Beau fought a smile and just shook his head. This was one argument Cassidy Jones wasn’t going to win.
* * *
They were climbing into the BMW for their trip into the city when Beau’s cell phone started to ring. He flipped it open but didn’t recognize the number, held the phone to his ear. “Reese.”
“Hello, Beau.” A woman’s voice floated over the line. “This is Emily Watson, Senator Watson’s wife. You probably don’t remember me, but—”
“Actually, I do. My father introduced us a few years back at a chamber of commerce ribbon-cutting ceremony he and I both happened to be attending.”
“That’s right. I got your number from Charlotte. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. What can I do for you, Mrs. Watson?”
“This is a difficult time for me, I’m afraid. Were you aware my husband died almost a month ago?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You have my sympathies.”
“Thank you. I’d like to talk to you, Beau . . . if you could find the time. Charlotte told me you were investigating yourfather’s death. I don’t know for certain, but there’s a chance I have information that might be important.”
His brain went on alert. Emily Watson’s husband had been a sitting Texas state senator, a colleague of his dad’s. Maybe she knew something that could lead them to the answers they needed.
“I’d be more than happy to meet with you, Mrs. Watson.”The sooner the better. “Would tomorrow work?”
“It’s just Emily, and tomorrow would work very well. I take the children to church in the morning, but we’ll be home by eleven.”
“Eleven o’clock then. What’s your address?”
She rattled off a house number on Binkley Avenue in University Park. “You know how to get there?”
“I’ll find you,” Beau said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The call ended and he turned to Cassidy.
“We might have just caught a break. We’ve got a meeting with Emily Watson, Senator Watson’s wife, tomorrow at eleven A.M. She says she might have something on my father’s murder.”
“Wow. That could be good.”
“Emily says her husband died about a month ago. It would have been in the papers, but I don’t remember reading about it.”
Cassidy frowned. “I think I remember seeing something on the news.”
“His wife didn’t say how he died. Maybe he’d been sick.”
“Maybe. Then again, seems like the body count keeps rising.”
Beau felt a chill at the back of his neck. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
One thing he’d learned—a helluva lot could happen between today and tomorrow.
* **
They had a jillion things to do to get ready for the masquerade ball. While Beau stayed in the car to keep watch for anything that might be suspicious, Cassidy went into her office to get the surveillance equipment they needed.
Although it was Saturday, the office was humming. Connie, who took Sundays and Mondays off, came out from behind her oak desk and pulled Cassidy into a hug.
“Oh, you poor child. We’ve all been worried sick.”
“I’m okay.” Cassidy hugged her back. “Just remember the ribs.”
“Oh, damn, I forgot. How you doin’, girl?”
