Her Sister's Secrets

by V. J. Chambers

  “Oh, really?” I said. I looked at the date listed on the invoice for the Fletcher retirement gala. It was nearly four years ago. “Oh, I guess not. I’m sorry to bother you about it. I guess Violet never mentioned it.”

  “We had enough to talk about with our current workload without talking about parties she already did.”

  “Well, at this one, a guy died of a heart attack. It might have been memorable to her.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Sage said in recognition.

  “She talked about it?”

  “She would mention that sometimes,” said Sage. “She’d say things like, ‘Don’t worry, it couldn’t possibly end up worse than the party I did where the guest of honor died.’”

  “Okay, good,” I said. “So, what else did she tell you about it?”

  “Nothing,” said Sage. “She just mentioned it sometimes.”

  “She never talked about what went wrong besides the death?”

  “Something else went wrong?”

  “Well, she wrote in her notes that she was debating going to the police.”

  “Whoa,” said Sage. “That’s insane.”

  “Did she say anything about that to you?”

  “Nope. Never,” said Sage. “Sorry.”

  I sighed. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

  “Sure,” said Sage. “If you need anything else, just call.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I definitely will.”

  * * *

  “Uh, no, actually, I’m not interested in booking any catering,” I said into the phone. “I’m just calling because I know that your company worked on the Fletcher retirement gala about three years ago.”

  “Okay,” said a voice on the phone. The person answering had called herself Kendall. She sounded a little uncertain. “But you don’t want to book us? Because, like I said, we like to do a tasting meeting and then—”

  “No, listen, my sister was Violet Farrow. Maybe you know her?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Kendall. “Wow, it’s so awful what happened. Gee, I’m really sorry about your loss.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Anyway, I’m trying to find out more information about what happened at that gala. I know from her notes that your company did the catering. I was hoping that I could speak to someone who was actually there, at the event. I don’t suppose you were?”

  “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t work here four years ago. I mean, not many of us did, really. Maybe the owner, Parker?”

  “Can I talk to Parker?”

  “Hold on,” said Kendall.

  The phone went silent. She must have put me on hold. It was a pretty fancy catering company if they had phones that could go on hold. Or maybe they were so sought after that they routinely got multiple phone calls. Of course, if they were really so amazing, how come their turnover rate was so high?

  Maybe she’d just muted the phone or something.

  Time passed.

  I kept taking the phone away from my ear to see if I was still connected. Had she hung up on me?

  But then, finally, Parker came on the line. She sounded harried and annoyed. “You’re Violet’s sister?”

  “Hi there,” I said. “My name is Emilia, and I’m just trying to find someone who was at the Fletcher retirement gala three years ago.”

  “How do I know you’re Violet’s sister?”

  “You think I’d lie about that?”

  “You trying to poach information on my catering business? Put together a client list to sell or something? Because I’m not giving you contact information for the Fletchers, so just forget about that.”

  “Um, that’s not what I’m doing at all.”

  “Well, what are you doing, because it sounds a little strange.”

  “Uh, listen, I know that something strange happened at that gala, and I think my sister may have been murdered, so—”

  “Murdered? Are you serious?”

  “Very,” I said.

  She let out a long, slow breath. “Okay.”

  “Listen, were you at the Fletcher gala?”

  “I wasn’t,” said Parker. “We were slammed busy that weekend. I helped with the prep and with making some of the desserts, but I sent my team out there and I went to a wedding in St. Petersburg.”

  “Oh,” I said. Damn it. “So, is there anyone who still works there who was there?”

  “Well,” said Parker, “I think that Jess worked that gala.”

  “Okay, great, can I talk to her?”

  “She’s not actually here right now. Maybe I could have her call you back when she gets in?”

  “Don’t you have a number for her? I can call her myself.”

  “I really don’t know if I should give out someone’s personal number.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. “I promise, I’m not going to bother her or anything. I just want to ask a few questions.”

  “Well…” She hesitated. “You really think murder?”

  “I do.”

  She sighed. “Okay. I’ll give you the number.”

  She gave me the number. I wrote it down, and then we got off the phone.

  Immediately, I dialed Jess Gilbert.

  It didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail.

  I waited for the beep. “Hi, my name is Emilia Farrow. I’m Violet Farrow’s sister. I wondered if I could ask you a few questions about an event you worked four years ago, the Fletcher retirement gala? If you could give me a call back, that would be great.” I left my number and hung up.

  Now, I had nothing to do but wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  There was a knock on my door later on that evening, and I went to answer the door. When I did, I found that Drew Wainwright was on my porch.

  “Drew,” I said. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

  “I’m surviving.”

  I opened the door to let him inside. “Can I get you anything? A drink? I’ve got iced tea made.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I just came by to ask you if you wanted to come to my father’s funeral.”

  “Oh,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  “I know you probably don’t want anything to do with him,” said Drew, “but I would honestly like it if you were there. I know you don’t owe me anything, but you’ve been a good friend to me, and I could use a little more friendship right about now. I couldn’t even get myself together to go to Kimber and Brett’s wedding yesterday. I just want to hole up in my house and hide, you know? So, this funeral…” He shook his head.

  “I’ll come,” I said. “Of course I’ll come.”

  “Oh, thank you,” he said. “I really appreciate that.”

  “Uh, actually, there’s something I should tell you,” I said. “I’ve found something out about Violet’s DNA test.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s fake.”

  “Fake? What do you mean?”

  “The test that I was sent, it doesn’t belong to Violet. It belongs to someone else, named Taylor Bolton, and someone took her test and changed it, put Violet’s name on it instead.”

  Drew’s lips parted. He stared at me, but he didn’t say anything.

  “The thing is, Taylor Bolton used to work for your family, and so did her mother, Molly. But I can’t find any other information on her, so I don’t know why someone would send me her DNA test.”

  “Does this mean that Violet isn’t my…?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

  He put a hand over his mouth and turned around.

  I waited.

  He dragged his hand down over his chin. He still had his back to me.

  “This is good news for you, though, right?”

  He turned back around. “We can’t be sure, though. Maybe Violet really is my sister, and the person who knew this couldn’t find a DNA test of hers, so they used this Taylor person’s.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “But honestly, it never made sense anyway. I can’t see my mother having a consensual affair with your
father, especially when she was still married to my father. And if she was forced, then she wouldn’t have stuck around, considering we left right after… after it happened. So, anyway, I think—”

  “We need to be sure,” said Drew. “You know, I think I might still have a hair brush, maybe a toothbrush, of Violet’s. Something we could get a sample from. I think maybe I can get another test.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That would be good. For peace of mind. And just to know in general.”

  He nodded. He took a deep breath, and then another. And then, suddenly, he hugged me.

  I was surprised, and so I stiffened. But then I relaxed and wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back.

  “I really hope it’s true,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  He released me. “You have no idea how much this has been screwing with my head.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying a smile. “Okay, well, good then. I’ll, um, I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I hoped that I’d get a call back from Jess Gilbert that night or even the following day, but I didn’t. I called her number again, and it went straight to voicemail again. Instead of leaving a message, I tried sending her a text. I knew a lot of people who never even bothered to check their voicemail. If they didn’t recognize a number, it didn’t get a call back. In my text, I introduced myself and asked her to call.

  But she didn’t call.

  So, I got ready for the funeral and I drove out to the funeral home in town where it was being held.

  The place was packed. I should have imagined, considering Roman had been such a prominent social figure. His parties had been the place to be. Now, all those people were here to pay their respects.

  It made me a little ill, because they were all here to say nice things about him, and no one was saying the awful things that he’d done.

  But I knew that airing his crimes now wouldn’t hurt him. It would only hurt Drew, and that didn’t seem fair. Drew had been through enough.

  Roman was dead. That would have to be justice enough.

  But speaking of Drew, I couldn’t even get close to him. He was surrounded by tons of people, all of whom were shaking his hand and giving him hugs and expressing their condolences. I wasn’t even sure why it was he wanted me here after all. Maybe he hadn’t realized what it would be like.

  I stayed for the service, but I wasn’t about to go to the grave site.

  However, I did want Drew to know that I’d made it, since he’d come by to invite me personally and all, so I fought my way through a lot of people to get close to him before I took off.

  When he saw me, his eyes lit up. “Emilia, you’re here.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been here,” I said. “I just couldn’t get in to see you until now.”

  He took me by the arm. “Hey, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Sure.” Don’t ask me to go to the grave site. Please don’t ask me that.

  But he didn’t say anything like that. We walked together through the parking lot and he made some small talk about the weather.

  I pointed out my car. “That’s me.”

  We stopped next to it.

  “So, I did manage to get a sample off for testing,” he said.

  “Wow, that was quick.”

  He shrugged sheepishly. “I, uh, may have a little experience in this area. You wouldn’t think that more than one woman—who I’ve never slept with, mind you—would go around claiming that I was the father of her kid, but it’s…” He waved that away. “Uh, never mind that. Point is, we’ll have answers there pretty soon.”

  “Great,” I said. “I’m glad.”

  “Also,” he said, “I was wondering if you’d come by the house this evening.”

  “Sure,” I said. “What for?”

  “I’ve asked the family lawyer to come over. I feel like we could talk to him about this Taylor Bolton person. If there were paternity claims against my father, our lawyer would know about it, you know? And I think I remember this Taylor, now that you mention it. Because her mother worked for us too, that’s what you said?”

  “Yes,” I said. “What do you remember about her?”

  “Uh, not much. She was older than me. She was quiet. I kind of remember her face.” He shrugged again. “Not a lot. But, I mean, I guess she’s my sister, so maybe I want to know her. Anyway, this all seems to involve you somehow, so I thought you should be there.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “What time?”

  “After dinner,” he said. “Maybe around 8:00.”

  “See you then.”

  * * *

  I arrived at the Wainwright house at 8:00, and I expected a servant to greet me at the door, but instead it was Drew, who informed me he’d given everyone the night off.

  “I just needed some quiet and solitude,” he said. “I feel like it’s been nonstop since my father went over that balcony.” He gestured carelessly behind his head.

  He was drunk, I realized. Oh, great. This was going to go well. I wondered if he’d pass out again.

  He invited me back into his father’s old study, which was up at the top of the house. There was even an opening onto that top deck, where Roman had fallen from. This must have been the room where Roman been before he fell.

  The walls were lined with shelves, containing books and blue glass. There was a massive desk in the center of the room, flanked by leather easy chairs. A drink cart sat next to the chairs.

  “You want a drink?” said Drew.

  “Uh, okay,” I said, but I didn’t want to get wasted with him.

  “You like vodka cranberry, right?” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. How did he know that? Maybe he’d seen my drink at that first party, I guessed. That was awfully observant of him.

  He mixed the drink quickly and handed it over. Then he put some ice in a glass and poured some whiskey over it, no mixer. He went and sat down behind his father’s desk. He leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Hell of a day today.” He took a pretty big gulp of his drink.

  I looked around for a place to sit and found an overstuffed easy chair. I sat down on the edge of it gingerly. I didn’t feel comfortable. I was getting weird vibes from Drew. It wasn’t just because of the drink comment or the fact he was drunk. But I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was. “Where’s the lawyer?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’s probably running late,” said Drew, seemingly unconcerned.

  “Did you, um, remember anything else about Taylor Bolton?”

  “Nope,” said Drew. “Not a thing.” He sat up, taking his feet off the desk and set his drink down. “I wonder how many of them there were?”

  “Them?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Your mother,” he said. “My nanny Mrs. Porter. This Molly Bolton woman. And that’s probably just the tip of the iceberg, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “So, my dad just went around fucking whoever he wanted. And if they resisted, what? He just forced them.” His expression went hard on the word “forced.” He was gazing over my head, his expression unfocused.

  I didn’t know why we were talking about this. It was making me uncomfortable, because I was thinking about what I saw, thinking about my mother’s screams.

  “He’d probably grab them. Hit them. Throw them around. Scare them. Hurt them.” Drew sucked in a long, slow breath.

  My hand started to shake, thinking of my mom. I looked around for somewhere to set my drink down. The only place was the desk, so I set it there.

  Drew suddenly focused on me. “What do you think it was like? Can you imagine if something like that happened to you?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Why was he saying this?

  He got up from the desk and took another big gulp of whiskey. He walked around the desk slowly, peering down at me. His vo
ice went low and gravelly. “What if someone tried to hurt you now? Grabbed you and shoved you into that wall and held you there, wouldn’t let you go?”

  I felt pinned down by his gaze. I clenched my hands into fists, but I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t move.

  “You’d be terrified, don’t you think?” he murmured.

  I clenched my hands tighter and tighter until I found the ability to get up out of the chair. I was clumsy, though, unsteady on my feet. I tripped and had to grab the arm of the easy chair to right myself.

  “You okay?” said Drew.

  I pushed past him and started for the door.

  “Emilia?”

  I put one foot in front of the other, going for the door. I didn’t owe him an explanation. Every instinct within me told me to get away from this man right now, and I was—

  He caught me by the elbow, turning me to face him. “Where are you going?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I shoved Drew off. “It doesn’t matter where I’m going. I’m getting away from you.”

  He took a step back, looking confused. “Why? I thought we were going to talk to the lawyer together.”

  “I don’t have to explain myself,” I said. If he tried to convince me I was crazy, I’d know he was exactly like his father.

  I took off.

  But as I did, uncertainty gripped me. I hadn’t read anything into his demeanor, had I? I mean, he was drunk, and maybe he didn’t realize how he was coming off. Drew had been nothing but above board thus far, and if he wanted to hurt me, he’d had plenty of chances before.

  As I cleared the doorway, I hesitated. I turned back to look at him.

  “Sorry I brought up what happened to your mom,” said Drew. “I guess that wasn’t a great—”

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’s probably the lawyer.” Drew moved forward and then stopped. He gestured to me. “You going to let me through so that I can answer the door?”

  I stepped aside.

  He went past me. He went down the steps.

  I hesitated, and then I went after him. Maybe there was no lawyer coming. Maybe he’d somehow rigged the doorbell to lull me into a false sense of security.

  But when I got to the bottom of the steps, Drew was walking with another man, this guy in a suit.