Her Sister's Secrets Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Her Sister’s Secrets

  by V. J. Chambers

  HER SISTER’S SECRETS

  © copyright 2018 by V. J. Chambers

  http://vjchambers.com

  Punk Rawk Books

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks to Uncle Jo for providing Phin’s joke about straight guys. Now, I can officially write off all the alcohol I buy for the writer’s hangouts, yes?

  Also, thanks to the whole crew at IAC, who were involved in nearly every step of this book’s creation. I’m forever grateful to all of you for being so generous with your thoughts, expertise, and time.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eight days after my sister died, I got the letter.

  That morning, I woke up, and gray light filtered through my window. They call Florida the sunshine state, which isn’t to say that it’s always sunny here, but the gray morning light did make me wonder if we were due for bad storm. If something was rolling through, whether it was a category three hurricane or just a tropical storm, it would be all over the news, but I hadn’t been paying attention to the news lately, because all I’d been thinking about was Violet being gone.

  In fact, this was the first morning that my first thought wasn’t remembering Violet’s death. Her loss didn’t break over my head like a black wave—unbelievable, painful, and unreal.

  This was the first day I started to accept her loss.

  There was a knock on my bedroom door and then it opened. My roommate Phineas Morley came in, carrying the letter.

  He was in his scrubs, because he was a medical resident, in his second year of training post-medical school, and he worked insane shifts at the hospital. His hair was wet, though, which meant he’d just showered, which meant he was on his way in to work, not coming home.

  Phin and I shared this apartment together outside of Sarasota. I used to share the apartment with my boyfriend, but my boyfriend was now my ex, and I couldn’t afford the place on the money that I made as a food blogger.

  “Hey,” Phin said. “Just checking on you. You okay?”

  I sat up in bed, feeling anything but okay. I didn’t want to accept Violet’s loss. I didn’t want her to be dead.

  I’d been down this path before, the path of loss. It was only three years ago that Violet’s and my mother died. She’d had cancer, but it had been quick. She went in for a mammogram, and they found something, and they did tests, and it was already in her bones, and they said she might have six months if she was lucky. She had three. When she died, I remember being in complete denial about it. Not able to even process the thought. It seemed so impossible for my mother to be gone.

  So, I knew how this went. Not all at once, but slowly, I would stop thinking about Violet first thing in the morning. The day would come when I would get all the way until lunch, and I would just then remember that my sister was dead, and it would be as painful and fresh as it was in this moment. But I would forget to think of her more and more. I would grow used to her absence.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” said Phin. He sat down on the bed next to me and wrapped his arms around me.

  I rested my head on his shoulder, waiting for tears to come. There had been a lot of crying lately, but none of it really ever made me feel much better. And this morning, it seemed that I was cried dry. Sighing, I pushed aside the covers and got up out of bed.

  That was when I noticed the letter.

  The envelope was sitting on the bedspread next to Phin. I pointed. “What’s that? Did you bring that in here?”

  “Where are you going?” he said, picking up the envelope. “You’re grieving. Get back in bed. You need more wallow time.”

  “What is that?”

  He handed it over. “It came in the mail for you. I was bringing it back to you so that you didn’t have to get out of bed.”

  I weighed the envelope in my hands. “It’s heavy.”

  “Yeah, a little bit,” he said. He patted the bed next to him. “Sit down.”

  I squinted at the letter, and then I plopped down next to him.

  “Talk to me,” he said. “It can help to talk.”

  “Nothing helps,” I said. “No matter what, she’s still dead. I’m the only one who can keep her alive in my memory. I’m it. We don’t have any other family.”

  “I know, Mila.” He put his arm around me again. His nickname for me was Mila. No one else called me that. My name was Emilia, and most people didn’t bother to shorten it. “It’s awful.”

  “Well, I’m screwing it up,” I said. “I didn’t think of her first thing this morning.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a thing you’re supposed to do?”

  “I’m accepting her death. I’m getting used to it. It’s not jarring anymore.”

  Phin furrowed his brow. “That’s normal, isn’t it?”

  I blew out a huff of air and turned my attention to the envelope. I ripped it open.

  “Violet would want you to accept it and move on. She would want you to be happy.”

  I snorted. “I don’t know about that. I think Violet would want to be adored, even in death. She always had to be the center of everything. That’s why she made a living throwing parties.”

  He squeezed me. “I’m only saying this is hard enough without putting extra pressure on yourself.”

  A key fell out of the envelope, landing with a soft plop on the carpet.

  “Okay, that’s weird,” I said.

  “Huh,” said Phin, picking up the key. “I guess that’s why it was heavy.”

  The letter contained two pieces of paper. One was a printout that looked as though it had been photocopied. I unfolded it, furrowing my brow. I squinted at it. It had Violet’s name on it. Then, as I began to read what it said, my stomach turned over. “Oh, my God.”

  “What?” said Phin.

  I stared at the printout, uncomprehending. This couldn’t… This didn’t make any sense. My hands shook.

  “What?” said Phin, more urgently.

  Wordlessly, I handed the printout over. I couldn’t even look at the other piece of paper. I worked on trying to keep my hands from shaking.

  “It’s… it’s a DNA test,” said Phin.

  I nodded. “For Violet.”

  “Wait, what do you mean?”

  I jammed a finger into the paper. “Look. Look. It says that Violet is the daughter of Roman Wainwright.”
>
  “Who?”

  I bit down on my thumbnail. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  Phin set the printout down and held out his hand to me. “Give me the other thing.”

  I gave it to him, sucking in sharp, short breaths.

  He began to read aloud. “‘Dear Emilia Farrow, There is so much you do not know about your sister. For instance, she didn’t die accidentally. She was murdered.”

  I choked.

  “Jesus,” said Phin.

  My sister had drowned. No one knew what happened. She had apparently been swimming at night on her own. They’d found her shoes, keys, cell phone and bathing suit cover-up on the public beach out at Siesta Key, all of it soaked and in the process of being dragged out to sea.

  Near as anyone could figure, she’d come out there, waded out into the water, and that was it. Usually, the water around this part of Florida, on the Gulf, was pretty calm, but it was mid-September, the beginning of hurricane season, and there had been a storm—nothing serious, just a typical thunderstorm—a few days before. The only thing that I could figure was that there must have been a hidden undercurrent that had taken her. It had been too strong for her to fight.

  I looked at Phin. My voice was a whisper. “You know, Violet was a really good swimmer.”

  He licked his lips and turned back to the letter. “‘If you want to know more, come to the address below as soon as you receive this letter.’” He tapped the paper. “I think that’s out on Siesta Key.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident. She was a good swimmer.”

  “This is crazy,” said Phin.

  “Yeah,” I murmured. I took the letter back from him. I stared at it. That address… that was out near the Wainwright house. Why would someone send me back out there?

  I thought of going back to the Wainwright house, and I suddenly got goosebumps everywhere. My breath hitched.

  “Are you okay?” said Phin.

  “Um…” I wasn’t even sure how to answer that.

  “Maybe you should call Nancy and see if you can hang out with her today.”

  “Nancy?” I said. “I never talk to her anymore.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone, and you seem really freaked. But I have to go in today. There’s no way I can take off.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I’m not asking you to take off work.”

  “I would,” he said. “If I could, I would. You know that.”

  I sucked in breath, squaring my shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a lot to process. I’m really confused. If this is true, if Violet is my half sister, why didn’t my mother tell us? Why would she keep that from us? And Roman Wainwright? I can’t even…” Something about that name made me feel suffocated.

  “Who is that?”

  “He has a big house out on Siesta Key. He lives there year round now, apparently, since his wife left him. But when I was a little girl, they just came down for the winter, and my mother worked for them, as a cook.”

  “So, your mother had an affair with this rich guy?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t… My mother didn’t even like him. And we up and left that place one morning before the sun came up and never looked back. I know it cost my mother to burn that bridge. She had to rebuild her resume from scratch.”

  “Well, uh…” Phin made a face. “Huh.”

  My mind was reeling. Why hadn’t my mother told us? She’d had three months after the diagnosis, she’d known she was dying, and yet she’d kept this to herself? I got up off the bed. I wandered over to the door to my bedroom and peered out into the hallway, feeling lost and confused.

  “You know what?” said Phin. “This is all super creepy. You need to take this to the police. They’ll know what to do about it.”

  * * *

  Officer Lydia Black was squinting at the two pieces of paper that had come in my mail. I had accidentally forgotten to bring the key with me. By the time I realized that, I’d been waiting for someone to help me for nearly a half hour. I wasn’t about to go home, get it, and start the process all over again. I figured if they wanted it for evidence or something, I could bring it later.

  “So, I guess I’m confused,” said Officer Black. She was sitting at her desk, and I was sitting opposite her. We were in a large room full of similar desks. Cops in uniform went to and fro. There was a guy across the room who looked like a homeless person. He was handcuffed to a desk and muttering to himself. “What is it that you’re reporting?”

  “Well, I don’t really know,” I said. “But I got this letter, and it’s making me ask questions about my sister’s death.”

  “Okay,” said Officer Black. She rubbed her forehead. “But, um, if you’re here to file a report, then I need to know what we’re reporting, because there are specific forms that we’ll fill out, okay?” She tried a smile at me.

  “Well, I guess I want to know if this person is right,” I said. “Was my sister murdered? So, maybe I want to report a murder.”

  “Um…” She sat back in her chair. “Okay. But it sounds as though this murder happened in the past?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Eight days ago.”

  “Oh,” she said, eyes widening. “Well, maybe if I check with—”

  “Lydia.” A man was talking behind my head.

  I turned around to look at him. He was wearing a white shirt and a yellow tie. He had short-cropped curls. He was smiling and there was a dimple on his left cheek.

  “Hey, Patterson,” said Officer Black. “I’m with someone right now, so—”

  “Come talk to me for a second,” said the man. Patterson, I guessed?

  “Um, well, I’m trying to—”

  “Yeah, I know. Just, come here.” He gestured with his head.

  Officer Black chewed on her bottom lip, considering. Then she gave me an apologetic look. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watched her get up and go to the other side of the room. There was an empty desk there. Patterson sat on the edge.

  Black faced him, her back to me.

  He said something.

  What was he saying? I leaned forward, straining to hear. I could just barely make it out.

  “I know you hate this stuff,” said Patterson to Black, pointing at me.

  Black crossed her arms over her chest and said something back that I couldn’t make out. I considered getting up and going closer.

  But then Patterson came in loud and clear. “What are you doing Saturday?”

  She spoke. Again, I couldn’t make it out.

  “How about a trade?” he said. “I’ll take your intake off your hands, you cover my shift on Saturday.” He said something I couldn’t understand. “… with Personnel, so just say yes.”

  There was more discussion, but I couldn’t understand it.

  “Come on,” said Patterson. He gestured and spoke, but I couldn’t hear. “…not a bad shift… the town, and you don’t have to… at the butt crack of dawn.”

  She turned and looked at me.

  “Please.” He clasped his hands in front of her, making a puppy-dog face.

  Her shoulders slumped. She turned back to him and said something.

  He grinned.

  She was saying something else, gesturing to me.

  Oh, man, she must have said yes.

  Patterson patted Black on the back. “Thank you so much.”

  She shrugged and then took off in the opposite direction.

  Patterson caught my eye and smiled a dimpled smile as he headed right for me.

  I wasn’t pleased. I didn’t like being shuffled around as a favor so that this guy could get his Saturday shift covered. He stopped, standing over me. “Hey, come with me and we’ll get this taken care of.”

  I eyed him. “What do you have going Saturday?”

  He winced. “You heard that.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Yup, sure did.”

  “Geez, I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry if you’re fee
ling shifted around here, but trust me, you didn’t want Black handling this anyway. Did you really say something about murder?”

  I folded my arms over my chest.

  “You met her,” he said. “Does she seem like the kind of person who’s going to prioritize what you brought in? I will give you my undivided attention, I swear. Now, come with me.” He pointed. “There’s my desk over there.”

  It didn’t seem like I had a lot of choice, did I? I had to say, though, the incompetency of the police here was making me wonder if maybe they had missed the fact that my sister was murdered.

  We got settled at his desk. He smiled at me again. “Okay, so what seems to be the problem?”

  I showed him the letter and the DNA test. “This showed up in the mail for me today. I don’t know what it’s all about, but I wonder if my sister could have been murdered. You know, honestly, she was a really strong swimmer. It seems weird that she drowned.”

  He pointed at me. “Hold on, I remember this. Uh… Veronica, Valerie—”

  “Violet,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. He turned to his computer and began typing.

  “Um, excuse me?” I said. What was he doing? Checking his email?

  “I’m pulling the file on your sister,” he said.

  “She has a file?”

  He talked to the screen, not me. “Well, she was found dead on the shore. They brought her in and did a routine examination to determine cause of death, so yeah, there’s a file. Some pictures, too.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So, what does the file say? It was definitely an accident?”

  “Sure looks that way,” he said. “I mean, we’ve got nothing here to indicate foul play. No bruises on the body, no sign of a struggle. Admittedly, water might have washed away evidence, if there was any, but if we’d seen anything that would have indicated murder, we would have investigated it.”

  I drew my brows together. “Okay.”

  “Right,” he said. “So, let’s move on to this letter you got.”

  “Wait, that’s it?” I said.

  “No, not at all,” he said. “I want to talk about the letter.”

  “But the letter says that my sister—”

  “Who wrote that letter?” he said. “Do you have any enemies? Someone who might want to mess with your head?” He reached out a hand. “Let me see it.”