The Sometime Sister

by Katherine Nichols

  Once inside, I undid the dog’s leash and scratched the sweet spot behind her ear, causing her left leg to jerk wildly. “Sorry, Miss Scarlett, but it looks like our arrangement will be permanent.” She shook herself, gave me a mournful look, and strolled into the kitchen.

  I changed into flannel pajamas. Exhausted, but wide awake, I opened the bottom dresser drawer. Under fancy, silk underwear I most likely would never wear, I found it. The family photo album Gran had given me a few weeks before she died. Her name, Emmaline Burns Hathaway, was on the first page in her own beautiful, flowing handwriting. She’d kept this album separate from the others, her favorite, she said, and it was right that I have it.

  “I know you don’t want to think about the past right now, my love, but someday you will,” Gran said.

  Pictures of my grandparents’ wedding day filled the first two pages. Seeming uncomfortable in what must have been their best church clothes, both stared directly at the camera, unsmiling, almost stern. Gran’s shoulder-length hair was dark and wavy, like one of the glamorous starlets she loved so much. With her startling, silver-gray eyes and high cheekbones, she wasn’t exactly beautiful. She was like someone you see every day for months, maybe years, and don’t think much about. Then one day she looks up at you from some ordinary task, like hemming a dress or washing dishes, and she takes your breath away. Was that what happened with my grandfather? Or had the slender, fair-haired young man in the picture taken one look at her and known she was the one?

  “Seriously?” I asked myself out loud. “You still believe that love-of-your-life crap?”

  The next few pictures were candid shots, several catching my grandparents in mid-laughter. In the last photo my grandfather carried his bride over the threshold of the tiny apartment they lived in above his parents’ home. Their happiness was almost tangible.

  My grandmother devoted the second section of the album to pictures of my mother and aunt when they were very young. A few featured Mom during her brief stint as an only child. In one, Gran held an infant bundled up in a blanket above the caption: Home from the hospital. Another showed her as a grinning toddler stuffing handfuls of cake in her mouth: First birthday. A series of other firsts were documented: steps, Christmas, tooth.

  Then her solitary reign ended with the birth of Aunt Rita. In most of the following pictures of them, my mother glared at her baby sister. I didn’t think it was possible for a small child to register such intense hostility, but it was clear Mom wanted no part of her sibling.

  When I turned the page, I became disoriented. Instead of a continuation of the sisters’ childhoods, Gran skipped ahead to me and Stella.

  I checked the pages to make sure they weren’t stuck together, but they appeared to be in their original, intended order. While pictorial evidence suggested my mother had not welcomed the younger child, my photos with and without Stella told an entirely different story. Before my sister arrived, I was consistently unsmiling. Not frowning in frustration or pouting in protest, just neutral. After Stella showed up, I was a different kid, as if a light switched on for me.

  “Okay, Gran,” I thought. “You made your point.”

  I thumbed through the next few pages of sibling glee. Toward the end of the album, Gran included pictures with Lesroy in them. Most shots of my cousin were blurry since he couldn’t stand still for more than a few seconds at a time. It made me smile to see the three of us together before we lost our glow of innocence.

  There was only one picture on the last page. For a moment I was nine years old again, cowering under the covers with Stella during one of the worst storms of my childhood. We were in Gran’s bed, but she wasn’t there. Stella whimpered and I shushed her. We had to be very quiet. I don’t know why, but it had been terribly important.

  The photo was a shot of the giant oak tree at the edge of our front yard. Several branches were as thick as full-grown trees. The largest one, the one we climbed to watch cars drive by, was breaking away from the base of the tree. Blackened and twisted, it dangled precariously over the graveled drive.

  The force of the lightning bolt as it struck the tree penetrated through the ground below our bedroom. The acrid smell of smoke clung to my nostrils. My grandmother and mother whispered from behind the bedroom door. This combination of the fury of the natural world and the secrets of grown-ups filled me with a terror only a nine-year-old could know.

  I slammed the album shut, shoved it under my bed, and turned off the lights, determined to get some sleep. But questions kept flying through my mind. Why had Gran included that scorched tree along with all those happy family memories? Had she expected me to understand? Maybe, if I could just recall some little detail, the whole story would come flooding back. The more I tried to quell my thoughts, the more restless I became.

  Then I remembered the sleeping pills in my medicine cabinet. Right after Ben dumped me, I’d gone for at least three days on less than four hours of sleep a night. My mother was worried, and, as a retired nurse, she insisted she was fully competent to prescribe her own medication for me. They worked so well I slept through a midnight refrigerator raid that left me covered in cheese spread and cookie dough. But tonight, I was too exhausted to care. I swallowed one of the tiny tablets and packed the bottle in my travel bag in case I had trouble sleeping in a strange place.

  The savage expression on my mother’s face when she spoke of how we would make Ben pay was my last conscious image before the pills took effect.

  Chapter 10

  A sound like BB’s pelleting my window brought me out of my pill-induced stupor. It took several seconds to place the noise. Ice.

  Transplanted Northerners make fun of Southerners in the snow. Some of their scorn is deserved. Yes, we panicked at the first flake. And we flooded grocery and liquor stores. But we knew behind every snowfall lay the possibility of an ice storm. If you were caught out when the roads became frozen sheets of glass, it didn’t matter how adept you were at driving in bad weather; you could be stuck on the roads for hours.

  I had enough supplies to outlast at least a three-day storm and would be fine unless the power went out. Then I remembered I was supposed to be heading to Ecuador on the next flight. If the airport closed, that might not be for quite a while.

  Outside my window, about six inches of dazzling white snow blanketed the ground. Ice glazed trees and bushes. Scarlett balked at going out back, so I put on old boots and threw my coat over my pajamas before dragging her through the front door. She snorted indignantly before attending to her business and scurrying back in.

  I’d just shrugged out of the coat when my phone rang. It was Lesroy.

  “Grace, have you looked outside?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It is a beautiful mess everywhere. The streets aren’t bad yet, though. Vincent has four-wheel drive, and he’s happy to come get you and the beast. Come party out the storm with us.”

  Vincent and Lesroy had been living together for almost a year in a bungalow-styled home in the trendy Virginia Highlands area. A big, burly contractor who specialized in renovating older homes wasn’t who I would have pictured Lesroy with, but I’d never seen my cousin so happy. I enjoyed hanging out with them, but people have been known to get stranded for days during Atlanta ice storms, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that much fun.

  I assured him the dog and I would be fine.

  “You’re a real buzz-kill, Grace. Besides, you shouldn’t be alone right now. Please stay with us.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Cousin, but I don’t mind being by myself. And I need to be ready for the first flight whenever that is.”

  “That could be days.” Lesroy sighed.

  He was right. The ice melted a little during the day and highway crews cleared major streets, but everything refroze overni
ght, creating havoc for early morning commuters and shutting down the airport. My driveway remained a solid sheet of ice, making a simple trip to the mailbox a treacherous journey. But the power held. I spent my spare time looking up information about Ecuador and trying not to think about my sister’s last days.

  Other than it being the jumping-off point for the Galapagos Islands, I knew very little about the country. I read in the papers how Edward Snowden, the former National Security contractor accused of treason for revealing state secrets, had taken sanctuary in Ecuador’s London embassy. This was interesting considering the country’s record on government transparency. It was fine for the other guys, but their own government reserved the right to censor anything or anyone it didn’t like.

  Navigating a country that provided a haven for someone like Ben, while strong-arming its own people could be tricky. I was glad I had Mike’s friend to help.

  On the third day the temperature stayed above freezing, and it looked as if we were through the worst of it. With the backlog of passengers who needed rescheduling, however, it was another day before Mike could book a flight for me.

  “You’re set to leave on the first flight out tomorrow morning. I’ve put some contact information together for you from my buddy in Guayaquil. I’d bring it over myself, but I don’t like leaving your mother alone, so a friend of mine is going to drop it off tonight.”

  “That’s not necessary. I can pick it up.”

  “Absolutely not. Your mom would never forgive me if you had an accident on the way.”

  Mike was from the generation where men take care of all sorts of irritating little details for women, and a part of me liked it.

  “His name’s Justin McElroy. His dad and I were in the same unit in the service. Justin joined the Marines Special Forces, a real hotshot, but a nice guy. He’ll be there a little after seven. Your mom’s resting, but I know she’d want me to tell you she loves you.”

  I would have suspected Mom of trying to set me up with this Justin guy, but she was too devastated for matchmaking. I checked in with Lesroy about taking care of Scarlett and dragged out my suitcase.

  Chapter 11

  At 7:05, the doorbell rang. Scarlett walked alongside me, and we looked out the paneled window by the entrance. The man on my front porch wore a heavy leather jacket with the collar turned up and a black knit cap pulled low over his forehead. He was obviously Mike’s friend, but I asked for identification before I opened the door to let him know I was security savvy.

  “You must be Grace Burnette,” he said, pulling off his woolen hat and extending a gloved hand to me. “I’m Justin McElroy, your mom’s and Mike’s friend.” There was no mistaking that voice. It was the man from the dark SUV.

  “Uh, right. Grace. That’s me,” I stammered, wishing I’d at least put on a little mascara or lipstick. The man at my door was more imposing than conventionally handsome. He was tall, not as tall as Mike but close, with wide, muscular shoulders. His black hair was short and wavy with a few threads of white woven in near his temples, and his eyes were a deep, dark blue. A slightly crooked nose and scruffy-looking five o’clock-shadow gave him that bad-boy edge most women would find hard to resist. But it was his mouth that held my attention—full, smooth lips, and incredibly white teeth.

  He removed his gloves, and we shook hands. His touch was warm, and I held on a beat longer than usual. Scarlett growled as I slipped my hand from his firm grip.

  “Do you mind if I come in?”

  I nodded and stepped aside. He wiped his feet on the welcome mat and crossed the threshold, holding his hand out to the dog.

  “Careful,” I warned. “She’s not fond of strangers, and she hates men. Easy, Scarlett.” I waited for the Doberman to bare her teeth. Instead, she sniffed his ankles and nuzzled against him, wagging her tail.

  “Nice place,” he said, moving toward my combination library and sitting area. Scarlett followed him.

  “Mind if we sit? Mike wanted me to go over some stuff with you before tomorrow.” He took off his jacket, sat on the love seat, and put a thick folder on the coffee table. I took a seat across from him. Scarlett, the little traitor, pranced over to him and plopped down at his feet.

  “Mr. McElroy, I appreciate your taking the time to stop by, and I know you must have more important places to be. I can go over this material on my own. I love Mike, but he is very protective and doesn’t understand that I’m used to traveling alone.” I sounded a little snippy, but I was being bulldozed by two alpha males. My guest didn’t appear offended or impressed by my attitude.

  “Mike said you’d say something like that. But it’s not so much about the traveling as it is about the type of people you’ll be dealing with when you get there.”

  “I can assure you, I’m perfectly capable of handling Ben Wilcott. And Mike’s Army buddy can help me with the coroner or police or whatever.”

  “Mike’s friend is the one who suggested you might need more help.” He opened the folder and placed several eight by ten pictures on the table.

  In the first, Stella was laughing up at the same dark-haired man from Alisha’s album. She stood with her hair tossed over one shoulder, the way she did when she was in the process of captivating a potential suitor. On the other side, her husband stared intently over her head at the same man. The next featured only the two men, each with his eyes locked on the other. The final shot had been taken from a distance. Ben and three men whose faces were out of focus stood on his fancy speed boat.

  “I don’t get it. What do these pictures have to do with me?”

  “Your sister’s husband is involved with some pretty shady characters.” He pointed to the dark-haired man. “That’s Adelmo Balsuto.”

  I didn’t see any reason to tell him I already knew who he was.

  “He’s one of the wealthiest men in Ecuador. His family were originally cacao farmers. When the oil boom hit in the late sixties, they got richer. They put most of their money in Miami, so when Ecuadorian banks crashed, the Balsutos came out better than most of their countrymen. The rumor is Adelmo has expanded the family business to include exportation of cocaine.” He returned the photographs to his envelope.

  “I still don’t see what any of that has to do with me getting Ben to let me bring Stella home.”

  “It may not,” he admitted. “But word is your brother-in-law crossed Balsuto. It’s possible your sister’s death had something to do with it. If that’s the case, Wilcott’s not going to want any more attention from the authorities.”

  “But Ben’s the one who wanted me to come to Ecuador.”

  “That’s why Mike wants me to go with you.”

  “Mike wants what?” I jumped to my feet, causing Scarlett to scramble to hers and stand between me and our visitor. “I’m absolutely not taking a babysitter with me.” My mother’s willingness to send me into harm’s way made sense. She never planned for me to go on my own. This insight should have made me feel better, but it didn’t.

  “Easy, now,” McElroy said, looking up at me. “I know you don’t need a babysitter. I’m just—”

  “I don’t care what you are. Just leave the contact information and take this other stuff with you when you go.” I motioned toward the envelope with the pictures.

  “Miss Burnette, it’s important you understand why I have to go with you.”

  “Okay, but make it quick. I’m not done packing.” I perched on the edge of the chair.

  “Mike wants me to go with you because he thinks it’s dangerous. But your mother had another request, one she made when Mike left the room, one she made me promise not to tell anyone. But you need to know.” He leaned forward. “Grace, your mother hired me to kill Ben Wilcott.”

 
; Chapter 12

  My mother’s hitman didn’t stay long enough for me to recover from the shock of his announcement. He put on his coat and walked out the door, without giving me the chance to ask for more details.

  We watched him drive away. Then Scarlett turned, gave me a reproachful gaze, and ambled to the back of the house.

  I stayed at the window, wondering who the hell Justin McElroy was. He didn’t send out murderer vibes, but had I ever met a killer? And if he was planning to kill my ex, did I care? If Ben had something to do with Stella’s death, he deserved to pay for it. He should be arrested and extradited to the US where his money wouldn’t save him from justice. From what I discovered about the Ecuadorian government, I doubted they would be too cooperative. He had always been good at reading people and was smart enough to connect with authorities who weren’t averse to accepting bribes.

  While I didn’t find the concept of murdering Ben disturbing, my mother’s role in the transaction concerned me. I wasn’t worried about her getting caught. As a member of the Marines Special Forces, Mike’s friend would be more than competent. He would know how to execute a man and get away with it.

  What I couldn’t wrap my head around was the idea my mother had hired him to commit murder. If it had been my grandmother, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Except she wouldn’t have hired it out. Stella’s betrayal had been difficult for her, but she reconciled her conflicting loyalties by blaming everything on Ben. She would have killed him herself.

  Still, I couldn’t picture Mom committing or assisting in an act of real violence. Not that she wasn’t tough. She divorced before it was commonplace. With emotional help from Gran, she supported two daughters on her own. As a nurse on a psychiatric ward, she had once tackled and held down a two-hundred-pound man who convinced himself he could fly and was climbing out the window to prove it. But hiring someone to kill Ben was beyond her.