“I’ve considered that as well, but”—I fixed him with the stare I’d perfected to bring an unruly classroom to order—“two different people have mentioned that you arrived back at Chapters some time before you discovered Lincoln’s body. They also said you weremessing around, as they phrased it, near the side of the carriage house before you went inside.”
“Oh, that.” Scott shrugged. “Yes, I lingered outside for a little while before I headed inside. But it wasn’t for any nefarious purpose, I assure you. Just something silly, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d picked up a few things while I was out during the day, thinking I might join the party. Even though I wasn’t really part of the Tey celebration, it just seemed like it might be fun to surprise you and the guests by appearing in costume.”
To surprise Julie, I bet you mean, I thought, as I narrowed my eyes and continued to stare at him. “What does that have to do with you loitering outside?”
“Okay, so I found an old trench coat and fedora at a consignment shop and decided I’d just throw the coat over my regular clothes, slap on the hat, and appear as Tey’s character Alan Grant. I figured a trench coat and fedora would work for a detective from the thirties and forties.” Scott cast me an abashed smile. “A foolish idea, I know.”
“Those wereyouritems the police found in the garden bin?”
“Yes. Sorry for the confusion, but I explained the situation to them once I realized they’d taken the coat and hat away for analysis.”
I slid back in my chair, dropping my hands into my lap. “But why stuff them in the bin?”
“That was just convenience. At first, when I came up with my plan, I thought I’d don my costume outside instead of bothering to unlock the carriage house. But then, after I’d already shoved the bag in the bin, I realized I had my laptop and figured I’d better store it. I just thoughtlessly left the clothes bag in the bin when I headed inside.”
“Where you found Lincoln.”
“Yes, unfortunately.” The lines bracketing Scott’s mouth deepened. “I totally forgot about the coat and hat until I heard the police had found them.”
I looked him over. His explanation made sense, and he appeared perfectly sincere, but then, if he had killed Lincoln, he’d had time to come up with a plausible story. I frowned as another thought occurred to me. If Scott had been outside the carriage house earlier than I’d originally thought, he could’ve glimpsed the killer. If it wasn’t him, of course.
“Did you see anyone fleeing the scene?”
“No. As I told the police, I didn’t see or hear anything suspicious. Not until I entered the carriage house—yes, the door was unlocked, which should’ve been my first clue that something wasn’t right—and went inside. But whatever happened obviously occurred before I returned to the property, because all I saw was Lincoln’s body.”
That would explain the missing key, I thought, before placing my hands back on the table. “And the police know all this?”
“Of course. I’m only sorry I forgot to mention the items earlier. It would’ve saved the authorities some time. They could have eliminated them as evidence right away.”
“I’m not sure they would’ve taken your word for it,” I said, using my fingertip to trace a question mark on the tabletop.
“No, you’re right. They’d probably have sent them off for analysis anyway.” Scott rested his chin on his hand and studied me. “You look unconvinced. You don’t really think I had anything to do with Delamont’s death, do you?”
I lifted my hands. “Your story sounds reasonable, but I know you do have a history with the man, which gives you a motive.”
“My dad, you mean.”
“Lincoln Delamont swindling your dad, to be more precise.”
Scott nodded. “Not an impossible stretch to imagine someone killing over that, I suppose. But even though I was angry with Delamont for his unsavory business practices, and have always wondered if his actions might’ve affected my father’s health, I promise I didn’t kill the guy. Besides”—Scott pointed his finger at me—“I believe you also have a motive, if what I’ve heard about Delamont threatening you with blackmail is true.”
“How did you …?” I shook my head. “Never mind, I should’ve known that rumor would get around.”
“As rumors do.”
“Yes, unfortunately. But despite that, I also swear I didn’t stab the guy.”
Scott’s gaze swept over me. “It seems we’re at an impasse on that topic. Why don’t we set aside our mutual suspicion and talk about something else?”
As I surveyed his pleasant face, I had to admit that I wanted to keep talking, but not about Lincoln’s murder. My gut told me he was innocent, and while that wasn’t proof, I was more interested in his feelings for Julie and in determining whether or nothe was a good match for my friend. “Is this for your book?” I gestured toward the pile of texts on the table. “I assume this is all research for that project.”
“Yes, it’s never ending.” Scott flashed me a smile. “Or at least it feels that way.”
“I guess that tends to be true, especially for nonfiction.”
