The Inheritance Part I

by Mayfield, Olivia

  Maggie bit her lip and stood. She couldn’t sit here and listen to her parents fight anymore. She slipped back over to the door, creaked it open as quietly as possible, then closed it loudly. “Hey, I’m home,” she said, moving loudly from the kitchen toward the living room.

  Her father’s back straightened, and her mother stepped away from him, turning away for a moment to collect herself.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” her dad said smoothly, wrapping Maggie in a hug. “Your mother tells me you’re staying with us for a bit.”

  Maggie squeezed in him return, hoping she could hug away his stress and help things calm down between them again. Always so silently volatile, despite the calm façade—it set her teeth on edge. “I am. I guess Mom told you what was going on?”

  He pulled back and sighed, brushing a strand of her bangs off her brow. “She did. And I want us to talk about it at dinner, okay?”

  “I’m going to go upstairs and freshen up before,” Maggie said, giving her dad another quick hug. She loved her mom, of course, but she’d always been Daddy’s girl from the time she was a toddler—her first word had even been Dad. It would be nice to spend time with him, catch up on how he was. Something she hadn’t done for far too long.

  She could always make him smile and loosen up, even if just for a moment.

  “Dinner will be ready at seven,” her mom said, turning around and fixing Maggie with her trademark calm, cool and collected smile.

  Things had settled back down to some semblance of normal. In spite of the total fakeness of the moment, the vise in her chest relaxed just a little bit. This she could deal with, at least for now. This was familiar territory. “Sounds good,” Maggie replied smoothly. “If I can help, let me know. Oh, I forgot to tell you, but Robert won’t be able to make it.”

  Her mother sniffed, raising one eyebrow. “That’s no surprise.” No doubt she knew where her son would be—holed up in some bar, drinking away the day’s troubles and blowing more money than he had.

  Maggie headed upstairs to her room, trying to shake off her lingering discomfort from the hints of frustrated pain she’d seen behind her parents’ eyes.

  Chapter 4

  Dinner was long and painfully awkward. Maggie sat in the middle of the long dining room table with her parents on each end. The only conversation so far over the last twenty minutes was her father reiterating once again that they needed to keep the inheritance in the family. A point Maggie had already heard several times from her mother.

  She cut into her chicken breast and chewed on a small bite. It was good, stuffed with provolone and crisp green apples and glazed in a white wine sauce, but she’d lost most of her appetite since coming home from the diner. So much negativity was still trapped in this house, festering in every room, it seemed.

  The place used to be vibrant, fun when she was a kid.

  How was she going to make it through until her sister was found? Well, investigating would keep her out and around the town, she imagined. And when she was home, she could retreat to her room. Same thing she used to do as a teen. That thought made her smile a bit. Some things never changed.

  “Is something wrong with your chicken?” her mom asked.

  Maggie finished the last sip of her chardonnay. “Oh, no, it’s fine, thanks. I’m just . . . unsettled. You know.” She forced herself to eat a few more bites then stood, holding her plate. “I think I’ll pop this in the fridge and eat the rest later.”

  “Are you feeling okay?” her dad asked, a frown marring his brow.

  She tried to give him a comforting smile, not wanting to add to his stress. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just . . . have to get started, you know.” She swallowed. “Um, I’m going to need to go in her room. To look around and see what—”

  “Yes, yes, fine,” her mother interrupted with a wave of her hand.

  Maggie made a mental note to not share any of the dirty details of her investigation with her mother. The woman looked like she was about to crack at any moment. On her face was a phony smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Maggie nodded and headed to the kitchen, slipping her wrapped plate onto a glass fridge shelf, then grabbed a soda and moved upstairs.

  To Cassandra’s room.

  A skitter ran across her flesh, and her hand trembled.

  Second door on the left. She cracked it open slowly, the room swallowed by darkness. The soft roar in her ears amplified in the silence. Her heart slammed so hard in her chest that she had to take several steadying breaths.

  The last time she’d been in this room was that frantic day she’d realized her sister hadn’t come home from the party. They’d searched her bedroom thoroughly for any clues to provide the police.

  Maggie flicked the switch on the side wall, flooding the room with light. A full-sized bed was tucked in the corner, covered in a pristine white down comforter. There were posters of musicians, snippets of poetry, pictures plastered across the walls, covering nearly every imaginable surface. The closet doors were tucked neatly shut, as were the white lacy curtains over both windows.

  Tidy. Dusted.

  It looked like Cassandra would return home any moment.

  A strangled sob bubbled in Maggie’s chest. She stepped in, then quickly closed the door behind her, plopping her soda can on the nearby dresser, and let the cry escape. God, it hurt. The agony of missing her sister hit her full force, and her knees buckled.

  She gripped the corner of the dresser, letting the shudders work their way through her, the tears falling hotly down her face. Just one moment she would indulge in the pain. Then she had to shove it aside to focus.

  After a couple of minutes, she was able to steady her breath. Her lungs unclenched bit by bit. She stood, swiped away the tears, took in her sister’s room not from the perspective of a sibling, but of an unbiased investigator.

  Who was Cassandra? And what clues did this room hold?

  She moved from wall to wall, studying the snapshots for any face she didn’t recognize. A theory had been tossed out there early by police that maybe she’d been kidnapped. Or seduced into leaving her family by some unscrupulous man. Cassandra was a flirt, not shy about coming on to anyone who would give her attention. Even at sixteen, she’d been brazen.

  Maggie brushed her fingertips across one picture of her, Cassandra and Robert. They’d been at Huntington Beach that evening with a group of friends, the two sisters wearing tiny scraps of brightly colored bikinis and grinning madly at the camera. Robert was between them, arms slung over their shoulders, his hair mussed from the lakefront breezes. The setting sun glinted like gold sparkles off the water behind them.

  Just a few weeks before Cassandra had vanished.

  Who else had been at that impromptu beach party? Maggie scoured her memory. That day had been when Cassandra’s mild obsession with Joel had started, from what she recalled. The guy had come with Andrew to their beachfront mini-bonfire, along with several other people in the senior boys’ group of friends.

  Cassandra had cooed over how handsome Joel was, begging Robert to put in a good word for her. However, he’d been too busy sneaking beer cans onto the beach to worry about his sister’s love life.

  And Andrew . . . that was the night he’d started pulling away from Maggie. Something she’d never fully understood. Was there another person at the party he’d been interested in?

  Didn’t matter now, of course. At least the sting from his dismissal had faded with time. Mostly, anyway.

  Maggie looked at the rest of the pictures. Cassandra posing in school with friends, at the diner, several more family pictures scattered on the walls.

  She grabbed a few prominent ones down, carefully prying the tape off, and laid the photos out in a long row on the dresser—there were a couple of people in these shots whom she should try to talk to and whose police interviews she should read, ones who were close friends of her sister or
had been at that last party. She’d make a list of the top people.

  Her sister’s face bore a huge smile in each image. Eyes squinting with laughter, dimples flaring. Hip proudly thrust out as she hammed her way through pose after pose with her friends. Not the face of a girl who would run away from home without a word to anyone.

  Maggie knew that in her heart.

  She shifted her attention to the rest of the room. The dresser drawers didn’t provide any clues. Cassandra’s small T-shirts, pants, skirts and jeans were folded neatly away—definitely not by her own hand; the girl hadn’t cared much about being tidy. Maggie remembered many a time stepping into the room and practically diving over huge piles of clothes on the floor. The closet was clean as well, shirts hanging in an orderly fashion, hangers evenly spaced, shoes tucked against the back wall.

  How often does Mom come in here? She could imagine her mother facing the bedroom door only when necessary, creaking it open and tiptoeing in, smoothing nonexistent ripples from the bedspread, dusting the furniture, opening each drawer to ensure everything was still in its place.

  Wishing her missing daughter would come home but too afraid to speak the words aloud.

  With a sigh, Maggie sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a sip of her soda. Tomorrow she’d go to the police station, get whatever public information was available and see if there was any possible way to check out the evidence box. Surely someone would take pity on her and help her out.

  She put her soda on the bedside table, peeking the drawer open. Didn’t her sister used to have a diary? She seemed to recall Cassandra scrawling furtive notes in one and even showing her an entry or two. Didn’t appear to be in the room now though, which meant it was probably stored away in the evidence locker. Might not lead to anything, but then again, there just might be something in there.

  Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

  Maggie stretched out on top of her sister’s bedspread, rubbing her fingers along the smooth cotton fabric. So many secrets told here between the sisters, nights spent talking and giggling as quietly as possible. Whispers about boys, about their parents. Fears about classes, fitting in, growing up.

  Their relationship hadn’t been perfect, but it had been uniquely theirs.

  Guilt punched her in the stomach. Maggie had run years ago like the hounds of hell were on her heels because of being unable to deal with the disappearance. Rather than staying and fighting to find her sister the way she should have.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered aloud, hot tears burning her eyes and trickling across her nose to plop onto the pillow.

  To Cassandra, wherever she was right now.

  To her mother and father and grandfather and brother, for abandoning them to their own pain.

  So many people she’d let down.

  She sniffled, tugging the pillow closer. It didn’t smell like Cassandra, though it was still saturated with memories.

  She’d find her sister. One way or another. Then she could stop beating herself up about it and maybe, like her grandpa had wanted, they could all start to heal.

  ***

  Cassandra stood alone on Huntington Beach right before sunset, wearing a hot-pink bikini and digging her small toes into the soft, wet sand, water kissing the backs of her heels. “Maggie!” she said, dark golden hair wafting on the air’s currents. She smiled and held her hand out.

  A sudden cold sliver of fear wound its way around Maggie’s heart. She shook her head. Something paralyzed her, kept her from moving toward her sister. This felt . . . wrong.

  Cassandra started walking backward into the water, hand stretched toward Maggie, still wearing that huge grin, which spread wider and wider until it distorted her face. “The water’s great, Maggie,” she whispered. The breeze carried her words right into Maggie’s ear like a whisper. Cassandra’s eyes flashed bright blue as light caught and bounced off them. “I wonder if he’s here, waiting for me.”

  She kept moving backward until the water covered her knees, slender thighs, smacked against her waist.

  “Cassandra, wait,” Maggie finally said. Something was definitely wrong. She couldn’t stand here and watch her sister go into the water. She tried to move forward, but the wet sand caught her feet and trapped her in its depths. “Who’s there?”

  The smile fell off Cassandra’s face. “I can’t tell you. He wouldn’t want me to.” The dark water covered her breasts, creeping inch by inch toward her neck. Cassandra’s small hand bounced on the top of the waves.

  Maggie tried to talk again, but her mouth wouldn’t open. All she could do was scream inside her head. Don’t go away, Cassandra! Her heart gave a sick stutter as her sister’s mouth became covered by the water.

  The water lapped at Cassandra’s eyes—still, she kept them open, focused on Maggie in spite of the tiny waves.

  And then the lake water swallowed her whole, one small ripple the only evidence her sister had ever been in there.

  Maggie sat up with a gasp, digging her fingers into the bedspread underneath her. Midmorning sunlight streamed in through a slit in the curtains, and birds chattered in their nests on the tree just outside the window. She stiffened for a second once she realized where she was.

  She’d fallen asleep in her sister’s room.

  Maggie wrapped her arms around her torso, fighting off the dark chill that made her shake. It had been a few months since Cassandra had last haunted her dreams. She knew why she’d dreamed of the beach, of her sister—because of that damned high school bonfire picture.

  But not once had a dream ever gone like this. Usually Maggie dreamed about them as little kids, playing in the backyard or having dinner or doing mundane daily activities she’d not given a second thought to when her sister was around.

  This time, though . . . this was different. It was Cassandra as a teen. Talking to her—she’d never spoken in Maggie’s dreams before.

  She swallowed, forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose. It was a dream, that’s all.

  But who was the guy Cassandra had mentioned? A real person, or a figment of her imagination?

  Was her unconscious trying to tell her something?

  Maggie groaned, swiping a hand across her face and smoothing it over her sleep-roughened hair. She had a lot to do today. First step, shaking off this uneasy feeling. A shower. Some coffee. She had to focus on what was real.

  Forty-five minutes later, Maggie was showered, dressed and at the kitchen table drinking a strong cup of coffee and picking at a buttered bagel. Since it was Friday, her parents had already headed out to work. She looked down at the notebook she’d grabbed and, on a whim, scrawled down everything she could remember about her dream.

  Something about that mysterious guy Cassandra had mentioned seemed to tug at her. It might be nothing, but better to capture it on paper before it disappeared.

  She finished the last of her bagel and cleaned up her mess, tucking the notebook into her purse and digging out her keys.

  Andrew. She still hadn’t settled anything with that. He wanted to pair up with her—could she trust him? Would he think her dream was ridiculous? Not that she’d tell him, of course. But if they worked together . . .

  Was she actually considering it?

  First things first. Evaluate the evidence. Then she could decide how to proceed from there.

  Maggie grabbed her purse and keys and made her way to her car. Bay Village’s police station was only a couple of miles from her house, conveniently enough. She took the few minutes of driving time to try to calm her increasingly shaking hands.

  It was just after ten when Maggie pulled into the station, turning off her car and staring out the windshield.

  Sudden panic crested in her, tingled her lips and fingertips. Her breathing grew shallow, uneven. She wasn’t ready for this; seeing the police file and records meant no going back to how things were befor
e. The urge to drive off and never look back hit her hard and fast.

  Do this for Cassandra, she ordered herself hotly. And for Grandpa. They both deserve answers. No running from her fate. No running from what needed to be done. She was staying this time.

  Maggie moved out of her car, locked it, then made her way to the front doors of the station.

  Chapter 5

  “Excuse me,” Maggie said from her side of the bulletproof glass window. She looked down at the woman seated at the desk. “I need to get some records for an open missing persons case.”

  The officer, an older lady in her fifties who looked more at home knitting a sweater than wearing a police uniform, gave her a polite smile. “Sure. Who’s the person?”

  “Cassandra Willings.” She swallowed, her smile wavering slightly.

  The woman blinked. “Oh. You’re the second person to come by for her records. Hold on, I think I may still have them out.” She stood and shuffled back into the room, weaving around desks and going to a massive filing cabinet.

  Someone else had already come by today? Who was it—surely her brother was at work by now . . . or sleeping off a hangover. Had Bethany roused herself early? Or Andrew?

  “Maggie? Maggie Willings? Wow, is that you?” a deep voice to her right said.

  She spun, jaw dropping as she blinked in surprise. “David?” Holy crap. She’d forgotten what a small world it could be in Bay Village sometimes. David Burke had been a senior at her high school when she was a freshman and her brother a sophomore. While they weren’t the closest of friends, he’d always been sweet to her. They’d shared gym class together.

  Yes, it was him, but he’d changed too. He’d grown taller, his light brown hair cropped short, his body muscular beneath his police uniform. Wow. Gawky David was gawky no more.

  He gave her a face-splitting grin. “I thought it was you.” He reached over to give her a hug. “What are you doing here? Paying a parking ticket?” he teased, his dark brown eyes sparkling, a dimple flaring in his cheek.