To Perish in Penzance by Jeanne M. Dams

wasn’t. If I’ve made her sound irresponsible, I haven’t told the story properly. She liked to have fun, and she’d made some mistakes, but she had her head on straight, and she adored Lexa. She would never have run off and left her baby. That wasn’t what made me sure, though.”
    She paused for another sip of water.
    â€œI gave her those beads. There were pictures of them in the papers. The police could never trace them, because they were old. Carved cinnabar, they were. They’d been my mother’s, back in her flapper days. I restrung them myself and gave them to Betty. She loved bright colors. There was no way I wouldn’t recognize them, even in a newspaper photo. I knew it was Betty from the moment I saw those beads.”
    There was so much I wanted to say, but I could find no way to say any of it. There was no point in berating this grieving woman for what she had left undone so many years before.
    She could see what was in my mind, though. People often can, with me. I’m no good at hiding my feelings.
    â€œAnd don’t you think I’ve carried that burden all these years? Don’t you think I know they might have caught the man if I’d told what I knew? Over and over I’ve asked myself if I did the right thing.
    â€œBut I couldn’t risk it, don’t you see? I couldn’t bear to lose Lexa. She was only four months old, and so precious! She was the only baby I’d ever have, and I loved her as much as Betty had. I couldn’t lose her!”
    And now you have lost her, I thought. That might not have happened if you’d gone to the police when Betty died.
    But I didn’t need to say that, either. The pain of it was etched in Mrs. Crosby’s face forever.
    I left her shortly after that, promising to come back later and check on her. I had let her talk too long, about things that were too painful. I didn’t know if I had done more harm than good, but I knew that I had to tell Alan what I’d learned, and that it might not be easy.
    â€œYou were a long time,” he said when I walked into the room. He was sitting at the table in the bay window. There was no reading matter in front of him. I suspected he had been staring out the window, caught up in unhappy thoughts.
    â€œYes, I’m sorry. I only meant to stay a minute, but she wanted to talk.”
    I sat down beside him. “Alan, I have a story to tell you.”
    I told it as simply as I could, but it still took quite a while.
    When it was over, Alan shook his head. “That poor woman.”
    It was the last response I expected, but for once I had the sense to keep still.
    â€œNow she’s lost everything, and she’s floundering about in a sea of ‘what if?’ It’s a great mistake, playing ‘what if?’”
    â€œBut—don’t you ever wonder—?”
    â€œOf course. Everyone does. It’s a mistake, all the same. ‘What now?’ is the only question that’s ever worth asking.”
    â€œAnd are you asking yourself that?”
    â€œI am.” He frowned.
    â€œYou’re wondering whether to take this story to the police?”
    â€œNo, of course not. I must take it to them. It gives a whole different spin to the investigation into Lexa’s death. They must know.”
    He frowned again. “No, the question is what I’ll do then. It rather depends on the tack they take.”
    I wanted to jump in. I wanted to say that he—we—should investigate this thing ourselves, no matter what the police said or did.
    I kept silent. This time it had to come from him.
    â€œWell, there’s no point in speculating about that, either. If you don’t mind, love, I’ll give them a ring. They’ll probably want to send someone down to get the story straight from Mrs. Crosby.”
    â€œI don’t think she’s up to it right now. And WPC Danner heard it all from the bathroom, anyway.