The Secret Sister (24 page)

Rafe arched an eyebrow at his mother as he set her on the floor. “You bought her
another
toy?”

“We were learning about sharks last week. This will let her feel the shape of the body and understand that they move underwater.”

He shook his head. “You spend almost every dime you have on her.”

She shrugged. “Oh, well. My money goes where my heart is, I guess. And it's not like I'm going hungry. Look at me, I could stand to lose a good fifty pounds.”

Laney had already hurried down the hall to the bathroom, where they could hear her turning on the water. “I need to get in there before she burns herself or something.” Vera started after her granddaughter but turned back to Maisey at the last second. “Thank you for coming. You remind me a great deal of your father.”

Maisey followed Rafe to the door, where they called out a goodbye to Laney that made her come racing out of the bathroom in nothing but her underwear.

“Bye, Maisey!” She must've tracked Maisey by her voice because she found her easily and threw both arms around her legs.

Maisey struggled to hoist her up. Rafe lent a hand and she was able to give her a proper hug. “Goodbye, Laney. Thank you for helping with dinner. It was delicious.”

Laney reached for her father, who took her from Maisey. “You be good for Grandma,” he said.

“And you be good, too,” she added in a loud whisper. “Don't tickle Maisey tonight.”

“I thought girls liked to be tickled,” Rafe said, playing along.

“Not
all
girls,” she told him soberly. “And I want Maisey to come back.”

“You're afraid I might chase her away?”

“Just don't tickle her,” she said again.

“Thanks for the tip.” Laughing, Rafe kissed his daughter on the top of her head before putting her down.

“She's something special,” Maisey said as they walked to his truck.

He opened the door for her. Then he kissed her on the head, too. “So are you.”

* * *

Jack was waiting for Maisey when Rafe pulled into the drive. They'd had such a great time at his mother's that he'd almost forgotten her ex-husband was in town—and that Jack was trying to win her back. “Looks like you have company,” he said.

A shadow passed over her face. “I don't know what he's doing here. I told him I'd call him later.”

“I don't think finding him here is too much of a mystery. You were gone for five hours. He's probably eager for his turn with you.”

“Apparently,” she muttered.

But was
she
eager to be with
him
? That was what Rafe wanted to know...

She began to climb out, then hesitated. “I'm going to ask him to leave the island.”

Rafe turned off the radio. “Are you sure that's what you want?”

She studied him for several seconds before nodding.

This was welcome news, but... “How is he likely to respond? I don't have to worry about him mistreating you, do I?”

“No. He's not temperamental, not like my brother, if that's what you mean. He's the type to sulk or...or get back at me in more subtle ways. And if I'm not going to be around him, that won't matter.”

“Still, you've got to get through ‘no' all the way to goodbye, and you've had a rough week. Maybe I should come in with you...”

“That's not necessary. He'll leave if I tell him to. I just need some time alone with him to explain how I feel.”

Rafe wanted to ask her to explain her feelings to
him
, too, but he didn't push. In the course of this one afternoon, things between them had changed. He had to let it go, let whatever they were feeling develop slowly. Even though he couldn't help feeling threatened by the man who'd captured her heart so completely once before, being too insistent would only wreck the magic. “Okay. I'll be next door if you need me.”

“Today was fun,” she said.

“It
was
fun,” he agreed. “You fit right in.”

She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else. But then she glanced over at the house and saw that Jack had come forward. He was standing at the porch railing, looking out at them. “I'd better go.”

“Good night,” Rafe said, and watched her walk up the steps before he backed down the drive. In his view, if Jack truly cared about Maisey, he wouldn't have cheated on her, especially after an experience as painful as the loss of a child. Although she'd been surprisingly understanding about the infidelity—saying the death of their baby had been hard on both of them—Rafe couldn't forgive Jack quite so easily.

And he certainly didn't feel bad about trying to take Jack's place.

* * *

As it turned out, Jack didn't accept the news as well as Maisey had expected. She'd never really denied him before—not from that first day when he'd followed her home until the day before Ellie's funeral, when he'd demanded sex. As soon as she told him she'd rather he didn't stay on Fairham, that she didn't want to resurrect their marriage, the humility he'd demonstrated earlier disappeared.

“You won't even give me a chance? I flew all the way down here! I've barely arrived, and you're sending me back?” he cried.

“Jack, you had your chance,” she said. “We both did.”

“We were going through hell! Weren't ourselves! What kind of chance was that?”

Once again, he didn't seem to take any responsibility for even the things he could've changed. She began to suspect his apology had been mere words, and that he felt mere words should be enough. He'd come to Fairham believing he could get her back, regardless of what he'd done. And why not? The direct approach had always worked with her before.

Because he'd played on her insecurities and she'd allowed it.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “I'm done.”

“So what are you going to do?” he shouted. “Continue screwing your neighbor? You think getting together with some small-time contractor is going to help you win your mother's approval?”

At no point had Jack ever cared about her relationship with Josephine. If anything, he'd exploited the rift, since isolating her had given him more power in her life. “
Now
you're worried about how I'll get along with my mother?” she asked.

“Well, that's why you came back here, isn't it? To take your place as princess of Coldiron Kingdom?”

How could he accuse her of arrogance, when he knew that her mother had always made her feel flawed and inferior—not like a princess at all. “I returned to help Keith, Jack.”

“Nobody can help Keith, Maisey. He's a mess, and he'll be a mess for the rest of his life. It's time you quit kidding yourself about that.”

“So I shouldn't try? I should give up on him? He's my brother!”

“Some people just can't be saved. Even if you don't come back to New York, you should get the hell out of here.”

Feeling a renewed sense of determination, since he was being so dismissive about Keith, she clenched her jaw. “I don't know how long I'll stay, but...for now, this is where I'm going to start rebuilding my life.”

“And how are you going to do that?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of Rafe's cottage. “By lying on your back for that gym rat next door—who probably didn't even graduate from high school?”

“How dare you say that! Rafe's not a gym rat. His work is physically demanding. And he's a lot smarter than you think!” Jack had hidden his jealousy when he found her at Rafe's this morning, but there it was, plainly evident—and the judgment inherent in those words stole her breath away. Who was
he
to decide how she should cope? He'd walked out on her, chosen someone else. “Anyway, what I do is no longer your concern. I'll decide how to live from here on out.”

“No, you won't! You'll let your mother manipulate you like she does everyone else. Pretty soon you'll be at her beck and call. Never mind that she probably killed your older sister!”

“You need to stop! We have no idea what happened.”

“You showed me those pictures, read me those letters. I know what you believe.”

“What I
fear
!” They were both screaming now. “There's a difference.”

“But it all adds up, doesn't it?” he said. “If you really want to find out what happened to your missing sister, try looking for a small coffin in that monstrosity of a house! Or maybe not. Knowing Josephine, she would've had the nerve to bury her in the family graveyard in the middle of the night. Or she ordered your father to do it, and he sucked up to her like he always did.”

Maisey gasped. “Get out. And don't ever contact me again. I never would've trusted you enough to show you those pictures if I thought you'd turn on me like this.”

“Who's turning on whom?” He stalked to the door, but the second he threw it open, he stopped abruptly. Dinah Swenson, the friend she'd met with her children in Smitty's, was standing there, holding a small loaf of bread with a bow on it—and she'd obviously heard everything they'd been yelling because her jaw was practically on the floor.

23

“I
s it true?” Dinah asked, sitting down across from Maisey.

Maisey had let her in as soon as Jack tore off in his rental car. She didn't know what else to do. She had to talk to her, had to address what had just come out. Hopefully, she'd be able to do enough damage control...

“I don't know.” Feeling her heartbeat flutter in her throat, she toyed with the curly ribbon on the banana nut bread Dinah had shoved into her hands. “I found some...some old pictures that have raised very disturbing questions. But I honestly can't point a finger at my mother—no more than at my father or anyone else. I'm not even sure I had an older sister. So I hope...I hope I can depend on your discretion.” She braved a glance at Dinah's face and was startled to see a bemused look.

“I meant about Rafe,” Dinah clarified. “Are you really sleeping with him?”

Maisey sat up taller. Of all the shocking things Dinah had overheard, she was focusing on
that
?

When she didn't speak right away, Dinah peered at her more closely. “It's true, isn't it! You lucky bitch! I mean...I'm happily married and all that. Chuckie's
great
in bed. But I'd be lying if I said I've never dreamed about getting it on with Rafe.”

Maisey's shock must've shown on her face because Dinah rocked back, hooting with laughter. “I'm joking, all right? I also heard that business about your mother, which is what got you so freaked out, but you can trust me.”

Maisey's stomach tightened painfully. Despite what Dinah had said about trust, she didn't strike Maisey as the most discreet person in the world. “I can?”

“Of course. But you should know the rumor's already out there,” she said.

“What rumor?”

“That there used to be another child living at Coldiron House. That she went missing shortly after you guys moved here. That no one knows where she went and no one dares to ask. I've heard it all before.”

“How? You're
my
age, and...and whatever happened, if anything did, happened a long time ago.
I've
never heard anything about it—at least not until now.”

“It's not something anyone would say to you. People around here, they don't want to bring down the wrath of Josephine. But my mother referred to it on the phone just the other day, when I called to tell her I'd run into you.”

Maisey fidgeted with her phone. “Your mother's still in California, isn't she?”

“Yep. Loves it there. Would never leave.”

“What'd she say?”

Dinah sent her a look that said she should prepare herself. “She told me it was reassuring to hear you'd shown up, since your sister never has.”

Maisey felt sick.
“Really?”

Sympathy showed on Dinah's face as she raked her fingers through her long hair. “'Fraid so.”

“Did you ask her what she meant?”

“Why would I? I knew what she meant.”

“That's what I don't understand.
How?
”

“I've heard it various places—most recently at the bingo parlor.”

“You're kidding!”

“No. I go there every once in a while to get out of the house after taking care of the kids all day.”

“I meant you're kidding that people are still talking about it.”

“They'll always talk about a good mystery.”

“Who mentioned it at the bingo parlor?”

“Ozzie Mullins.”

Maisey remembered Ozzie Mullins. Ozzie had been her English teacher. “What'd Ms. Mullins say?”

“She said your parents had three children when they came here, but no one knows exactly what happened to the oldest.”

“Did she...have any theories?”

“Most people believe your sister fell to her death.”

“From...”

“The cliff right there at the Point, the one overlooking the beach.”

Maisey winced. “She fell onto the rocks below?”

“Presumably, but...it was high tide.”

“So her body was never found.”

“Exactly. The way I heard it, the police came out but found no trace of her. They did find her favorite doll, however, which she always carried with her.”

“Then why are you acting skeptical? As if you don't believe that's what really happened?”

“Because it was a bit strange,” Dinah said. “The newspaper never ran the story, and your mother let her entire staff go immediately afterward.”

“Maybe she was grieving. Maybe she didn't want the entire island talking about her loss, so she asked the newspaper not to print it, and they decided to respect her wishes. And maybe she let the staff go because she needed to be alone.” Maisey understood what it was like to lose a child. When Ellie died, she'd felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out—and at least she'd been able to give her daughter a proper burial.

“There were three people working at the house at the time—a cook, a maid and a housekeeper. All three took their ‘severance' package and moved off the island and they did it within weeks. Not one of them would address the questions they were asked about your mother.”

“By the police?”

“No, the police seemed satisfied that it was just an unfortunate accident. It was everyone else on the island who had questions. All the secrecy—that's the strange part.”

“You're suggesting...”

“I'm just letting you know how it looked—why people have been whispering about it for so long.”

“Because the newspaper didn't print the story? And three people were let go and moved away?”

“Because it looked like the paper had been paid off, and the servants, too—that they were supposed to keep their mouths shut and disappear.”

“So why hasn't anyone challenged the story? One of these...doubters who keep gossiping about it?”

“My guess? No one's sure enough about their suspicions to make an actual accusation. The possibility that something else might have occurred has been floating around for years, but there've been no family members banging on the doors of the police department, demanding they take another look. No evidence of foul play. Who wants to accuse a wealthy and powerful resident of murder without any more to go on than some household staff who were suddenly dismissed? Especially if none of them talk?”

“But it's been years! Surely one of them would've broken his or her silence by now, if...if something sinister had happened. Don't you think that an attack of conscience would've driven someone forward in more than thirty years?”

“Not necessarily. Not if all they have are suspicions, like the rest of us.”

“But if they never really knew anything, why would my mother fire them?”

“Maybe she was afraid they knew more than they did. Maybe she was just being cautious—putting a stop to something before it could even start. No one has the real story. That's what Ozzie believes. She heard from someone who heard it from Lois Jenkins, who worked as a maid for your mother, that
she
thinks your mother pushed your sister to her death.”

Maisey's blood ran cold. “What would make her think that?”

“She claimed your mother hated the child. That she was more than cold and unfeeling. That she was actually cruel.”

Despite Maisey's own doubts and insecurities, loyalty came rising up like a tidal wave. “That's a steep cliff. A child of five or six could easily have fallen, could easily have hurt herself on the rocks and then been pulled under by the tide.”

The question was...had she? Maisey wanted to believe the answer to that was yes. But she had her doubts, too. Certain elements of the story made her uncomfortable—like how strange it was that her mother had never said anything about losing a child. Josephine had never so much as spoken Annabelle's name, not in Maisey's recollection. Neither had her father. There'd been no pictures in the house, no room that used to belong to Annabelle,
no trace
. And what about the letters to her father from that Gretchen woman? The intimation that there
had
been something in the past capable of ruining them?

“It
could've
been an accident,” Dinah agreed. “That's exactly the reason no one has ever challenged the story directly. So cut yourself a slice of my fabulous banana bread and enjoy it. You know how everyone's always loved whispering about your family. It's the gossip that turned a tragic fall into more of a mystery than it ever really was.”

Maisey hoped so. But after the way she'd seen Josephine punish Keith, she could all too easily imagine her mother doing the same, or worse, to Annabelle. She felt a chill at the very mention of the servants describing her mother as “cruel.”

And the fact that Malcolm might have been complicit in some way was even more upsetting.

“Who can I ask if I want to learn more?” Although Maisey had Gretchen Phillips's name, she didn't want to bring that up, didn't want to say anything about her father or the letters. Jack had referred to them when they were shouting at each other, but Dinah didn't seem to recall that. Maisey could easily picture her coming to the door and being shocked by what she was hearing, shocked enough not to catch every word.

Still, Dinah knew more than Maisey wanted anyone to.

“You could ask your mother,” Dinah replied, as if it was as simple as that. “I'm guessing she's the only one who really knows.”

Maisey hoped not, because Josephine would
never
tell. Not the truth. Not if it didn't reflect well on her. Maisey would have to rely on Gretchen Phillips, or someone else, to fill in the blanks. There had to be a reason Malcolm had bought that woman a car and given her so much money...

After thanking Dinah for the bread and chatting with her about various other things, Maisey explained that she probably wouldn't go to bingo but would be happy to go out for a drink sometime. Then she followed Dinah to the door.

“Chuckie wants to see you,” Dinah said. “I made him stay home with the kids tonight, but would you mind if he came along when we go out for that drink?”

“Of course not,” Maisey said.

“You can bring Rafe, too.” She tossed Maisey a grin. “I promise not to drool.”

“I'm not sure... I mean, Rafe and I aren't technically together, so...I doubt he'll be coming with me.”

“Well, just in case you'd
like
to bring him.”

“Thanks. See you soon,” Maisey said and closed the door. But she didn't settle in for the night. She grabbed her purse and found the key to the scooter.

It was eight-thirty. She wanted to visit Ranger Phillips before it got any later.

* * *

Ranger Phillips lived in a shack. Although she didn't remember him, Maisey had expected someone with a charter business to have a more...traditional home. This place was even more remote than Smuggler's Cove. If not for the “Charter Service” signs—handmade and tacked to a tree here, a fence there—leading her on like a series of garage sale signs, she never would've found it.

As she pulled up, she could see the flicker of a lantern through the window, could smell chimney smoke and guessed that Ranger didn't have utilities.

Parking her scooter well down the rutted drive—she was hesitant to leave her getaway vehicle where she might have trouble making an escape, if necessary—she cautiously approached the door. A muddy truck sat beneath a makeshift carport and, as she got closer, she could hear the hum of a generator as well as the babble of a TV.

She considered going home and coming back when it was daylight. But she had to work in the morning and didn't want to put this off. The question of what had happened to Annabelle was eating at her and would continue to eat at her until she confirmed that it was the accident the police had determined it was.

As soon as she knocked, the volume of the television dropped. A second later, she sensed that someone was peering out at her. The curtains moved and there was a shape to one side. But she doubted Ranger Phillips could see her, since she was standing in the dark. The tall trees surrounding his property blocked even the moon's light.

“Who is it?” came a gruff voice.

“My name is...” She drew a deep breath. “My name is Maisey Lazarow.”

“What do you want?”

She bit her lip when he didn't open the door or act the least bit friendly. She was feeling more and more uncomfortable about showing up here. Would it bring the old gossip raging back to the forefront? Was she stirring up something that should be left as it was?

She didn't have those answers.

“Hello?” She cleared her throat. She had to ask, didn't she? “I'm looking for Gretchen Phillips.”

“Who?”

“Gretchen. I believe she might be related to you—through marriage.”

“She's dead,” was his response. “Died of lung cancer nine years ago.”

Maisey's heart sank. Had she gathered up her courage and come here for nothing? “So you...you kept in contact with her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“It's sort of hard to explain through a door. Is there any chance you could speak to me face-to-face?”

Silence. At first Maisey thought he'd ignore her request. But then she heard shuffling and the door opened a few inches. Once she saw that he lived with at least five cats, some of them trying to poke their curious noses into the evening air, she understood why he'd been so cautious. He didn't want to worry about his pets getting out.

“Thank you for...for speaking to me.”

“Why are you looking for Gretchen? You wouldn't even have known her.”

She was beginning to sweat under her jacket. “No, no, I didn't. But...my father did, and he...he left me a note that I should reach out to her one day.”

Every bit the seasoned fisherman, with a weathered face, hawkish nose and thick, coarse hair that didn't appear to have been brushed today—or recently cut—he squinted at her. “And what would your mother have to say about that?”