by Iris Kincaid
CHAPTER TWO
Welcome to Marvel Canyon. It looked like such a festive sign, like an amusement park entrance. But the town that it heralded was surprisingly low-key, modestly populated, and filled with sweet three-story suburban homes, all of which shared similarities of style and bright colors, befitting a resort town.
But when Beryl arrived at her destination, she saw a building that didn’t seem to belong in this town at all. Could this be the right place? This sprawling huge gray-timbered intimidating house wasn't quite as large as a mansion, although that was the first word that had come to her mind.
It was much smaller-scale and rather . . . eerie. Not terribly inviting.
But this was where he had lived. Her father. Beryl hoped she would have an opportunity to see the rooms of the house, his belongings, his books, and maybe a journal if she was lucky. Maybe photos. Anything that would help make a connection to him. The front door opened and a lovely woman with dirty blonde hair tucked back into a bun appeared at the entrance. She wasn’t really young, though certainly not old. And strikingly attractive.
Beryl approached shyly. This must be Gwynifer Couch, who was her father's neighbor and apparently, the executor of his estate.
“Hi. You must be Gwynifer.”
Beryl had never been examined with such intensity. Nor subsequently hugged so long and so warmly. As Gwynifer pulled away, Beryl thought she might even have seen the slightest hint of tears. The older woman seemed rather impatient with herself for getting so emotional.
“Well, we can’t stand out here all day,” Gwynifer said, holding the door open for Beryl.
The entranceway and living room felt like something from another era, both formal and chaotic. It was full of antiques, velvet furniture, purple, plum, and burgundy.
There were sculptures and knick-knacks that Beryl simply couldn't identify. And there was a portrait on the wall, a very old painting of three girls with warm auburn hair, in their teens most likely, clearly from the same family.
Beryl had expected to be worn out from her journey but was surprised to find herself alert and rejuvenated, probably just full of adrenaline from finally reaching her destination. She had also assumed that she would be the one asking questions. But Gwynifer’s interrogation took priority.
“Where have you been?” she demanded insistently.
“Where? You mean San Francisco? Or earlier than that?”
Gwynifer meant much earlier. “What was your first memory? What did that wretched foster family tell you? Where did they take you when were four years old? Why did they leave Arizona? Were you . . . ill-treated?
“No. Umm, they were . . . pretty decent. They took good care of me.”
“This is no time for half-truths. Not under your father’s roof.”
Whoever goes around telling the full truth? But Gwynifer would be satisfied with nothing less.
“I didn’t really understand things when I was very young. I thought they were my family. It wasn’t until I was older, maybe twelve, that I realized that wasn’t the way they thought about me. I eventually got the impression that the only reason I was there was so that they could get a check for supporting me.”
“That was definitely not what Oberon had in mind. He had hopes that your mother's family would raise you.”
“Yeah, that would have been nice.”
No one had ever taken such a keen interest in Beryl’s origins. And she couldn't imagine why. Her life in the foster care system had been on the one hand, fortunate, having had only one family, and also thoroughly unremarkable.
They heard the sound of a car pull up.
“Your sisters have arrived.”
Sisters!!?
“I guess I forgot to mention that,” Gwynifer apologized. “Yes, your father engaged in quite a lot of . . . antics in his late middle years. All with women who were visiting our town. There were three children who resulted from these encounters. You are the eldest, the one he completely lost track of when you were quite young. He never made himself known to the others, but he kept an eye on them from afar.
But you were taken away in the middle of the night by your foster parents. I think they may have been evading the law or debt collectors or some such thing. And they left your father with no means of tracking you down. He was beside himself for years. It was the greatest regret of his life. He called you The Lost One, and that is how you have been known to all of us.”
The greatest regret of his life was losing track of her? Beryl had only dimly been aware of the weight of anger and rejection that she carried because of the pain of being abandoned, and all in an instant, it melted away. He had wanted to find her and tried very hard to find her. But even if he had, he wouldn’t have made himself known to her. He hadn’t with the other two sisters.
And how weird is it to acquire sisters when you’re thirty years old? Sisters, by definition, have lived together and grown up together, not been introduced after they’ve all been old enough to drink, marry, and get a mortgage.
“There they are. I would ask if you are ready, but there’s really no preparation for this kind of thing.” Gwynifer glanced out the window. “Oh, she is just as her father described her. Will you look at that hair? It suits her, somehow.”
Beryl joined her at the window to watch two young women approach the house. No question as to which one Gwynifer had been referring to. One of them had long flowing locks of pink hair. The other had the most stylishly put-together appearance that Beryl had ever seen.
For the first time in a long time, Beryl became very self-conscious of her own appearance. How bedraggled she would probably seem to them. She hadn’t even looked in a mirror that morning. And her clothes were always so wrinkled. She didn’t even notice that much anymore. But these other young women certainly would.
In front of Gwynifer, Beryl had sensed such a joyous welcome that it clearly didn’t matter what she looked like or what she had accomplished. But these girls seemed so full of confidence and success. What would they think of their loser sister who had just spent the last two months living out of her Ford Taurus?
Beryl was torn between the very understandable and intense curiosity to know all about these “sisters” and the urge to run and hide until she could make herself more presentable. But the matter was out of her hands as Gwynifer opened the door to let them in.
“Come in, girls. Monique and Lucinda, if I’m not mistaken. Welcome to your father’s house. I am Gwynifer Couch. I was his neighbor for most of my life. Come and meet your elder sister, Beryl.”
The other two had crossed paths at the airport and decided to drive together to Marvel Canyon via rental car. But while they’d had a few hours to get used to the idea of instant sibling relations, the sight of Beryl plunged them into a fresh amazement.
“Beryl, come meet your sisters, middle child, Lucinda and youngest sister, Monique.”
“Actually, it’s Mosh,” the pink-haired girl piped in. “Everyone knows me as Mosh, MO from Monique and SH from Shimmer. It really helps for my online platform to have a distinctive name.”
“I suppose,” Gwynifer said. “I always thought that Monique was such a pretty name. But the important part of your name is Shimmer. You are all three of you Shimmers. I see that Oberon managed to give all of you those deep green eyes of his.”
And now that she had mentioned it, the girls could examine one another closely and under the pretense of a fixation on eye color. How pretty they both were, Beryl thought. And in such different ways. Lucinda was polished and fashionable, from her perfect makeup, masterfully shaped brows, and precision haircut, down to her designer dress and heels. And the nails. Had they just been done? Because Beryl had learned early in life that no nail job could survive beyond the third day without chipping. But maybe that was just her nails. Lucinda’s nails wouldn’t dare.
And fascinating Mosh with the pink mane. She wore an eclectic mix of ethnic jewelry and had tastefully small piercings through her brow and under her chin.
Her appearance was a complete unnatural fabrication and yet it suited her beautifully. She looked every inch the free spirit and Beryl soon found out why.
“I don’t actually have an address or a home. Not for the past five years,” Mosh explained. “I’m a traveler. And a blogger. That’s how I make a living. I have over 800,000 followers on YouTube. And my Instagram and Twitter also do pretty well.”
“You travel for a living?” Beryl asked. And with no home. I just did that myself, but you look like you’re having a lot more fun.
“Yeah, I’ve become kind of a big influencer. Which gets me all kinds of great invites and access. I was just in a hotel opening in Kuala Lumpur. I was going to spend a couple of weeks there, and then I got the news about . . . our father. Does that feel as weird to say for you as it does for me?”
“Not as weird as sister,” Beryl responded. “Because I never thought I’d meet him, but I knew that I must have had a father out there somewhere. I just didn’t know about you two.”
“And I’m sure you’re also wondering, how on earth did he know about us?” Lucinda added, “and why did he never try to get in touch with us? I mean, he put us in his will, but never a phone call. Or a Christmas card. Or a visit. And then this. I don’t get it.”
“I will answer questions about your father as best I can,” Gwynifer assured. “But for a few moments, why don’t you three take some time to become better acquainted? Let’s go back to the kitchen for a cup of tea.”
She whirled around without waiting for an answer, and the young women could only scurry behind to keep up with her brisk steps. She had a lot of energy for an older woman. Although she wasn’t really all that old. Perhaps in her late forties.
She led them to a cavernous kitchen that was the size of a small studio apartment all by itself. There was a fireplace in the middle of the back wall and a cast-iron pot hanging in it that could only be described as a cauldron. The room was filled with dried herbs and bottled liquids and dusty recipe books. It looked as if it could do with a good cleaning army.
“I hope everyone likes tea,” Gwynifer said, filling up a kettle to the brim with water.
“I actually only drink coffee,” Lucinda said. “But there only seemed to be one coffeehouse in town, and it looked as if it had just gone out of business.”
“It did just go out of business. Only last month.”
“But there are probably a lot of other good places to get a flat white,” Mosh said.
“A flat . . . what?” Beryl asked.
“A flat white. You know, a coffee with cream,” Mosh explained. “I go through at least three of them every day.”
“Same here. A flat white has just the right amount of punch. Although I do tend to do a lot more espressos when I’m traveling,” Lucinda agreed.
“That’s true. In Lisbon, it was really hard to find a good flat white. So, you just go with the flow and get wired up on the espresso.”
Mosh and Lucinda shared a little chuckle of mutual understanding as Beryl did her best not to roll her eyes. If a flat white was a coffee with cream, then why not just call it a coffee with cream? These girls were starting to irritate her, and the fact that they were starting to bond over international travel and flat whites was only another source of alienation. But what did she expect?
“I’m afraid you’ll find no more coffee in town,” Gwynifer informed them. “We used to have five or six coffeehouses, and they have all closed, one by one. That was the last of them. Of course, you can get a cup of coffee with your lunch or dinner in any restaurant. But coffeehouse, no. I think the town’s population would certainly have supported them, but I believe they got an offer that was too tempting to refuse. And the new owner will create an even grander coffeehouse, or so I’m told. Until then, you will have to make do with my tea.”
“It smells great,” Beryl said, giving her younger ‘sisters’ a warning eye.
“Of course, tea would be great,” Mosh said.
“Yes, nice change of pace,” Lucinda chimed in diplomatically.
“Monique—I’m sorry, Mosh. You were telling us about your traveling job,” Gwynifer prodded as she poured out four cups of tea.
“Oh, I started traveling right after college. Just wasn’t ready to settle down and do the desk job thing. And it’s such a big world and there are so many places to see. So, I started taking photos and videos that I thought might be useful to other travelers. And I threw them up on YouTube, like everyone does. And man, one of them went viral like nobody’s business. And I got all kinds of encouragement and sponsorship offers, and things just took off. Two years later, I was ranked as one of the top ten travel bloggers, and I stayed there for three years in a row. Hard to stay on top forever, but I think I’m still in the top twenty-five.”
“How many places have you been to?” Beryl couldn’t help but wonder.
“Over 106 countries,” Mosh said matter-of-factly. “And by the time I’m thirty, I’ll have visited every single one.”
“Wow. And then what?”
“And then . . . like I said, it’s a big world. I don’t think it’s even possible to run out of new things to see and do. And I want to see everything. And go to every music festival in the world. Man, I love a good festival. This is the perfect lifestyle for me. I know a lot of people love the security of being settled down, but the freedom of being on the road suits me to a T.”
“Hmm, and how about you, Lucinda?” Gwynifer inquired.
“Oh, I’ve been in real estate since even before I got out of school. In my sophomore year, my parents and I bought this cute little four-plex and I lived in one with a roommate and we rented the other three apartments. Then, when I graduated, we sold it and made a sweet little profit.
“I got the real estate bug and moved to L.A., got my license, and got the lay of the land. Figured out who the big players were, got hooked up with the right company, made one really high-profile sale, and that was it. Everyone knew who I was after that. All it takes is one big break and then you’re in. Every door opens after that.”
But what if you never get that break? Beryl wondered.
In the past three years, I’ve sold properties to and from Anthony Hopkins, Mariah Carey, Amy Adams—”
“Oh, I love Amy Adams,” Mosh gushed. “That is seriously cool.”
“I was just listed in The Hollywood Reporter as one of the top thirty real estate agents under thirty to keep an eye on. It’s a pretty important list. I think everyone in town knows who I am. Now the firm I work for has started to assign me some of the really huge properties that get bought by the major foreign investors. So, yeah, things going pretty well,” Lucinda concluded.
Beryl felt a knot growing in her stomach as she realized that her own pathetic job history was probably going to be the next topic of conversation. But thankfully, Lucinda was otherwise preoccupied.
“Speaking of those foreign investors, I just started work on a really huge deal and I can only spare a few days for this whole thing.” She turns to Gwynifer. “You did say that we’d get to the reading of the will as soon as we arrived. I’d love to figure out exactly what we’re dealing with and how long it will take to do whatever needs to be done.”
Gwynifer was not pleased with Lucinda’s impatience. “Mister Godfrey, the estate lawyer, will be here shortly. You probably want to bring your bags upstairs and settle in a bit. There are four suitable bedrooms to choose from. Beryl, you may have the first choice of rooms.”
Lucinda scoffed. “Hmm. Why exactly is that? No offense, Beryl. I’m just wondering.”
“Because she is the eldest.”
“Only by two years.”
“Being the eldest requires no other qualifications. And because that is what your father would have wanted,” Gwynifer said sternly.
Beryl was so indescribably relieved at the thought of sleeping in a real bed again that she would gladly have taken the smallest, ugliest room the house had to offer. Still, first pick was pretty sweet! She felt
Lucinda’s and Beryl’s eyes on her, each used to being a big fish in their respective big ponds of L.A. real estate and social media. Best to enjoy the fleeting moment of feeling special in their eyes. They would find out the truth soon enough.
CHAPTER THREE
As it turned out, the very first room that Beryl laid eyes on was so inviting that she claimed it immediately without even seeing the others. Gwynifer was right behind her.
“It was no small effort to make these rooms suitable for guests. They are much improved from how your father left them.”
“You did all this?” Beryl marveled. “It’s wonderful.”
“Hmmph.” Gratified, Gwynifer led the other two to their selection of rooms.
Beryl approached the bed with giddy glee. How soft it looked! What a blissful refuge. And most importantly, how long was she going to be allowed to stay?
*****
There was very little time to luxuriate in her temporary digs. In just an hour’s time, Mr. Godfrey, the estate lawyer, had arrived, and they were all back in the living room, gathered around him.
“What a pleasure to meet you all. Although normally, this would be a difficult time to work out financial matters. But you didn’t know your father, did you? Inheritance without grief is the best of circumstances.”
There was something thoroughly insincere about him.
“Mr. Godfrey, could you please explain to the girls the terms of their inheritance?” Gwynifer requested insistently.
“I’d be happy to. And they are rather unusual, so please feel free to ask for any additional clarification. Oberon Shimmer left small incidental gifts to Gwynifer Couch and Emerson Briscoe, that they both have already been informed of. As for this house, he left it in equal parts to his three daughters, Beryl, Lucinda, and Monique Shimmer. I wouldn’t even venture to guess how much it is worth. You can have it appraised as soon as you’d like. Though I must warn you, there have been recent unfavorable shifts in the local property market. And . . .” He glanced at the portrait of the three young women hanging over the mantel. “Its haunted reputation will not help matters. Still, it is worth something.”
