She looked at him with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I have a gut feeling there’s more going on here than just a video.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she said archly. But she kept her gaze carefully averted. “Since Mr. Williams’s body was discovered, my primary goal has been to honor his memory.”
“And would solving the mystery of who killed Mr. Williams and buried his body be part of that goal to honor his memory? Because if it is, I have to admit, your modus operandi is…brilliant.”
She blinked.
“Brilliant,” he clarified, “and dangerous. Not something you should be doing on your own.”
She was trying to appear patient and failing miserably. “Sam, I know I’m not the most technologically savvy person here, but even I can manage to point the video camera at my subjects and push the button that says record.”
Just as he thought. She hadn’t denied his suspicions. He started to jot down some names on the pad of paper at his elbow. “Tim, Señora Sanchez…Who else are you interviewing for this so-called project?”
“Not that it’s any of your business.” When he hiked a mute brow at her, she huffed, and said, “I interviewed Tim and Brother Luther yesterday, and—”
He snorted. “Brother Luther? Are you kidding? What did he have to say?”
Her spine went straight. “A lot of good things,” she said defensively, then added, “As far as I could tell between his long pauses, broken by the occasional sob.”
Sam grinned at her admission. See? She did have a sense of humor. “What did Tim have to say?”
She explained the gist of that interview. It was clear she wasn’t getting very far, that was for sure. “Then there was Señora Sanchez today,” he said. He tipped his head to one side. “Am I, by any chance, on your list of suspects?”
She actually turned pink. “You were, initially. Until I realized if you were the—the person who—”
“Who killed Mr. Williams,” he supplied so she wouldn’t have to say it.
She exhaled sharply. “Yes. If you were…that person, you wouldn’t have locked yourself in the basement with me after starting the fire. Besides, I can’t come up with a creditable motive for you to kill him. Tim said Mr. Williams made you captain of the varsity team when you were only a junior. Obviously, you had a good relationship with him. So, unless you care to share a reason you had to kill him…?”
This time, he avoided her gaze. “Good point. Although, to be fair, there’s been no confirmation the fire was caused by arson. Could just have been a coincidence. But,” he added when she leveled him with a look of utter disbelief, “on the chance it was arson, I’m relieved to know I’m off the list. So, who’s on your short list?”
“You’re the expert on criminal motives. Why don’t you tell me?” she countered instead.
Sam could tell she still riled over his admission he was considering writing a book about the murder. Possibly also about his so-called “date” with Meredith. But she was wrong on both counts, so he wasn’t going to let it get a rise out of him. She’d realize soon enough. But it was a shame the easygoing camaraderie they’d established over the past week had vanished. He’d like to fix that.
He lounged back comfortably in the chair, his fingers laced behind his head. “Well, we both think the killer was probably someone with a vested interest at St. Andrew’s and had access to the school and grounds.”
She nodded. “Old news. That’s why I decided to tape these interviews. See if I can uncover a few motives for murder. Unfortunately, so far, it hasn’t been terribly productive.”
He considered. “Maybe try a different angle. I’m thinking the killer would have needed an accomplice to help get back to Salt Lake after ditching Mr. Williams’s car in the mountains. You could try to figure out who that was. Someone might have seen or heard something about a trip to the mountains and don’t realize what they know.”
She gave him a look of grudging approval. “Yeah. Good idea.”
He unlaced his hands and flexed his fingers. “Aren’t you interested in who this parent is that Señora Sanchez claims he was having the affair with?”
Allie glanced at the clock and stood. “Not really. She claims she hardly knew Mr. Williams, so I have a hard time believing she would be privy to such sensitive information. Take it from someone who did know him, it’s not something he ever would have done.”
Her face was even more flushed now, not from embarrassment, but from growing ire—thankfully not directed at him, for a change. It made her blue eyes sparkle. She leaned over the keyboard from where she stood, offering a modest view of some ivory skin, and quickly clicked a few keys. The computer started to power down, and she gave him a smug smile as her private files blipped off the screen. Cute. As if he couldn’t hack into them if he really wanted to.
She straightened. “Well, this run-through of motives and suspicions has been really helpful. Not.” She grabbed her purse. “I have a class that starts in a few minutes. Have a nice day.”
He watched her stride out and sighed. That went well.
Not.
But he wasn’t giving up. Not on her, but also not on the germ of a book idea that was beginning to form in his mind.