Drake frowned thoughtfully. “Are you sure you don’t want that security detail Wainwright offered?” He searched Carson’s face as if looking for the doubt. “This case could get dicey, son. We don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks.”
“I’ve taken the offer under advisement,” Carson allowed. Having someone shadow him night and day wasn’t something he looked forward to, but if it came to that he would deal with it.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Carson turned his attention toward the door.
Elizabeth was there. “Mother says dessert and coffee are served.” She smiled at Carson, the same way she had a thousand times in the past.
The moment made him smile. Felt like old times.
Drake tamped out his cigar. “Let’s not keep the ladies waiting.” He pushed to his feet; Carson did the same. “I happen to know tonight’s dessert is your favorite.” The senator winked at Carson.
Chocolate cake. He’d always loved Mrs. Drake’s homemade chocolate cake. Carson patted his abdomen. “If I add dessert to that amazing meal, I’ll be putting in some extra miles the next few nights.”
Drake laughed as he joined his daughter at the door. “I’ve got a feeling this young man doesn’t get home-cooked meals often.” Hewrapped Elizabeth’s arm around his and headed for the dining room. “We’ll have to take steps to amend that situation.”
Elizabeth peeked back at Carson. “Indeed we will.”
Looking elegant in her conservative pink dress, she could be sixteen again, sweet and innocent. His chest tightened. He’d been madly in love with her.
A lifetime ago.
He’d sequestered the notion so many years ago, reflecting on it now felt surreal.
Just like this entire evening.
During dessert the Drakes laughed and talked about old times as if that one day in Carson’s history hadn’t happened. As if they hadn’t pretended he didn’t exist for years after the murders. The abrupt turnabout confused him, yes, but he had to confess a certain satisfaction in having come full circle. Regardless of that good feeling, the obsessive region of his brain that constantly analyzed and assessed began to piece together a theory.
Most powerful politicians in Alabama were happily married with a family. Was this part of the package being considered for his future? Political aspirations often required personal sacrifice, that much was true. If the powers-that-be had put their heads together and decided that Carson’s success in the political arena required the acquisition of a wife, the question was, who would be sacrificing the most? Him? Or Elizabeth?
Elizabeth hadn’t married. No rumor of any engagements or significant boyfriends had filtered to him. He wasn’t fool enough to believe she had waited for him all this time.
Maybe he was making too much of this pleasant evening.
“Would you like another slice, Carson?”
His attention turned to Mrs. Drake. She smiled, her hand poised to pare off another portion of the cake she had made expressly for his enjoyment. Patricia Drake had been his mother’s best friend. She had treated Carson and his sister like part of the family.
“No, thank you. Though it’s seriously tempting.”
Patricia smiled, absolutely content to be known for her baking skills and raising the bar for the perfect wife and mother. Guilt pinged Carson for thinking that tonight was anything more than plain old Southern hospitality.
Work really was all he knew anymore. His social skills were rusty. All the more reason to end the night before his imagination got the better of him. He pushed back his chair and stood. “Thank you for having me, but I should be going. I have hours of work ahead of me.”
Elizabeth looked crestfallen. “It’s still early.”
The senator put a hand on his daughter’s. “Remember,” he glanced at Carson, “he’s our next district attorney. He has to stay on top of his game.”
Her expression brightened, but a hint of sadness lingered. “Of course.” Elizabeth placed her napkin on the table and stood. “Let me walk you out.”
Carson hesitated, maybe rustier on etiquette than he’d first thought. “I should help clean up.” He started to clear his place setting.
“No. No,” Patricia scolded gently. “We’ll take care of that.”
Carson looked to the senator.
“We’ve got this under control,” he seconded as he rose and reached for Carson’s hand. “Keep your social calendar clear, son. We’ll do this again soon.”
