“So you’ve never dated Maddox?”
“No. I told you that.”
“Why not? He’s a good-looking guy.”
“Jase is too wild for me. He’s a good friend, just not my type.”
She wished she had the nerve to ask him about Sarah, but he had enough on his mind without being dragged into the past. They continued down the highway and entered Pleasant Hill. The Lamborghini rolled down Main Street and Beau pulled into the parking lot next to the single-story brick building that housed the police department.
Beau held the door as she walked inside. The minute they reached the counter, Tom Briscoe strode toward them.
“Chief’s waiting,” he said simply. “His office is this way.”
They followed Briscoe to a door off the main room, several uniformed officers passing them along the way. Cassidy recognized the skinny young cop who’d stood guard outside the guest house the night of the murder. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment as he passed.
Briscoe knocked, then opened the door. As they walked into the office, Police Chief Eric Warren rose from behind his desk.
“Thanks for coming in, Beau,” the chief said.
“Nice to see you, Chief, though I would have preferred different circumstances.”
Cassidy should have guessed the two would know each other. Beau had been raised in Pleasant Hill, which made him a local celebrity.
“And you’re Ms. Jones?”
“Cassidy will do.”
“Nice to meet you.” He was a nice-looking guy in his forties, brown hair and a solid jaw, just a few wrinkles at thecorners of his hazel eyes. He looked capable, Cassidy thought, and if so, maybe he had something good to report.
“Have a seat.” Chief Warren gestured toward the metal chairs in front of his desk, then sat down behind it.
“I hope you called me out here because you have good news,” Beau said. “Like maybe you found the murderer or at least another suspect.”
“Not yet. I can tell you what wehavefound. We confirmed you received a call on your cell twenty minutes before you were found at the scene of Jess Milford’s murder. We were, however, not able to trace where the call originated. Looks like it must have been a disposable.”
“So you know it was a setup.”
“One phone call doesn’t prove anything. However, the CSIs believe the direction of the blood spatter found in Milford’s kitchen indicates some of it would have shown up on the shooter’s clothes. The only place you had blood was on your shoes. Also, there was no gunshot residue on your hands.”
Beau released a slow breath. “That’s because I didn’t shoot him. Did they find any prints in the house?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Yours were on the doorknob but nowhere else.”
He nodded. “I didn’t touch anything else. I walked in just seconds before the cops showed up. I hadn’t even turned on the light. What about Milford’s phone or his computer? Find anything there?”
“Nothing useful. Detective Briscoe canvassed the area but nobody saw or heard anything that night.”
“Not even the gunshot?”
“No. Lots of trees around the house. Might have helped muffle the sound.”
“So where does that leave me?”
“I’ve known you awhile, Beau. I know you and your daddidn’t get along. I could buy the theory you argued, lost your temper, and killed him.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Let me finish. But I don’t buy the idea that you took a gun that had the serial numbers filed off to Jess Milford’s house and for no apparent reason, shot him in the head. And you managed to do it without getting any gunpowder on your hands, or his blood anywhere but on your shoes. I think something else is going on here. Unfortunately, at the moment we have no idea what it is.”
