Sheriff Joe nodded at them and then continued on his way.
“You are a terrible sister,” Lena muttered from the side of her mouth.
“I’m the best sister.” Kate shot her a sly glance. “A terrible sister would have told him that you have the hots for him.”
She was right on that score. But despite the fact that she could see the levity in the situation, she couldn’t shake her concern about Sheriff Joe being hot on the trail of their vandal.
Something deep in her bones told her they’d all be better off not knowing…
Kate
What temperature does the oven have to be on?
Kate stared down at the text lighting her phone and tapped out a quick response.
350 for 20 minutes.
She'd left a sheet of paper with all the proper heating instructions for each meal on the counter, but God forbid Frank bother himself to read it. Apparently, it was easier for him to text her and ask.
Of the twenty-plus texts she'd gotten over the three days since she'd been gone, exactly none of them had been about her. He hadn't asked how she was holding up after Maeve's death, or about how her sisters were, or if there was anything he could do to make things easier.
The only indication that he even remembered her mother had passed away was his question about the inheritance.
Jerk.
Won’t the plastic wrap melt if I put it in the oven?
She had half a mind to type back, "No”, just to see what happened next, but restrained herself. After all, it was hardly his fault. Frank was Frank. The same now as he'd been when she'd run off to marry him at nineteen. Selfish. Lazy. Indifferent. But he was there. Constant. She didn't have to worry if he'd run off or cheat. He would never put in the time or the effort. He'd been a decent father, so long as most of his interaction with the kids happened from his well-worn seat on the couch.
No, her recent irritation wasn't on Frank. It was on her. She was the one who needed the attitude adjustment. He'd kept up his side of the bargain, and she needed to keep up hers.
You need to take the plastic off, dear.
"Everything all right back home?" Lena asked as she settled back into the seat across from Kate.
They’d already eaten a beignet and worked their way through a cup of coffee apiece, and Lena had gone for a refill.
"Yeah, Frank's just a little out of sorts trying to figure out how to manage on his own," Kate said with a forced smile. "Once we get into a routine, it will be fine. The first week will just be an adjustment for him."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Mmm, like a kindergartner's first day at school," she said before taking a sip from her freshly topped off coffee mug.
"Come on, Lena, give it a rest," Kate groaned, flipping her phone face down in case Frank continued to pepper her with ludicrous questions.
"What? I'm just saying, he's like a giant infant. It's nothing you don't already know."
"You haven't even seen him in almost ten years. How would you know?"
"Whenever we talk on the phone, he interrupts at least five times. You've trained him to be as helpless as a one-legged dog. I'm surprised the man can even dress himself," she added with a snort.
Kate tried to keep her expression neutral as she reached for another beignet.
"Oh my God, he can't, can he?" Lena demanded, flopping back into her seat like she'd been hit by a sniper. "You lay out his clothes for him, don't you?" she asked incredulously.
"He's color blind, is all," Kate said, realizing how silly it sounded even when she said it. "It's just easier if I do it."
"Easier for who? Do you wipe his bottom after he makes a number two, as well, then?"
Kate wanted to stay irritated, but a laugh bubbled from her lips and some of the tension drained out of her. What was good for the goose was good for her sister, apparently, and she’d done her fair share of yanking Lena’s chain today.
It felt good to have her here now. Right, somehow, despite her differences with Maeve. Something told her their mother was smiling down on them right now, watching.
"That's ridiculous. I draw the line at clipping his toenails," she teased back.
"Lord a' mercy," Lena said, covering her mouth. "I think I just threw up a little. Please tell me you're kidding."
"I'm kidding. But I get it. You're way too much of a feminist to cook and freeze meals for your man while you're away. I don't mind, though, so can we talk about something else, please?"
"If you didn't mind, you wouldn't look like you just ate a lemon every time you looked at your phone," Lena said, her smile fading. "Kate, I know it didn't feel like an option before when the kids were young, or once Frank stopped working and money was so tight. But once we sell the house..."
"I'm not talking about this right now," she replied, meeting her sister's all-too perceptive gaze. "Cease fire."
Lena opened her mouth and then closed it with a snap, sending a shudder of relief through Kate. She didn't know what made her say it...the phrase the two of them had come up with as kids to ensure they never said anything they'd regret to one another. The fact that Lena not only remembered it, but had held to the rules of their decades-old treaty—struck in the dark of night after a bitter fight over a baby-doll—set off an emotional chain reaction inside Kate that had her blinking back tears.
"I love you, no matter what," Lena said, breaking the silence. "Now, we'd better get back before Sasha gets mad and burns the house down or something."
While she had her big sister in such a cuddly mood...
"Speaking of, I really do think you can cut her some slack. I know the two of you don't see eye to eye, but she's trying her best."
For the second time in as many minutes, Lena didn't argue. To Kate's surprise, she just inclined her head. Her brain was still churning to come up with something else to get out of Lena while she was feeling so charitable when a shadow fell over the table.
"Katie, me darlin' girl. Lena..."
Kate looked up with a start and then shot to her feet. "Uncle Harry!" She wrapped her arms around the old man and squeezed, hard.
He returned her embrace with the same enthusiasm and held on tight, his chest quaking against Kate's ribs. They stayed like that for a while until he sucked in a quavering breath and pulled away.
His eyes were bloodshot and he was carrying a few extra pieces of luggage under each eye, so there was no point in asking how he was doing. It was written all over his grief-stricken face.
"Harry," Lena said, getting to her feet and leaning in for a hug.
Harry gripped her in a tight, albeit briefer, embrace and then stepped back. "Let me get a look at you," he managed, his voice husky. "As beautiful as I remember," he said, patting her cheek with a gnarled hand. "Glad you were able to come home for this. I know your mama would be thrilled."
Kate could feel her sister bristling at the word "home" but to her credit, she didn't correct him.
"There's a lot of work to be done," she said diplomatically. "I was so sorry to hear about Annalise's passing."
"I appreciate that, and the flowers you sent were beautiful. I think she was ready to go for a long time, by that point. It was me who wasn't ready. Never easy," he added, pursing his lips. "Can I buy you girls a coffee or something?"
"We're actually just finishing up but I was going to call you this evening," Kate said, laying a gentle hand on his frail shoulder. "We'd love if you could come by for supper…maybe day after tomorrow? That will give us some time to clean up the house a bit and get situated."
Harry's milky green eyes lit up and he nodded. "Yes, I'd like that a lot. What time should I be there?"
She could feel Lena's stare but she ignored her. "Around five o'clock. We can reminisce and have a nice whiskey sour on the porch, first."
"Perfect. I have some things of your mama's I wanted to give to you girls anyway."
"We'll see you then," Kate said with a kind smile.
He tottered away, leaving her and Lena alone again.
"With as much as we have to do on that relic of a house, you really think we have time to be throwing dinner parties?" Lena asked, her voice a whisper but still somehow sounding like a shout. "I'm here for two months and twenty-nine more days. Whatever isn't done, isn't done, and y'all are going to have to deal with it."
Kate almost smiled at that, wondering if Lena realized how often she slipped out of her fancy school, transcontinental accent when she was angry. Maybe Kate would tell her one day and she'd try to be a little less angry all the time...
"Maeve asked us to check in on him and make sure he was all right, and that's what we're going to do."
Lena looked like she was about to continue arguing, but when Kate met her gaze head on and crossed her arms over her chest, she went quiet.
Kate didn't put her foot down often, but when she did, she put it ankle deep in cement. She wasn't budging, and Lena knew it.
"Fine, well, if we're doing a supper, we're doing a low-country boil. I haven't had one since last time I was here."
Kate smiled, happy to compromise on that front.
The note and the Sheriff's words momentarily forgotten, the two paid their bill and began making a grocery list as they headed out to the car.
As she slipped into the passenger's seat, she caught sight of Harry standing on the corner talking to Pastor West. The good man of God had his arm around Harry, clearly offering words of comfort, and Kate found her throat going tight again.
She and her mother had their issues—most people in close contact with Maeve would say the same—but they'd been close. She felt like she'd gotten to a point where she'd at least understood her mother and her choices in life, and loved her in spite of some of the worst ones.
But Harry had accepted Maeve for everything she was. Completely, without reservation. They were the best of friends, since before even Lena was born, and they'd surely been more over the years, in between Maeve's many marriages and lovers, and Annalise's debilitating medical crises that required all of Harry's attention, some years more than others.
How much different all of their lives would have been if Maeve had met Harry before she'd married Ollie...before Harold met Annalise? She wouldn't have had to mourn the death of a husband at the age of twenty. She wouldn't have spent her whole life desperately in search of a husband as devoted to her as Harry was to Annalise.
And she wouldn't have married Clyde McFadden, who had ruined everything.
Sasha
Sasha plugged one last forkful of potatoes into her mouth and blew out a happy sigh.
"That was something special, y'all. I'm glad I wore my leggings because, if not, I think I would've popped some buttons," she said with a grin as she set her utensils on her clean plate.
"You ladies really outdid yourselves," Harry said with a nod of thanks. "I can't remember enjoying a meal more than this one."
"Certainly not one Mama cooked for you, Uncle Harry," Sasha added with a chuckle.
Everyone around the table joined her as Harry shook his head ruefully. "She tried, bless her heart. It was nineteen seventy-seven, twelve years after she started sending casseroles over for me and Annalise each week, that I finally got up the gumption to tell her the truth."
"Which was?" Kate asked with a grin.
"We fed them to the pigs. And the real kicker?" he added, wheezing with laughter. "Half the time they wouldn't even eat them."
Even Lena, who had been stone-faced for the first half of the evening, had to laugh at that one. Over the next half hour, they all traded stories about Maeve Blanchard's notoriously questionable cooking skills. It was only when they'd finished their dessert of sweet potato pie that the laughter died down and Harry's face grew troubled.
"Maeve was no chef, but she's done a lot of good in this town. I was troubled to hear that you all had an issue the other night...care to fill me in?"
Sasha wiped her mouth with the fussy cloth napkin and then tossed it on the table. "It's probably nothing. Some kids wanting to cause trouble or something, but I'd hoped they'd have found out who did it by now. It's been days."
Days that had been filled with backbreaking, sweaty work as they'd started to empty out, clean, and organize the attic and second floor rooms. And despite the fact that they'd all—with the sometimes exception of Lena—wound up falling into bed exhausted from their efforts, thoughts of the note and who might be behind it had been plaguing her long after dark.
"These things often go unsolved," Kate said with a shrug. "Unless it happens again, I'm not holding out a lot of hope that we're going to find the culprit."
They'd already gotten the window fixed, and aside from the strange sense of unrest, it was almost like it had never happened.
Only, it had...
"Has anyone heard from Sheriff Fletcher?" Maggie asked, shooting Lena a quick glance. Her oldest sister ticked a strand of silver hair behind one ear and shook her head.
"Not since he mentioned having a potential lead at the cafe the other day. I'm with Kate. I think the less oxygen we give it and the less we talk about it outside the house, the quicker the fire will burn out. People do that kind of thing to get a reaction. If we keep our heads down and do what we're here to do, whoever was behind it likely won't bother next time."
Maggie frowned but didn't argue as she stood and began gathering up the dessert plates.
"I know your mama wouldn't have called you all to come stay here if she thought you'd be in any kind of danger, but if anything like that happens again--"
"We'll call the Sheriff and keep you posted," Kate assured him, patting his hand gently. "Promise."
Sasha shot Kate a pointed glance, letting her sister know that she was taking note of that promise herself and wouldn't hesitate to call her on it if she had to.
"Before I forget, I have some things I think Maeve would want you girls to have," Harry said, getting out of his chair with some effort and hobbling out of the dining room, only to return a few moments later with a tattered, leather briefcase.
He set it on the table and popped the locks on either side before flipping it open. His face crumpled for a split second before he got a hold of himself as he pulled out a pile of pictures and a file folder.
He stared at the top photo for a good, long moment, and then set it in the middle of the table so all of them could see. It was an eight by ten black and white image of Maeve in her early thirties. She was wearing a one-piece maillot style bathing suit that flattered a figure that would've put Jayne Mansfield to shame. Flanking her on either side were the four of them, each in their own swimsuits. Lena was already old enough to be self-conscious, covering herself with crossed arms, but the rest of them were hamming it up for the camera. Sasha had one hand on her hip, flashing a gap-toothed smile. Maggie's head was tipped back in laughter, her diaper poking out over the top of her flower-dotted bikini. Even the always more reserved Kate was grinning from ear to ear.
If Sasha's memory served her, the shot had been taken in Uncle Harry's backyard shortly after her father, Vinnie, had left but before Clyde had come into their lives.
Those had been some good times.
Sasha studied her mother's perfect face, wishing she could reach out and lift those oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses Maeve was wearing and see what was behind them. Every day the four of them spent entrenched in her past, decades of memories piled in every corner, it became more and more apparent exactly how tough their mother had been and how hard she'd worked to put on a happy face for her daughters. It had taken Sasha a full day to get over the letters between Maeve and Ollie that Lena had shown them, only to walk in on Kate rocking on the floor in front of Maeve's bedroom dresser, silently sobbing as she clutched a tiny satin bag to her chest.
Once Sasha had managed to calm her down enough to pry it away, she'd almost wished she hadn't.
In it laid a curly lock of blond hair and a thimble-sized locket with a name scrawled across it.
Beau.
None of them had worked
up the heart to open it, even now, two days later.
Sasha had dug through the papers scattered on the floor next to her sister, finding a hospital record, along with a pile of yellowing, handwritten notes of sympathy, some from people who were still alive and residing in La Pierre. Turned out, Maeve had given birth to a stillborn baby boy between the time Lena and Kate had come along, and none of them had ever known about it.
And they said people in a small town couldn't keep a secret...
Sasha focused in on the image before her again and touched a finger to her mother's trademark, mischievous smile.
"I always wished I looked more like her," she mused softly, not even realizing she'd said it out loud until Kate cocked her head, brow furrowed.
"Everyone says you favor her most," Kate reminded her.
"That's cuz I work at it." She looked up and jerked a thumb at Lena, who sat beside her. "She's the one who looks like Mama, for all she tries to hide it."
If Sasha had ever wondered if their older sister realized it or not, she wondered no more. Lena's graceful throat worked as she looked away, at something—or nothing, more likely—outside the newly fixed picture window.
"She really does," Maggie agreed. "If you dyed your hair red like Mama's color--"
"She does dye it," Sasha said, leaning back on her chair and staring at Lena, waiting for her to deny it. "Gray, isn't that right, big sister? Has for years. What did Mama used to call it? Hiding your light under a bushel? Doesn't matter, though. People who look a little harder can see it. The cheekbones, the bow of your top lip that I always have to draw in, those curves most women dream of..."
She was surprised to find that saying it out loud felt a little like letting the infection run out of a wound. An achy hurt, but one with a purpose.
"You should let me strip out the dye," Sasha said softly, realizing the slow burns of resentment she normally harbored toward Lena was at an all-time low. "I can barely remember what you look like with the red."
"Me either, and that's the way I like it," Lena said, her curt tone bringing an abrupt end to the conversation. She turned her attention toward their silent guest and managed a smile. "It has been really nice catching up with you, Harry, but I have some phone calls I need to make to the West Coast before business hours are over, so if you'll excuse me."
Maeve's Girls Page 5