Sandra Robbins - Fatal Disclosure

She shook her head. “No. He didn’t have time to give me anything. He died right away.”

Mark inched closer. “He must have done something with whatever it was. Think, Betsy. What happened after he came out of the forest?”

The events of the morning replayed in her mind, and she frowned in thought. “When I got to him, he said something about being caught. I thought he meant in the forest, but I didn’t see anybody else. Then I told him I was calling the sheriff’s office, and he mumbled something that sounded like ‘tell him.’”

“Tell him what?” Brock asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I told him to be still, and he said something about decoys. I thought he was delirious and maybe was thinking about duck season.”

Mark rubbed his hand over his head. “Did he just say the word decoy?”

“No. He said the decoys weren’t what they seemed. Then he gasped for breath, and I thought he had died. I closed my eyes and prayed for him, but it was no use. He was dead.”

Scott touched her arm, and she turned to him. “Are you sure he didn’t do or say anything else?”

She shook her head again. “No, that’s all he said.” She glanced from Scott to Brock. “If there was anything else, I would tell you. But that’s all he said.”

Brock let out a long breath. “We just want to make sure. If you think of anything else, let us know right away.”

“I will. Now is it okay if I go? I’m supposed to do some volunteer work at the British Cemetery today. I need to run by Treasury’s bed-and-breakfast and check on Emma before I go over there.”

“Who’s Emma?” Mark asked.

“My little sister,” Betsy said. “She lives with me in our family home out close to the beach. Scott lived with us until he and Lisa married recently.”

Mark nodded. “I do remember you telling me about her. How old is she now?”

“Eleven.”

Scott smiled. “Tell my little sister I’ll see her later.”

“I will.” She turned to leave, but Mark stepped in front of her and blocked her way.

His dark eyes stared at her. “Be careful. There’s still a killer out there somewhere.”

She lifted her chin and returned the intense gaze. “There may be a murderer on the island, but it has nothing to do with me. I’m not involved, just like I wasn’t the last time.”

He clenched his jaw and stepped out of her way. Betsy nodded to Scott and Brock and strode from the office. Lisa was on the phone and didn’t look up as Betsy rushed by. It was just as well, Betsy thought. She needed to get out of the office. Being around Mark brought up too many memories, and she didn’t need to dwell on things that happened years ago.

When she stepped onto the sidewalk, she saw her bicycle leaning against the side of the building. She jumped on and pedaled down the street toward Treasury Wilkes’s bed-and-breakfast. Whenever she needed someone to talk to, she ran to Treasury, who had been like a second mother ever since her own mother had died when Betsy was sixteen.

When she reached the two-story Victorian, she rushed inside, but Treasury and Emma were nowhere to be seen. They were probably off on one of their morning walks on the beach and wouldn’t be back until the middle of the afternoon.

Betsy glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was only ten o’clock. She had time to do her work at the cemetery before lunch. She hurried out the back door of the house to her truck, which she’d parked here this morning before her trip to Springer’s Point. Her gardening tools lay in the truck bed.

She grabbed the keys from under the driver’s seat and within minutes was on her way to the small cemetery where she spent time each week. The only way she knew to rid her mind of the events of the morning was to work off her pent-up energy on one of her projects. The British Cemetery topped the list of her favorite island spots.

She wanted to forget everything about the morning at Springer’s Point, especially the part about seeing Mark again. When she left Memphis, she thought Mark Webber was out of her life for good. Now he’d shown up undercover on her island. She couldn’t afford to let him into her life again, especially since she’d once thought they could have something special together.

Maybe a few hours of hard work and perspiration would erase that silly notion from her head.

* * *

Mark found it difficult to keep his mind on what Brock and Scott were saying. His mind kept wandering to the events earlier today. His gaze flitted across Brock’s office and came to a stop on a photograph sitting on a bookshelf behind Brock’s desk. Two women and a young girl smiled at him from the frame. One of them was Betsy.

Brock glanced at him and noticed him staring at the picture. “That’s my wife, Kate, and her two sisters. Emma is the youngest one’s name, and of course you know Betsy.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You can tell they’re sisters. They look alike.”

Brock picked up a paper off his desk and continued his discussion on leads John Draper had passed on to their office since his arrival on the island, but Mark tuned him out as he stared at Betsy’s picture. All he’d thought about all morning was how beautiful she looked at Springer’s Point.

She’d almost looked happy to see him in that first moment, but it passed quickly. A scowl replaced the smile, and he realized he was dreaming if he thought she’d ever welcome the sight of him again. Still, he couldn’t erase the picture of her standing at the top of the dunes—her feet planted apart, her dark eyes flashing, and her chestnut colored hair blowing in the breeze.

It reminded him of the night he began working in the Memphis restaurant and how he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful girl than Betsy, who was working as hostess. Although he kept telling himself to be careful about becoming too friendly with her, he couldn’t help liking her. In the end, though, he’d made a mess of that friendship like he had every other one he’d ever tried to have.

He sighed and directed his attention back to Brock Gentry. “What did you say?”

Brock chuckled. “What are you thinking about? You seem distracted.”

Mark pushed to his feet and shook his head. “I can’t get Draper out of my mind, and I’m tired. I didn’t sleep much last night. I think I need a cup of coffee.”

Scott jumped to his feet. “We can take care of that. Lisa keeps the coffee pot ready. Come on to the break room with me. You want some, Brock?”

Brock shook his head. “No, you two go on. I need to work on this report about Draper’s death.”

Mark followed Scott into the outer office. The woman who’d been at the dispatcher’s desk entered from a back room with a cup of coffee in her hand. She stopped as Scott approached her, and her eyes sparkled with a message meant for him alone. Scott smiled and leaned toward her.

“Me, too,” he whispered. Then he cleared his throat and straightened. “Uh, Mark, this is my wife, Lisa. We’re still newlyweds. I can’t believe this gorgeous woman would marry a guy like me.”

Mark smiled. “Congratulations. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Michaels. I’m Mark Webber.”

The smile on her face disappeared, and her eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Webber. From Betsy. She’s not only my sister-in-law, she’s a good friend. And I might add, she’s a wonderful woman.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

Scott raised his hand to his mouth to cover a slight cough. “I told Mark I’d get him a cup of coffee. Is there any left?”

Lisa Michaels pursed her lips, nodded, and walked back to her desk. Mark took a step to follow Scott into the break room but stopped when the front door opened. A man in cutoff jeans, a T-shirt and a floppy straw hat strolled into the room and sauntered over to where Mark and Scott stood.