“Tevi, stay calm—”
Stevens appeared in the arch. “I’m sorry to intrude, miss. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”
3
J
o stood at the base step of her childhood home, Montgomery Manor on Montgomery Island, and took a steadying breath. The Victorian home had aged well over the years. But Aunt Mary’s death six months ago still hovered over the place like a specter. And now, Uncle Victor was gone, too. He’d been the family’s anchor, the driving force in the Weatherford sisters’ lives for almost their entire childhood. Yes, he was annoying and controlling and subversive, but he’d taken in Jo and her sisters after Grandmother Claudia’s and their mother’s passings, saving them from the menace that was Wallace Hayes, Eleanor’s second husband. Jo refused to acknowledge him as even her stepfather.
Swallowing past the lump clogging her throat, Jo trudged up the stairs to the wide veranda and reached for the door. It flew open before she could grab the knob.
“My goodness, Josephine Ophelia. Finally.” Esther Delacroix, the Montgomerys longtime housekeeper, stood in the arch. The rush of nostalgia hitting Jo was so profound, her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. There was no opportunity to fall as Esther pulled her into one of her legendary embraces. Esther’s helmet of gray curls pricked her cheeks.
Jo hugged her tightly, then quickly let go.
Esther’s hold went to Jo’s hands as she pulled back.
Jo’s hands grew clammy as Esther squeezed. Rationally, Jo knew Esther’s hug was intended as affection, but to Jo everything grew claustrophobic. Even the cool breeze off the Long Island Sound. “Hello, Esther.” Jo cleared her throat at the slight crack in her voice, trying desperately not to snatch her hands away and scrub them against her skirt.
“I can’t believe old Victor is gone.” Esther dropped her hands and pulled the bottom of her apron up and used it to dab at her eyes.
Before Jo could react, Esther had taken Jo by the hands again and stood back, spreading Jo’s arms out, giving her a thorough look-over. “I’m happy you’re home. Oh, I know it’s only been a couple of months. But that dern dog runs through the house looking for you, whining as if his very life is about to end. Lordy, every time I see you, I see how well that finishing school you attended served.” Esther tugged her inside. “Get in here right this minute. I have tea waiting for you in the library. Thomas will bring in your bags.”
“Have my sisters arrived yet?”
“You’re the first, dear. So dreadful what happened to Mr. Montgomery. I still can’t believe it. I’m going to miss him something fierce. He’d been remodeling like a madman.”
Another bout of tears welled up, blinding her. Despite her fury, Jo would miss him too, and that surprised her. His controlling tendencies were the bane of her existence.
Sighing, Jo moved farther into the entrance hall. The minute updates in the old manor amazed her. She’d only been gone a few weeks and now she stood on black and white tiled flooring that was more reminiscent of the Frick House located in Manhattan than it was of the small island. Gleaming wood, freshly waxed, and a new and elaborate chandelier overhead both shone brightly. “It’s good to be home,” she said, slipping off her whimsical little hat, a Madame Agnes that was all the rage. She handed it to Esther, along with her navy wool cloak.
“Hurry along, dear.”
Jo followed her into the library, anticipation gripping her, hoping Victor hadn’t changed anything in that room. It had always been Jo’s and her sisters’ favorite in the whole house. They’d always taken tea with Victor in the cozy warm two-story round room. Now with Victor gone, everything would change. Jo wasn’t so good with change.
She hesitated at the door, observing the wainscoting that partially covered the curved white plaster walls. The familiar built-in nook under the bay window filled Jo with relief.
The house would likely go to Jackson. And if that happened, Jo knew she’d never step foot on the island again. Jackson was Mary and Victor’s only son and she hated him.
Jo took in the room with a sense of finality, stopping at the vase of brilliantly colored hibiscus. The sight was so Aunt Mary, it startled her. She hadn’t been all that close to Aunt Mary. But with Victor now gone, she felt at odds. As if her body and mind were detached from one another…
“The service is in a couple of days, dear. They’ll do the reading of the will the next day, I suppose. Will that give you and your sisters a chance to get reacquainted?” Esther had never been known for her lack of curiosity.
Jo rolled her eyes. “You know perfectly well, we share a living space in the city. In any event, it’s obvious we’ll be on the island for the next few days.” Like they had any choice in the matter. Mr. Guthrie’s letter had been specific regarding the funeral and reading of the will. Jo took it as another dictate. This one from the grave.
Esther grunted.
A shudder went through Jo. It was probably too much to hope that Jackson would fail to appear. Highly unlikely.
Jo meandered to the tea service Esther had set out on a small table surrounded by two wing-back chairs and the settee and poured herself a cup. She forwent the sugar and cream, instead moving across the room to browse the shelves, touch old books, run a fingertip over antiquities she and her sisters had never been allowed to handle as children. Aunt Mary had been most particular, and a precocious five-year-old Tevi had been like a trapped squirrel in a tightly confined space, desperate to escape.
Smiling, Jo made her way around the cozy chamber. This room had been her real sanctuary when she and her sisters had come to live with Victor and Mary. Even when Victor wasn’t present, Jo had spent the majority of her time in this room whenever she visited the island. If pressed, she might be forced to admit to an obsessive love of books. Her thoughts wandered as she roamed the space, and she concluded books were much easier to deal with than men, which reminded her of the news she needed to break to her sisters—that they had different fathers.
Knowing her sisters, such news would not go over well. They were a suspicious lot, the Weatherford girls.
She put the thought out of her head and reveled in the room’s balm she craved.
A squeal of delight filled the hall outside the library. Jo gulped the last of her tea, set her cup on the tray then smoothed her fingers over her navy-colored rayon skirt. She stood back and watched her youngest sister from the arch of the library door, conscious of the sense of indulgence surging through her. They’d breakfasted together with Victor a couple of weeks earlier, and Tevi looked as feisty as she ever did. She had a knack for living carefree. Jo envied her that.
Tevi handed off her coat and met Jo’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. “Oh, Jo, I still can’t believe it. I still can’t believe Uncle Victor is dead.” She dashed forward and threw her arms around Jo’s neck.
Jo hugged her back then pulled away. “We’ll persevere. Just as we always have.”
“Have you heard from Lydia?” Tevi pulled off her smart pillbox hat.
Jo led her into the library. “No.” She wrinkled her nose. “We had words—”
“You argued?”
“Of course not. Nothing so dramatic. She’ll calm down and things will go back to normal.”
Tevi spun in a small circle. Jo watched as she took in the round chamber, the seafoam-green braided rug. “I love this room. It feels as if it hasn’t changed a bit since we moved here as children. Not like the entryway. Goodness, that tiled floor is almost blinding.”
Jo soundlessly agreed. “That’s part of its charm, I suppose. Surely, this isn’t the first time you’ve been back.”
Tevi shrugged and, after a moment, she took Jo’s arm and tucked it into hers. It took considerable effort to keep from jerking her arm away. Still, as Tevi drew Jo down to the settee next to her, Jo couldn’t help wanting to keep her distance. A little of Jo’s tenseness seeped away as Tevi let out her contentment in a soft whoosh of breath, not seeming to
realize how uncomfortable Jo was.
“Ah. Lady Grey, my favorite.” Tevi sipped. “I never understood why you were so touchy about physical contact.”
And, with luck you never will. In an act of sheer determination, Jo tightened her grip on her cup.
“Seems to me everyone relishes affection now and then.” Tevi took another gratifying sip. “I, personally, have found it easier to catch flies with honey if you get my meaning. I mean, really, how are you ever going to attract a fly, let alone a man?”
In a blink, Jo choked on a swallow and the stiffness in her neck had returned ten-fold. “I’m sorry?”
“I mean aren’t you interested in finding a suitable husband? You need to use a little honey.” She sipped again, letting her comment sink in.
Jo’s skin started to itch.
“Not to make you more uncomfortable, darling, but...” she paused grinning. “On my way here, I stopped to sign us up for the mother-daughter tea after church on Sunday.” Tevi sat back, her gaze watchful.
Heat crawled up Jo’s neck to her face. The statement was a deliberate dig, Jo didn’t attend church and certainly not on the island. She didn’t care for Reverend Knox. “Really, Tevi, Victor just died. How could you suggest such a thing?”
“I’m kidding. I didn’t sign us up for tea. I just get tired of you acting as if you are my mother and not my older sister.”
“Who else was there to look after you and Lydia after—” Jo jumped to her feet and paced across the room, castigating herself for letting Tevi draw her in, and so quickly. The girl had a definite talent. Jo moved to the fireplace and studied their grandmother’s condescending gaze boring down at them from the gargantuan portrait over the mantel.
Seconds later, Tevi’s shoulder brushed her own. Jo increased the distance between them. She glanced over and saw that her sister had kicked off her shoes and resumed her natural height, almost a full head shorter than Jo. She was such a tiny thing. The fight went out of Jo as they both gazed up at Grandmother Claudia’s stern face. From the corner of her eye, she caught Tevi sticking her tongue out at the picture.
Jo bit back a sudden rush of unexpected laughter and said, “It’s eerie how much you look like her. Grandfather had that portrait painted as a wedding gift when she was just your age. She was a force of nature, wasn’t she? You could be twins.”
This time Tevi stuck out her tongue out at Jo. She flounced back to her chair and plopped down.
“Well, it certainly explains why Uncle Victor favored you over the rest of us,” Jo said. “It was no secret he adored Grandmother.”
Tevi’s nose wrinkled. “I would rather have taken after you and Lydia if you must know. Great Grandmother Penrose was tall and slender. Instead I have to wear heels just to reach the closet rod.”
The laughter Jo had stifled earlier unexpectedly erupted now. “Lydia and I are, what, three inches taller than you?”
“Five, I think.” Tevi grinned, and the heaviness in the room lifted in a puff of smoke.
Jo gazed about. How could anyone not feel a sense of fulfillment around the thousands of books here? She inhaled the deep aromas of citrus, lemongrass, and bergamot wafting up as she leaned forward and poured out another cup for her sister.
Tevi picked up her tea. “By the way, where is Lydia? I thought she was coming today.”
Jo thought back to that night a few weeks ago when Lydia stormed Jo’s bedroom at the penthouse and informed her that their mother, Eleanor, had not committed suicide sixteen years before, but was in fact, alive and had been stashed in the Aurora Mental Institution. Jo had been adamant Lydia leave Eleanor to her fate. She wouldn’t dare cross Jo. Not on this.
Jo shrugged even as unease whispered through her. “I expect she’ll arrive soon. I have no idea what time.”
Tevi’s mischievous gaze narrowed on Jo. “How utterly fascinating.”
The sun shone brightly through a lower stained-glass window. Victor’s Italian Mastiff bounded across inlaid stone and jumped against the French terrace doors, his paws almost reaching the top.
“Heavens. He’s going to break the windows, JoJo,” Tevi said, jumping up from her chair and hurrying over to let him in.
“Down, Frizzle,” Jo snapped, sternly. The dog sat back on his haunches.
“How do you do that? He never minds me,” Tevi muttered.
There was no opportunity for Jo to answer as the dog bolted from the room to the front hall, barking ferociously. Jo went after him.
Esther swung back the heavy front door and stepped out on the veranda. Jo followed, shielding her eyes into the waning sunlight and watched as a long black car slithered up the drive like a snake. Her stomach dipped as the car pulled to a stop in the curved drive. Carver, Victor’s in-town chauffer, got out and strode around to open the back passenger door. Lydia, their middle sister, exited the vehicle and stepped out of the way. Another young woman then emerged, assisting a thin, gaunt-looking woman from the car.
“She wouldn’t dare,” Jo blew out on a hiss.
Tevi’s gaze shot to her.
A slow-burning fury seeped through Jo’s veins like molten lava. “Unbelievable.”
“What’s going on? Who is she?” Tevi whispered.
Esther’s hand splayed across her chest. She stumbled down the steps so quickly Jo feared she would break her neck. “Merciful God, in heaven.”
Jo could feel Tevi’s confusion but was too shocked at Lydia’s audacity to address her youngest sister’s concern. Lydia stared back at Jo, her demeanor almost defiant, her focus resting on Jo.
Jo folded her arms across her chest, her eyes never wavering from Lydia. “Why, Victoria Tevis, don’t you recognize your own mother?”
4
M
other!” Tevi’s shock jarred Jo to what had just spilled from her lips. “I thought…”
“I could use some help here,” Lydia called out.
“She had a lot of nerve bringing that woman—” Jo caught sight of the astonishment on Tevi’s face and froze.
“What, exactly, are you trying to say, Jo? That our mother has been alive all these years?” Tevi’s voice took on a shrilly trill that rivaled the highest C on the upper register of a piano’s keyboard. It sounded oddly out of tune.
“It’s complicated, Tevi.” Jo marched down the steps to the rear of the car and hoisted out a couple of the smaller bags.
“Josephine,” Esther called. “Leave those bags be. Thomas’ll bring ’em.”
Jo, however, needed something to keep herself from wringing Lydia’s graceful neck, so she ignored the housekeeper. Thomas could get the rest of them. Frizzle met Jo on the porch, nudging her in the hip. No doubt the dog sensed her tension; he was the most reliable male she knew. The stress radiating from her could probably be felt clear across the channel to the mainland.
Inside, Jo dropped the bags she held. Head high, she stalked back in the library bound for the closed cabinet nestled to the left of the terrace doors. Tea was an insufficient antidote for the emotions pulsating through her. She pulled out Victor’s premium stash of brandy and poured herself a shot. It wasn’t like he would need it any longer. She took a large swallow, forgetting how it burned going down when one wasn’t used to drinking it on a regular basis. She began coughing violently.
A good twenty minutes went by, then Frizzle let out a sharp, deep bark then trotted over to the arch where Lydia appeared like the ever-avenging angel. She scratched him behind the ears. Happy, he moved away and plopped down on the rug with a satisfied grunt. Dead silence riddled with hostility filled the usually calming room. From her corner, Jo watched Lydia hesitate before squaring her shoulders and sauntering across the threshold. She moved with a quiet confidence Jo didn’t normally associate with her middle sister and lowered into one of the wingback chairs across from Tevi, who had slipped in quietly and planted herself on the settee.
“I did it,” Lydia said, meeting Jo’s eyes.
&nbs
p; Keeping her expression blank, Jo moved to the other chair. “You certainly did.” Jo had not supported Lydia’s plan for liberating Eleanor from the Auburn Mental Institution.
Lydia steeled her jaw. “I did the right thing,” she said with a stubborn resolve, yet another characteristic Jo did not remember. Her middle sister was the arbitrator, the go-between, the biddable sister. Too many years had gone by; Jo had forgotten important details it appeared.
Lydia clenched her fists in her lap. “I know you didn’t want me to bring her here, but Jo, it was terrible. All they were doing was sedating her.”
Irritation flashed through Jo. “You were too young to remember how she neglected us,” she bit out. Her fury ate at her like a wild dog gnawing on a dead carcass. And Wallace Hayes…he didn’t bear thinking about.
Lydia didn’t back down. Another side of Lydia Jo hadn’t expected. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a horrible way for anyone to live.”
“How can you say that? It matters.” Jo spoke through her own clenched teeth. Sympathy poured from Lydia, filling the room like a poisonous vapor. Jo had no desire for Lydia’s—or anyone’s—pity.
“What matters is how long you both have known our mother was alive.” Cold fury came off Tevi in waves. “Were either of you planning to tell me?”
Lydia turned to Tevi, her expression one of exasperation mixed with regret. “Uncle Victor didn’t tell you?” Lydia glanced at Jo.
Jo could feel her own aggravation bounding off the walls. She flung out a hand. “We didn’t keep it from you intentionally, Tev. Lydia found out and called me. I told her to leave that woman where she was. Obviously, she ignored my advice.”
Lydia snorted. “Advice. That wasn’t advice. It was a dictate. One I decided was punishment excess, to put it bluntly.” Lydia swiveled back to Tevi. “I thought you knew. Uncle Victor said he should be the one to tell you since the news would come as a shock.”
A Bullet to the Heart Page 2
