Free To Perish in Penzance by Jeanne M. Dams Page B

tired,” I said. “You look as though you need some rest, and it must be hard for you to talk about all this.”
    â€œNo, I need to talk about it. It’s only that I’ll never forgive myself for what happened next. If I’d managed better, somehow, Betty would never have died.”

9
    I DREW in my breath. Should Alan be here? Was I about to learn what had happened on that stormy night in 1968?
    It took Mrs. Crosby a few minutes to compose herself. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t easy for her to talk about.
    â€œI blame myself, you see. I was worried about the money, and I let Betty see it. If I hadn’t fretted so, she might never have gone.”
    â€œShe went to Penzance,” I prompted.
    Mrs. Crosby nodded. “She’d made up her mind she had to ask Lexa’s father for money.”
    â€œWho was the father?” I asked, scarcely daring to breathe.
    â€œShe would never tell me. She didn’t know him well, I know that. It was just a weekend fling; there’d been a party where everyone was smoking pot, and things went a little too far. To tell the truth, I don’t think she even remembered him all that clearly. She’d never have thought about him again if it hadn’t been for Lexa.”
    â€œDidn’t she tell you anything about him at all?”
    â€œOnly that he was the sort you’d never think would have anything to do with drugs. She’d giggle when she said that. I got the idea he was a very respectable type, maybe even someone important.”
    â€œAnd that was all she said.”
    â€œThat was all. But when the money started getting scarce, she got it into her head that she’d take Lexa to show to him, and ask him for some help.
    â€œWell, I argued with her. He didn’t even know about the baby; Betty’d never wanted to tell him. She said he didn’t matter to her and why should he know? I think she was afraid he might want to marry her, and she didn’t want that, even when things were so hard. I told her he wouldn’t like it if she suddenly turned up with a baby and claimed it was his, and finally I persuaded her to leave Lexa with me.”
    â€œYou must always have been grateful for that.”
    â€œYes, at least I did that right, if nothing else. I tried and tried to tell her to write to him first, not just appear and make demands, but she said she didn’t know his address. Anyway, she said, he’d find it harder to say no to her in person.”
    She sighed, a long, shuddering sigh that broke my heart. Her gaze turned inward. She was remembering, I knew, remembering the long wait for Betty to return, the worry, finally the newspaper stories of the girl in the cave, the terror …
    I didn’t want to make her live through that again. I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Crosby,” I said gently, “I know the next part. I may know more than you do. You see, my husband was the investigating officer on that case. All his life he’s worried because he never solved it, never even knew who the victim was. Why did you not report Betty missing?”
    I knew the question would hurt her, but it had to be asked, though I thought I knew the answer.
    â€œI was afraid,” she said, after a long pause. “Not for myself, for Lexa. I’d got the idea, you see, that the man Betty’d gone to see was someone important, influential. And if he’d—well, if Betty’s death hadn’t been an accident, what might he do about Lexa? Would he want her, try to take her away from me? Or would he try to—to do something to her, too? I couldn’t take the risk.”
    Years of worry for Alan, years of agonizing over what he’d thought was a failure, and all because a woman had been afraid. I took a deep breath. “Why were you so sure it was Betty? I know you didn’t think she’d just run away, but you said she was a bit giddy.”
    â€œNot anymore, she