Tessa Stark: Desert Heat

Chapter Fourteen

She almost didn't want to continue with the current line of questioning, but after waffling for a few beats, she decided to see it through. But, only because Cole made a good point. The senator was a little too vehement in his quest to remove her from the case.

"Where were you the evening your niece was killed, Senator Whitmore?" she asked, her voice getting swallowed up by the thick tension inside the cabana.

The senator turned his pale gaze to her, something of a sardonic grin lifting one side of his mouth. "July 10th was a Friday. So, I was where I am nearly every Friday when I'm working. You can ask my wife exactly where that is. She can tell you if she wants you to have that information."

Ellen stiffened, her face going pale beneath her makeup, but she kept her chin lifted and her gaze steady on Tessa. "I'm assuming my husband was with his latest conquest. Likely an intern from his office. I'm sure she would provide you with proof of his whereabouts."  She cast a quick glance at her husband.  "What's this one's name, dear?"

"Vanessa," came Richard's easy reply.

Trista, huffing out a derisive snort, suddenly sprung to her feet and headed for the bar, and Tessa couldn't say that she blamed the girl.

"You're willingly admitting to me that you were with a woman other than your wife?" asked Tessa, back to taking notes. "You don't think something like that getting out might hurt your campaign?"

"This is a murder investigation, Ms. Stark," the senator reminded. "Unless I'm a suspect, my statement to you should have no reason to ever reach the public. Besides, Texas is a Republican state. The voters won't care if I'm sleeping with someone who isn't my wife, just so long as that woman isn't a Democrat. So, I think I'm safe."

A small wave of repulsion rolled through her stomach and her personal view on marriage suddenly deepened by a few measures. "Does Vanessa have a last name?"

"I'm not terribly sure of her last name, but I might be able to get you her cell number, if you need it," said the wealthy and powerful politician who had all the money in the world and an entire month to make sure his intern backed up his alibi.

"I'd appreciate it if you could do that, thank you," she told the man, suddenly feeling like she needed a long, hot shower.

Jodie cleared her throat, visibly trying to pull herself together. "Detective, wh-whatever happened to my daughter, I assure you, it had nothing to do with our money. Hallie's share of the trust simply reverts back to the trust and is then divided between the remaining heirs.  No single person can benefit, so it makes no difference to anything."

"Did you tell the original detective this?" she wondered.

"I did," Ellen answered. "He seemed not take me at my word and, as I said, he then went to the staff."

Pulling in a breath, she tried to get her thoughts back in line in an effort to finish up the interview and basically get the hell outta dodge. "So, did any of you have a reason to think Nathan Rutherford had anything to do with Hallie's death before Detective Rogers decided that he might be involved?"

"I did," Cameran put in, rueful.

"Why?" was her next question.

"Because he's the one who found her. She was killed on the road out to his place. And Nathan likes to hit when he's drunk and pissed off, which is most of the time."

She'd had the dubious pleasure of meeting Mr. Rutherford in person and couldn't help but wonder why any woman in her right mind wouldn't just hit him back. "And you know for a fact that he likes to hit?" she asked.