"As if. It's me she asked for."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell someone who cares, Munro."

Riley changed the subject. "Did Hannaford say anything to you?"

"Only that Kate said she had to go."

Riley sighed. In a way, he was relieved she'd left. He didn't know whether he was ready to see her again. He hadn't had enough time to process the information Westport had given him and he had yet to talk to Margaret Fitzgerald, the Watsons' housekeeper. After the information he'd received from the lawyer, he was keen to speak to the elusive woman who was a part of the Watsons' daily lives-or at least had been a decade ago.

"Listen, I'm going to be out of the office a bit longer. There's someone else I need to talk to."

"Is this about Kate's mother?"

"Yeah. But keep it to yourself, all right? I want to see if I can work out what's going on. A few things aren't adding up."

"Anything you want me to do?"

"Nah. It'll be fine. It's all hypothetical at this stage. I might catch you for a drink later at The Bullet."

As he ended the call, Riley's thoughts returned to the woman who'd been stealing his sleep. He liked her. He really liked her. And he really wanted to believe her.

He just didn't know if he could...or should.

Much to Riley's relief, when he knocked on the door of the house owned by Margaret Fitzgerald, it was opened almost immediately.

"Mrs Fitzgerald?"

Inquisitive brown eyes set amongst a lifetime of wrinkles studied him through large tortoise-sh.e.l.l gla.s.ses. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Detective Riley Munro from the Watervale Police Station. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Rosemary Watson."

The elderly woman stared at him. After a moment, she nodded and invited him to follow her inside. After hastily putting together a pot of tea, she ushered him into a sitting room.

"Do you take milk, Detective?" The housekeeper's cloud of gray-blue hair wafted above her ears and across her forehead like cotton candy. Riley was amazed her slight frame had the strength to drag around a dusting cloth, let alone a vacuum cleaner.

"No, thanks Mrs Fitzgerald. Black's fine."

"Call me Maggie, please." The old lady poured tea into matching china teacups and handed one to him. Taking the other cup and saucer, she sat back against the chintz-covered armchair opposite and sighed. "You remind me of my Laurie."

Riley took a cautious sip of tea, mindful not to burn his lips. "Is he your husband?"

Her eyes lost some of their sparkle. "Was. He died over twenty years ago. Cancer." She nodded sagely over the rim of her teacup. "His whole family died from it."

Riley remained silent, not at all sure there was anything he could say. The woman across from him set down her teacup and shrugged.

"Anyway, that's life, as they say. I managed to pick my sorry b.u.t.t up off the ground and started a life without him. That's when I met the Watsons. I answered an advertis.e.m.e.nt for a housekeeper in the local paper."

"Tell me about Rosemary."

Maggie's expression softened. "A kinder soul you wouldn't meet, Detective. It's a dreadful disease, you know. Just dreadful. Some days she can barely hold up her head. And now, as if that poor woman hasn't suffered enough, her eyes are throwing it in."

Riley sat forward. "What do you mean?"

Thin fingers fluttered around her face. "She doesn't want anyone to know, especially not Darryl." Concern clouded her time-worn features. "You won't tell him, will you?"

Riley dodged the answer with another question. "What's their relationship like? I understand you've worked for them almost from the time they were married."

She nodded. "They'd been married just over a month when I started working there. With Rosemary confined to a wheelchair, it was obvious why I was needed. Darryl's house hadn't been built with a disabled person in mind and he seemed more willing to pay me to do everything for her than to have the place adapted."

Riley pulled out his notebook. "It's a two-story place. I take it Rosemary lives downstairs?"

"Yes, she does. One thing Darryl had done was to install a bathroom on the ground floor. That and the double front doors were his only concessions to her disability."

Riley thought of Kate and frowned. "What about Rosemary's daughter? She was only young when you started working there."

Wrinkles deepened into folds across the woman's face. Her mouth tightened and a heavy sadness seemed to weigh down her slight shoulders. "Katie. Yes, she was four. That poor little girl."

Riley's hand stilled. "Why do you say that, Maggie?"

Disapproval backlit the brown depths of her eyes. "She was little more than a baby. They made her sleep upstairs, all alone. Her mother couldn't even come to her if she needed comfort in the dead of the night." She shook her head. "It wasn't right, if you ask me."

"Did you ever speak to them about it?"

Some of the anger eased out of her. "I talked to Rosemary about it once, not long after I started working there. She said it was what Darryl wanted. He wasn't used to a child in the house. I think it irritated him to have her underfoot so much. She had her toys, her books, her dolls-everything was upstairs, out of the way."

Riley pictured the loneliness of a little girl who wouldn't have had a clue why she'd been banished upstairs, away from the rest of the family. His heart clenched with sadness for the lost, little child and for the woman she was now, living with the memories.

"I guess as a new wife, Rosemary was keen to keep her husband happy."

Maggie pursed her lips. "I guess so. On laundry days, Katie and I would hang out the washing together. She was such a beautiful little girl. Always so anxious to please, but a bit of a loner. I used to worry she didn't have any friends."

Riley picked up his teacup and took a swallow. It was cool enough now to drink without pause.

"What about later? When she started school? Surely there were friends around then?"

Maggie shrugged, the slightest lift of one thin shoulder.

"I guess so. Once she started school, I wasn't around so much in the afternoons. Most days, I leave after Rosemary finishes lunch. Occasionally I stay later, if she asks me to. Sometimes, I think she just wants the company." Her gaze found his. "I can't imagine what it must be like to go through life like that, so dependent upon other people. It would just about drive me straight-through crazy."

Maggie looked away and stared out the window. Her voice lowered to a scratchy whisper. "I'm so glad my Laurie didn't suffer like that."

The old woman's gaze turned distant as she battled with her memories. Riley waited in silence. A few moments later, Maggie turned back to him, her face now drawn and despondent.

"It's a terrible thing, Detective, growing old. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

Her comment hung between them, amongst the leftover tea things on the low coffee table. Riley cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"Tell me about Darryl and Rosemary. Do they have a good relationship?"

"I guess so. What's a good relationship? We all have our ups and downs. They aren't going to win any awards for 'couple of the year,' but they seem to make it work. They've been together for over twenty years. That has to count for something."

Riley's gaze narrowed on her face. This woman knew the Watsons better than anyone. There had to be more she wasn't saying.

"Why doesn't Rosemary want Darryl to know about the problem with her vision?"

Maggie's shoulders slumped on a sigh. "You have to understand, Detective. Rosemary feels like she's been a burden to Darryl their entire married life."

"What do you mean? Has Darryl complained about her being a burden?"

"Not in so many words, but he sure lets her know as often as he can how much she owes him for marrying her. Sometimes, he can get quite nasty about it. That's why she wants to keep the deterioration of her eyesight from him as long as she can. She doesn't want to give him more ammunition."

So, Rosemary had secrets of her own. He shelved the thought away for further contemplation.

"How does she get on with Kate? Does her daughter know about her vision problem?"

Maggie shook her head. A small smile, laced with sadness and pride tugged at her lips. "That Katie is really something. I mean, she ran away from home with nothing but the clothes on her back and now she owns an internationally recognized art gallery-that girl's got some real grit."

Riley frowned, recalling Kate mentioned she was an art dealer. "How did she manage it?"

"I'm not really sure. Katie's leaving wasn't up for discussion. Rosemary was beside herself with worry when Katie first left. No one knew where she was. I think more than a fortnight pa.s.sed before Katie contacted her. I was at the house the day Rosemary took that call. She nearly fell out of her chair when she realized it was her daughter."

Riley leaned forward, his tea now forgotten. "Tell me about it."

Maggie mirrored his forward movement and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. He didn't know why she was whispering. As far as he knew, they were alone in the house.

"I only heard Rosemary's side of it, of course, but I managed to get the drift." She lifted a thin weathered hand to her mouth and whispered through her fingers. "They'd had a falling out."

"Darryl and Kate, you mean?"

"Yes, of course, Darryl and Katie. I never did find out why. I just thought it was one of those things-you know, teenagers and their parents. She wouldn't have been the first one to run away."

"No, that's right. But it's a little unusual she stayed away for so long."

Maggie shrugged in reply. "I'm sure she has her reasons."

"Do you know what they are?"

Her only response was a non-committal shake of her head. Riley swallowed his impatience and tried another tack.

"When was the last time you were at the Watsons'?"

"A bit over a month ago. Early July. Darryl phoned me and suggested I take a break for a while. He said he was aware it was getting difficult for me to get up and down the stairs and to lug the vacuum cleaner around that big house."

She shrugged. "Not that I did much cleaning upstairs. With Katie gone, no one uses those rooms anymore. Still, I'm kind of pleased, as it turns out. I could do with a bit of a rest. My arthritis has been playing up lately."

"How much time are you having off?"

"I'm not sure. Darryl wasn't specific. He just thought I might need a break."

"Has he ever been that thoughtful to you in the past?"

Maggie looked toward the window and then down at her hands where they lay twisted in her lap. Her voice lowered. "No, I can't say that he has. I've been there twenty years with no more than a day or two off, here and there in all that time. Apart from paying my wages every week, I usually see very little of him."

"Did he tell you Rosemary was going away for four months?"

Maggie sat back against the armchair, her expression filling with surprise.

"No, he didn't. When is she going?"

"She's already left-about a month ago. Probably around the same time Darryl gave you the time off. She's sailing around the world on a cruise ship."

Great guffaws of laughter shook the slight frame. Riley's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"Oh, Detective!" She clapped her hands. "What a wonderful story! I haven't laughed so hard in years. Where would you ever come up with something like that?"

"Why do you find it so funny, Maggie?"

Laughter still sparkled in the old, brown eyes. "Rosemary hates the water. She can't swim and it terrifies her. It's always been a struggle to get her into the shower and she'd never, ever take a bath. It's ludicrous to even imagine her on a cruise ship, stuck out in the middle of the ocean."

"Maybe she decided it was time to conquer her fears?"

Maggie's eyes closed and she drew in a deep, chest-expanding breath. When she opened them again, her gaze burned into his.

"When Rosemary was three years old, she nearly drowned. She fell into a dam on her parents' farm. She was under the water for more than a minute. It was only luck her father saw her go under and dove in to rescue her. Even now, years later, she told me she could still recall the way it felt in the cold, dark, watery silence of the dam, fighting for breath and knowing she was going to die. It was a feeling she never forgot."

Maggie's gaze seared him. "She was going blind, Detective. Even her doctor couldn't tell her how long her remaining sight would last. She's been dependent on Darryl for over two decades. She's barely stepped foot out of the house in all those years. She's not a brave woman." Her eyes narrowed on his face. "Can you honestly see Rosemary doing something like that?"

Disquiet seeped into Riley's veins and his heart started a slow, heavy thud. "Tell me, Maggie. When was the last time you saw her?"

CHAPTER 11.

Kate squared her shoulders, drew in a steadying breath and pushed open the heavy barn-style doors of The Bullet. The dim lighting momentarily stole her vision and she waited in the entryway until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

She looked about her, curiosity taking over the jumble of nerves, on this, her first visit. She'd heard all about The Bullet. It was almost as old as the town itself. Some of the older boys in high school had bragged about peeking between its wooden slats to catch a glimpse of the action inside. The girls had giggled and whispered about it behind their hands, secretly admiring the boys who were brave enough to get so close.

She'd been way below the legal drinking age when she'd left Watervale, and giggling over the antics of boys had never interested her, but curiosity about the place, and an increasing reluctance to spend any more time alone at the motel, had forced her through the doorway. Besides, she was all out of supplies and both of Watervale's supermarkets were closed.

As her eyes adjusted, she made out the dark, bulky shapes of bench tables and rustic wooden seats. A decent Sat.u.r.day night crowd made up mostly of men, lounged in conversation against the bar and around the pool tables, a gla.s.s of beer within easy reach.

It was two days since she'd been to the police station. Riley had left a message on her voicemail, but she hadn't returned it. It seemed all her courage had gone into her second attendance there and right now she was low on reserves. Besides, she couldn't bear to have him questioning her story all over again and she was sure if he had anything important to tell her, he would have found his way to her door.