The Secret Sister. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
So they sat on the porch steps and talked for forty-five minutes. Keith said she should leave the island, get out while she could. But she said she wouldn’t abandon him, that she wouldn’t be defeated so easily.
Slowly his mood seemed to improve. He might still have been brooding when he went to get the truck, but he was no longer ranting about Josephine.
As relieved as Maisey was that they’d be together more and she’d be able to offer advice and support, she was also relieved to be alone for a while. Not having to put any further energy into smiling or listening or saying the right things allowed her to relax for the first time since she’d set foot on the island. That also gave her ample opportunity to mull over the meeting with her mother, which still made her angry. But she told herself to take her own advice and quit letting Josephine upset her. “You can’t give her that much power,” she’d told Keith.
Easier said than done, but they both had to try...
Maisey had no idea when her brother would be back—if the truck was even available—so she changed into shorts, a T-shirt and sandals and went down to the beach. She’d seen the seaward bungalows briefly when they’d gone looking for Rafe; she knew that Unit 1 sat crooked on its pilings, Units 2 and 3 had lost their porches and Unit 4 had that hole in the roof from the tree limb Rafe was removing. But the damage seemed even worse now that she was examining it up close.
Rafe had plenty of work ahead of him. Would he be able to finish before the next major storm? She wondered about that as she went to the water’s edge, took off her sandals and waded in the surf.
The rhythmic slap of the waves proved calming. She imagined her father standing at her elbow, gazing out across the water, and wished he was really with her.
Although Maisey would’ve liked to stay at the beach all afternoon, she didn’t dare linger. Because of her long day of travel, the battery in her cell phone was dead. She’d plugged in her phone before leaving the bungalow, but she didn’t have it with her and didn’t want to make Keith come searching for her once he returned with the truck. So, after about thirty minutes, she went back.
When she caught glimpses of a black vehicle through the trees, she hurried out of the woods. She had no idea what color truck her mother had purchased to help maintain the estate. But she didn’t see any sign of her brother. It was Rafe Romero with his Ford F-250. He was up on her porch, putting the key under the mat as promised.
She wished she could duck back into the shelter of the trees until he was gone, so she wouldn’t have to confront him again. But her movement had drawn his attention.
“Back already?” he asked.
She walked toward him, carrying her sandals in one hand. “It was a short visit.”
He glanced up and down the road. “Where’s Keith?”
“He must still be at Coldiron House, trying to get the truck.”
“But he’ll be coming?”
“Any minute.” She spoke with enough confidence that he nodded, told her the key was under the mat and left.
Maisey was sure Keith wouldn’t be much longer. But when another hour passed, and she still hadn’t heard from him, she began to worry.
Where could he be?
Her cell was now charged, so she tried to reach him.
The call went straight to voice mail. She texted him afterward but didn’t get a response that way, either.
Had he and Josephine had another of their famous screaming matches—about her, or what Josephine had said about Ellie, or even that comment about Keith’s work at the flower shop?
Anything was possible. When it came to Keith and Josephine, it didn’t take much to cause a fight, especially on a day like today when one or both were on edge. And if they had argued, Keith might’ve left the island instead of coming to her aid. It didn’t matter that she’d moved here to help him, or that she needed his help to get settled. If he was upset, he wouldn’t think twice about taking off on another bender until he’d exhausted what little money he’d been able to earn or pilfer from the house and flower shop.
Keeping an eye on the road beyond her windows, Maisey paced for several more minutes. Then she went out to sit on the front steps and stare down the drive. “Please come,” she whispered, but he didn’t. Another hour passed and still...nothing.
At that point, she broke down and called the house.
Fortunately, Josephine didn’t answer.
“Coldiron House. This is Clarissa speaking.”
“Clarissa, it’s Maisey. I was there for...for tea earlier.”
“Of course. I remember.”
“Is Keith around?”
This question was met with an uncomfortable pause. Then Clarissa said, “Not at the moment.”
Maisey was beginning to feel ill. Surely, if he’d run off, he wouldn’t do what he’d done before, with those sleeping pills... “Do you know where he is?”
“No, ma’am.”
“He didn’t mention where he was going?”
“Not to me.”
“Did he take the truck?” He might be on foot. The ferry wasn’t more than three miles from the house—a walkable distance. Or if he’d really wanted to piss Josephine off, he could’ve taken the Mercedes and left it at the wharf for her to collect later.
“I’m afraid I don’t know that, either, Miss Lazarow.”
“You can call me Maisey. Would you mind checking?”
“On the truck?”
“Yes. I need to use it.”
“Um, okay.” She seemed surprised by the request but reluctant to say no. “If you’ll hang on a moment...”
Maisey was massaging her temples, cursing herself for being so misguided as to think she could help someone as volatile as her brother, when Clarissa came back on the line.
“Tyrone said your brother did take the truck.”
Was there any chance he could be on his way over?
If so, he’d answer his phone, wouldn’t he?
Unless he’d lost it or forgotten it somewhere...
“Do you know when he left?” she asked.
This time there was no hesitation before Clarissa answered. “It’s been nearly two hours.”
Then he wasn’t coming to Smuggler’s Cove. He could’ve driven around the entire island at least twice in two hours. She wanted to find out whether he’d left in a rage, but she doubted Clarissa would know—or confirm it if she did. Josephine trained her staff well. They would protect the family’s privacy, or they’d be sued for breach of contract and no longer have a job. Clarissa knew the time of Keith’s departure, which suggested he’d given her reason to notice it. That was about the only indication Maisey felt she was going to get.
Poor Clarissa. If there’d been a scene like one of the many Maisey had witnessed in her lifetime, the girl had probably felt like cowering in a corner.
“Do you have any idea when he might return?” By this point, Maisey thought the question was futile, but had to ask.
“We aren’t expecting him anytime soon,” she replied.
“Is he safe?” she asked in a small voice.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“Never mind. Thank you.” After she disconnected, she slid her phone halfway across the porch; she could no longer bear to look at it, after that news. “What the hell am I going to do now?” she asked aloud. The possibility