On the way down the drive, Beau stopped to speak to Will Egan. A man in his forties, Will had prematurely gray hair and an easy disposition.
“Any problems last night?” Beau asked.
“Not a thing.”
“We’ve got a meeting, then we’ll be back.” He was driving the Ferrari. Maybe it was the incident last night, or maybe he just needed to clear his head. Driving a car with that kind of power always seemed to help.
With very little Sunday traffic, he easily located the address in University Park that Emily Watson had given him, and pulled up in front of the family’s traditional, brick façade, two-story home. Making their way up the stone walkway to the plank front door, Beau rang the bell, and a few seconds later, Emily Watson pulled it open.
A slender woman, midforties, medium brown hair with the first fine threads of gray, she smiled at Beau, then spotted Cassidy and her look turned wary.
“I didn’t realize you were bringing someone with you.”
“Emily, this is Cassidy Jones. She’s a private investigatorworking with me on my father’s murder. Anything we discuss with you will remain strictly confidential.”
The woman returned her gaze to Cassidy, took in her conservative clothes and the concern in her face and apparently approved.
“Thank you for coming.” Emily stepped back, inviting them inside. Hardwood floors gleamed throughout the house as they walked into the entry. The residence was immaculately clean, everything in its place, though Beau could hear children’s voices coming from the second floor.
Emily started walking, expecting them to follow. “The kids are upstairs. I thought we could talk in the living room. I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” Cassidy said, which Beau had learned was a technique she used to put people at ease when there were going to be questions.
They followed Emily into a modern stainless kitchen with white cabinets and granite counters. Emily poured them each a mug, added cream to hers, but Beau and Cassidy took theirs black.
From the kitchen, they made their way into a high-ceilinged living room with dark wood beams. Beau sat next to Cassidy on a sea-foam green sofa while Emily sat down in a matching chair. An ivory and green floral carpet warmed the wood floor beneath the walnut coffee table.
“I was very sorry to hear about your father,” Emily said, taking a sip from her mug. “Such a tragedy. How is your investigation coming?”
“Slowly,” Beau said. “We have some ideas about what might have happened, but nothing concrete. We’re hoping you can help.”
Emily set her mug down on a coaster next to the brass lamp beside her chair. “Perhaps I can. As I told you on the phone, Scott passed away a little over a month ago. He died of anaphylactic shock. It was terrible for all of us.”
“I saw the article in the newspaper,” Cassidy said. “Losing someone is even more painful when it’s completely unexpected.”
“Yes, it is. Which is the reason I began to question how it happened. Scott was always extremely careful. I had taken the girls to my mother’s for a visit that day, so Scott was home by himself. We don’t keep peanuts in the house. None of us would ever bring them home. Apparently, he made himself a sandwich and somehow the peanut got inside. I can’t imagine how.”
“Odd things happen sometimes,” Cassidy said.
“Yes, but even so, Scott always kept an EpiPen in the top drawer of his desk. He was sitting there when they found him. He often sat at his desk to eat lunch. All he had to do was open the drawer and take out the pen. He had used one before so he knew how to do it. But no pen was found in the room.”
Beau sat forward, his half-finished mug of coffee in his hand. “Did you mention that to the police?”
“Not that day. All I could think of was Scott, how I was going to tell the girls. What I was going to do without him. Later, I thought one of the EMTs must have taken it. I asked the police about it, but no one seemed to know where it was. When the autopsy came back, it showed he never used an EpiPen. And that makes no sense.”
Beau looked at Cassidy, whose thoughts must have been running the same. “Is there a chance someone killed your husband, Emily?”
“I don’t know.” She pulled a tissue from beneath the sleeve of her sweater and dabbed it against her eyes. “I haven’t pursued it. I have to think of my children. But when Charlotte mentioned you were looking into your father’s murder, I thought there might be some connection.”
“Why would you think that?” Cassidy asked.
Emily straightened in her chair. “Two weeks before Scott died, Senator Reese came to see him. They spoke privately. I had no idea what about. But later, when I asked Scott what the senator wanted, he said Stewart had asked him for a favor.”
Favor. The word put Beau on alert. “Go on.”
“Scott was chairman of the Joint Oversight Committee on Government Facilities. The members were planning to hand out contracts worth six hundred million dollars for deferred maintenance and new construction in the capitol complex.”
“And the favor?”
