The bedspread had a gold and ivory print with a matching canopy and curtains. The ornate mahogany bed frame appeared to have been carved into the wall, ceiling, and floorboards. A curtain could be drawn around the person tucked inside.
“It’s like a room fit for the king and queen of Versailles,” Charlie mused.
“Hopefully without the beheading,” I added.
He turned off his flashlight and scratched at his jaw. “That would be preferable.”
The rest of the furniture was simple—a writing desk, a wardrobe, two wooden chairs that were so large as to appear throne-like. Every item kept with the royal antiquity theme.
“Do you think the Finches understood that there was actually no such thing as American royalty?”
“Definitely not,” he answered, standing only inches inside the doorway, his face asking if he could step inside. He was a gentleman, if nothing else.
I took in the worry lines etched into his forehead and the wrinkled uniform. “It’s fine. You can bunk with me.”
Relief settled across Charlie’s brow as he closed the door behind him and plopped down on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.
I took a couple of deep breaths and forced myself to release any expectations, conversationally or otherwise. We were both done with this day. Still, I thought I saw his eyes flash with emotion when he glanced back at me, though I couldn’t tell if it was suspicion or desire.
“Dakota,” he said, his gruff voice making the three syllables resonate.
Despite how conflicted I felt about our earlier interactions, a rush of warmth crept into my chest when he said my name, but I refused to feel lovey-dovey after this terrible night.
“Did you and your deputy finish interviewing everyone?” I asked, trying to sound professional and removed as I sat down on the bed too.
He nodded but didn’t answer, staring at a fixed point on the rug that stretched wall to wall. I had the sudden urge to shake him out of his intense focus. Surely he could do his job while also sounding human?
“And?” I asked, prompting him to continue.
“We made pretty fast work of narrowing down who we’ll be questioning more extensively tomorrow.”
I hated his use of the “we” pronoun to reference himself and his deputy, but even as the thought struck me, I knew it was ridiculous. This man couldn’t change the entire English language to navigate my ridiculous jealousy. God, I needed to sleep.
“Do you feel like you have a good lead on who might’ve been involved?” I tried again.
“I’ve got a few names.” He wasn’t giving anything away. “What about you? Who’s on your list?”
He knew I had one, even if I didn’t like to talk about it. I wanted to tell him that he had to go first, but he was the sheriff—and by default, the lead investigator—so he didn’t actually have to give me anything.
“Joe’s still at the top of my list,” I admitted. “And I’m keeping a close eye on Presley and Lee Frank.”
“That’s it?” he asked. “Three suspects?”
He could read me, and he knew that there were others that I didn’t want to name.
“I think I have an idea of which guests had opportunity, and I have a few theories on possible motives.”
“Right.” He sucked his teeth and let out a heavy breath. “Regardless, until we know the actual cause of death, the method can’t exactly be proven. And until we have the method confirmed, we can’t get much further in terms of identifying the perpetrator.”
We weren’t getting anywhere fast, personally or professionally, with this line of conversation. I moved my hands behind my back, placing my palms against the soft comforter. “I found something downstairs in the kitchen.”
“Really? My guys didn’t see anything there.”
“It was actually in one of the lockers for the staff,” I told him. “In a backpack belonging to Joe Larson.”
“I can’t exactly condone searching property without a warrant.” Charlie lifted an eyebrow. I’d seen that look a lot four months ago during the last investigation here.
“That’s fine,Iwill condone it,” I told him, rubbing my fingers on my left temple. It was wonderful to be dating a man so honest and aboveboard, except when it came to following stupid rules that actually prevented progress. “Inside, I found an old yearbook with some notes from when we graduated, a stack of Joe’s headshots, and a CD.” I reached into the waist of my jeans and took out the CD, still wrapped in the case with the handwritten message.
