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  My phone rang, and with enormous relief I saw that it was Alan calling.

  “We have a lead on the killing of Paul Saunders,” I said. “We’re following it up now.”

  “Who’s ‘we’ and what do you mean by ‘following it up’?”

  “My dad made me do it,” I said.

  “Darn right,” Dad yelled.

  “We’re pretty sure Claude Erasmus’s wife, Emmeline, killed Paul.”

  “What on earth makes you think that?”

  I explained quickly.

  “Ashley, you’ve got nothing,” Alan said. “So the woman left a party early. Maybe she was bored.”

  “Except we know Paul went to her house the day he died. That gives you reason to investigate her movements, right?”

  “Yes, it gives me reason. It gives you nothing of the sort.”

  Dad crossed the living room. Mom looked up, her face full of worry. He bent down and kissed her on the top of her head. He said something and brushed his fingers across her cheek. Then he straightened up and quickly left the apartment. Mom watched him go. I blew her a kiss and followed my father.

  “My dad’s determined to do this, Alan,” I said. “If Emmeline doesn’t show up at the meeting place, we’ll drop it. If she does show, you can sweep in and arrest her.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Sorta like that. If she gives us money, she’s confessing her guilt. Don’t you agree?”

  “She might just want to get rid of you.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “I don’t have to believe it. All she has to do is tell me that’s what happened. Without evidence I can’t arrest anyone.”

  “We’re trying to get you the evidence.”

  “Ashley, I—”

  Dad grabbed the phone out of my hand. “No time to waste. We’re going to Smugglers’ Point. Meet us there.” He pushed the button to end the call.

  TWELVE

  “I’LL DRIVE,” DAD said when I’d gotten the keys from Darlene. “You get in the back and lie down.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I’ll talk to her. I’ll have my phone set to record, and I’ll get it all. If she tries any funny business, you jump out.”

  “Dad, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Sure it is,” he said. “Besides, the police are on their way.”

  We drove to Smugglers’ Point. It was raining hard, and the windshield wipers kept a steady rhythm. I lay on the back seat, as instructed. “Fancy red sports car parked up ahead,” Dad said.

  “That’s hers.”

  “Don’t see her though. Wait, there she is.”

  The car jerked to a stop. Dad rolled down the window, and rain splashed against me. I heard the driver’s door open and close. “Good afternoon,” he called.

  The wind roared through the trees. Waves pounded the rocks. Rain battered the ground. I couldn’t hear Emmeline’s reply.

  I lifted my head and peeked out the back window. Emmeline Erasmus was standing on a rocky shelf. The sea was at her back, the tide coming in at her feet. She wore a brown trench coat over jeans and hiking shoes. The wind tugged at the scarf around her neck.

  Even if she was foolish enough to confess to murdering Paul, Dad’s phone would never pick up her words. Not with all the noise around him.

  I glanced back up the road, the way we had come. No sign of Alan or the police.

  Emmeline turned her head to look out to sea. Dad climbed the rocks, heading toward her.

  That was a mistake.

  The rocks were wet and slippery. Waves crashed over them.

  I jumped out of the car. “Dad! Stop!”

  He didn’t hear me. Emmeline didn’t turn.

  As my dad passed a wall of rock, a large dark shape stepped out from the shadows. The man fell into step behind my father. Dad must have heard him. He spun around. Surprise crossed his face. He lifted his hands. He took a step backward. To the very edge of the rock shelf. If he fell, it wasn’t far down, but the sea was rough, the rocks sharp. And my dad isn’t a good swimmer.

  Emmeline turned and started to walk away. To take a different path back to her car. She left my dad between the big man and the edge of the shelf.

  I yelled and then ran. I pulled out my phone and started snapping pictures. The wind whipping Emmeline’s scarf. Her startled face when she saw me. The big man looming over my father.

  “Stop! Stop!” I waved my phone. “The police are coming. I’ve sent them these pictures.”

  It’s unlikely the big man heard me, but he must have read my father’s face. He glanced over his shoulder. He saw me. He looked at Emmeline.

  She ran toward me, her pretty face contorted with rage. “You! You threatened me. You’re blackmailing me.” She fell on me. Her long red nails flashed. I shoved her away. My phone fell to the ground, and when I turned to look for it, Emmeline grabbed my ponytail. She twisted. Rage made her strong.

  I gripped her hands, trying to pull her off me. Her voice filled my head. Her eyes were wild. I managed to glance in the direction of my dad. The big man had left him and was running across the rocks, coming to help Emmeline. He leaped from one rock to the next. His foot slipped, and he fell hard. His mouth opened in a scream, but the wind whipped the sound away. Dad dodged past him. The man tried to grab him, but something seemed to be wrong with his leg. He dropped back with another cry.

  Blue and red lights broke through the rain. Sirens screamed.

  I wrenched myself out of Emmeline’s grip. “Give it up,” I said. “The police are here.”

  “You’ll pay for this.” Her eyes blazed with hatred. She spat.

  “Not as much as you will,” I said.

  “What’s going on here?” Alan Westbrook shouted.

  “Arrest her!” Emmeline shouted. “That woman attacked me for no reason!”

  Dad reached us, breathing heavily, soaking wet.

  I pointed toward the rocks. “That man was going to push my father off the cliff.”

  “He’s my bodyguard!” Emmeline shouted. “He was protecting me from these two lunatics.”

  “Constable Wright,” Alan said, “go and help that man. It looks as though his foot’s stuck between two rocks.”

  “I’m going home,” Emmeline said. “My lawyers will talk to you.”

  “You killed Paul Saunders!” Dad yelled. “You attacked my daughter!”

  “I have pictures.” I glanced around and saw my phone. It was lying next to a rapidly growing puddle. Before I could reach it, Emmeline moved. She swung her foot, intending to kick the phone into the water. Alan grabbed her around the waist. “Not so fast. Let’s all go down to the station and have a chat. But first I’ll bag that phone.”

  THIRTEEN

  EMMELINE REFUSED TO go to the police station. Alan told her she could come willingly or be arrested. She huffed and agreed to come. Her bodyguard was not arrested, but neither were Dad and I. Dripping wet, we all went to the police station and made our statements.

  “The only intelligent thing you did was call me before going to meet her,” Alan said to me when it was my turn to be questioned. “I can testify to that, if necessary.”

  “What do you mean, testify! We caught a killer. Why were you so late getting there anyway? We might have both been killed. Dad would have been, if he’d come alone.”

  “Accident on the highway,” Alan said. “We had to take a long detour. Mrs. Erasmus’s lawyer is saying your father was trying to extort money from her.”

  I harrumphed. “If that were true, she’d have had no reason to meet with us.”

  Alan stood up. He rubbed his hair. “Go home, Ashley, and take your father with you. He’s not to leave the island without my say-so.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “How long’s that likely to be?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “What happens now? About Paul Saunders, I mean. You aren’t just going to let her go.”

  Alan’s face crack
ed into a smile. “She’s not under arrest”—he held up one hand to stop my protest—“but now I have cause to investigate her and her business.”

  “Her husband will use his political influence to get her off,” I said. “That’s not the result we wanted.”

  “Maybe not. One of his lawyers came down as soon as she contacted him. He got a phone call a few minutes ago and left the station rapidly. He told Mrs. Erasmus to find someone else.”

  “What?”

  “Claude’s cutting her loose. He’s in a mess of legal trouble himself. Something about offering bribes to government officials. I’ve been told charges are coming on that. Plus, his brother, Pierre, has come to the attention of the FBI in Miami. I’ve been working with them on that. Claude needs to distance himself from any activities his wife’s been up to. I’ve seen the pictures on your phone. It’s obvious her hired man is threatening your father. She appears to be about to attack you, not the reverse. We have forensic accounting people at Island Jewelers right now. If there’s something going on there, we’ll find it.”

  FOURTEEN

  AND FIND IT they did.

  Not only that, but the bodyguard turned on Emmeline. Alan suspected he was instructed to do so by Claude Erasmus. The island grapevine reported that Claude had been about to divorce Emmeline anyway. He could no longer ignore the gossip about her. Any criminal charges against her would only strengthen his hand in the divorce.

  I was stuck with Mom and Dad for a while longer. Mom was delighted to continue her vacation, but Dad soon returned to being bored and restless. He wanted to know what was happening with the case. Alan refused to tell him anything.

  He wouldn’t tell me anything either.

  Darlene came up with some small odd jobs that needed doing around the hotel. That gave Dad something to keep him busy.

  A week after the confrontation at Smugglers’ Point, Alan called. “Things are happening, and I have some news. How about meeting for a drink later?”

  “Are my parents invited?”

  “Yes.”

  “When can they go home? Please say soon.”

  He laughed. “Soon. See you at The Reef at seven.”

  Dad insisted on arriving at the restaurant early. We found a table on the sand, looking out at the ocean and the setting sun.

  “I’m going to miss this view,” Mom said.

  The waiter arrived, and we placed drink orders. Dad asked for a beer for Alan. “So we don’t have to waste time when he gets here,” he said.

  “Here he comes now,” Mom said.

  Alan was in civilian clothes, and he’d recently shaved. He looked, I thought, less tired than he had before.

  “I ordered for you,” Dad said as Alan sat down.

  “Cheers.” He took a sip.

  “What have you learned?” Dad asked.

  “Pardon my husband,” Mom said. “He likes to get straight to the point.”

  “Saves time that way,” Dad said.

  Alan grinned at Mom and me. “The guy who was with Emmeline at Smugglers’ Point is named Oscar McGraw. He works for Claude. Under Claude’s orders, McGraw’s telling us everything. He says he had no intention of killing you, Frank. Emmeline asked him to scare you off. I doubt that’s true, but I have other fish to fry here.”

  “Meaning Paul,” I said.

  “Yes. Emmeline phoned McGraw from the house party on Wednesday evening, needing a ride. He picked her up and took her home. About fifteen minutes later she drove away in her own car. He says that wasn’t unusual. She often skipped out of events her husband took her to. McGraw followed her. Claude liked to keep tabs on what she was up to. Their marriage, according to him, was only for show.”

  “Thus Claude’s happy enough to leave her to sort out her own problems,” Mom said.

  “Yup. McGraw says she went to a bar in town. He didn’t follow her inside. But once we had the name of the bar she went to, we could ask questions. Paul Saunders was there that night, and he was seen talking to Emmeline. They were arguing.”

  “Why would she meet him in a public place?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t the sort of bar we’d normally go to looking for a missing tourist. She would have chosen it for that reason. But mainly, I think, Emmeline was overly confident of Claude’s protection. She was sloppy.”

  “Can you prove she killed him?” Dad asked. “Their arguing that night doesn’t mean enough, does it?”

  “No. But in this business, one thing leads to another. We canvassed the neighborhood. We found a witness, a nurse coming home after her shift. She saw Paul getting into Emmeline’s car. It’s a very noticeable car. Step by step we can build our case.”

  “Why?” Mom said. “I don’t understand why Paul was searching for her. Or why she killed him.”

  “I called Paul’s children in Canada again. I asked if their father had been to the Caribbean before this trip. Paul and his wife took a cruise a few months before she died. He bought her an expensive brooch at one of the ports of call.”

  “Island Jewelers,” I said.

  Alan nodded. “The brooch was custom-made. They placed the order and paid the deposit. Paul collected the piece at the next port and paid the remainder.”

  “It was made with imitation jewels,” I said. Island Jewelers hadn’t been selling fake jewelry in the shop itself, but the pieces individually designed by Emmeline would not have been worth what she sold them for.

  “Yes. Which is almost certainly what you would have ended up with, Donna, if the sale had gone through. Good workmanship though. Emmeline does know her craft. I got a warrant to search her studio. She had a nice trade going in fake jewelry.”

  “Did Claude know about this?”

  “I don’t think so. It was her side business. One thing leads to another, as I said. We’re talking to the police in New York City, where Emmeline used to live. She must have realized her marriage to Claude wasn’t stable. Maybe she wanted an income of her own on the side.”

  “She could have gotten a job waitressing in that case,” Mom said.

  Alan grinned at her. “After his wife died, Paul gave the brooch to one of his daughters. She, the daughter, had it appraised for her insurance company. It was worth a fraction of what Paul had paid. I spoke to the daughter, and she regrets telling her father that. He became obsessed with tracking down the people who’d cheated him. Not for the money, the daughter said, but because he thought they’d cheated his wife in the last months of her life.”

  “Justice,” I said. “He was after justice. For her.”

  “He went to the store where he’d first ordered the brooch and found it closed. I suspect he’s been tracking Emmeline Erasmus ever since.”

  My parents looked at each other. My father reached across the table and took my mother’s hand.

  “You can go home whenever you want,” Alan said. “But you’ll have to come back for the trial.”

  Mom shoved her half-empty glass of wine aside and stood up. “That’s so very sad. Poor Paul. I’d like to go back to the hotel now, Frank.”

  Dad leaped to his feet and fumbled in his pocket for his wallet.

  “I’ll get it,” Alan said. “Would you…uh… like to stay and have dinner, Ashley?”

  I opened my mouth, but my mom beat me to it. “Yes, she would. She’s been working too hard lately. That and running after her father. Let’s go, dear.” She tugged at Dad’s sleeve. “We can ask the hostess to call us a taxi.”

  I felt my cheeks flush as I watched them cross the sand to the restaurant, hand in hand. It was totally obvious, to me anyway, that Mom wanted me to have some alone time with Alan.

  “Your parents have a great marriage,” Alan said.

  “That they do. I guess patience goes a long way.”

  My hand was resting on the table. Alan covered it with his. “Sounds like good advice.”

  I looked into his eyes. They were sparkling, and a smile turned up the edges of his mouth. I swallowed.

  “One thing I’m
learning that I need around you, Ashley Grant,” he said, “is patience. Do you want to eat?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “We have the world’s best beach right here, and it’s a beautiful night. Let’s go for a walk.”

  He stood up. He walked around the table and held out his hand. I took it in mine. He stepped toward me and put his arms around me. Before settling into his embrace, I looked over his shoulder.

  Just to be sure my mom wasn’t watching.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Ruth Linka and the whole gang at Rapid Reads for their work on the important goal of improving adult literacy in Canada. Also to Barbara Fradkin for taking time out of her own writing schedule to read an early version of this book and provide invaluable comments and suggestions.

  VICKI DELANY is one of Canada’s most prolific and varied crime writers and a national bestseller in the United States. She has written more than twenty-five books, from clever cozies to Gothic thrillers, gritty police procedurals to historical fiction, and novellas for adult literacy. Under the name Eva Gates, she writes the Lighthouse Library Mystery series for Penguin Random House. Her latest novel is Elementary, She Read, the first in the Sherlock Holmes Bookshop Mystery series from Crooked Lane. Vicki is the past president of the Crime Writers of Canada. Her work has been nominated for the Derringer, the Bony Blithe, the Ontario Library Association Golden Oak and the Arthur Ellis Awards.