Page 52 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

I nod too. “And Cam Verido.”

“Yep, that was them.” He shakes his head. “And God rest your mother’s soul, Juniper, but the bunch of them—they were troublemakers. They ran wild whenever they could get away with it.”

I swallow, my throat trying to close around my next question. “And was my mother involved with any of them? Romantically, I mean?”

That shrewd look of Rocco’s returns. “You really want to know? I’m not stupid, Miss Bean; this conversation looks to me like you’re hunting for your father.”

“Yes,” I say. “I want to know. I’m not hunting for him, necessarily, but…I’m notnothunting, either.” It’s not a very helpful answer, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“Your call,” Rocco says with a shrug. “It’s like I said; Lionel never let me hang around with them, so I don’t know details. But I think Nora and Tommy had something going on, and IknowLionel liked her. Whether she felt the same way—that, I don’t know. But there was about a year in there where Nora and Tommy went to dances together, stuff like that.”

“What about when they graduated high school?” I say. I can’t even keep up with my pulse at this point; my heart is racing, and adrenaline is burning holes through my veins. “There was a party at the end of that summer, after they graduated.”

Rocco shifts uncomfortably. “Look. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but—those four got together every weekend. There was never any big party; it was just them hanging out. Do you know when specifically you’re talking about? Maybe then I could tell you if I know details or not. Or if—”

“No,” I say, sighing. “I don’t know any specifics.” I stand up, suddenly antsy with the need to keep digging elsewhere.

“I can tell you this, at least,” Rocco says, and he stands up too. “I don’t know who your father is, Miss Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were any number of relationships going on in that group—like I said, your mother was beautiful, and those four were always together. And how old are you?”

“Thirty,” I supply. “And my mom’s ex says that she got pregnant at the end of the summer after her senior year, at a party with her friends.”

“And that timing fits?” Rocco says. But then he answers his own question. “I guess it does—Lionel and his friends are two years older than me, and I’m forty-six. Your mother would be forty-eight, and you’re thirty—”

“Making her roughly eighteen when I was born,” I say, nodding.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his hand over his messy hair. “Like I said, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear any of them might be your father. But I have no concrete knowledge.”

I nod. Strangely enough, even though he doesn’t know who my father is, it does help to know that I’m on the right track. “Do you know what any of them are up to now?”

“Aside from Lionel?” he says with a bitter laugh as the three of us meander toward the front door. “No, I don’t. We weren’t friendly; I never bothered keeping in touch or checking in on them.”

“And your brother’s just…” I say, letting my words trail off and watching Rocco.

“Just being the same self-absorbed, arrogant man he’s always been,” he says, his scowl firmly back in place. “Surrounds himself with sycophants and beautiful women and laps it all up. Sleeps with models and brand ambassadors and beauty queens and then shows up on my television with his arm around his wife. Thinks he can get away with anything, and now he has his sights set on a new playground. Idaho,” he adds when I give him a questioning look. “The state of Idaho.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my mind whirring. It couldn’t be clearer that Rocco really doesn’t like his brother, and because of that, I think most of what we’re hearing is at least partially biased.

That being said…the more I learn about Lionel Astor, the less I like him, too. It’s not just the snippets of knowledge I’m coming across, either, although Aiden hasfeelingsabout Lionel’s plan to reduce funding to the food bank.

No, my growing dislike comes from somewhere much more…intuitive, I guess. More visceral. I looked him up after I found the photo of my mom and her friends; I watched some of his commercials. And on paper he seems to be doing good things. But when he smiles, his eyes look hollow.

A lot like Sandy’s in those pageant photos, now that I think of it—andhang on.

I blink as the rest of Rocco’s words catch up to me, another little red flag flying.

If he’s telling the truth, his brother is involved with models and brand ambassadors and beautiful women. Does he have connections to the pageant world, then, too?

I don’t know. But it will be easy to check.

My hand shoots out, grabbing the door handle. “I’m sorry we wasted your time,” I say, smiling at Rocco to soften the abruptness of my words.

He takes it in stride, looking only mildly surprised. “A visit from friends is never a waste,” he says with a shrug. “But you”—he points at Aiden—“contribute to the conversation once in a while, why don’t you.”

Aiden just smirks.

“Oh!” I say as we step outside. “I do have one last question, actually. Is Rocco your real name, or is it a nickname?” This question has been bugging me since day one.

Rocco grins, his eyes sparkling. “A ridiculous name, I know. It’s short for Richard. But it could have been worse.”

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