Would the two of them guess what she'd witnessed between Luke and Stick Monroe last night? Was it even relevant?

Zoe would have an opinion about Betsy's relationship with Luke. Zoe had an opinion about everything. Would she think Betsy had settled somehow? That one or the other of them wasn't worthy of the other? Betsy, because she was the salt-of-the-earth nurse who deserved better than a self-absorbed, mercurial man. Luke, because he was rich and could get more.

But Betsy resisted making assumptions. She knew she had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, and she didn't like it.

Before she could change her mind, she ran up the walk to the side entry.

Zoe already had the door open. "Betsy! I spotted you coming up the driveway." She seemed genuinely pleased. "It's great to see you. Come on in."

Mumbling something about being glad to see Zoe, too, Betsy followed her into the kitchen. Although she had no idea why, Betsy had always been self-conscious around Zoe, who looked so trim and pretty with her blond curls and blue-gray eyes. She had on slim side-zip pants and a close-fitting dark pink sweater with a V neck that was downright sexy. But she was probably unaware-she'd always seemed oblivious to how attractive she was.

Betsy felt frumpy in her old L.L. Bean barn coat and elastic-waist chinos.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, noticing that Olivia's typewriter was gone. Otherwise it seemed the same as a year ago.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Zoe asked.

"Oh, no, I can't stay long, but thank you." Betsy wondered if Zoe, with all her experience as a police officer, could see through her white lie. What did she have to get back to? Luke was off on his seven-mile run. In truth, she had nothing to do. "I just wanted to stop by and say hello."

"I appreciate that."

"I noticed you have company."

Something came into Zoe's eyes, then was gone again before Betsy could identify it. "Right. It's a long story, but he's upstairs."

"It's the FBI agent everyone's been talking about? J.B.-"

"McGrath."

Betsy smiled. She supposed she was being silly pretending not to have the FBI agent's name on the tip of her tongue. "Now I remember. Like Mr. Lester McGrath. I didn't mean to pry."

Zoe gave her a reassuring smile. "You're not prying."

"It's hard to believe she's been dead a year, isn't it?" Betsy stared at the empty table and unexpectedly found herself on the verge of tears. She cleared her throat. "Those two years with her were good ones for me. I did what I could for her at the end."

"I know, Betsy." Zoe's voice was soft, steady. "No one could have asked more of you. We were all so grateful."

"It was just her time." Betsy hesitated, uncertain of what to do with herself. Sit? Walk around? Go into the front room? When she'd worked for Olivia, she'd had a sense of authority, a place. "You're staying here at the house?"

Zoe nodded. "I lost my job in Connecticut. Time to figure out what comes next."

"The break-ins are worrying, don't you think?"

"No one's been hurt, nothing taken. Good signs, I hope. It could just be someone scrounging for cash."

But she didn't think so. Betsy could see that. "I hope so." She ran her fingertips over the oak table. Even if she didn't mean to, Zoe always made her feel inadequate, as if she came up short to her and Christina. Betsy knew better, but she couldn't help it. She managed a quick, awkward smile. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm living with Luke Castellane on his boat. He and I-we hit it off."

"I'd heard. You seem happy, Betsy. That's great."

There was no condescension in Zoe's tone, but Betsy bristled, angry with herself for reading anything into Zoe's words, for wanting this woman's approval, as if Zoe West was somehow an extension of Olivia. That was how Luke saw her. That was why he was protecting her. Betsy doubted Zoe would understand that Luke had hired Teddy Shelton to spy on her and Agent McGrath out of a noble desire to do right by Olivia, a woman who'd done right by him. He'd been devastated by her death. He wasn't over it even now.

"Betsy," Zoe said, "is something bothering you?"

She stared out at the water and suddenly wished she hadn't come. "Just being back here, I guess. I'm sorry-"

"It's okay, but if something's on your mind…"

"I'm afraid for you, Zoe. I'm afraid for all of us, maybe." Betsy couldn't believe she'd blurted that out, but she couldn't stop herself now. She flew around at Zoe, knowing she must look wild with her wind-tangled hair, the intensity she felt surging through her. "I remember what you were like in the weeks after your father and Olivia's deaths. We all do. It's understandable. No one blames you, Zoe. You wanted answers, and you weren't willing to stop at much to get them."

Zoe sank into a chair at the kitchen table and nodded with remarkable calm. "That's not much of an exaggeration. I can understand you'd be worried that now that I'm back, especially with these two break-ins, that it'll all start over again and I'll make people's lives miserable."

"And still end up with no answers." Betsy surprised herself at her own boldness. She eased gingerly onto the chair opposite Zoe and reached across to take her hand, squeezing it gently. "Let sleeping dogs lie, Zoe. The police haven't found anything in a year. You know they've worked hard at it-your father was one of their own. There's no rock, no stone they haven't turned over and looked under. The media aren't letting them off the hook, either. They'll all keep at it."

"I know. I'm not here to make a mess of things, Betsy. I'm just trying to get on with my life."

Betsy pulled her hand away and could feel her heart beating like a scared bird's inside her chest. She felt cold, on edge. Nothing she was doing made any sense- she had no plan. And Luke-Luke would be furious with her.

"Olivia was out of her head that last day," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "You know that, don't you?"

A flicker of pain came into Zoe's eyes. "Betsy-"

"She was always making up stories. She didn't write them down anymore, and I think they filled up her head. She could have had one of her stories in mind when she said that about knowing who your father's killer was. She wasn't making sense."

"Do you think that's why I'm here?"

Betsy felt her jaw jut out. "You suspect the break-ins are connected to your father's death, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I suspect, and anyway, I'm trying not to jump to conclusions. Betsy, I went over all of what Aunt Olivia said in my own mind last year. Even if she had a hunch-even if she knew-who killed my father, the police couldn't arrest on that basis. They'd need evidence. And there was none. There is none."

"It was a stranger," Betsy said firmly, as if saying it could make it so. "It was a drug dealer or a bird poacher from someplace else, an escaped convict, an escaped lunatic. It wasn't anyone from Goose Harbor. Olivia only knew people from here-that's all she saw during her last weeks on this earth, were people from Goose Harbor." Betsy got to her feet and glared at Zoe, as if somehow she was being an obstructionist. "You know that."

The more agitated she got, the calmer Zoe seemed to get. She stayed in her chair at the table and looked up at Betsy. "And what? You think I believe someone from Goose Harbor killed my father? You think I'll start digging into people's lives here? Betsy-why would I do that without any reason, without any suspicion-" She stopped, narrowing her eyes. "Do you suspect-"

"Everyone has something to hide," Betsy blurted. She wished she hadn't eaten the brownie, sitting like lead in her stomach now, perhaps the chocolate and the sugar pushing her past the threshold of common sense, common decency. She continued to glare at Zoe. "I'll bet even you have something to hide. Even Olivia. Even your father."