“Okay, another time. I’ll see you later.”
Andrew left and Taya spun her chair slowly, not stopping. Around and around she went, staring at her feet. She loved her red peep-toe pumps. They looked good and were comfortable. Besides, they popped next to the charcoal suit she was wearing. People often complimented her on those shoes. She should get more red shoes. Why was she thinking about shoes? She didn’t want to think about what had happened. It was too much, after the emotional rollercoaster of the last few weeks.
Why would he break up with her? His parents didn’t approve? Unless they didn’t know about her. Maybe he was using his poor elderly parents as his excuse to break things off. But why would he do that three weeks after her own father’s death? She’d never imagined he could be so heartless. They worked together—now she’d have to avoid him at staff meetings, executive meetings, board meetings… She shuddered. Why hadn’t she listened to the little voice inside her head that’d warned against dating at work? This was fast becoming her worst nightmare.
Ten
Beatrice neededto place an order for the floral arrangements for the reunion dinner. Charmaine had of course offered to put in the order, since she was planning the event and she worked at Betsy’s Florals, but Bea wanted to see Betsy. It was time she had a conversation with the older woman.
There were so many questions lurking in her thoughts around Betsy and her past, her connection to Bea’s parents, and so much more. But she and her friends had tiptoed around Betsy and Buck, doing research at the library or online instead of simply confronting her with what they knew. It was time to ask some questions.
Bea nudged open the door to the narrow florist shop and glanced around. There was no one inside. A bell jangled above her head, and soon Betsy emerged from the back with a grin on her face.
“Beatrice Rushton. How good to see you.”
She shuffled forwards and gave Bea a hug. Bea hadn’t expected that. They weren’t exactly close. But she returned the embrace anyway, then stepped aside to study a painting on the wall she hadn’t seen before. It was an impressionist seascape with splashes of intense colour and a feeling of urgency in the leaping froth of the waves. It drew her in and made her feel emotional, as though it was reaching deep down into her soul. She didn’t often experience such a visceral reaction to artwork, and it took her by surprise.
“This is beautiful, Betsy. I don’t think I’m familiar with the artist.”
“That’s one of Chaz’s paintings. She’s good, isn’t she?”
“Chaz did this? Wow. I love it.”
Betsy pressed her hands to her hips. “She’s got a great eye.”
“I think I’ll buy this for the house.”
“Wonderful choice,” Betsy replied, reaching up to take the painting from the wall. “I’ll wrap it up for you.”
“I have to order some flowers for our high school reunion as well,” Bea added. “So, take your time. I’m going to look around a little bit.”
Bea strolled around the store, checking out arrangements and flowers. Finally, she decided on an assortment of native plants—wattle, bottlebrush, banksia, waxflower, grevillea. She pointed out the arrangements she preferred to Betsy, who noted them down in a small book with a pencil. She chewed on the end of the pencil, brow furrowed while Bea spoke, then her pencil went flying across the page as she wrote the order.
Finally, they were finished, and Bea followed Betsy to the cash register to pay. “Thank you for all your help. It makes things a lot easier that Chaz works here and can pick them up to bring to the event. She’s planning the reunion for us—did I mention that?”
“You didn’t mention it,” Betsy replied. “But that’s positive — she’ll go far in this industry if she wants. She’s artistic and does detailed work. She’s a good girl.”
“I think so too,” Bea agreed. She’d wanted to bring up the subject of her mother, but it never seemed like the right time. She had questions. Perhaps Betsy would give her the answers she was looking for. She cleared her throat. “I remember when I first met you. You said something about my mother’s death being a waste. That it shouldn’t have happened.”
Betsy’s gaze met hers. Her pupils dilated until her eyes were mostly black against the glow of the shop lights behind her. “That’s right. It shouldn’t have.”
“Did you mean anything by that?”
“Like what?” she asked, her American accent growing stronger by the minute.
“Was there something that could’ve been done to prevent her taking her own life?”
Betsy sighed. “I think so. But what do I know?”
“By Dad or someone else?”
Betsy’s eyes narrowed, and she studied Bea closely. “What are you getting at, darlin’?”
“Did you have something to do with her death?” Bea almost whispered the words, and her heart thudded as they left her lips.
Betsy didn’t move a muscle. Then she spoke. “Why do you ask that?”
“I know about the cave, Betsy. I found the box that was stashed there and handed it in to the police.”
