remembered one time that her brother had been so drunk he had done that very thing. Which was worse? Her brother drinking himself to death or someone killing him?
Jameson covered her hands with his. “Let’s give the police a chance. They’ll know more after the autopsy. His blood alcohol level will indicate whether he was drinking or not.”
Anger that held her stiff siphoned from her, and she sagged against the table. “I had to listen to my mother cry herself to sleep. We had come through so much with Scott. He was getting his life back on track finally. What if someone came along and ended it—” she snapped her fingers “—just like that. It could be tied to a story he was working on.”
“Why do you say that?” Jameson downed the last swig of his drink.
“All the questions about whether Scott worked at home or not, how he kept notes on a story he was investigating. Right before we left, I overheard one of the detectives say he was going down to the newspaper next.”
“That could mean anything. Scott had already gained quite a reputation for digging until he discovered the whole truth. He’d made a few people unhappy with some of his stories.”
Cassie scraped the chair back and shot to her feet. “Exactly! Scott could have made someone angry with one of his pieces, and he got even by killing him.”
“That’s a possibility, and the police will look into it. But they’re also asking questions about Scott and his drinking.”
Leaning forward, she rested her knuckles on the plaid place mat. “After the scene is processed, they want me to go through Scott’s place and see if anything is missing.”
“The police need to rule out robbery as a motive, if he was murdered.”
The thought of going through her brother’s possessions, knowing she would have to box them up soon, chilled her. “I—I know, but…”
Jameson rose. “Do you want me to go with you? I don’t mind helping.”
“I hate to ask you—”
He covered the small space between them and clasped her arms, compelling her to look up into his face. “You didn’t ask. I volunteered. I don’t mind. Scott was a friend. You are a friend.”
His words melted some of the cold deep in the marrow of her bones. Emotions she’d held at bay wedged a lump in her throat.
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. “It’s okay to cry.”
She fought the tears back. “I don’t like to cry.”
“Why?”
It’s a sign of weakness, of losing control. Her gymnastics coach’s words came back to her. Whenever she had fallen in practice, she was never allowed to shed one tear. After years it had become ingrained in her. But she couldn’t tell Jameson that. Instead she murmured, “I just don’t.”
The steady beat of his heart drummed against her ear. His faint scent surrounded her and brought some consolation to her.
“It’s never easy losing a loved one,” Jameson finally said, breaking the silence. “No matter the reason for the death.”
She remembered the death of his wife at the end of last year. Had he had anyone to help him through his pain? He always seemed so alone. Was he experiencing his own loss again?
Cassie pulled back, their gazes reconnecting. “I know. If you ever want to talk about your wife, I’m a good listener.”
Surprise flickered in and out of his eyes. “This isn’t about me.”
If she pushed back her own sorrow and helped Jameson with his, would it fill the void Scott’s death left in her? “This is about losing a loved one, and you lost your wife last year.”
He backed away. “I had plenty of time to prepare myself for her death. She was sick for quite some time.”
“Can you ever really prepare yourself for a loved one’s death?”
He took another step away from her. “How did this conversation suddenly become about me?”
“Have you talked to anyone about your wife dying?” She didn’t really need to ask him that question. She knew the answer.
His gaze narrowed, his face frowned. “I need to leave. Let me know if you want me to go with you to Scott’s when the police give you the okay.”
She understood he was closing the door on any conversation concerning his deceased wife. But still, she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. “I’ll let you know when they call. Mom won’t want me to go alone, and I don’t think she should go right now.”
“Are you going to say anything to your mother about the possibility of Scott being murdered?”
“I could only bring myself to tell her it was an accident. She’s been through so much with Scott and her own failing health. I don’t want her to know it could have been murder until the police declare that officially. I’ve asked them not to talk to Mom until they absolutely have to. The detective said he would let me know when.”
“I’ll make sure I don’t say anything, but you may want to moderate the news in case some reporter speculates about the investigation.”
She nodded. “I hate to think what this will do to Mom if it is true.”
The grief he saw in Cassie’s eyes mirrored his own grief for his wife. Maybe if he helped Cassie and her mother through their sorrow, it would ease some of his guilt.
“I’d better go. Call me after you talk to the police.” Jameson crossed to the dining room entrance.
Outside in the cool fall air, he paused, trying not to remember the words Liz’s father shouted at him that day long ago in the hospital. But he couldn’t forget them. They burned into his mind as though the man had branded him with them.
You’re responsible for my daughter lying here in this bed.
And he couldn’t argue that point. He was responsible.
Sunday afternoon Jameson pulled into the long driveway that led to Scott’s apartment above the garage. “So the police have made it official. He was murdered.”
“That’s what Detective Harrison told me. He was hit with some kind of blunt object. The amount of alcohol in his system was minimal, likely poured in his mouth postmortem. They are searching the surrounding area to see if anything turns up.”
“But they’re through with the apartment?”
“Yes and his car is in the garage.” On the drive to Savannah, she and Jameson had discussed everything but what had happened to Scott, as though they had mutually decided to avoid the subject for as long as possible. “I called Mrs. Alexander and she told me the key would be under Scott’s doormat. She wasn’t sure she would be home from church when we arrived.”
“Did you tell your mother before you left?”
“No.
