She was about twenty, with long blond hair, and her body was found a few days after she fell from the cliffs to her death on the rocks below. The action of the water and sea life made circulating a picture of her impossible, but even with a description, no one identified her; no one reported a girl gone missing from any of the nearby villages. She'd been fashionably dressed, obviously out for a night of partying. All the police knew was her approximate age, that she'd had a child a few months before she died, and that she weighed only about ninety pounds. The cliff from which she fell was miles from anywhere. Her death was a mystery that had haunted Alan Nesbitt, Dorothy Martin's now-retired Chief Constable husband, since 1968. It was a failure that he'd carried for years. It was raining in Sherebury, but the sun was out in Cornwall. A perfect time to take a vacation...and a perfect chance for Dorothy Martin. It didn't matter that the incident had happened more than thirty years earlier; Dorothy was going to get to the bottom of the mystery for Alan...and uncover a new one while she was at it.
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