I wanted to run after her, but I forced myself to wait. If Belle and I were right, the murderer had listened from the cliff path. If we were right, that person—with murder in his or her heart—would give Belle time to reach CeeCee’s grave, then slip quietly along the cliff path to the point—and to Belle.
“Damn.” I swore aloud for that hidden listener, venting my unhappiness at Belle’s refusal to call back the police immediately. I heaved a quick sigh of anger, then walked, head down, toward the garden.
Once out of sight from the cliffside steps to the lanai, I broke into a light, swift jog.
I passed Belle.
We didn’t speak.
There was nothing now to say. Both of us carried with us a lifetime of memories and a determination to put a face to a deadly figure. And to stop the killing.
When I reached the fork in the path, I moved on tiptoe. I edged around the point. The falls thundered. Moonlight silvered the silent ledge, glistening on the granite gravestone. The gnarled branches of the ohia tree made an intricate design against the velvet black sky. Beyond the grave enclosure was the inky darkness of the overhang. I slipped into that black shadow and joined Stan Dugan. He squeezed my arm.
The roar of the falls, so close here, thrummed in my ears, loud, never-ending, forever. Their roar dominated the night, obscuring the creak of the wind-tossed branches.
So there was no sound to signal Belle’s arrival. She came around the point, walking slowly, leaning on her cane. She stopped beside the grave and looked out at the falls, the wind molding her gown against her. Then she came to the enclosure, sank down onto the low wall. The moonlight was stark on her face, a face heavy with sorrow.
We waited, the three of us, separate, alone with thoughts we could not share, alone with the burning anger that flames out of injustice, Belle sitting by the grave, Stan and I hidden in the deep shadow of the overhang.
Soon we would know.
I wished I had been able to warn Belle.
Would that have been a kindness?
Or was it better for her not to know until her husband came into view? Perhaps that was kinder. How hard it would have been for me to tell her about Keith and Elise and how hard it would have been for Belle to learn it from me.
It was going to be a devastating blow for her to realize that a man she’d trusted had betrayed her in every way, but at least she would be free of the agonizing fear that one of her children hid death behind a lifetime of laughter.
I was so certain of Keith’s guilt that for an instant my eyes denied the reality of the figure that appeared on the path.
Not Keith, that was my first stunned thought.
But I should have realized. The last piece slipped into place. That last Friday morning, CeeCee indeed wanted to warn her mother that her husband was unfaithful. But I should have remembered that it takes two to cheat. That’s what I should have remembered. Keith was a womanizer. Elise had not been the first. He’d ruined two earlier marriages with his infidelities. Yes, Keith was being unfaithful, but his lover then was not Elise.
As Gretchen came around the point with a grim and terrible determination, I understood.
Gretchen hated Belle. She had delighted in seducing Belle’s husband, the ultimate theft. Gretchen must have enjoyed her conquest immensely, feeling a surge of triumph whenever she saw Belle.
Then CeeCee found out. CeeCee told Peggy it was “rotten” the way Belle was being treated. CeeCee was determined to tell her mother. She almost told Belle early that Friday morning. Instead, CeeCee confronted Keith, quarreled with him.
And Keith must have told Gretchen.
How quickly Gretchen moved, how cleverly she put together her plan. None of it revealed her, none of it could be traced to her. She could back off at any time, let it go.
In the end, it was so easy. Johnnie and Lester did the work. CeeCee played along with the game.
When Gretchen came to the cabin that night, did she slip the crushed powder of the tranquilizer into CeeCee’s glass? Or was the wine already poisoned?
So easy.
And so profitable.
Gretchen’s hatred was fueled by a lust for money. Maybe in the end, that’s what it came down to. Money. There would be no more money if CeeCee told Belle.
Gretchen had to weigh the pleasure she would take in Belle’s knowing about Gretchen and Keith against the grim reality of losing her place in that world.
Gretchen stopped a few feet from Belle.
Belle stood. “Why?” It was a cry of anguish.
“You killed Dad.” Gretchen’s voice was hard and bitter. “You came and took him away from us. And you made love with him in my mother’s room. My mother’s room.” The words trembled with fury. “I hated you. I always hated you. I should have killed you. But I wanted you to know what it was like to lose somebody. And CeeCee was such a bitch. She was going to tell you about me and Keith.”
Belle’s head lifted.
“Oh, yes, Keith likes to have fun. I got him. But I was already tired of him. Then CeeCee found out. I had to kill her—or you. I decided to get rid of CeeCee. I even got the money out of the graveyard. You didn’t call the police. That was stupid, Belle. But I had fun, driving to Gainesville and sneaking into the cemetery. I spent every penny of it. I took it to places like Mexico where nobody cares about serial numbers. I spent every penny.”
“Gretchen—” There was a sob in Belle’s voice.
“It was all very clever, wasn’t it? Nobody ever thought it was one of us. I knew Lester would keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to think it could be one of us. So he lied and lied. I was safe until Johnnie Rodriguez called that friend of yours. Johnnie was watching the cabin when I came. CeeCee had drunk most of the wine by then. We sat there and kidded around and she got sleepier and sleepier. While she was still able to walk, I led her out to the car. We went to the rowboat and I just got her in before she passed out. I went way out into the lake and pushed her over the side.”
Belle buried her face in her hands. Stan grabbed my arm, held it in a viselike grip.
“Your friend came over here. I told him Johnnie was wrong, that it was all a mistake. But I could tell he didn’t believe me.” Gretchen sounded faintly regretful. “I took the cliff path to his room that night and called up to him and said you wanted to see him. He came down the steps. I let him go ahead of me. Then I pushed him. I had no choice.”
Stan curved an arm around my shoulders, held me tight.
I pressed my hands against my lips.
“Oh, Gretchen,” Belle said wearily. “Richard. Then you tried to kill me. And now Lester. Gretchen, it must end. It must end now.”
Gretchen stepped toward Belle. Her face wasn’t quite human, drained of all emotion, hard and bleak as CeeCee’s granite tombstone. “It’s going to end, Belle. For you.” She lifted her arm and an alabaster figurine glittered in the moonlight.
Stan lunged out of the shadow and in two steps stood beside Belle. He held out his hand. “Give it to me, Gretchen. It’s all over now. It’s finished.”
Gretchen stood frozen for an instant, her arm held high. Then she looked toward the path. “Wheeler, is that you?”
We looked past her.
In that instant, no more than an instant, she was running, moving with a wild, crazed swiftness, and she was around the end of the bluff.
Stan pounded after her.
I ran, too.
Gretchen swarmed along the ever-narrowing path, the path that ended alongside the stream flowing to the falls. She passed the warning sign.
I screamed at Stan. “Stop! Stop!”
He skidded to a halt, looked back at me.
I caught up with him, grabbed his arm, held tight. “The rocks are too slippery. We can’t go on.”
Gretchen reached the edge of the stream. Her feet flailed out from beneath her on the slick rocks. With a long, shuddering, desperate scream, she tumbled into the swift, inexorable water, and, still screaming, plunged over the falls.