“Padraig O’Connell,” Jennifer filled in.
Kevin squinted. “No, that’s not it … the English spy—what’s his name?”
Peter had been hit twice, the first shot through his thigh, and the second, aimed higher by the pistol’s recoil, through his shoulder. Kevin, who had once saved a crewman who lost an arm in a winch gear, worked on both wounds. He pressed towels against the entrance and exit wounds in the shoulder and tied a tourniquet to slow the bleeding from the leg wound. Then he tuned the radio to tell the Coast Guard that there was an emergency aboard Maineman and give the position. He and Jennifer hobbled Peter into the saloon, where he stretched out on the sofa. Jennifer brought a blanket to keep him warm, and Kevin contributed a large glass of Padraig’s favorite Scotch.
The young seaman had little problem jumping the ignition to start the trawler’s engines. Then he took his own boat in tow, weighed anchor, and headed back up the bay to Blue Hill. They were under way only a few minutes when they heard the distant beat of helicopter rotors, and seconds later a Coast Guard medic was lowered aboard Maineman. The medic redid Kevin’s first aid, injected Peter with a painkiller, and started a drip flowing into his arm. There was no need to haul him up into the chopper. He was doing fine, and the boat would have him ashore soon enough.
Jennifer sat beside him, holding his hand until the narcotic took effect. Then Peter slumped against her shoulder and dozed off peacefully.
Kevin then grilled the medic. “You know those English spy movies—what’s the name of the hero? The secret agent who always gets the girl?”
“Oh yeah,” the medic said. “I know who you’re talking about.” But he couldn’t remember the name.
Peter spent two days in a Bangor hospital with Jennifer at his side. Kevin came for a visit on the second afternoon and announced that he knew the name of the movie star. “Padraig O’Connell,” he said. He showed them a front-page photo of O’Connell. The story, on the obituary page, called his death “A suicide, while yachting with friends near Mount Desert Island, Maine.”
Peter was flown down to New York where he spent another week in a hospital: minor surgery to remove the bullet still lodged in his leg, and a few days for observation. When he finally returned to his apartment, Jennifer had it well stocked, with fresh flowers in all the vases. “Who sent the flowers?” he asked. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Yes you do,” she answered. “They’re all from me.”
She begged him to reconsider his resignation from Pegasus Satellite Services. Peter refused. He’d stay long enough to complete the buyout of Leprechaun Productions, and to bring in replacements for Catherine’s marketing roles. But then he was determined to leave, “to pursue other interests.”
“What other interests?” Jennifer demanded.
“You,” he said. “I went back into the fire to get you, and I’m not going to lose you. I don’t want to be in business with you, Jennifer. I want to be in love with you.”
EPILOGUE
Padraig O’Connell was our last rivalry, and our most bitter. It wasn’t just the devotion of a man that was at issue. It was all that went with it. Padraig was celebrity and glamour. He was television interviews, magazine covers, Academy Award walk-ons, and even royal invitations. He was everything important in life. We both wanted him desperately.
Think about it. If Jennifer would scheme to get my drawings, my doll, and my boyfriends, there was no limit to how far she would go to get Padraig. And she was clever. You had to give her credit. Look at the way she connived to get the Serini glass vase from our father. Or the way she spoiled my “Man of the Year” award.
Of course, Padraig was taken with her first. In the beginning, all he was after was money, and my sister was the easier mark. God, she was so desperate she would have settled for any man, and here was a world celebrity paying attention to her. She grabbed him with both hands and held on for dear life.
She was shameless, following him all over the world. And that business about loving to drive sports cars, that was just her way of stringing him along. Padraig had her money, which was all he ever wanted from her. But he couldn’t get away. Jennifer popped up wherever he went.
You don’t think he really wanted to marry her? That was her idea. She probably threatened him: No more money without a wedding ring. I’ll bet he was drunk when she got him to stand up in front of the clergyman.
I didn’t think much of him at first. Just a fortune hunter, as far as I was concerned. The only reason I paid any attention to him was to keep Jennifer from making even more of a fool of herself.
I wasn’t really surprised when he came on to me the way he did. After all, I was much more bankable in Hollywood than my sister. And I was offering easier access to much more money. The surprising thing was how quickly he fell in love with me. I mean, Padraig could have any woman in the world just by snapping his fingers. But he went absolutely mad over me. It was flattering. And I enjoyed moving in his circles. Before I knew it, I was in love with him, too.
I think that was what drove Jennifer over the edge. All her life she had been taking from me and then lying to cover up. Like the vase. I had just as much right to it as she did, but she stole it out from under me. And then, when I accidentally dropped it, she acted as if I had done it on purpose. So now she got this insane idea that I had stolen Padraig from her. It was her turn to break something of mine. That was why she decided to kill Padraig. Oh, sure, she was furious with him for choosing me over her. But her real reason was to get back at me.
I did what I could to keep it from happening. I even arranged for someone to break into her apartment. Not to hurt her, just to warn her to leave her hands off Padraig and show her that she wouldn’t be safe if anything happened to him. But it didn’t work.
Jennifer had tried to have me killed. Now she was going after Padraig. And no one would believe me. I told Peter, and he only laughed at me. He wouldn’t believe that Jennifer would hurt anyone. Even Padraig wouldn’t take me seriously. He still had a soft spot for her.
So, in the end, that’s what it came down to. It was up to me to stop her, just as it had always been. That’s when I told Padraig that Jennifer had to have an accident.
He was furious with me. He said I was imagining things. He even implied that I was the one who was crazy. But even he had to face the facts. He and I were a great team, ready to take on the world, and all Jennifer could do was ruin everything. He might be willing to risk his life, but I wasn’t going to risk mine. So if he couldn’t do this one thing for us, if our life together meant that little to him, then he could forget about his company and his movies. I’d pull out and take my interests elsewhere.
That’s why I arranged the boat trip. I thought it was a perfect way for him to take her by surprise. But it looks as if Jennifer beat us to it. She was the one who took Padraig by surprise.
Ironic, isn’t it, how unfair life can be? Jennifer was always trying to destroy me, and you’d think that in the end, she’d pay the price. Instead, she got her way once again.
She killed Padraig just as she planned. She paid me back for breaking her damn vase, and for breaking her leg and for all the other things she imagined I had done intentionally. And then she put me in here.
This is her final vengeance. She was the one who convinced the judge that I was a psychopath. That’s how she got herself appointed my guardian and had me committed here. Big favor! I’d rather face the charge of conspiracy to commit murder. At least then I’d be able to tell about all the things she’s done to me since we were little children.
She’s out there now, running my company and living my life. She must get great joy out of knowing that she’s taken everything from me. But she can’t have Padraig. And she can’t have me. I’m not going to become her next Serini vase, on display for all her friends to look at. A conversation piece so that everyone can sympathize with her for having such an evil sister and praise her for being so good to me. I’d rather be smashed into pieces than
give her the satisfaction.
The bedsheet twists into a perfect rope, and the sprinkler pipe is strong enough to hold my weight. So when you come in here tomorrow and find me hanging, it won’t be suicide. It will be my final triumph over Jennifer. The vase will have slipped through my fingers.
ALSO BY DIANA DIAMOND
The Babysitter
The Trophy Wife
THE GOOD SISTER. Copyright © 2002 by Diana Diamond. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
eISBN 9781429903684
First eBook Edition : March 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Diamond, Diana.
The good sister / Diana Diamond.—1st ed. p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-29165-5
1. Inheritance and succession—Fiction. 2. Sisters—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3554.I233 G66 2002
813’.6—dc21
2002017137
Good Sister, The Page 30
