Page 78 of Beautiful Deceit
"What can I do for you?" I ask after motioning to the tall chairs near the kitchen island. They both sit. Cortez unbuttons his suit jacket from around his protruding belly and sighs. I turn back to the coffee machine to pull Beau’s cup from the drip and begin making it the way I have watched him do a couple of times.
Hall speaks first, "How well did you know the victim Tasha Carter?" She fires at me.
"I didn't. I never really met her, before um, the day before she um, passed away.” I end lamely, looking into the coffee as it turns a light brown. I turn to look at Hall, “Like I told Detective Cortez I went with Beau to grab a few of his things from the apartment. He was staying there. I had no idea whose place it was or that she was there at the time, neither did he.” I move to the island to properly face them but run a cloth over the surface while speaking, to busy myself. “She walked out of the bedroom, and I left shortly after that. I never spoke to her directly."
Detective Hall looks at me, saying something that throws me, "Why do you think the killer left behind the carnations?"
"Wa..what?" I stammer, "W-what are you talking about?" I look back and forth between the two of them. The bathroom door slams alerting me of Beau’s presence. Beau stomps up beside me and glares at the detective.
"I told you she didn't see them." He frowns pressing his lips into a thin line.
“What are you guys talking about? What carnations?" I can hear my voice shake, but I can’t stop it.
Beau's large palm lands on my back and slides up to my neck.
I turn my eyes, searching his steady green ones.
"It's nothing for you to worry about Samantha," he promises while maintaining eye contact. I turn back to the two detectives and both of them are watching us with open interest.
Cortez is the one that's speaks, "Mr. Huntington, it's nice to see you again and so soon. Yesterday when we spoke, I forgot to ask where you'd be staying." He looks at me and smirks, "I suppose I can find you here, should the need arise." His tone makes our living together sound lewd, indecent. I step over to the counter, putting my back to them as I face the coffee machine and grab Beau’s cup.
I hold the mug between my palms and let the implications of what she said sink in. Carnations. Why would that flower be significant to them? Do they know about me receiving the flowers? Did they say the killer left those flowers? And if so, why?
Beau's stern voice interrupts my musings, "I've given you my phone records and told you every detail I can recall of our brief encounter, Thursday night. I've cooperated completely. I want whoever did this off the streets, and to pay for what he did. I think you're wasting your time on us." His voice rises considerably in agitation as he speaks with the detectives.
I place my hand on his arm and give him the coffee, then turn to the two people that are making him so upset.
"I'm really sorry. As you can tell, I didn't know about the flowers. I didn't see any flowers. I don't know how I'd be of any help to you." Beau doesn’t want them to know. I don’t know why, but I step around mentioning my own stalker with carnations.
Cortez nods his head and takes the final sips of his drink, "Right, if either of you think of anything else just give us a call." He sets a white card on the island and stands up.
Hall is quick to follows.
"We'll be in touch," she says as they head for the door.
I rush around the kitchen to open it before they leave.
Once the door closes, I look over to Beau for answers. His expression is closed off, and his arms are crossed over his chest.
Chapter 22
Beau stands with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. I give him a few moments before asking the questions he must know are coming.
"I didn't tell you, because I didn’t want to scare you." Beau starts before I can ask. "They were in the room with her; it's just a coincidence." He repeats the last part again, while running his hand through his hair.
"They were the same? Red? Rotten?"
He huffs, turning his back to me, "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"That's not what I'm worried about Beau." My voice trails off, my mind drifting to the possibility that her death is my fault.
I must voice my concerns without realizing it. Beau storms over and grabs my chin, "None of this is your fault!” When my eyes don’t meet his, he tilts my chin upward to direct my gaze. He repeats himself, then says, “You didn't do anything to hurt her. Jesus, even when she was spouting all that jealous bullshit, you didn't say a word, and she was being purposefully cruel.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, “You told me this wasn't my fault, and it's not yours either." His voice softens as he finishes, his thumb stroking my bottom lip. What he's said doesn't absolve my guilt. I am the one directly related to those flowers, and my meeting Tasha followed with her death. While I'm relieved Beau doesn't blame me, I'm worried his feelings might change if it turns out my stalker did this.
"Don't," He says, "Don't take this on Samantha. No matter what, you are not to blame yourself for this." I don’t want to tell him different, so I change the subject.
"Is that where you went yesterday? Were you meeting with the police?" He nods, standing up to his full height.
"Yeah, some. I met with Tasha's family. They're the reason it's being kept quiet. None of them want it turned into a scandal. They'd rather the person be caught without it turning into a media circus."
