Sonia looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I guess she did. Like Chase said, she was really pretty. A lot of the girls didn't like her. Mainly because of that, I think-jealous, most of them. She was always popular with the boys." She gave Chase a pointed look. "Not that she paid them any attention. She kept to herself a lot of the time. You'd best talk to Cally Savage. She knew her better than anyone."

Riley turned to Chase with a raised eyebrow. "Any relation to the princ.i.p.al?"

Chase nodded slowly. "Yeah, his daughter. I remember Kate used to hang around Cally a bit. Before Kate took off."

"Where can I find Cally?" Riley asked. "Is she still in town?"

"No, she fell pregnant at sixteen," Chase replied. "Not a good look for the princ.i.p.al of Watervale High who was forever preaching morals and the art of restraint. So, he threw her out. She lives in Armidale, now. As far as I know, she's attending university over there. Or maybe she's finished..." Chase shook his head. "h.e.l.l, I can't remember, but her father's still in town. He might even still be the princ.i.p.al. Her mother died a few years back. Cancer, I think."

"Where does he live? I'll give him a call. It might help if I can talk to his daughter. It would be interesting to know what made Kate Watson leave town and when she changed her name to Collins."

Chase drank the rest of his beer and set the gla.s.s back down on the bar. "Yeah, sure. The Savages live over on the eastern side, on Jackson Avenue. They live in the nicer part of town, not far from Commander Watson. Wait until you get a look at some of the homes over there."

Sonia scoffed. "Homes? That's like calling the White House a bungalow."

Riley frowned, barely listening. "I'm not sure what's going on with little Miss Collins, but I got the impression something's not quite right. I'm going to get to the bottom of it, whether the blond ice queen likes it or not."

Surprise lit up Chase's features. "Ice queen? You can't be talking about the same Kate Watson? That girl was pure fire."

Kate gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white. The call connected and her stomach catapulted downward.

"Yes?"

His voice was exactly as she remembered. Bile rose in her throat. She bit her lip and tasted blood.

"Who is it?" he growled.

She barely heard him over the rushing sound in her ears. Memories overwhelmed her as he had years earlier. But he wouldn't this time. Not again. She wouldn't let him. Her voice was ragged when she finally got it to work.

"Where is my mother?"

"Well, well, well. The prodigal child has returned."

The sly malice in his tone hit her like a physical blow. Fury flooded her veins.

"Don't go quoting biblical bulls.h.i.t to me, you sanctimonious b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's no way to speak to your father."

She was on fire. Her forehead. Her ears. Her cheeks. Her throat. She was going to combust from the heat of her anger. "You've never been a father to me."

"Maybe not, but I'm the only one you've known and surely better than the useless hobo that fathered you." Unlike hers, his voice remained calm, unruffled, as if they were discussing last week's weather.

The derogatory reference to her father scorched her heart. She bit down hard on the moan of despair that ripped through her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd wounded her.

Her fingernails bit into her palm. Her breath came fast. She dug deep to find the strength to fight him.

"Tell me what you've done to my mother, or I swear to G.o.d, I'll kill you."

Derisive laughter grated against her ear. "My dear, dear Kathryn, you of all people should know there is no G.o.d."

CHAPTER 4.

Riley traced yet another blue, felt-tipped circle around the name he'd written on his blank, yellow legal pad.

Darryl Watson.

Despite his best efforts over the weekend to forget about the woman who'd attended upon him at the station late Friday afternoon, he'd spent the nights since tossing and turning while a kaleidoscope of images had tumbled through his mind. Even a Sunday spent browsing the paintings on exhibition at the local art gallery hadn't been sufficient to remove her from his thoughts.

If anything, gazing at the myriad of colorful artworks had only served to heighten her presence in his mind. She'd told him she was a successful art dealer. He wondered how a girl who had run away from home at fourteen had managed such a feat.

It was mid-morning, but the station was quiet, as usual. Crime in the picture-perfect town of Watervale ran from the non-existent to the merely mundane: the occasional domestic disturbance, the odd drunk driving charge and now and then a break and enter. No one could remember the last murder, or if there had ever been one.

The letters on the page mocked him in their blue-biro boldness. He should call Watson and get it over with. It wasn't like Riley was going to make any accusations against the former commander. He wasn't stupid. He'd learned something from the fiasco in Sydney.

The easiest way to sort things out was to speak with the man in the best position to know. He still couldn't work out why Kate hadn't done that. It's exactly what anyone else with nothing to hide would have done.

With an impatient shake of his head, he pushed aside a couple of files on his desk and reached over to pick up the phone. After punching in numbers, he listened as it dialed out. It was answered on the third ring.

"Yes?"

The voice was deep and well-modulated and brought to mind expensive cigars and single malt whisky. Power. Sudden nerves tickled the back of Riley's throat. He coughed to clear it. The situation was delicate. The man on the other end of the phone was a decorated police officer. Riley was the new kid in town and still reeling from a run-in with his former superiors.

"Commander Watson?" Riley used the former t.i.tle out of respect.

"Yes."

"It's Detective Munro from the Watervale Police. I'm sorry to call you, sir, but I've had a report that your wife might be missing. I was wondering if you could bring her to the phone."

The man chuckled on the other end of the line. "I can't rightly do that, sonny. I'm afraid she's not here."

Riley bit his lip, but continued. "Okay. When do you expect her home?"

"Well," the amiable voice replied, "you might try calling back again in about three months."

"Three months?"

"Yeah, she's gone on a holiday." Watson chuckled again. "Not any too soon, either. She sure did need a rest."

Riley scribbled notes. "I see. Can you tell me where she's gone? I understand she's in a wheelchair."

The amiability cooled slightly. "Who did you say you were again? Munro, was it? I don't think I know you."

"I arrived after you retired. I've been in town three months."

"I see. A whippersnapper straight out of the Academy, I'll bet. I've lost count of the number of fresh recruits that were sent out here for me to straighten out."

Riley tensed at the insult. "I've been an officer for nearly a decade."

"Hmph." Watson dismissed Riley's experience with a derisive grunt.

Refusing to allow the man to bait him further, Riley continued with his line of questioning.

"Your wife is unable to walk around una.s.sisted, isn't that the case?"

"Yes, Rosemary's in a wheelchair. It doesn't mean she's housebound. She's gone on a cruise. One of those round-the-world trips. It takes about four months. She left early in July."

Riley's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really? She was happy to go alone in a wheelchair?"

"The cruise line was very accommodating. They have special suites for disabled pa.s.sengers. They couldn't do enough for her."

"Which cruise line is she traveling with?"

"Princess Cruises. 'A Princess Cruise for a princess,' that's what I told her."

Riley grimaced at the cliche, but forged on. "Did you use a travel agent?"

"Yes, we did. Rosemary wanted to book online-she's a whiz on the Internet, but I don't trust it. There's no way I'm going to put my credit card details into a computer for who knows who to get hold of.

"I went to the local travel agency-the Thames. I booked the holiday for her myself. Rosemary thought it was good karma when she saw the name. It reminded her of Kathryn, her daughter. The girl lives in London, you know."

"Yes, Kath-Kate told me that."

"Kate now, is it? So, you've been talking to her? I guessed as much. Well, if you're talking to her again, you must tell her I said h.e.l.lo and that I miss her. I haven't seen her for years. I guess she thinks she's too good for the likes of Watervale now that she's a hotshot art dealer. It's just like her to cause a stir the minute she arrives back in town."

Riley ignored the comment. "She's worried about her mother. She hasn't heard from her for a month. I take it your wife has been in contact with you since she left?"

"Well, you see, it's like this," Watson explained. "The cell phone reception's not real good on the ship and it's h.e.l.lishly expensive. Rosemary decided to leave her phone at home and take her laptop. The plan was that she'd Skype me, but the silly woman left it behind. It was on the kitchen counter when I returned from Sydney.

"I couldn't believe it when I saw it sitting there. That thing's practically an extension of her arm. But later on, when I was thinking about it, I figured she must have left it behind on purpose. She probably wanted to get away from it all. Enjoy the scenery in peace and quiet... You know what I mean?"

Riley stared thoughtfully at the notepad in front of him; he was perplexed. It sounded a little strange that a woman not only in a wheelchair, but traveling alone, would choose to leave without any means of communication, especially in this day and age, but maybe Darryl was right? Maybe his wife wanted to get away from it all? Maybe that's why Kate hadn't heard from her?

"Does that mean, you haven't heard from her at all since she left?" he asked, wanting to be sure.

"That's right, Detective. I haven't. But I'm not worried about her. The girls at the travel agency a.s.sured me she'd be given the five-star treatment. I'm sure she's having the time of her life. She always said she wanted to travel."

"Where did she embark?"

"Sydney. I drove her down there myself. Took me most of the day and just as long to get back, but I didn't mind. It's the first real holiday she's had in a long time."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

The question sat quietly between them. Riley waited for Watson to reply.

"It's like this, sonny. I get seasick even thinking about boating. I've always been that way. But Rosemary, well, it's about the only thing she really wanted to do. Go on a cruise. She'd heard from some of her friends that all they did was sit around and eat and take in the scenery and that suited her just fine."

Still harboring a vague disquiet, but unable to think of anything else to say, Riley ended the call by asking Watson to let him know if his wife made contact and then he slowly replaced the receiver in its port.

Well, that was that. Rosemary Watson was on a holiday. A cruise. A four-month, round-the-world cruise, no less. Odd, but not totally out of the question. There was only one way to know for sure.

He picked up the phone again and asked directory a.s.sistance for the number of the Thames Travel Agency. Within moments, his call was connected. After a.s.suring her of his ident.i.ty, the woman who called herself Elaine Spencer confirmed they had a booking in the name of Rosemary Watson for a cruise that had departed just over a month earlier.

Riley hung up the phone, more than a little relieved. Watson had been telling the truth. His wife was exactly where he said she was-enjoying a holiday away from everyone and everything.

Riley couldn't imagine how tough it would be to spend every day in a wheelchair and Rosemary Watson had been doing it for more than twenty years. No wonder the woman needed a break.

The timing fit in with Kate's story, too. The only thing that didn't fit was Kate's insistence her mother had met with foul play-and that her stepfather was responsible.

Why would she jump to such a wild conclusion? By all accounts, Darryl Watson was a well-respected member of Watervale society. He may have had a fair dose of arrogance, but Riley had yet to meet a man who'd risen to one of the highest ranks of his profession who hadn't picked up a little att.i.tude along the way.

It was Kate's motivation that stumped him. It was obvious she disliked the man, but what did she have to gain by blackening her stepfather's name? What had happened in her past to make her so d.a.m.ned vindictive?

Riley frowned, not at all sure he wanted to know. After the debacle in Sydney, he was more than reticent to throw around accusations about high-ranking police commanders, even former ones.

His shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Kate paced the small confines of her motel room dressed in her favorite pale blue angora sweater and the woolen pants she'd worn a couple of days before. The feel of the whisper-soft fibers against her skin soothed her, as they usually did, and helped to remind her of her successful life in London and the courage she'd employed to attain it.

She was well-respected in the international art world and clients traveled across continents to purchase pieces from her collection. In three weeks, she was holding a major exhibition of artworks so rare invitations to the event had been offered to only the most wealthy of her clients.

Despite the fact she employed two trusted a.s.sistants, it was imperative she return to London in time for that show. Her clients expected her to be there. She needed to be there.

There was just enough room between the cheap double bed and the wall to make her pacing worthwhile. Usually when she traveled, she went for something far grander, but in Watervale the three-star motel was the best the town had to offer. Besides, she didn't intend to stay long. As soon as her mother was found, she'd hop the next plane to London, this time with Rosemary in tow. There was no way she'd leave her with Darryl another minute. The problem was, she didn't know how to go about finding her and while she prayed desperately it wasn't true, she still couldn't shake the feeling her stepfather had removed her mother permanently.

After stocking up on supplies over the weekend at the local supermarket, she'd finished her usual breakfast of fresh fruit and coffee a couple of hours earlier and had spent the time since wracking her brain to come up with a plan. She couldn't just confront Darryl, or go to the house-even if she found the courage to face him. He'd been a serving police officer for most of his adult life. He'd never be foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around-he was way too smart to be careless.

Besides, who was she kidding? She'd barely managed to hold it all together when she'd telephoned him. She'd never be able to set foot in his house. Not again. Never again.

But Detective Munro could.

The thought took hold and grew fragile roots. Her pacing slowed. He hadn't taken her seriously the first time, but today might be different. No doubt by now he'd called Darryl. Maybe her stepfather's explanation, or lack of one, had ignited his curiosity... She could only hope it would be so.

But what if it didn't?

Panic gripped her heart at the thought the detective might accept whatever excuse Darryl offered. Agitation rose inside her. She had to make the detective believe her. Or another detective. There had to be someone who would listen, someone untainted by Darryl Watson's glory.

Every minute counted. The longer her mother was gone, the quicker any evidence of her departure deteriorated, until eventually there would be nothing. It would disappear. Just like, deep down, she believed her mother had.