you for supporting it.”
“I’m proud to be a small part of tonight.”
She eased back as the server came to her side. “This way, ma’am.”
“Thank you so much.” With that regal nod, she followed the server. “Oh, I see it now. And my party. Thank you.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Jessica continued toward table 43, walked straight past it.
Drink, she thought, drink, drink, drink.
She walked straight out of the ballroom, sliding the empty atomizer back in her purse, taking out the pack of cigarettes. She moved straight to the outside doors, fumbling out her lighter like a woman in need of a smoke.
Someone tapped her shoulder, making her jerk as if struck by lightning.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The woman in a bold red dress laughed. “I was hoping I could get a light.”
“Of course.” Jessica forced her face into a smile so they walked out like two friends. Afraid her hand would shake, she offered the woman the lighter.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Excuse me, won’t you? I see a friend.”
She moved away, taking her time until she saw the woman chatting with another smoker.
She kept walking. Kept walking. And realized her hand wouldn’t shake. She not only felt steady, she felt triumphant.
She’d become someone to write about.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Because she wanted to keep her schedule light for the summer, Cate limited her workload to three hours in the morning. It gave her time to spend with her father, time at the ranch. Just time.
She loved watching the way her father interacted with Julia, Gram, Red, and of course, Dillon. And knew some of her favorite memories would come from that summer. Watching fireworks explode across the sky with the horde of Sullivans, with Dillon and his family, riding with her father and Dillon to herd cattle from field to field.
Something she’d never expected to do.
Walks on the beach, dancing at the Roadhouse, a visit from Gino—thanks to Lily—to add a little sass to her hair.
She imagined today would add more memories with the Coopers’ big summer barbecue. She had a new dress, courtesy of a shopping trip with Lily. White might be a mistake at a barbecue, but it looked so fresh and summery with its floaty skirt and strappy back.
She hoped her contribution of bread and butter pudding held up to what she imagined would be amazing and plentiful food.
She’d just slipped it into the oven to bake when she saw her father through the wall of glass.
Opening the door, she called out, “Just in time! I put bread and butter pudding in the oven, and you can distract me from worrying about it. I dug out Mrs. Leary’s recipe, but I haven’t made this since I was a teenager. Why did I go with something I haven’t made in over a decade?”
Then she saw his face, and the buzz of excitement over the day silenced.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You haven’t had the news on?”
“No.”
Her pulse shuddered. Someone else? Who? God, she’d convinced herself it was over.
As they stood in the doorway together, Aidan took her hands. “Your mother’s been taken in for questioning over the death of her husband.”
“But . . . They said he’d had a heart attack. I know it got Red’s suspicions up again, but the man was, what, ninety? And he had medical issues.”
“It seems he had some help with the heart attack. They found digitalis, a lethal dose, in his drink.”
“God.”
“Here.” He slid an arm around her waist. “Let’s sit down out here. In the air.”
“Someone killed him. Poisoned him. They think she—But that doesn’t connect with any of the other deaths or attacks. It was his drink? Not hers?”
“His, yes. A gin and tonic, apparently. She was drinking champagne.”
“But then . . . It’s not connected. She didn’t even know him when everything happened.”
“No. Do you want some water?”
“No, no, Dad, I’m okay. It’s awful. A man’s dead, a man’s been murdered, and I’m relieved it isn’t connected to me. Except, I guess it is,” Cate murmured. “Is she actually a suspect?”
“The report said his death’s been ruled a homicide, and that she was being questioned. I don’t have much more than that.”
“Daddy.” She gripped his hands. “I understand neither of us really know her anymore, if we ever did. But do you think she’s capable?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation, she thought, and closed her eyes. “So do I. All that money, and she probably didn’t expect him to live so long. Just give him a little nudge—can’t you hear her think it—what’s the real harm? Or do we think that because