Beau glanced at his watch. He needed to call Cassidy. He had no idea what she’d think when she discovered him gone, along with her car. He wondered if Linc had been able to line up an attorney. If Temple took the case, how long would it take him to get to Pleasant Hill? How much time would Beau have to spend in jail before Temple could bail him out?
He looked at Briscoe and tried to focus. “What about my father’s murder? Any new suspects? Anything new on the case?”
“Not so far.”
“Did you ever find my father’s cell phone?”
“No. We tried to ping it. Last call went through a tower in the area. We figure the battery’s gone dead.”
“Or the killer disabled it. Look, Tom, we both know the senator had enemies. Have you checked that angle, tried to figure out who else had motive?”
“If you’re thinking of Josie Kessler, she and Missy were both working at the café at the time of the murder.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Josie . . . well, I admit she crossed my mind, because she definitely had motive. I didn’t think it could have been Missy, because of her condition. I’m glad it wasn’t either one of them.”
“So am I. Anything else you want to add before you go back to the holding cell?”
“Only that I didn’t kill Jess Milford or my father. I’m counting on you, Tom, to figure out who did.”
Briscoe made no reply. Which didn’t make Beau feel any better.
* * *
Cassidy got to drive the Lamborghini. Beau had called. He was in jail, being held on suspicion of murder. The police could hold him for forty-eight hours before they officially had to file charges. Cain had found him an attorney.
Cassidy’s emotions had been in turmoil from the moment she had awoken and found herself alone. Beau was gone. She’d been sure he’d left to escape the awkwardmorning-afterconversation, the way a lot of men did.
Self-loathing rushed in. She’d been a fool. She’d allowed Beau to use her when she had known what a heartbreaker he was. After a long, hot shower and time to think, she’d finally admitted it wasn’t all his fault. She had wanted him every bit as much as he’d wanted her.
Whatever happened, she finally decided, the night had been an incredible experience, one she would never forget. She told herself it didn’t matter that one night was enough for Beau.
Then she’d gone in search of her car keys and discovered them missing. Glancing out the window, she realized her car was gone and a whole new set of worries swept in.
It wasn’t until later in the morning that Beau had finallybeen allowed to make a second phone call, this one to her. When he’d explained what had happened, she’d felt the most unsettling combination of fear and relief. Fear for Beau and relief it wasn’t over between them.
Beau told her where to find the keys to the Lambo and she promised to be there as quickly as she could.
“You don’t have to hurry,” he said darkly. “It doesn’t look like I’m getting out of here anytime soon.”
She’d done her best to lighten his mood. “I don’t have to hurry? What, are you kidding me? It’s a Lamborghini, Beau. It doesn’t know how to go slow.”
He chuckled, though she thought it sounded forced.
When she got to the Pleasant Hill police station, Beau’s attorney had already been there awhile. He was making arrangements for Beau to be released.
“You must be Cassidy,” he said as he walked toward her, not a wrinkle in his navy pinstripe suit. “I’ve spoken to Beau. He said you’d be coming. You’re the private investigator working on his father’s case.”
“Cassidy Jones.” She extended a hand, which he shook.
“I’m Nathan Temple. I prefer Nate. Linc called, asked me to handle Beau’s case.” Nate Temple was older than Beau by at least five years, an attractive man with traces of silver threading through his light brown hair.
“I understand Beau called you and explained what happened,” Temple said.
“That’s right. He said he got a phone call around one P.M. The caller promised information about his father’s death. He was given a location and twenty minutes to get there. It had to be a setup. He didn’t even see the body until the police came through the door.”
Temple was nodding. Cassidy figured he was looking for possible discrepancies in Beau’s story. He led her a few feet away where they couldn’t be overheard.
“The victim is a guy named Jess Milford,” he said. “Do you recognize the name?”
