Surprised she hadn’t read about it during her research, she started to ask who it was, but Beau just shook his head. They stepped into an entry lit by a crystal chandelier. Soft music played in the background as a well-dressed, efficient-looking woman with silver hair pulled into a tight chignon walked toward them down the hall.
“Mr. Reese?” she asked.
“That’s right. And this is Ms. Jones.”
She gave them a smile that had seen better days. “I’m Mrs. Dennison. Welcome to the Fremont Funeral Home. If you will, please follow me.”
Beau looked down at Cassidy and there was something in his face. “I’m glad you came with me,” he said softly as the woman reached the office and came to a stop.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Cassidy reached for his hand. She laced her fingers with his, and Beau’s hand tightened around them.
“The funeral is set for Saturday,” Mrs. Dennison said. “If that is agreeable to you.”
“What about the autopsy?” Beau asked.
“Chief Warren has assured me it will be completed well before then.”
Beau swallowed and nodded. Mrs. Dennison opened the office door. “I’ll give you a moment of privacy, then we’ll go over the arrangements.” As they walked inside, she stepped back out of the room and closed the door.
Across the room, Charlotte Mercer Reese rose gracefully from her chair. Her smile slipped a little when she noticed their linked hands. Cassidy released her hold and Beaustepped forward. He bent and brushed a light kiss on his stepmother’s cheek.
“Charlotte, you’re looking lovely as always.” He turned. “Charlotte, this is Cassidy Jones. She’s a private investigator. She’s helping me look into the murder.”
Blond and slender, at forty-nine Charlotte Reese was still a remarkably attractive woman. In a navy pantsuit accented by a pink and blue silk scarf, her feet in a pair of designer mid-heeled pumps, she exemplified the role of a widowed senator’s wife.
One of Charlotte’s blond eyebrows went up. “I thought we discussed this, Beau. We agreed it was better to let the police handle the murder investigation.”
“No, Charlotte. I didn’t agree to anything. I told you I intended to find the man who killed my father and that is exactly what I plan to do.”
“Your father is dead, Beau. Can’t you simply let him rest in peace?”
“You think he wouldn’t want the man who murdered him brought to justice? If you think that, you never really knew him at all.”
“We’re only asking a few questions,” Cassidy soothed. “Just eliminating people who knew him, anyone who might have had some sort of disagreement with him. Perhaps it wasn’t murder. Perhaps things got out of hand and his death was an accident. That’s all we’re trying to find out.”
Charlotte made no reply.
“If you could tell us where you were Tuesday morning, we could take you off the suspect list,” Cassidy pressed.
Charlotte’s mouth thinned. “How dare you imply I had anything to do with Stewart’s murder! Beau, are you going to stand there and let this woman insult me that way?”
“Cassidy’s been hired to do a job, Charlotte. Just answer the question and be done with it.”
“Fine. I was in Dallas. I drove to Pleasant Hill as soon asPolice Chief Warren called to tell me what had happened. You were at the police station, Beau, when I arrived.”
“Dad told Cassidy someone had been asking questions about him around town. He said he was being followed. He thought you could have had something do with it.”
“Why in the world would I be following your father?”
“If not you, then someone you hired.”
“That is ridiculous.”
Cassidy spoke up. “He thought you might still be harboring romantic feelings toward him, Mrs. Reese. After all, you were once husband and wife.”
Charlotte scoffed. “I can’t imagine he believed that. Our divorce wasn’t entirely pleasant. It was fortunate we were able to remain friends. And if you persist in questioning me as if I am a suspect—”
“That’s all we needed to know,” Beau interrupted. “I appreciate your honesty, Charlotte, and your help making the arrangements. I trust your judgment in this completely.”
