mouth. “I say, Michael, you don’t think, do you? It’s not possible—she couldn’t have done it, could she? Killed Randy, I mean.”
“Anything’s possible,” Michael said. “Nobody every really knows anyone else in this life.”
Betsy shuddered. She found that she was shivering and drew her hand in from the water. The wind in her face had become stronger. She looked up. The point was behind them.
“Shouldn’t we be heading right now, if we’re picking up your friends in Porthmadog?” she asked.
“Not right, Betsy. Starboard. You’ve got to learn nautical terms if you’re going to sail.”
“Starboard, then. Shouldn’t we be going starboard?”
“All in good time. We’ll get there eventually. We’ve just picked up a good breeze. Sit back and enjoy it.”
Betsy turned back to look at him. He was sitting at the tiller with a smile on his face. For once he didn’t have that hangdog, defensive look. He was in control, master of his boat, handling it perfectly. She just wished she could stop feeling nervous. She told herself to relax. It didn’t matter if they were going out to sea. Michael was a good sailor. Nothing would happen.
She watched as the coastline receded to a dark line on the horizon, with Snowdon and its sister peaks just jagged bumps on that line. She wanted to go back in to shore, but she didn’t want Michael to know she was nervous. So she concentrated on looking over the side. The water was dark blue and so clear, going down, down, down. As she looked, she became aware of something deep below them, moving up through the deep water. A fish? No, it wasn’t sleek and silvery. It was whitish in parts but parts of it were dark too. As she stared, fascinated, it came closer to the surface and she saw that she was looking at a girl’s face with dark hair floating out around it. The amazing thing was that the girl didn’t seem to be in any distress. She was moving quite comfortably up from the deep water, her eyes open and focused on Betsy. She was only a few feet below the surface now and she reached out her hand to Betsy. Then she opened her mouth to speak and a bubble came up to the surface.
“Rebecca.” The word wasn’t spoken out loud. It just resounded through Betsy’s head.
“What are you looking at?” Michael asked.
“Nothing. I just thought I saw a fish.” Betsy spun guiltily as Michael left the tiller and came up beside her. He looked over the side. “You’re right. It was nothing.”
Betsy looked again and saw only deep, clear water.
Michael looked at her oddly, then went to grab the tiller again. “Keep looking,” he said. “Sometimes you see dolphins around here.”
She did as instructed, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She knew with startling clarity what she had just seen. Rebecca really was here, down at the bottom of the ocean, probably with a weight tied to her—and Michael had brought Betsy here for only one purpose. She wanted to kick herself for being so blind, so stupid. Why had she never suspected him? Because he had seemed so nice and so vulnerable, of course. But he was the one who had let her out of the steam room and … now she remembered. He was the one who had given her the cup of coffee to take to Randy. “He always has a cup of coffee after lunch,” she heard him saying. “Why don’t you take it down to him?”
On the floor of the boat she noticed a length of rope. There was a heavy weight tied to one end. That was for her, she was sure. A rope like that had taken Rebecca down to the bottom. Well, she wasn’t going to go without a fight. Now that she knew, she wasn’t going to be caught unawares. She turned around and sat demurely on the seat, facing him.
“I think it’s time we went back into shore, don’t you?” she said.
“Not just yet. There’s one thing I’ve got to do first.”
“I want to go back to shore now, Michael.”
He laughed then. “And I don’t want to. What are you going to do about it?”
Betsy made a lunge for the tiller. “This!” she shouted, wrenching the tiller hard across. The boom came flying across and the boat keeled.
“Are you crazy? You’ll have us both in the water!” he shouted.
“Which wasn’t what you’d planned, was it?” She wrenched the tiller the other way. He was grabbing for it, but still off balance. She saw the boom beginning to swing in his direction and pushed it hard so that it caught the side of his head and he was knocked to the floor.
“You’re not going to kill me, Michael,” she yelled. “Not like you killed Rebecca. She warned me, you know. You didn’t think I was really psychic, did you? But she came up from the bottom of the sea and warned me. Why did you kill her, Michael?”
“I had to. She realized the truth about Kathy. She wanted me to turn myself in—stupid cow!” Michael slithered to his feet and made a lunge for her. “It won’t help you, you know. I’m still stronger than you.”
The boat was leaning heavily to starboard. Betsy took a calculated risk. She flung herself toward the boom and pulled it downward, so that it had her weight and Michael’s on it.
“What are you doing, you idiot!” he shouted as the boat teetered and then capsized.
Michael Hollister clung to the swaying channel marker, his arms wrapped around it for dear life. “Help me!” he shouted again.
Evan brought the dinghy nearer. “Where’s Betsy?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?”
“Betsy? What are you talking about? I’ve no idea where Betsy is. I was sailing alone—just get me off here.”
“What happened to your boat?”
“It capsized. Freak wind.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a good sailor.”
