“You are,” Quinn said. “Grant says the Sheriff’s Office has got no one in custody yet and they’re keeping all options open.”

“I guess he doesn’t want to put it in print that Prescott’s family members are among the chief suspects,” Eli said as I handed him his coffee. “Thanks, Luce. Pass the butter, please? Can I borrow your knife?”

I gave him my knife and the butter. “Did you have breakfast?”

“A bowl of cereal from a pink box that had a unicorn on it. I think Sasha bought it for Hope.”

I took my seat. “No one has been accused of anything. Innocent until proven guilty. And the Tribune is not a tabloid. Why should they jump all over the gossipy accounts that there’s a family feud? They have an obligation to report the facts.”

“The facts are that there is a family feud,” Eli said.

“Which may not have anything to do with Prescott’s death,” I said.

Quinn tapped his finger on Grant’s newspaper story. “I wonder how the Trib is going to play this.”

“Straight, honest reporting. They have to,” I said. “Or their reporters are going to boycott, maybe even quit. Kit will quit, for sure. She won’t stand for her newspaper whitewashing a crime or covering it up.”

“Who do you think did it?” Eli asked. “Since you two were at the party and you’re the ones who found Prescott.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “There were over a hundred people there and everyone had been drinking. But as Bobby always says, you need to look for someone who had a motive. In this case, you’re talking about a lot of people. Aside from the family who had a big financial stake in Prescott not selling the Trib, there were a lot of Tribbies there who felt the same way.”

“And one of those Tribbies felt upset or angry enough to kill Prescott?” Eli raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I don’t know. Maybe after a couple of caipirinhas,” I said. “It could have been a conversation that escalated, got out of hand. Which would mean it wasn’t premeditated.”

“I don’t think it makes sense for anyone in the family to have done it,” Quinn said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Think about it. Would any of them—Clay, Scotty, Alex, Bianca—be so coldhearted as to murder Prescott right under the noses of their guests? Isn’t that pretty risky, having all those potential witnesses? It would be so much easier to do it when no one was there. An overdose of sleeping pills or the wrong medication, instead of hitting him over the head. Who could prove something like that wasn’t an accident?”

“You’re forgetting Victoria,” I said. “She lives there, even though she and Clay aren’t married. Yet.”

“Same principle applies to her.”