Page 12 of Wild Frost

"What!?" he said, dumbstruck. "With whom?”

I gave him the nitty-gritty and showed him some of the text messages between the two.

His eyes filled, and the tears spilled over. A mix of sadness and rage filled his face. "She's fucking the pool boy!? You've gotta be kidding me!"

"I'm sorry."

The news looked like it came as a genuine surprise to him. Brenda would do a full tox screen, and the forensic team would dust the wine bottle and surfaces for prints. It's quite possible Ford could have put something in the wine before he left town, knowing his wife would get into it. Maybe Ford had full knowledge of the affair. Maybe he thought this was a cheaper option than divorce.

His face fell into his hands, and he sobbed. After a moment, he wiped the tears away and said, "How long? How long have they been seeing each other?”

"I'm not sure. How long has he been cleaning your pool?”

"My wife hired Jett about six months ago. Of course, the referral came from Ainsley." The name left a bad taste in his mouth. Pretty much anything did at this point.

"That's his name, right? Jett?"

Ford nodded. "Next time I see that guy, I’m going to drown him in the fucking pool."

"Might not want to do that," I cautioned.

"Him and that fucking doctor.”

Ford was pissed. Understandably so.

"Let us handle this. Trust me, you don't want to take matters into your own hands.”

We asked him a few more questions, then I gave him a card and offered our condolences once again.

By the time we stepped outside, Paris and her camera crew were on the scene, soaking up footage, waiting for the deceased to be removed in a body bag.

JD and I started banging on neighboring doors. The woman who lived next door had a few interesting things to say.

7

“Idon’t mean to gossip,” Lucy said in a salacious tone that suggested she enjoyed doing just that. "But I saw a rather handsome gentleman arrive at the house around 11:30 PM." Then she muttered aside, "And it wasn’t the first time I’d seen him visit late at night, either."

Lucy was a slightly frumpy woman in her late 30s with a chubby face, short brown hair with frosted tips, and powder blue eyes.

"So you recognized the man?" I said.

"He thinks he’s being sneaky. Pulls up in the canal in his 40-foot sportfish and comes to the back door. Of course, he never pays a visit at that hour when Mr. Hollingsworth is home.”

"How long has this been going on for?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. A few months now. Put me in an awkward position.”

"How so?”

She looked at me like it was a silly question. "What am I supposed to do? Do I keep her secret, or do I tell Mr. Hollingsworth? I don’t like sticking my nose in other people's business, mind you.” I had no doubt she loved to stick her nose into other people's business.

"Did you recognize the gentleman?" I asked.

"I'm pretty sure it was her pool boy." A disapproving frown tugged her lips, and she shook her head. "I'm sure Mr. Hollingsworth would like to know he was cleaning more than the pool filters." Then she asked, "Do you think he had something to do with Whitney's death?”

"I can't say at this time.”

"Sure. I understand.”