The Third Sister

by Sara Blaedel

  Ilka also told him that Leslie was still in shock. She’s very fragile right now, she said. But it didn’t sound as if the lawyer believed it would be necessary to bring up Leslie’s family history in the case, and it definitely wouldn’t be part of the public record. He promised to contact the jail immediately and set up a meeting with his new client.

  Before hanging up, Ilka told him that Mary Ann would probably cling to her version of events to protect her daughter. “She thinks Leslie has already gone through too much.”

  The lawyer understood. He knew about Leslie’s situation; he’d worked for her biological father’s family, so they would all be on the same page in this case.

  21

  We have a customer,” Jette said when Ilka returned to the funeral home. She was in the kitchen, looking for coffee filters. “Leslie drove over to the bakery for milk and kringle.”

  It seemed her half sister had taken the hearse for her grocery run, which annoyed Ilka.

  A man was sitting in the reception area with her mother. The ladder still stood in front of the door, and Ilka noticed the buckets and rags scattered around the room, the large gold-framed mirror back on the wall. They’d begun cleaning.

  Her father came downstairs and greeted the man.

  “Eric’s wife is dying,” her mother said, “and he needs our assistance.”

  Ilka stood in the doorway, hoping that Leslie would get back soon so they could speak before the police and the lawyer contacted her.

  She noticed that the man was older than her father. Quite a bit older, probably in his eighties. The skin on his hands was paper-thin, and the color in his eyes seemed faded. His hand shook faintly when he reached out for her father.

  “I can’t understand what my wife says anymore. The last five years she’s been suffering from dementia, but now she’s dying and she can barely talk.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Ilka said.

  Slowly, he turned toward her. “Just a glass of water, thanks.” He nodded in gratitude. “My wife has forgotten her second language, we can’t talk anymore.”

  His voice was feeble. He pressed the bridge of his nose with two fingers and closed his eyes a moment. Ilka held out a glass of water to him when he opened them again.

  “Eric’s wife is Danish,” her mother explained. “She came here with her parents when she was fourteen, and now she can only speak Danish.”

  The man nodded.

  “Their daughter works at the library, and she saw the notice that Jette and I put up about our Danish evening. She’s the one who suggested Eric contact us. They need someone to be with his wife, someone who speaks Danish.”

  Jette appeared in the doorway. “A night nurse,” she said, in Danish. “They need a night nurse who can talk to her so she doesn’t feel alone.”

  Eric looked down at his folded hands as she spoke.

  Ilka had never considered that someone could forget a language in their old age. That it could disappear the same way as the memory of a loved one. That was about as lonely a situation as Ilka could imagine.

  “I want so much to understand what she’s saying,” Eric said. “I just don’t think she knows she’s talking to us in Danish. And I think she’s scared.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, but regretfully we don’t provide a night nurse service,” her father said. He suggested contacting a home care provider.

  Immediately her mother piped up. “Of course we’ll sit with your wife.” She took Eric’s hand. “We’ll help, of course we will.”

  “And what about when it’s over?” he said, his voice barely audible.

  She patted his hand. “We will help with that too. But at the moment, we must ensure that you and your wife can talk to each other while she’s still alive.”

  Ilka’s mother had once taught English, and she spoke distinctly in a pleasant British accent.

  The man appeared so relieved and grateful that Ilka discreetly wiped a tear from her cheek. He explained that they lived only two blocks away. “I walked over here.”

  He wobbled a bit as he stood up.

  “Why don’t we walk back with you and meet your wife; then we can see if she would like us to be there.”

  Ilka’s father asked if he should go along, but the two newly arrived Danish women clearly had the situation under control. Her mother offered the man her arm, and Jette grabbed his cane.

  Ilka followed them out and watched them cross the street. As she turned to go back inside, a car pulled out of their parking lot. She noticed the Lone Star license plate, and when the car turned onto the street, she glimpsed the tense face of Miguel Rodriguez and a shadowy figure beside him, presumably his brother.

  She had the feeling they’d noticed her, and she rushed back to the house, but they either weren’t interested in her or had something urgent to take care of. Miguel floored it, and the car quickly vanished.

  Her heart pounded so hard that her chest hurt as she ran through the house, flung open the back door, and sprinted across the parking lot. Even before she reached Lydia’s apartment, she saw the door standing open. They’d made no attempt to hide how they’d kicked the door in and splintered the doorframe, exposing bare wood around the lock.

  For a moment she stood in the doorway and listened, despite having seen the brothers drive away. When she stepped inside, at once she realized what they’d done. Clothes had been ripped off hangers, the chest of drawers under the mirror emptied, everything flung onto the floor. The living room had been turned upside down, and her mother’s and Jette’s things lay scattered all over the bedroom. Ilka looked around in shock. They’d searched every square inch of the apartment, in broad daylight, while she, her mother, her father, and everyone else had been just next door in the funeral home. She shivered, shaken by how callous and unconcerned they were.

  She hurried back to the funeral home and called out for her father. “You have to come over here and see this.”

  She held the back door for him. It was as if he already knew what had happened; he strode over to the apartment and barely stopped to glance at the broken door, the splinters of wood lying on the ground.

  “We’ll have to get your mother and Jette out,” he said, after inspecting the apartment. “Do you know where their suitcases are?”

  Ilka pointed; they’d been ransacked and shoved underneath the bed.

  “Call the hotel and reserve a room, then we’ll pack their things.”

  He’d leaned his cane against the wall and was standing now, arms at his sides, surveying the chaos. Fear was written all over his face, and he looked feeble again. “They’re still after her.”

  Ilka nodded. That much was obvious. They must have found out she’d lied to them about Lydia being in Texas. What scared her most, though, was how they’d taken off like a bat out of hell. Obviously, something was going on—but did it have to do with Lydia? Ilka was afraid they knew where to find her.

  She grabbed her phone and texted Jeff. You need to find her now. They’re closing in.

  “You and Leslie can’t stay here either,” her father said. “Did you get hold of the hotel?”

  Ilka ignored him and googled the hotel’s number.

  “A double room,” she repeated. She began packing the two suitcases and Jette’s weekend bag. Toiletries, clothes, shoes. After finishing, she set the suitcases outside and went back in to pick up the worst of the incredible mess. They’d even emptied the upper kitchen cupboards; flour and pasta nearly covered the floor.

  “I’ll pick up here. Just take their things over to the funeral home so they don’t see this.”

  Ilka whirled at the sound of Leslie’s voice. She hadn’t heard her come in and didn’t know how long she’d been standing in the doorway. Her father had gone back to the funeral home, and now she noticed that he’d forgotten his cane. The break-in had shocked him after all, she thought, and it also must have been a grim reminder of the night he’d been attacked just outside.
r />   “Thanks.” She smiled, or at least tried to; she was trembling all over.

  She called Jeff and got his answering service. She left a message, offering him five thousand dollars extra if he could find a way to get Lydia to safety immediately. Not that she had any idea where the money would come from, but at the moment there were fifty-one women sitting on death row in American prisons, and soon there would be one more if Jeff didn’t step up.

  She thumbed a final desperate text: Call. Then she stuck her phone back into her pocket and turned to Leslie.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  22

  An hour later her mother and Jette returned from Eric’s house and were told they would have to move. Her father said they’d booked a room at the hotel, and Ilka held up the car keys.

  “I’ll drive you down there.”

  “No,” the two women said, nearly simultaneously.

  “Sorry,” her father said. “Sister Eileen came back and needs the apartment, so unfortunately you can’t stay.”

  Ilka looked away, thinking about the day Lydia had packed Ilka’s suitcase without a word and moved her things down to the hotel. Back then she’d thought the nun wanted to get rid of her, when in fact she was trying to protect her.

  “It’s a good hotel, and it’ll be easier to walk around town if you stay down there,” Ilka said.

  “But we’ll be going over to Elly’s. We promised to stop by again.” Her mother obviously was taking this personally.

  “But you’ll only be sleeping there,” Leslie said. “You can be here the rest of the time.”

  Earlier Ilka had explained to Leslie what she’d told Officer Thomas, adding that she should expect a visit from the police. Ilka’s half sister had taken it surprisingly well; in fact, she’d even offered to call the lawyer. It was as if Leslie had renewed her membership in the human race, and it suited her well.

  “But did the police swallow the story?” she’d asked.

  Ilka assured her that they had, and that all Leslie had to do was act convincing when she told the policeman that her grandfather had threatened to kill all three of them.

  Leslie nodded and asked if the police would want to know where she was standing when the shooting occurred.

  “Tell them you were so shaken up that you don’t really remember. And say that if your mother hadn’t grabbed the rifle out of the gun cabinet, he would have shot us with the pistol in his desk drawer.”

  Leslie had nodded.

  Now her father spoke up. “This is just how it has to be.”

  All five of them stood awkwardly, looking in five different directions, until Jette nodded and took Ilka’s mother’s arm. They didn’t at all understand what was going on, but they seemed to accept that it was none of their business.

  “Then I guess we’ll get to see the harbor,” she said, her face blank. She grabbed the two suitcases. “If it’s because we’re not welcome…” Her mother gave her father a look.

  Ilka stepped over and put her arm around her mother’s shoulder. “No, no, you are welcome; absolutely. It’s just that when I said you could stay in the apartment, I didn’t know Sister Eileen would be back so soon. I’m so sorry. Whenever you’re ready to come over, just call me and I’ll come get you. Or you could also take the car.”

  She knew very well why her father wanted them gone. It wasn’t a problem when everyone was at the funeral home, but the Rodriguez brothers might decide to come back. Letting them sleep over there by themselves simply wasn’t an option.

  “Hello! Anybody here?”

  Ilka recognized the deep voice coming from the reception: Jeff. She rushed out to meet him.

  “Have you found her?”

  The others had followed along, and he smiled at them. “Just need to borrow Beautiful here for a sec.” He placed his arm on the small of her back and winked at them. Ilka glimpsed her mother smiling at Jeff as he led her out the door.

  “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  He opened the door of his BMW for her, and Ilka got in. Her mother stood in the doorway and watched. Ilka knew what she was thinking; her mother longed for Ilka to move on from losing Flemming. You should be looking around for another man, she’d said—several times.

  “I got your message about the extra bonus,” Jeff said. Ilka nodded, assuming this wasn’t the time to tell him she didn’t actually have the money. That would have to wait until they found Lydia.

  “But I want an evening with you too,” he added.

  “An evening?”

  He looked away. “Yeah, like back on the boat.”

  Their erotic encounter on the table in the close quarters of his cabin hadn’t exactly been memorable. What it had been was quick—a physical release, and that was it. No talk, no affection. No emotions. It seemed he now wanted a repeat performance. Fat chance of that happening. Did he think he could have anything he wanted from her just because he’d found Lydia?

  The idea angered her.

  He seemed nervous. Or maybe he was just excited.

  Ilka recalled the line of coke his friend had snorted on the boat, and had the feeling Jeff had already begun celebrating his success, which meant he would soon be fifteen thousand dollars richer. She tried to check his pupils, but they were hidden behind his sunglasses. Then again, he seemed more hyper than high; he kept a steady, rapid beat with his thumbs on the steering wheel as they sped through town.

  “Where are we going?” she said. The marina flashed by on her right, and soon they’d driven past the last stoplight and were out of Racine.

  Jeff ignored her and kept tapping his thumbs, as if in time to loud music in his head. Ilka turned and stared at the landscape of open fields. Moments later they turned off in the direction of the lake.

  “Has she been hiding in Artie’s house?” A jolt of fear rocked her; the Rodriguez brothers knew this place. It angered Ilka to think that Lydia would hide somewhere they could find her so easily.

  She was out of the car before Jeff could shut the engine off. He hopped out and caught up to her. “She could be armed, you don’t know,” he hissed as he grabbed her arm. “Use your head. If you scare her bad enough, she might shoot before she sees it’s you.”

  Ilka stopped. “But are you sure she’s in there?”

  He nodded and nudged her toward the door, but Ilka wrenched free of his grip. The windows that had been broken during the attack on Artie now had sheets of plywood covering them, but the one beside the door had escaped damage. She walked over to it, cupped her hands against the pane, and peered into the living room. Then she tapped on the glass and waited, hoping Lydia would spot her and come out when she saw who it was.

  “Hello in there,” she yelled.

  Jeff pushed the door open and waved her over.

  “When did you see her?” Ilka whispered.

  “She was here this morning.”

  Ilka stepped in the doorway. “Hello! It’s me!”

  She walked inside and stood a moment listening, even though she already knew the house was deserted. She wiped her shoes off on the mat and entered the living room. Glass still lay on the floor, but the first thing she noticed was the bag on the coffee table, its soft leather strap hanging over the edge of the polished wood surface. The bag was empty. Ilka felt a cold gust of wind, and she ran through the room and to the wide-open back door. But there was no one in sight.

  Ilka walked back to the living room. “Where is she? Did you take the money?”

  When Jeff didn’t answer, she stepped over and grabbed his jacket and pushed him up against the wall, all in one movement, too quickly for him to react. “What have you done with her?” she yelled.

  He had pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead, and now they flew off onto the floor. He stared at her in surprise. She glimpsed something vulnerable in his eyes, but a second later they were dark with anger. He wrested free and pushed her back, hard.

  “What the hell are you talking about, you bitch!”
r />   His sudden rage frightened her; had he brought her out here to get rid of her, after discovering what was in the bag? He could easily push her over the cliff and watch her disappear in Lake Michigan. Killing her was all he needed to do if he really had taken the money. She had felt his gun holster under his jacket.

  “She was here,” he snarled, though he seemed to be trying to hold himself back. “She’s been staying in the house at least since yesterday. I don’t know when she came, but I know somebody a few houses down from here, he saw a woman fitting her description yesterday afternoon. I’ve been keeping an eye on the house ever since, I just wanted to be sure it was her before I got back to you.”

  “Where’s the money?”

  Jeff stared at her.

  “You took it, all of it,” she continued. “The temptation was too great, and now you think I can’t figure out what happened.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t take any money, but you owe me, a lot. And I want it, right now. We had a deal, and I held up my end.”

  Ilka shook her head. “I don’t owe you a thing. You were supposed to find her for me, but she’s not here, and how do I know she’s even been here? You should’ve stayed and kept her in sight until I showed up.”

  His lips were clamped together from rage, and for a split second she thought he might shoot her, but without a word he turned and stomped out of the house and onto the sidewalk. She ran out after him.

  “Where is she?” she yelled.

  When he reached his BMW, she noticed the ruts behind Artie’s black pickup. Two broad, deep tire tracks in the rain-soaked ground. Someone had driven in and backed out again, so fast that the tires had dug into the mud. Jeff’s car was on a paved portion of the driveway, and there was no dirt or mud splatter on his shiny black car.

  Standing by his car door, he turned back to her. His icy voice felt like a slap to her face. “She was here. I did what you wanted me to do. You’re going to pay what you owe me.”