She knew where to go. When she had first arrived in Pleasant Hill, she had passed the police station, downtown on a side street off Main. Most of the buildings werefalse-fronted brick structures, the drugstore had dark green awnings out front, and the streets all had angled parking.
She pulled into the lot next to the station and got out of the car, waited for Beau to park and catch up with her, and they walked inside together, both of them cordial and friendly.
Cassidy planned to keep it that way—unless Beau Reese had cold-bloodedly murdered his father.
Chapter Four
The police station was busy today. Murder had a way of stirring things up. Men and women in dark blue uniforms strode in and out with purpose. Tom Briscoe was waiting when Beau walked in with Cassidy Jones. Opening the swinging half door attached to the counter, Tom motioned for them to follow him down the hall.
“You can change in the ladies’ room,” Tom said to Cassidy.
“Thank you.” She pushed open the door and disappeared inside, came out a few minutes later in clean jeans and a yellow sweater, her bloody clothes in the bag she had brought with her. Briscoe didn’t take them as evidence, since it was clear whose blood was on the clothes. Instead, he ushered the woman into an interview room, leaving Beau to cool his heels out in the hall.
Cassidy was a private investigator—he still found it hard to believe. Then again, maybe his dad was just working a con that backfired on him, hiring a woman he wanted to seduce, figuring he could get a little work out of her while he was at it.
It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Beau couldn’t help wondering if Cassidy had beenattracted to his dad. She was somewhere near thirty, which meant the senator was almost twice her age. With her classic features, heavy dark curls, and those big green eyes, she was a beautiful woman. His dad had always liked a woman with substantial cleavage, and it was clear Cassidy Jones had more than her share.
But she obviously had brains, too, and that was a big negative to a man who needed to believe he was the smartest guy in the room.
Beau wondered what she was in there telling Tom Briscoe. So far she had done her best not to convict him with her words. Why, he had no idea, but he hoped that didn’t change. He was a well-known figure in the community, well liked by most. He gave to a number of local charities and had always been supportive of police.
He figured those things would help. He didn’t think the cops would rush to judgment, which would give him some time. Exactly what he would need if he was going to find the man who had murdered his dad.
The image of his father’s ashen face and blood-covered body appeared in his head.What did you do, Dad?
Who had his father cheated? Who had he pissed off enough to get himself killed?
It was going to take time to dig through the maze that was Stewart Reese’s life. Beau thought of Cassidy and what she might be telling the police. Finding his father’s killer could be even more important now. It might be necessary to prove him innocent of murder.
* * *
Beau decided not to call an attorney—at least not yet. Instead, after Cassidy Jones had finished her interview and left the station, Beau had given a clear and concise statement of events leading up to and including the discovery of his father’s body. Exactly the same story he had told before.The only thing he’d glossed over was why he had come to Pleasant Hill in the first place.
On the phone yesterday, Josie had told him that Missy didn’t want anyone else knowing the name of her baby’s father. She was ashamed of having been duped by a man old enough to be her grandfather.
If the girl wanted to keep the name secret, Beau sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone. Not unless he had no other choice.
As he walked out of the interview room, relieved to be finished, he glanced up at the sound of high heels clicking on the linoleum and saw his former stepmother walking toward him down the hall. Two years after his mother died, Stewart Reese had remarried a forty-five-year-old woman from Dallas named Charlotte Mercer. They had divorced last year.
Though she was as elegantly dressed as always, Charlotte’s dove-gray designer pantsuit looked slightly rumpled. Her mouth was tight, her blond hair not quite as perfectly groomed as it usually was. She looked . . .shell-shockedwas the word that came to mind.
“Oh, Beau, I’m so glad you’re here.” Charlotte’s eyes welled as she approached. “The police called. They wanted to let me know what had happened before I heard it on the news. They said they had some questions. I told them I would be happy to help in any way I could. I told them I would drive down right away.”
Beau closed the distance, leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
She took a shuddering breath, but didn’t hug him. She wasn’t the hugging type. It was strange how much she reminded him of his mother.
“You know we still cared about each other,” she said, pressing a linen handkerchief beneath her nose.
He nodded, though he had no idea one way or the other. Maybe they actually had.
“It’s hard to imagine him dead,” Charlotte said. “Stew was a lot of things, some of which I despised, but he was a man who knew how to live.”
“I’m going to find out who did it,” Beau said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Her head jerked up. Hazel eyes zeroed in on his face. “What are you talking about? You have to let the police handle this. I want this over as quickly as possible. In the three years we were together, your father caused me enough grief to last a lifetime. I don’t need any more scandal.”
