Before Cassidy could hurry down the road, one of the children ran up to her truck. She slowed and smiled warmly.
“I want to buy something for my mom.” The boy was probably six years old and still had a baby-like lisp that melted her heart.
He made her think about all her dreams with Ryan. About settling down. Regaining her old life. Having kids . . . except Ryan didn’t want kids. That would be okay with her. She’d have Ryan, and she didn’t need kids to complete her future.
Right?
At the moment, Cassidy didn’t feel convinced.
“What would you like to buy for your mom, sweetie?” Cassidy leaned out the window, the sun already creating sauna-like heat waves that invaded her air-conditioned space. She made a mental note to reapply her sunscreen. Her skin was used to constant clouds and rainfall, not UV forecasts of ten every day.
“She likes anything chocolate.”
“Well, I’m sure we can find something for her then.” Cassidy climbed into the back and slid the window there open. “How about a nutty buddy ice cream cone?”
His eyes widened. “I bet she would like that a lot.”
She handed him one. “Here you go then.”
He frowned. “Don’t I owe you some money?”
She glanced back at his mom—at her hunched shoulders, at the hand over her face, at her concerned children. “Don’t worry about it. This one is on the house.”
“No, it’s in my hands. The house is all the way over there.”
Cassidy tilted her head, fighting a grin. “It’s just an expression. It just means you don’t have to pay.”
“Thank you!” He called as he ran back toward her.
Cassidy watched until the boy reached the woman and waved. Then she climbed back in the front of the truck, determined to continue on her way.
Low profile.
She’d only moved a few feet when someone called for her to stop. The boy’s mom ran her way.
Cassidy soaked in the woman. She was around five feet five inches. Her hair was dark, curly, and cut to her chin. She had a thin build, but she looked pale and not quite as relaxed as someone on vacation should be.
As she got closer, Cassidy saw the tissue balled in her hands. Saw that her eyes were swollen and her nose was red. Yes, she’d definitely been crying.
The woman rushed toward the window of the ice cream truck, wiping beneath her eyes with the crumpled tissue as she approached.
“I’m sure he didn’t pay you,” she said, her voice hoarse. “How much do I owe you?”
“I told him it was on the house.” Cassidy’s heart panged with compassion as she sensed something seriously bad had happened.
The woman dabbed her eyes again as more water filled them. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you. I’m Diane, by the way. Diane Goodlatte.”
“I’m Ca—Cassidy. I’m Cassidy.” She swallowed hard, contemplating what to say next. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”
The woman sniffled again and twisted the necklace at her throat—some kind of locket was at the end of it. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my husband has been accused of a horrible crime.”
Cassidy remembered the body on the beach. This had to be connected. “I’m so sorry.”
“He didn’t do what he’s been accused of, but the police don’t believe him.” She shook her head. “Phil is just the most loving guy. He’s always on the floor with the triplets, playing and letting them climb all over him. He kisses them goodnight each evening and hello every morning. He’s a great father.”
Cassidy’s heart panged. He sounded like the father Cassidy had always wanted. Her own father had placed business and money as a top priority over family—over her.
“He sounds wonderful,” Cassidy said.
“This was supposed to be a fun vacation that drew us closer together. And now this. I just can’t believe it.”
“Why do they think your husband did this crime?” Cassidy asked, remnants of her cop life wanting to roar to the surface.
“He was the last one seen with Sarge Perkins—the man who died. Sarge was . . . our friend. My husband would have never killed him—or killed anyone, for that matter.”
Cassidy had heard that many times before. No one ever thought the people they loved were capable of doing the unimaginable. That was where shock came in. But eventually it would wear off, and people could see the clues—the subtle signs—they’d missed earlier.
“I’m so sorry,” Cassidy said. “Is there anything I can do?”
The woman’s gaze latched onto hers. “If you hear anything about this crime, let people know my husband is innocent before the court of public opinion finds him guilty. I have no idea who would kill Sarge. He was the nicest man.”
“How did you know the victim? You said you were friends?” Cassidy hoped she didn’t sound too eager for answers. At least she’d controlled her urge to pull out a pencil and paper to take notes.
“He worked with my husband. We were here for our annual vacation. For the past five years, our families have come here to Lantern Beach together.”
“Just your family and the victim’s?” Keep your voice easy, calm, and non-authoritative, Cassidy.
“No, the Hamby family also comes . Walter Hamby is the CEO of the company. And the Metts just came this year for the first time. I thought one of them might come over to check on us, but they’re all avoiding me. I guess none of them want to associate with an accused killer’s wife.” Her voice broke as another sob escaped.
Cassidy’s heart pounded with compassion. She knew about tragedy all too well. That empathy had made her a good cop, but she had to constantly keep it in check.
Her mind raced with questions. “If you don’t mind me asking, why would the police think your husband was guilty?”
Diane drew in a deep breath and wiped her tears. “We just got into town yesterday morning, and the first thing my husband wanted to do was go fishing.”
“Was he an avid fisherman?”
“No, not really. But he liked to do it once a year or so. This year, he and Sarge decided not to charter a boat but to rent their own. Walter Hamby—their boss—always treats them to an excursion while they’re here.”
“That’s nice.”
“Normally they’d golf, but there’s no place to do that here. Anyway Phil—my husband—and Sarge went out. It was just going to be for a short trip since there was a storm brewing and the waves were expected to get too choppy.”
“That sounds awfully brave of them.”
“They’d been working so hard at work lately that I think they just wanted to relax. Anyway, that also means Phil was the last person Sarge was seen with before he died.” A sob caught in her throat.
“I’m sorry. But did your husband even own a gun?”
“No, he didn’t. But there was gunshot residue on Phil’s hands.” She shook her head, full of mourning and grief. “I just don’t understand it.”
Compassion pulsed inside Cassidy. “Well, what does your husband say? Did he have an explanation?”
“He said he didn’t do it, of course. He said they got nervous because of the storm—it was coming in faster than they’d thought. They started to head back but the water was jostling them and he fell overboard. That’s the last thing he remembers before being found on the beach. All I can think is that someone must have found Sarge after my husband fell overboard and killed him.”
“The truth usually comes to light.” Cassidy believed in the justice system. She’d seen it succeed 90 percent of the time. Maybe even 95 percent. She had to believe it would prevail now also.
Diane swung her head back and forth. “This time, I just don’t know. I really don’t. Unfortunately, my husband hit his head when the boat capsized. He lost about an hour that night. The most important hour.” She glanced at her hands. Ice cream ran down her fingers. “And now my Nutty Buddy has melted.”
Tears poured down the woman’s face, matching the quickly dissolving ice cream.