven
