A Sister Would Know. C.J. Carmichael

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      “That won’t be a problem.”

      The woman wasn’t about to take her word. “Any sign of trouble and you’re out. And don’t think just because you have a kid—”

      Was everyone in Revelstoke this callous? Amalie had to struggle to keep her tone civil. “There won’t be any parties, Mrs. Eitelbach. Even if I knew anyone in this town—which I don’t—my sister has just died. I’m hardly about to start celebrating.”

      Grant intervened quickly. “Amalie has a key, Heidi. I’ll take her and the boy up, then come back with your check.”

      “Don’t let her sweet-talk you out of it.” Heidi pointed a finger at Grant’s chest. Right about the spot where that button was missing.

      “I won’t.” Grant opened the door to the stairwell. “Up one floor.”

      Amalie followed Davin, with Grant behind them both. The landlady had been downright rude, and not a word of condolence about her sister’s death. Obviously, she shared at least some of Grant’s antipathy toward Helena.

      A sudden urge to cry was almost overwhelming. Amalie faltered and grabbed at the railing.

      “You okay?” Right away Grant was beside her, and she wondered how he could be concerned about her tripping on the stairs, when he didn’t seem to care a whit about her sister’s death.

      He put a hand under her elbow as she regained her balance. Lord, he was big. His presence loomed like the mountains. Solid. Unyielding.

      And very masculine.

      “I’m fine.” She picked up her pace, despite the pounding of her heart, which had accelerated rather than abated during her brief pause.

      At the top landing, Grant gave directions again. “First door on the right.”

      Davin rushed in as soon as Amalie twisted the key. She let him go ahead, while she hesitated on the threshold with Grant.

      “This is just a hunch, but I’m guessing Mrs. Eitelbach didn’t care much for my sister, either.”

      Grant leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His posture was relaxed, but Amalie felt that he was watching her keenly.

      “She’s a sharp old bird,” he said, “but she didn’t mean any harm. She had a lot to put up with.”

      Amalie pulled her checkbook out of her purse, then searched for her ballpoint pen. “I suppose you mean from Helena?”

      His gaze unwavering, he didn’t say a word.

      Quickly, Amalie wrote out the check for nine hundred dollars, unable to stop her hand from shaking as she added her signature. It was so much money. Her parents would really think she was crazy if they knew.

      When she was done, she contemplated her companion. The hall light overhead cast long shadows across the lower portion of his face. She noticed a mark now, under his bottom lip, where he might have cut himself shaving that morning.

      “Just what is it you have against my sister? What did she ever do to you?”

      Grant stepped away from the wall. “It’s not so much what she did to me as what she did to my friend.”

      “Oh?”

      “The man she was skiing with?”

      She tried to remember. “Ramsey—”

      “Ramsey Carter.” The name came out short, clipped with anger. “My best friend. My married best friend.”

      Amalie stared at him. “You can’t mean—”

      “Your sister was having an affair with a married man. Now he’s dead, and his widow will have to raise their two children on her own.”

      Grant took her check, holding it between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, as if it were something he’d rather not touch.

      “That’s one of the things I have against your sister.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      HELENA’S APARTMENT WAS A SHOCK. Amalie stood with her back to the closed door—Grant Thorlow’s final words still echoing in her ears—and surveyed the scene.

      “Kind of weird, isn’t it?” Davin said. He’d turned on the television and was manually searching the channels. “I mean, there’s nothing here. Not even a lamp.”

      It was true; the only illumination came from a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. An old sofa—the kind you might see discarded at the side of a curb—was against the long wall of the living room. Opposite was a small TV, sitting directly on the stained, tan carpet.

      “I guess Helena didn’t have much money.” Or maybe she hadn’t planned on staying very long.

      Amalie set down her purse, then followed the short hallway to the right. Here was the bathroom and two bedrooms. The first was empty; the second was obviously Helena’s. On the floor was an old mattress, the bedding scattered and wrinkled.

      An old oak dresser stood in the corner, next to the open doors of a closet. Eager to find something, anything, that would connect this place with the fastidious sister she remembered, Amalie opened the drawers of the bureau, but here, too, all was a jumble.

      Automatically, she started sorting and folding, only pausing when the lush wool of one sweater had her peeking at the label. Cashmere, sure enough, from a designer Amalie had seen advertised in fashion magazines.

      Intrigued, Amalie checked over the rest of the clothing. Interspersed with regular, department store items, the kind she normally bought for herself, she found a couple more treasures—a beautiful hand-knit sweater, some silk lingerie.

      In the closet, the same dichotomy was evident. Mixed in with a beautiful Anne Klein suit and butter-soft leather pants were no-brand jeans and cotton T-shirts.

      Probably the less-expensive items had been purchased here in Revelstoke, but it was the high-end clothing that most puzzled Amalie. Presumably, money had once not been a problem for her sister—an hypothesis borne out by the contents of the carved wooden box that sat on top of the bureau. Once opened, it released a delicate scent of sandal-wood and light chimes played “My Favorite Things,” from The Sound of Music.

      Amalie smiled, remembering the first time she’d watched the musical with her sister, on an outing to the theater with some friends. Their mother had been livid when she found out. Strictly speaking, dancing was forbidden by their church, and the sight of her daughters whirling and singing around the living room had prompted her to ground them for an extended period.

      Their parents’ religious doctrines had been such a confining presence in their lives. Amalie knew that Helena in particular had resented it. She herself, however, still found them a comfort, although in her heart she took significantly more moderate views from those of her parents and their minister.

      Inside the carved box were little velvet bags. Amalie selected СКАЧАТЬ