Scene of the Crime: Killer Cove. Carla Cassidy
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about it?”
She drew a deep breath, knowing she was putting her nose in business that wasn’t her own, and yet unable to stop herself. “Doesn’t it bother you knowing that Shelly’s murderer is still walking these streets, free as a bird?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you so sure I’m innocent?” he asked.
Claire had never had a problem speaking her mind or sharing her thoughts, but she found herself reluctant to truly answer his question, afraid that he’d think she was silly, or worse, the loony tune she already suspected he thought she might be.
“I’m three years younger than you and Shelly and I know it sounds crazy, but I was in love with your love for each other. You two were the shining example of what I wanted to find for myself someday. I watched you walking the streets, hand in hand, having ice cream outside the ice cream parlor.”
The words tumbled out of her, as if the more she spoke the less he’d think she was nuts. “I saw the way you looked at her, Bo. I know the reputation you had in town as being a caring, gentle soul, a loving son, and I don’t believe there was anything Shelly could have done that would have resulted in you hurting her.”
Bo stared at her for a long moment, his eyes a darker shade of blue than she’d ever seen them. “Thank you,” he finally said. “And of course it bothers me that her killer has never been brought to justice.”
“It bothers me so much I carry pepper spray everywhere I go,” she said. “I try to be inside the house with the door locked after dark.”
Bo took another drink, his gaze not leaving hers. “What does all this have to do with me leaving town?”
Claire uncurled from her position and moved closer to him. “I don’t think you should leave town. I think you should stick around and prove your innocence.”
Bo laughed, the sound deep and rusty, as if he hadn’t laughed in a very long time. “You are out of your mind.”
“I don’t think so,” she protested. “You know that at the time of Shelly’s murder there wasn’t really a thorough investigation. Law enforcement focused on you to the exclusion of anyone else.”
“Shelly’s case is a cold case that nobody is working because they all believe I did the crime. I can’t imagine Trey or Ray agreeing to reinvestigate it just because I’m back in town,” Bo said.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “They wouldn’t lift a finger to help you with any unofficial investigation, but I would.” She saw his dubiousness in his eyes and quickly pressed forward. “Think about it, Bo. We don’t even know if the sheriff and his men interviewed any of Shelly’s friends after her death. I don’t believe they did much of anything, but you and I could talk to people, see what they remember about Shelly’s life at that time, who might be a possible killer.”
“It’s a stupid idea.”
“Maybe it is, but isn’t it worth giving a little time to see what we might stir up? Wouldn’t you like to prove your innocence to all the people who doubted you?”
Bo took a drink and sat forward. He placed his glass on the table and raked a hand through his slightly unruly hair. He glanced toward the window where the rain had stopped.
“I need to go home. You’ve got me half looped and considering things that shouldn’t even enter my mind.” He stood and she did the same, wondering what it might take to convince him that staying in town and fighting for his reputation would be worth it.
Of course, she’d spent years trying to convince her father to put down his bottle and be a real dad because she was worth it, and that certainly hadn’t worked out.
“Why not hang around a few weeks and see what you and Claire can dig up?” Jimmy asked. The two men were seated at the kitchen table eating ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch.
Already that morning Bo had met with his mother’s lawyer, taken care of what paperwork needed to be done, and then had come back and packed part of the clothes in his mother’s closet in the boxes Jimmy had brought home from the bar.
“If I know you, you’ve hired people at Bo’s Place who are perfectly capable of running the business without you being present for a while,” Jimmy continued.
Bo released a sigh. “I tossed and turned all night. The idea of staying here and putting myself through it all again isn’t exactly appealing, and yet the idea of Shelly’s killer still out there has haunted me for the last two years. I want to know who and I want to know why.”
What he didn’t mention to his best friend was how attracted he was to the woman who had put the idea in his head in the first place. He tried to tell himself that it was merely a combination of grief, gin and her proximity. But he’d wanted to fall into the depths of her amazing blue eyes, reach out and run his fingers through her curly mop of hair to see if the strands were as soft and silky as they appeared.
He had no idea what force had brought her into his life and why she was being so kind to him. Although she’d tried to explain her total belief in his innocence, he wasn’t sure he understood her reasons. Still, the fact that he was innocent and she’d shown such belief in him had been a balm to a soul that had been scarred for two long years.
“How did you leave it with Claire last night?” Jimmy asked.
“She told me if I decided to stick around and become a crime investigation duo that she’d be hanging out at the school around two.”
Jimmy nodded. “Coach Cantor has a key to the school, and I think once a week or so he and Claire sneak into the school gym and play one-on-one basketball.”
“Coach Cantor?”
“Roger Cantor. He moved here about six months after you left. He’s your typical jock type, but a nice guy.” Jimmy looked over at the rooster clock on the wall. “That gives you about an hour if you intend to meet up with her at the school.”
It was two thirty when Bo finally made up his mind and backed his motorcycle out of the driveway to head to the school. He was late so he wasn’t even sure Claire would still be there, but if he didn’t find her there he knew he’d eventually find her somewhere. Or he had a feeling she’d find him.
It took him only minutes to arrive at the school, which housed students from kindergarten kids to seniors. Divided into two parts separated by a short breezeway, kindergartners through eighth were housed on the left and the right was for freshmen to seniors.
Claire’s pink bicycle was locked to an old, rusted bike rack and a car was parked in the lot, letting him know that she and the coach were still here.
He parked his motorcycle next to the car and then headed for the front door of the high school side of the building. Locked.
He made his way around the side of the building to the back where he knew there was a door that would take him into a hallway that led directly to the gym.
This door was unlocked, and as he stepped inside it was to the scents of pine cleaner and floor polish. Once school started again the clean smells would disappear beneath the odors of sweaty bodies and smelly gym clothes.
On either side of the hallway were doors that led to the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms.
Before he reached the gym he heard the sound of squeaky shoes pounding the floor and a male triumphant shout. He stepped up to the open doors and peered inside to see Claire facing off for a tip-off with a tall, pleasant-looking blond man who had the physique of a coach.
But it was Claire who captured his attention. Clad in a pair of white shorts that showcased shapely athletic legs and a turquoise T-shirt that clung to her feminine curves, she looked sexy as hell even dribbling the basketball, which had tipped to her side of the court.
She