“If you want to get it right, and I do.”
“Which is good.” I noticed tension tightening his jaw. It reminded me of our discussion the night of the murder. It seemed mentioning his writing made him a little uncomfortable, and I thought I might know why. “Despite your dad’s success, you really have no desire to write fiction?”
“More likebecauseof it. As I said the other night, I don’t want to fight in my father’s arena. Dad may have passed away, but I’m sure some reporter or blogger would dig up our connection and compare my fiction to his.” Scott lowered his lashes, veiling his brown eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’d come up short in that analysis.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“But I do. Dad was such a famous literary figure, well respected by his peers. His books were not only best sellers; they also won prestigious literary awards.” Scott glanced up at me. “Quite a shadow to live under as a writer, let me tell you. I do okay with my historical tomes, but I’m nowhere near his level. And if I tried to equal his success in fiction …” His lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. “Well, let’s just say I don’t plan to subject myself to that humiliation.”
“But you obviously make enough to write full-time, which most authors can’t do.” I shrugged. “Or so I’m told by my writer friends.”
“That’s only because I inherited enough money from Dad to supplement my earnings. Otherwise, I’d need a full-time job on top of the writing.” Scott flicked his hands as if casting away a piece of trash. “I’m lucky, I know. Even if I occasionally resent my father’s success, it’s allowed me to live the way I do. And help support my daughter.”
I sat up straighter. “I didn’t know you had a family.”
“Not much of one. Well, not exactly. Both parents dead, no siblings. And divorced years ago,” Scott said. “But I do have one child, Abigail, or Abby, as I call her. She’s ten.”
This added a new wrinkle to the possibility of him being a suitable companion for Julie. Fortunately, I knew she liked children, which should make this a plus rather than a problem. “You see her often?”
“Oh yes. As much as I can. My freelance schedule helps with that, since her mom’s a lawyer. Which means she often needs me to take care of Abby. Which is fine by me.” Scott shifted in his chair. “In fact, Abby’s been pestering me to let her visit Beaufort, and I’d hoped she could accompany me on this trip.” He raised his eyebrows. “Thank goodness that didn’t work out.”
“Yes, that’s a blessing. I’d hate to think of her mixed up in this. It’s bad enough that Tara Delamont is caught in the middle of it.”
“That is a shame. Even worse if she is the killer.”
I tapped the table with one finger. “I don’t think she is, honestly. Because of her costume, for one thing.”
“Oh? What would that have to do with anything?”
“She was still wearing it later, when not everyone else was, and there wasn’t any blood on her rather light-colored gown, or any evidence that there ever had been,” I said.
“Good point.” Scott looked me over. “You’re a pretty smart cookie, aren’t you? I hadn’t thought of that. But a stabbing would result in some blood spatter, I suppose. Unless it was a professional assassin, and I doubt we’re dealing with that.”
“Which also makes Julie an unlikely suspect, since she never changed out of her costume either,” I said, thinking I should throw my friend’s name into the mix. Scott was looking at me with a new level of interest that I wanted to quash. Not that he was flirting, but there was a new intensity in his gaze, and I wanted to make it clear I wasn’t trying to encourage such a thing. I thought he was a better match for Julie, and besides, I didn’t want to encourage him, or any man, in anything beyond friendship. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for that. Maybe I never would be.
“That’s true, although she was wearing a color that might not have shown the stains, especially if it was a minor splatter,” Scott said. “But don’t worry, I don’t suspect Julie as the murderer. I just can’t imagine her hurting, much less killing, anyone.”
“Exactly.” I gave Scott a warm smile. “I think you like her a little, don’t you?”
“I confess I find her interesting as well as beautiful.” Scott tipped his head and gave me a wink. “Since you’re her friend, I hope that meets with your approval.”
“It does, unless …”
Scott’s eyebrows quirked. “I killed Lincoln Delamont? Trust me, I didn’t, although I must confess I didn’t shed any tears over the guy’s death.”
You’ll be even happier that he’s gone when you find out the truth about Julie’s relationship with him.Of course, I didn’t voice thisthought, choosing to offer Scott a warm smile instead. “I understand. I just feel sorry for his wife and daughter, to be honest.”
“Me too. Even if it was his wife who killed him, I suspect she had good reason. And the girl … well, it has to be tough, losing someone suddenly like that.”
“It is.” Unexpectedly, tears welled in my eyes. I fished a tissue from my purse and dabbed at my eyes. “Sorry, still get choked up sometimes, and it’s been three years.”
“Your husband?” Scott asked, his tone gentle.
I stared at the hands I’d gripped together on the tabletop. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard me mention Brent once or twice.”
“I have, and I admit I was curious, but I didn’t want to pry.” Scott closed one of the open research books and set it to the side. “He must’ve been rather young, unless he was some years older than you.”
“No, we were the same age. He’d be forty-two today, just like me.” I pulled apart my interlaced fingers and shook out the tension in my hands. “He was thirty-nine when he died.”
