“That she’s a fugitive on the run.”
He huffed. “What? Betsy? Hardly.”
“I don’t know—maybe they’re right. How well do we know the people we see every day? I mean, to me, she’s this lovely old lady who gave me a job and a place to live, and who brings me a coffee and a muffin for breakfast when I open up the shop. She’s thoughtful and kind. She takes care of her granddaughter and runs a reasonably successful boutique florist shop. But she could also be an international criminal on the run from the FBI. Right?” Even as she said the words, they sounded so ludicrous that she had to laugh.
Bradford guffawed. “Beatrice gets a little dramatic sometimes. There’s no way Betsy Norton is a criminal.”
“Although, her brotherisout on parole—maybe it runs in the family.” There was that. It seemed impossible that Betsy could be related to a murderer. She was the nicest little old lady in the world, but she was his alibi and had paid for him to get out of prison on bail. Two complicating factors in the equation.
“I suppose that’s true. But the real question right now is, where is she?”
They waited another half an hour in the shade before Betsy’s red silk kaftan appeared at the top of the cliff. She leaned on a walking stick, and each step was slow and steady. Then she crested the cliff and headed down the field in their direction.
“Hide,” Charmaine whispered, ducking behind the tree. When Betsy passed them, they watched her back retreat towards a car parked in the field.
“Why didn’t we notice that car was there before?” Bradford asked, his brow furrowed.
“I have no idea. It’s so strange — does she take dangerous walks along cliff faces regularly? You think you know a person…”
“I’m calling Bea.” Bradford dialled before Charmaine could object and held his mobile phone to his ear. He described what they’d seen to Bea, then hung up the phone.
“What did she say?” Charmaine asked, still whispering.
“Betsy’s gone. You don’t have to whisper,” he replied with a laugh. “And she said she’s coming.”
“Coming here?”
“Yep. She was working at the cottage, like I thought. She’ll be here in five minutes.”
“She didn’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Bea loves nothing more than a good mystery. I couldn’t stop her from coming now if I tried.”
When Beatrice joined them, she was barely puffing. She looked fit and tanned, and wore a hat. Her arms gleamed with freshly applied suncream.
“You came prepared,” Bradford quipped as he kissed her cheek.
“I can’t believe you two are out here walking in the heat of the day without hats,” she admonished them. “You’re both adults, you know.”
Charmaine stifled a smile. “Yes, Bea. You’re right, of course. So, what do you think about Betsy? Why would she go for a walk over that cliff?” She pointed in the direction Betsy had gone.
Bea pressed her hands to her hips. “Let’s go and see.”
The three of them traipsed up the hill. When they stood at the top, overlooking the cliff face and the ocean, Charmaine let her hands drop loose at her sides and inhaled a long, deep breath of fresh, salty air. The wind was strong, buffeting each of them and lifting Charmaine’s hair from the back of her neck, cooling the sweat that coated her skin.
“Where did she go from here?” Bea asked, scanning the cliffs.
“Over there, I think,” Bradford replied. He grinned. “This is silly. Why are we tracing Betsy’s steps? She went for a walk. You know how much she loves fishing. She was probably scoping out a good spot.”
“Is this a good fishing spot?” Charmaine asked.
He shrugged. “It’s dangerous. You’d have to stand out there on those rocks.” He waved an arm towards the base of the cliffs. Charmaine shivered.
“Do you remember that cave where I found the evidence against her brother, Buck?” Bea’s voice was loud with excitement.
“Yes,” Charmaine replied.
“It’s just over there. Maybe she was visiting the cave. Maybe she was the shadowy figure I saw the last time I was here, the one who led me to the cave in the first place. Given the size, it could’ve been her.”
