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Theodosia reached for the pot of tea and poured a stream of Sencha into Tidwell’s teacup. “And Delaine Dish is a suspect?”
“That’s correct.”
“No,” Theodosia said. “That’s wrong.”
Tidwell picked up his teacup, took a noisy sip, then set it back down in its saucer with a loud clink.
“The fact of the matter is, Miss Dish was involved with Mr. Morro,” Tidwell said. “Romantically involved. Until that relationship ended abruptly, badly, and very publicly. In front of a number of horrified witnesses.”
“Oh please.”
“The woman is erratic.”
“Of course she is. Delaine is erratic, eccentric, and has a personality that can set your teeth on edge. But that doesn’t make her a killer.”
“She also has no decent alibi for the time frame in which the film director was killed,” Tidwell said.
“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of Charleston’s citizens probably don’t have an alibi for that time frame, but it doesn’t make them killers.”
Tidwell held up an index finger. “But they weren’t seen by several dozen witnesses screaming at Mr. Morro inside a fancy restaurant.”
“You’re using the old ‘a woman scorned’ argument.”
“Exactly.”
Theodosia sat back. “I think Delaine has thicker skin than that. She’s gone through any number of breakups and survived just fine. Truth be known, she runs through men like a buzz saw. Besides, Delaine wasn’t anywhere near Brittlebank Manor yesterday.”
“You don’t know that. The witnesses I interviewed all said it was pitch-dark inside that old place. That they were filming some kind of spooky movie.”
“Dark Fortunes,” Theodosia murmured.
“That’s it? That’s the name of the film?”
“The working title anyway.” Theodosia considered this. “No, I guess it’s the actual title.”
“Uh-huh.” Tidwell was already working on his second scone.
“What do you know about the lighting guys? If anybody is adept at wiring it would be those folks,” Theodosia said.
“We’re looking hard at one of the men.”
“Which one?”
In lieu of an answer Tidwell took a sip of tea.
“I see. You’re not going to tell me. Hmm. Maybe I will have to do a little investigating on my own.”
“No, you will not,” Tidwell said.
“Excuse me,” Theodosia said. “Have we met?”
Tidwell heaved a deep sigh, then said, “There’s more here than meets the eye.”
“Is that fact or mere suspicion?”
“Let me put it this way,” Tidwell said. “People are pointing fingers at each other, there’s an unhappy young actress, directors are playing musical chairs, and the film has a completion guaranty so even if it doesn’t get made there’s a payoff.” He picked up the last of his scone and stared at her.
“Huh,” Theodosia said. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
