said, pushing his chair back from the table, and heading toward the same piece of paper he’d jotted notes on after the party at my agency.
“It’s certainly a possibility, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not.”
“Think this idea that Cassie made it so Deidre was on the platform when it collapsed is a theory you should raise with the police?” Andy asked, as he, too, pushed his chair back. But unlike my grandfather, Andy didn’t stand. He merely hiked his left ankle onto his right knee and tented his fingers beneath his chin. “It certainly seems an avenue worth exploring.”
My grandfather looked up from his notes, his eyes finding and then abandoning mine before doing the same with Ms. Rapple. I looked at Ms. Rapple to gauge her reaction, but her attention was focused on Gertie, her brows furrowed in something that looked a lot like worry. Before I could inquire though, Carter took a turn with my latest supposition.
“If Ms. Ombré Strand—”
“Cassie. Cassie Turner,” I corrected.
Carter swept his hand in my general direction. “Semantics. Anyway, if Ms. Ombré Strand called Deidre’s name in error just to get her up on that platform, there would have to be something pretty big there between them. Because if she was just angry she hadn’t been nominated and she was railing against that, she wouldn’t have cared who was on the platform when it gave way. But if you’re right, and she intentionally changed the real winner to Deidre, there had to be a reason. Something big. Something that would drive a seemingly successful person in their own right to retaliate against someone else via murder.”
“Carter’s right,” my grandfather said.
Carter grinned at Sam. “That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
But I was focused on my grandfather and the fact that while he was finally looking me straight in the eye, it felt different. Hollow, even.
I shivered.
“Do you remember hearing any scuttlebutt about the two of them?” Mary Fran stood, gathered up everyone’s dessert plate, and handed the stack to Sam. When he took the hint and carried them into the kitchen, she moved on to the forks and spoons, handing that pile to Carter. “Any sort of run-in, bad blood, salacious rumors, et cetera?”
“About Deidre? No. She wasn’t the type.”
“You sure of that, Tobi?”
The sound of my name—my given name—on my grandfather’s tongue caught me by surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called me Tobi, instead of Sugar Lump. I just knew I didn’t like it one little bit.
“Am I 100 percent sure? No. But I’m up for changing that if you are.”
Andy held his hands up in the air. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Do I need to remind the two of you what the job of the police is?”
I met and held my grandfather’s gaze. “No. But I could have been on that platform just as easily as Deidre. And while I can’t say I knew her super well, I know she didn’t deserve to die the way that she did.”
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