Chapter Six
Beau thought about driving his car from the motel to the house the next morning and calling for the Tex/Am helicopter to fly him the twenty-five-minute ride into Dallas. The Pleasant Hill Golf Course backed up to the house, providing enough open space for the chopper to land, but driving had always been a stress reliever, and the time on the road would give his head a chance to clear.
By the time he pulled up to the Texas American Enterprises building, a six-story mirrored glass structure on North Central Parkway, the tension had drained from between his shoulders and he was coming to terms with his father’s death.
Stepping out of the elevator on the executive floor, he crossed the deep, beige carpet. The low tables in the reception area were of smooth, rust-grained teak, a warm contrast to the nubby oatmeal fabric on the sofas and chairs.
He waved at the feisty redheaded receptionist, Leslie Bingham, who had once held high hopes of snaring Linc but had given up after his recent marriage and now seemed to be crushing on Beau.
“Good morning, Mr. Reese. I’m so sorry to hear about your father.” She was bright and ambitious and good at her job. And aside from an occasional over-adoring smile, she was a very good employee.
“Thank you, Les.” On the drive to the office he had geared himself up for the dozens of condolences he would be receiving over the next few weeks. Whatever he thought of his father, Stewart Reese was an important man and Beau was his son.
He stopped to speak to Linc’s personal assistant, Millie Whitelaw, who worked in a private area at the back of the reception area. Staff worked in cubicles nearby.
“Is he in?” Beau asked.
“Yes, and he asked me to let him know when you got here. He said for me to send you right in. I’m really sorry, Beau.”
“Thanks, Millie.” He had phoned Linc from the motel and told him what had happened, asked him to take charge for a while, till he got things handled in Pleasant Hill. Linc was probably the only person in the world who understood the mix of emotions he was feeling.
He opened the door to his partner’s private office, which was surrounded by a wall of windows like the ones in his own. The room was done in the same teak décor as the reception area, but with caramel leather sofas and chairs instead of fabric.
As the door closed, Linc stood up from his desk. A big man, six foot five, two hundred twenty pounds of solid muscle, he was good-looking, smart, and loyal to a fault.
Rounding the desk, he grabbed Beau’s shoulder and drew him in for a brief man-hug. “I’m sorry, bro. I know how hard this must be. Carly sends her sympathies. And Josh called when he saw it on the news. He said to let him know if there’s anything you need.” Joshua Cain was Linc’s younger brother, just out of the Marines and home from the war after a near-fatal injury.
Beau just nodded. He paced over to the wall of windows, stared out at the sprawling city of Dallas. Cars buzzed along the busy streets below and a stiff wind shifted through the branches of the trees.
The words seemed to just spill out. “He was murdered, Linc.” He walked back to the desk. “Jesus, what the hell did my old man do to get himself killed?”
“You’ll find out or the cops will. One way or another you’ll make sure whoever did it pays.”
“I’ll find him. I won’t be able to move on from this until I know what happened.” An image arose of the woman who had been with him the night before in the study. “Believe it or not, I’m going to have some help. I hired a lady detective. I mentioned her when I called.”
Linc nodded. “Cassidy Jones. You said she walked in just as you found your dad. They mentioned her on the news.”
“She got there just as I was pulling the letter opener out of Dad’s chest. The way things went down, I don’t think she believes I did it, but she’s smart enough to reserve judgment until she’s sure.”
“She’d have to be smart or you wouldn’t have hired her.”
Beau told Linc how he had gone out to the house last night to look for his father’s secret files and found Cassidy prowling the master bedroom, searching for the same thing. He didn’t mention the wrestling match in the hall that had felt way too good, so good just thinking about it stirred him up all over again.
“How’d she know about the files?”
“She told me she’d pegged the senator as secretive and private, not the kind of guy to leave his personal info lying around.”
“You don’t think she was involved with him in some way?”
“Nothing points in that direction. She was right about my dad and about the files, and if she’s lying about their relationship, sooner or later, I’ll find out.”
Linc eyed him with speculation. “What’s she look like? Your father was a notorious womanizer.”
Beau felt the pull of a smile. “I’ll admit she’s hot, but she’s a little too bright for my father’s taste. So far, everything about her checks out.”
“Be good to have a professional working with you on the case, and you know what they say—”
“Yeah, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Linc nodded. “Anything I can do?”
“You’re doing plenty keeping things running here. I’ll let you know when the funeral is scheduled.”
Linc gave a curt nod, his features grim.
Beau headed for his office, the only other private space on the top floor. He paused just outside to speak to Marty Chen, a fine-boned Chinese-American in his midtwenties who had recently become his personal assistant after his longtime female assistant retired.
The kid shot up from his desk. “I heard about your father, Beau. You have my deepest condolences.”
“Thanks, Marty.” He was always a little too formal, but it was kind of a nice change, and the kid was great at his job. “I’m going to need you to step up your game for a while. I’ll be staying in Pleasant Hill while the police conduct their investigation. You’ll be able to reach me, but I’d appreciate if you’d clear my calendar as much as you can. If it’s something important, I can always chopper back to the city, but I’d rather not do it unless I have to.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Beau left him and went into his office. It was different from Linc’s, the desk, tables, and bookcases made of gleaming black lacquer, the sofa and chairs a cream raw silk with pale blue accent pillows. It was sleek and modern and somehow soothing.
Anxious to get back to Pleasant Hill, Beau made his first call to the tech department. He pulled the flash drives out of his pocket and set them on the desk. He had tried to open them when he got back to the motel last night, but couldn’t make it happen. He figured Rob Michaels, his techno whiz kid, was the guy for the job.
Michaels sauntered into the office. Red-haired and freckled, he wore wire-rimmed glasses and would have looked like a typical geek if he hadn’t been pretty-boy handsome.
“Sorry about your dad, sir.”
“Thanks.” Beau handed over the flash drives. “I need you to understand that the information on these is highly personal. No one’s to know what’s in them but me.”
“Goes without saying,” Rob agreed. “I’ll get back to you on this as quickly as I can.”
“I’ll be staying at my father’s house in Pleasant Hill till I get things settled.” He wrote his cell number down on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Call me direct when you have something. Make it a priority.”
“Yes, sir.” Rob walked out of the office with the flash drives in his hand.
Beau went back to work. Returning calls that couldn’t be postponed, he spoke to friends who wanted to convey their sympathies, spoke to some of the employees, had a brief staff meeting, then went over his revised schedule with Marty.
As soon as he finished, he left the office, heading for his home in the Bluffview area north of Dallas, a white, flat-roofed, single-story contemporary on four heavily treed and landscaped acres bisected by a meandering stream.
Built around a free-form swimming pool, the house had twelve-foot ceilings, light hardwood floors, and black granite fireplaces and countertops. Pastel blue, green, and turquoise lent soft accents, and bright-colored modern art hung on the walls.
Parking the Ferrari in the four-car attached garage, he went inside to pack enough clothes for at least a week. Twenty minutes later, he was ready to leave, sliding into a low-slung, slate-gray Lamborghini that fit his restless mood. With its 740-horse V-12 mid-engine, the car was one screaming machine.
Unfortunately, since he was already on the radar as a possible murder suspect, he didn’t dare go faster than a few miles over the speed limit.
Still, the roar of the powerful engine and the vibration of the wheel beneath his hands eased some of the tension humming through him. He found himself wondering what Cassidy would think of the incredible car, wondered if she’d be interested in going for a ride.
Which brought to mind their encounter in the hallway and another sort of ride he’d like to give her.
Not the right time, he reminded himself, not when his father’s body lay on a cold slab in the morgue. Beau felt a shot of guilt for even thinking about a woman when he should be thinking about finding a killer.
By the time he reached the house, his mind was clear, his thoughts focused. He wasn’t leaving Pleasant Hill until his dad was buried and his murderer brought to justice. It was a resolve forged in steel.
* * *
Cassidy did a little research, then set out to dig up as much information in the small town of Pleasant Hill as she could. Earlier that morning, the police had released the crime scene and removed the yellow tape from across the front porch. The housekeeper, Florence Delgado, had arrived, along with a cleaning crew that specialized in suicides and other traumatic events.
Cassidy had met Florence last week when she had first arrived. Flo, as the senator called her, was a round-faced sixty-year-old who had been in his employ for fifteen years. Cassidy figured Flo knew plenty about what went on in the residence but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut about it.
Cassidy approached her in the kitchen, where she stood at the sink washing dishes. She looked pale and shaken, understandably so.
“How are you doing, Florence?” Cassidy made her way toward the glass coffeepot sitting on the counter. “I know this must be very difficult for you.”
Flo glanced up and her eyes filled. “I still can’t believe it. I know there were people who didn’t like him, but he was always good to me.” She was Latina, with olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes.
“Everyone has enemies, I guess. A senator probably more than most.”
Florence nodded. She reached up, took a mug down from the cupboard and handed it to Cassidy, who filled it to the brim. “Do you think the police will catch the man who did it?”
Cassidy nodded and took a sip. “They’ll find him sooner or later. Beau and I are working together to help them.”
“You are a private investigator. I heard you and the senator talking about it.”
Cassidy wondered what else the woman might have heard. “That’s right.” She took another sip. “Beau is the one who found the senator. You don’t think there’s any chance he could have been the one who killed him?”
Flo’s dark eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Beau? Never. He was a good boy, a good son. Oh, he got in some trouble in high school, but what boy doesn’t? And look how he turned out. He has become a great success.”
Cassidy watched the woman over the rim of the mug. “I know he and his father didn’t get along. I heard them arguing. I guess it wasn’t the first time.”
Florence waved her hand as if it meant nothing. “In some ways they were alike. Both strong men and very hardheaded.”
Easy to believe that. “I heard them fighting the day before the senator was killed. The police will probably ask if you have any idea what they were arguing about. Now that the senator is gone, there’s no reason for you to keep silent, and it might help us catch the killer.”
Florence tossed her dishrag into the sink and wiped her hands on the terry-cloth apron around her waist. “I haven’t seen Mr. Beau in nearly a year. I don’t know why they were fighting this time, but it always seemed to happen when they were together.”
“Did they have an argument the last time you saw him? Is that the reason Beau hasn’t been back?”
Flo shrugged. “Always it happens. I remember that time it had something to do with tires, a plant Mr. Cain wanted to build a few miles from Iron Springs.” It was the next town over and the county seat.
“What happened?”
“Mr. Beau found out the senator intended to stop the plant from going in. They argued something awful. I could hear them clear through the walls. Mr. Beau never came back. Not until this week.”
Cassidy wanted to know what father and son had been arguing about this time. So far Beau had been cooperative. She hoped that continued. A memory arose of him striding out of the guest house in that long-legged, easy gait of his, the muscles in his back moving beneath his dark blue T-shirt, his jeans hugging a round, very nice behind.
She wondered when he’d be moving into the house, wondered when she would see him again, then wished she could make herself stop wondering.
“Is there anything you can think of that might help us figure out who killed the senator?”
Flo’s eyes welled with tears. She brushed at a drop that slipped onto her cheek. “Lots of people came to see him. Some came in the evenings after I went home. I would find dirty dishes in the study in the morning. I wish I could help you, but there is nothing that I know.”
Cassidy finished her coffee, but the conversation was pretty much over. From the house, she drove into Pleasant Hill, curious what the locals would say about the senator and his son. On Main Street in front of Big Value Hardware, she saw a parking spot and pulled her car into the angled space.
Along a row of false-fronted brick buildings, a little dress shop named Marley’s Boutique sat between Tina’s Treasures—a thrift shop—and the Pink Blossom flower and gift shop, which also sold baby clothes. At the end of the block, Pleasant Hill Drugs had dark green canvas awnings over the front windows.
She started with the drugstore, wandering in, picking up a tube of lipstick that looked appealing, chatting with the teenage girl at the checkout counter, who was more interested in texting than talking to customers. No help there.
The thrift shop next door yielded nothing. Pushing through the door of the boutique, ringing the bell above the door, she stepped inside and a slender woman in her thirties with a cap of light brown hair sailed toward her, a wide smile on her face.
“Hi, I’m Marley. What can I help ya’ll with this fine mornin’?”
“I’m looking for something to wear out to dinner, nothing too fancy, you know? Something nice enough to wear in Pleasant Hill, but not overly expensive.”
“I think we can help you with that.” Marley drew her over to the dress rack. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you new to the area?”
“Yes, I am.” Cassidy sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. I just started a job working for Senator Reese a few days before he was killed.”
“Oh, my, such a tragedy. Do the police have any suspects? Any idea who might have done it?” She rolled heavily lashed blue eyes. “There’s all kinds of rumors floatin’ round. I’m sure you can imagine.”
Cassidy smiled at the woman. A real Chatty Cathy. “No suspects yet, I’m afraid.”
“I heard Beau was the one who found him. Why, there’s talk he might even have been the one who killed him. Crime of passion and all that—you know, what with the letter opener and all. You don’t suppose that could be true, do you? I mean, everyone in town likes Beau, but then the two of them did fight like cats and dogs.”
Marley slapped a hand over her mouth as she realized how much she’d been talking. “Here I am, rattlin’ on and on, and you just wantin’ to find a dress.”
“Oh, no, I’m enjoying the conversation. I don’t really know anyone in town yet and I just feel so bad about what happened.” She leaned closer. “You really think Beau might have done it?”
Marley glanced around. “Like I said, him and his daddy never did get along. There’s lots of speculation. Winnie Barker, over to the library, said it coulda had somethin’ to do with Missy Kessler, her comin’ up pregnant and all, and no one knowin’ who’s the daddy. Missy’s only just turned nineteen, you see, and such a sweet little thing. Lollie Tilford down at the flower shop said she saw Beau and Missy sittin’ together in the café the day before the murder. Lollie overheard Beau sayin’ something to her about money. Missy’s mama was there with them—Josie? She owns the café, you see.”
“I think I’m beginning to.”
“Well, Beau’s got all that money, and last year when he was coaching Little League out at the baseball diamond, I saw him without his shirt—oh, that man has the most glorious muscles ever—not to mention the sexiest blue eyes of any man alive on this earth. If Beau paid her the slightest attention, poor Missy woulda been toast.”
Cassidy tried to block the images those words created but instead her mind conjured fantasies of Beau in bed with her, his naked body pressing her down in the mattress, those incredible blue eyes gazing down at her as they made love. Furious with herself, she told herself that stories linking Beau to a pregnant young girl were nothing but gossip, not something he would actually do.
Marley seemed to get her second wind. “Why, there was a time, you know, if Beau Reese had asked, half the women in Pleasant Hill woulda dropped their panties for him.” She took Cassidy’s hand and started along the rack. “Now let’s find you that dress.”
An hour later, her mind spinning with local gossip on every subject from the mayor’s drinking habits to the principal’s affair with the president of the PTA, Cassidy left with a couple of casual tops and a little black cocktail dress with a short, floaty skirt that was inexpensive and didn’t look half bad.
Determined to find out more about Missy Kessler and the remote possibility that Beau was the father of her unborn child, she headed for the Pleasant Hill Café.
Sitting in a pink vinyl booth sipping a Diet Coke gave her time to watch the young woman with the enormous belly waiting on customers seated at the counter. Missy Kessler wasn’t beautiful, but with her long blond hair and blue eyes, she had a certain appeal. When Cassidy finished her Coke and walked up to pay the bill, she gave the girl a friendly smile. “You’re Missy, right?”
Missy returned the smile shyly. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m Cassidy Jones. I was working for Senator Reese before he was killed. Beau mentioned you.”
The girl’s face turned paper white. She swayed like a blow-up clown on paper feet. “He . . . he did?”
Cassidy resisted the urge to reach out and steady her. “Yes, he did. You’re . . . umm . . . friends . . . aren’t you?”
Missy didn’t miss the implication. Her chin wobbled an instant before her lips firmed. She rang up the check and gave Cassidy her change. “Excuse me. I have to get back to work.”
As Cassidy took the money, guilt swept over her. The last thing she wanted was to cause the girl more pain. But she had a job to do, a killer to find, and to do that she needed information.
Leaving a double tip on the counter, she headed out the door, satisfied she had accomplished what she’d come for. She had met Missy Kessler and seen her reaction to the mention of Beau’s name. Clearly they knew each other and it wasn’t just a casual acquaintance. Add to that, he had been seen with her at the café, been overheard talking to her about money.
The hard truth was—there was every chance Beau Reese was the baby’s father.
By the time she got into her car and drove back to the guest house, Cassidy was quietly seething. If Beau and his dad had been fighting about the girl, the argument could well have gotten out of hand. The letter opener must have been right on top of the desk. Had the senator’s accusations sent his son into a violent rage? Had he picked up the letter opener and stabbed it into his father’s heart?
Cassidy paced the living room of the guest house, her thoughts in turmoil. She remembered the articles about Beau, the way he’d turned his life around after a rocky start, his philanthropy, his support for troubled teens. She thought about the attraction that seemed to grow every time she was with him.
Was the image she had built completely false? Was he a cold-blooded killer? She told herself to stay calm, do her job, behave like a professional. It wasn’t her place to condemn Beau Reese for taking advantage of a naïve teenage girl.
When Beau knocked on her door, she reminded herself that aside from discovering his guilt or innocence, what he did was none of her business.
She was telling herself not to overreact as she walked to the door and pulled it open, warning herself to hold on to her temper—the instant before she drew back her hand and slapped his handsome face.