The Harbor

Sixteen

Betsy ate a double-chocolate brownie from Christina's Café as she walked up Ocean Drive to the house where she'd spent two years of her life. If Zoe was there and let her in, it would be the first time Betsy had been into Olivia West's house since her former charge's funeral.

Those awful days last October weren't easy to think about.

Olivia had been a forceful but engaging personality, and her fame had given Betsy's work a certain cachet. She wasn't the caregiver for just any old woman, but the creator of Jen Periwinkle.

Few people were aware, because Betsy kept it to herself, of the generous nest egg Olivia had left her.

Her legs ached. She needed more regular exercise, but Luke's compulsive "physical training" turned her off. As a little private rebellion, she didn't exercise at all. She could feel the effects now as she puffed and coughed after just half a mile. As a girl, she used to see Olivia walking around town at all hours of the day.

Betsy had always imagined she was plotting fictional murders. When she started working for her years later, she discovered that Olivia in fact liked to walk when she was plotting a book or was stuck.

No wonder she'd lived to be a hundred.

Betsy turned up the driveway and surprised herself at the overwhelming sense of sadness she felt being here. Olivia was gone. Her nephew, such a good man, was gone. Really, all of Goose Harbor was still dealing with their loss. But how much more awful for the West sisters to endure two deaths in one twenty-four-hour period. Betsy had watched them scatter the ashes, in separate urns, of their great-aunt and their father into the ocean and thought-I'm not going to put off living anymore. I'm going to have fun. Enjoy my life.

Every day she'd known Olivia West, every day she'd worked for her, Betsy had watched Olivia try to make the best of what she had. She didn't pine for lost opportunities or days past but lived in the moment, the present. Betsy saw that as the key, the answer. She'd promised herself never to forget it. She had to be prac-tical-she didn't have the financial resources of someone like an Olivia West. But that wasn't the point. The point was no more feeling sorry for herself, no more living in the past or the future.

She'd marched herself down to Luke's yacht and made sure he knew she was interested in him. She'd be his nurse. Romance could come later.

And it had. Sort of, anyway.

A leaf-peeping tour bus crawled down Ocean Drive, a string of bumper-to-bumper cars behind it. Betsy noticed J. B. McGrath's Jeep in the driveway next to Zoe's VW and almost turned back. This couldn't be a good development. Zoe needed to move on with her life, not look for reminders of what she'd given up by letting herself get involved with an FBI agent.

Would the two of them guess what she'd witnessed between Luke and Stick Monroe last night? Was it even relevant?

Zoe would have an opinion about Betsy's relationship with Luke. Zoe had an opinion about everything. Would she think Betsy had settled somehow? That one or the other of them wasn't worthy of the other? Betsy, because she was the salt-of-the-earth nurse who deserved better than a self-absorbed, mercurial man. Luke, because he was rich and could get more.

But Betsy resisted making assumptions. She knew she had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, and she didn't like it.

Before she could change her mind, she ran up the walk to the side entry.

Zoe already had the door open. "Betsy! I spotted you coming up the driveway." She seemed genuinely pleased. "It's great to see you. Come on in."

Mumbling something about being glad to see Zoe, too, Betsy followed her into the kitchen. Although she had no idea why, Betsy had always been self-conscious around Zoe, who looked so trim and pretty with her blond curls and blue-gray eyes. She had on slim side-zip pants and a close-fitting dark pink sweater with a V neck that was downright sexy. But she was probably unaware-she'd always seemed oblivious to how attractive she was.

Betsy felt frumpy in her old L.L. Bean barn coat and elastic-waist chinos.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, noticing that Olivia's typewriter was gone. Otherwise it seemed the same as a year ago.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Zoe asked.

"Oh, no, I can't stay long, but thank you." Betsy wondered if Zoe, with all her experience as a police officer, could see through her white lie. What did she have to get back to? Luke was off on his seven-mile run. In truth, she had nothing to do. "I just wanted to stop by and say hello."

"I appreciate that."

"I noticed you have company."

Something came into Zoe's eyes, then was gone again before Betsy could identify it. "Right. It's a long story, but he's upstairs."

"It's the FBI agent everyone's been talking about? J.B.-"

"McGrath."

Betsy smiled. She supposed she was being silly pretending not to have the FBI agent's name on the tip of her tongue. "Now I remember. Like Mr. Lester McGrath. I didn't mean to pry."

Zoe gave her a reassuring smile. "You're not prying."

"It's hard to believe she's been dead a year, isn't it?" Betsy stared at the empty table and unexpectedly found herself on the verge of tears. She cleared her throat. "Those two years with her were good ones for me. I did what I could for her at the end."

"I know, Betsy." Zoe's voice was soft, steady. "No one could have asked more of you. We were all so grateful."

"It was just her time." Betsy hesitated, uncertain of what to do with herself. Sit? Walk around? Go into the front room? When she'd worked for Olivia, she'd had a sense of authority, a place. "You're staying here at the house?"

Zoe nodded. "I lost my job in Connecticut. Time to figure out what comes next."

"The break-ins are worrying, don't you think?"

"No one's been hurt, nothing taken. Good signs, I hope. It could just be someone scrounging for cash."

But she didn't think so. Betsy could see that. "I hope so." She ran her fingertips over the oak table. Even if she didn't mean to, Zoe always made her feel inadequate, as if she came up short to her and Christina. Betsy knew better, but she couldn't help it. She managed a quick, awkward smile. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm living with Luke Castellane on his boat. He and I-we hit it off."

"I'd heard. You seem happy, Betsy. That's great."

There was no condescension in Zoe's tone, but Betsy bristled, angry with herself for reading anything into Zoe's words, for wanting this woman's approval, as if Zoe West was somehow an extension of Olivia. That was how Luke saw her. That was why he was protecting her. Betsy doubted Zoe would understand that Luke had hired Teddy Shelton to spy on her and Agent McGrath out of a noble desire to do right by Olivia, a woman who'd done right by him. He'd been devastated by her death. He wasn't over it even now.

"Betsy," Zoe said, "is something bothering you?"

She stared out at the water and suddenly wished she hadn't come. "Just being back here, I guess. I'm sorry-"

"It's okay, but if something's on your mind…"

"I'm afraid for you, Zoe. I'm afraid for all of us, maybe." Betsy couldn't believe she'd blurted that out, but she couldn't stop herself now. She flew around at Zoe, knowing she must look wild with her wind-tangled hair, the intensity she felt surging through her. "I remember what you were like in the weeks after your father and Olivia's deaths. We all do. It's understandable. No one blames you, Zoe. You wanted answers, and you weren't willing to stop at much to get them."

Zoe sank into a chair at the kitchen table and nodded with remarkable calm. "That's not much of an exaggeration. I can understand you'd be worried that now that I'm back, especially with these two break-ins, that it'll all start over again and I'll make people's lives miserable."

"And still end up with no answers." Betsy surprised herself at her own boldness. She eased gingerly onto the chair opposite Zoe and reached across to take her hand, squeezing it gently. "Let sleeping dogs lie, Zoe. The police haven't found anything in a year. You know they've worked hard at it-your father was one of their own. There's no rock, no stone they haven't turned over and looked under. The media aren't letting them off the hook, either. They'll all keep at it."

"I know. I'm not here to make a mess of things, Betsy. I'm just trying to get on with my life."

Betsy pulled her hand away and could feel her heart beating like a scared bird's inside her chest. She felt cold, on edge. Nothing she was doing made any sense- she had no plan. And Luke-Luke would be furious with her.

"Olivia was out of her head that last day," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "You know that, don't you?"

A flicker of pain came into Zoe's eyes. "Betsy-"

"She was always making up stories. She didn't write them down anymore, and I think they filled up her head. She could have had one of her stories in mind when she said that about knowing who your father's killer was. She wasn't making sense."

"Do you think that's why I'm here?"

Betsy felt her jaw jut out. "You suspect the break-ins are connected to your father's death, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I suspect, and anyway, I'm trying not to jump to conclusions. Betsy, I went over all of what Aunt Olivia said in my own mind last year. Even if she had a hunch-even if she knew-who killed my father, the police couldn't arrest on that basis. They'd need evidence. And there was none. There is none."

"It was a stranger," Betsy said firmly, as if saying it could make it so. "It was a drug dealer or a bird poacher from someplace else, an escaped convict, an escaped lunatic. It wasn't anyone from Goose Harbor. Olivia only knew people from here-that's all she saw during her last weeks on this earth, were people from Goose Harbor." Betsy got to her feet and glared at Zoe, as if somehow she was being an obstructionist. "You know that."

The more agitated she got, the calmer Zoe seemed to get. She stayed in her chair at the table and looked up at Betsy. "And what? You think I believe someone from Goose Harbor killed my father? You think I'll start digging into people's lives here? Betsy-why would I do that without any reason, without any suspicion-" She stopped, narrowing her eyes. "Do you suspect-"

"Everyone has something to hide," Betsy blurted. She wished she hadn't eaten the brownie, sitting like lead in her stomach now, perhaps the chocolate and the sugar pushing her past the threshold of common sense, common decency. She continued to glare at Zoe. "I'll bet even you have something to hide. Even Olivia. Even your father."

Zoe went very still, her face draining slightly of its color. She looked pale even against the pretty pink of her sweater. "Betsy, I take your point. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Stricken by her own behavior, Betsy covered her mouth and gasped against her hand, then blinked back tears. "I'm sorry. I had no right. You and your family have gone through so much this year. I should be more understanding, at least more diplomatic."

"Forget it." Zoe gave her a weak smile and got to her feet. "What happened last year was difficult for you, too. And your larger point's well taken-I don't want to go off half-cocked, either."

"It's just that you haven't been here every day, with the police, the questions, the little invasions of privacy. It all adds up. Maybe your coming back like this, the break-ins, the time of year, have made some of us-me- realize that we're ready to move on, as difficult as that is to say when your father's murderer is still on the loose."

"I understand."

But her words were choked, clipped. Betsy moved toward the door, anxious to be out of there now, feeling embarrassed. What made her think she had a right to tell Zoe anything? She and Zoe weren't friends. They were just people from the same hometown, people who'd both loved an old woman now dead for a year.

"It's a beautiful afternoon for a walk," she said lamely.

"I'm glad you came." Zoe had to clear her throat to get the words out, but she sounded sincere despite her ashen look. "Tell Luke I said hello. I've seen Kyle already. He's awfully excited about the documentary he's doing on Aunt Olivia, isn't he?"

Betsy nodded, relieved that Zoe apparently wasn't going to hold what she'd said against her. "Obsessed is the word, I think. Luke will want to see you. Why don't you come out to the boat tomorrow night and have dinner with us? We'll be heading south soon. I'll get together some friends. It can be your welcome-home party."

"Thanks, Betsy, but you just warned me off."

"I know. I put it all so badly. Forgive me. I got carried away." She glanced into the front room past the dining table to the big window that looked across the porch to the Atlantic, quiet, shimmering in the afternoon light.

"I haven't been in here since the memorial service. It's brought back all my own fears. When Olivia said she knew-" Betsy swallowed, shifting her gaze back to Zoe. "It was bone-chilling."

"You handled the situation well, Betsy. She was a very old woman and didn't have long to live." Zoe folded her arms on her chest, and Betsy could see she was shaking, just a little. "Dinner would be lovely."

Betsy sagged in relief, as if her muscles couldn't hold the tension any longer. "Wonderful. Luke's into wines. I'll see to it he opens a good bottle for you. Bring-bring your FBI agent, if you want."

Zoe managed a small smile. "He's not my FBI agent, but I'll invite him. Thank you."

Betsy nodded and fled, nearly stumbling in the driveway, which would have been just perfect. She'd have to explain skinned knees to Luke. But she didn't fall, she reminded herself, and when she made it down to Ocean Drive, she slowed her pace and felt almost calm. Should she find Teddy Shelton next, tell him not to stir up trouble? To disappear and forget that Luke had hired him?

What were they up to, the two of them?

She shook her head, as if she were arguing with herself. Teddy was Luke's problem. She had an excuse to see Zoe, none at all to track down a creep like Teddy Shelton. She'd met him last summer and had heard rumors that he'd served time in prison. Luke was so naive about people-he'd have no idea. And Betsy knew she could do only so much to protect him.