The Substitute Sister Page 4

  None of it made sense to Sasha. Besides Annie, there was so much more Sasha had to learn about her sister’s life and death. Her head spun with all the information the sheriff had just thrown at her.

  “I don’t understand…” And with him so close, she couldn’t think.

  If she’d kept in touch with Nadine, she would have known all about her life. And although she had no proof that her presence in Nadine’s life would have prevented her sister’s murder, guilt nagged at her. So much guilt…

  “I’ll let the lawyer explain everything to you.”

  He was waiting for her at the house Nadine had left to her. “I don’t want anything from Nadine,” she said because she’d given Nadine nothing, not the forgiveness she should have, not the friendship, love…and possibly the salvation.

  “Nothing?” he asked over the little girl’s curly head.

  Possessiveness tightened her arms around the child. “Just Annie.”

  “Angel.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what Nadine always called her, her little angel.” Sadness passed through Reed’s green eyes and pulled at his sculpted lips. And finally he released his hold on the child, so that she settled securely into Sasha’s arms. He stepped back. Somehow Sasha knew that step cost him a lot and was quite significant.

  She didn’t fool herself into thinking he trusted her to care for the child, especially not after her admission to him. But he was a lawman, and as such he had to respect Nadine’s last wish that Sasha raise her daughter. Not him.

  He hadn’t said anything, but she knew he believed he should have been Annie’s guardian. Last night and at their first meeting, she’d felt his resentment that Nadine had named her instead, and now she had witnessed his tenderness with Annie.

  He more than cared about this little girl…he loved her.

  Sasha found the courage to ask the question that had been burning in her throat since she’d met him and Annie. “Is she yours?”

  Chapter Three

  He never answered her question. He’d instead opened the door to the mist and led her to her inheritance. His evasion bothered more than it should have, when she had so many other things overwhelming her. He hadn’t answered her.

  So what did that mean? That he was Annie’s father? Or that he thought Sasha so out of line for asking that he didn’t feel she deserved a reply?

  She couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t claim Annie if he were her father. But then, sometimes people didn’t want to claim things that were legally theirs.

  Like this house—the ornate Queen Anne mansion, perched on the highest rise of the hill. Views of the turbulent lake were visible from the wraparound porch. On one side of the house lay the town, on another, the undeveloped wooded area where the sheriff had told her that visitors hiked.

  Had that been who’d murdered Nadine? Some hikers, some strangers who’d known nothing about the woman they’d accosted? And where was Nadine’s body? Lost in those woods?

  Sasha had asked Reed that as she’d gazed, shuddering, into the shadows of the forest. A search was under way, he’d said. Had been since the crime scene was discovered.

  Crime scene. He hadn’t told her where in the house her sister had been murdered. But it didn’t matter to Sasha. None of it welcomed her. The windows mirrored the gray clouds, gloomy and dark. A storm waiting to happen.

  This was Nadine’s house, not hers. Sasha couldn’t replace her as mistress of the manor. She doubted she could replace her as a mother, but for Annie she’d try her hardest.

  Being inside now didn’t warm the chill from Sasha’s blood. In fact, it pumped colder through her veins as she tried to comprehend everything she’d learned since midnight.

  Suspended from the burled-oak tray ceiling by a gold chain, a crystal chandelier shed some light on the papers spread across the dining room table before Sasha. But none of it made sense. Not how Nadine had come into possession of the estate and not why she’d left it to the sister she’d resented since birth.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Arnold, shuffled through the set of pocket doors leading from the butler’s pantry. The tray in her arms rattled as she settled a sterling silver service onto the table. The rattling wasn’t caused by lack of strength; the housekeeper was a big woman, towering over Sasha. No, it was either nerves or anger that caused her shaking. As she poured coffee into porcelain cups, she shot quick glances at Sasha. That was preferable to the near scream she’d uttered when she’d opened the door to Sasha, the sheriff and Annie. “You’re supposed to be dead,” she’d whispered.

  The fifty-something woman, her braided gray hair coiled in a knot at the back of her head, had the same disapproving look in her pale eyes that the sheriff had had in his when he’d first met Sasha—after he’d realized she wasn’t Nadine. But had it been disapproval or disappointment in his green eyes? How much had he cared about her sister? Had he loved her?

  She figured he and the housekeeper had different reasons to disapprove of her. The sheriff resented that she hadn’t known about Annie but was named her guardian. Mrs. Arnold’s possessiveness seemed to be of the house.

  “Thank you,” she told the woman, even though she hadn’t been the one to ask for the coffee. She hadn’t drunk what the sheriff had given her at his house, and she’d been infinitely more comfortable there. The lawyer, glasses perched on the end of his nose, had requested the hot liquid to dispel the chill that permeated the old mansion.

  Drafty, damp, this wasn’t a house where Sasha would ever be comfortable despite its timeless elegance or maybe because of it. She and Nadine had grown up sharing a bedroom in a tiny bungalow their parents had rented, which the landlord hadn’t bothered to maintain. But her parents had made it home. This would never be.

  As crazy as it sounded, the house itself seemed unwelcoming to Sasha, almost as if it wanted her gone. A draft swirled around her again, the cold air raising goose bumps on her skin.

  But it was the only home Annie had ever known. Could Sasha take her away from it? Was that fair when the child had already lost the only parent she had?

  Or that Sasha knew about.

  “I can help you with the tax issues, too,” the lawyer, Albert Jorgen, said as he dumped some sugar cubes into his cup. He was big, like the sheriff, like the housekeeper. By comparison Sasha felt small and vulnerable and totally out of her element. “There are quite a few involved with the inheritance.”

  Mrs. Arnold’s mouth tightened, and her look turned into a glare. She was obviously one of those who had disputed Nadine’s inheritance. Sasha could almost feel the woman’s hatred, but was it directed at her or Nadine?

  She shivered and glanced toward Sheriff Blakeslee. He stood at the window, looking out where Annie played on the lawn with the young nanny. Even as his presence unsettled her nerves, his vigilance eased Sasha’s fear. Whatever the reason for his attachment to the child, he’d ensure her safety. If she stayed on Sunset Island…

  “Um, I need to think about all of this,” Sasha said, falling back on the advice she always gave the kids at the high school. Don’t make any decisions without thinking them through beforehand. She couldn’t make a decision today, now, about whether or not to accept this inheritance. She wanted Annie, but she didn’t want the house, didn’t even understand how it had come to belong to her sister. There seemed to be confusion surrounding that, and Sasha needed to know the particulars before she could make any decision.

  “What’s to think about, Ms. Michaelson?” the lawyer asked, studying her over his glasses, his dark eyes narrowed. He wasn’t much older than her, but either his job or his life had aged him and given him an air of maturity that she hoped to possess someday.

  Maybe she’d had too much thrown at her, but she couldn’t make a decision with any confidence right now. Confidence in herself or in Nadine. If the estate were legally Nadine’s, then she should keep it…for Annie. But if it truly didn’t belong to her…

  Mrs. Arnold fiddled with the cups on the tray, stalli
ng her exit as she blatantly eavesdropped, wanting to hear Sasha’s decision, too. But Sasha wasn’t about to make one, not in her current condition of running on little sleep and too much emotion. And not until she had more information.

  “Ms. Michaelson,” the lawyer continued, “I made a special trip over from the mainland with the intent of settling your sister’s estate—”

  “Give her a break, Jorgen,” the sheriff said, his voice harsh. “She has a lot to absorb. Give her what she asked for, time to think.”

  A flush stole into the lawyer’s pale face. “Of course. I’m sorry, Ms. Michaelson. I understand that you’re dealing with the tragic death of your sister. I shouldn’t have pushed. Of course, this—” he gestured at the papers spread across the table “—can wait.”

  “It’s going to have to,” she said.

  While not unappreciative of the sheriff’s support, it had been unnecessary. She hadn’t been about to let the lawyer coerce her into agreeing to anything at the moment. She was too tired…both physically and emotionally.

  The lawyer nodded, then cautioned, “It can’t wait too long, though.”

  Anger flashed at his warning. “Is there a time limit on the inheritance?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. The limit is on the cash account used to pay the expenses for the estate.”

  “What are you saying?” the sheriff asked, his full attention on the lawyer.

  Albert Jorgen sighed. “I guess you need to know this, Ms. Michaelson. The house is it.”

  The housekeeper snorted. “That woman got everything from Mrs. Scott. There was money. A lot.”

  “Was,” the lawyer admitted. “It’s gone.”

  “In two years?” Outrage reddened the older woman’s face, and she turned another fierce glare on Sasha.

  The sheriff cleared his throat, and the housekeeper turned away and walked back through the pocket doors, closing them but for a small crack, through which Sasha had no doubt she intended to eavesdrop.

  Then Reed turned his gaze on her, his green eyes un readable. “I need to talk to you about this, Jorgen. Alone.”

  Sasha could understand excluding the housekeeper from the private discussion. But not her. She’d already been excluded from too much of Nadine’s life. And it was Annie’s future. “I need to know this, too.”

  The lawyer agreed, “She does. She needs to know there’s no money to run this place much longer.”

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Everything and everyone was paid through the end of the month. After that…”

  After that she had to either tap into her personal savings, which weren’t substantial, due to her modest salary. Or she had to sell. Now she understood why Nadine had left her the house.

  “Is Mrs. Arnold right? Was there a lot of money?” Reed asked.

  The lawyer’s round face flushed. “Reed, client confidentiality—”

  “Be damned,” Reed interrupted. “Nadine’s dead. It might help me find her killer….” His voice trailed off, his gaze going to Sasha.

  She shivered. So he didn’t think a stranger had murdered her sister.

  “Well, you’re the lawman. There was a substantial amount of money. I can’t remember exactly how much. I didn’t bring Mrs. Scott’s file with me.”

  “I want your records,” the sheriff said. “And any other information you can find out about Nadine’s finances. I want to know where the money’s gone.”

  The lawyer shrugged, and his too-small suit jacket bunched around his shoulders. “She was a young woman with expensive tastes.”

  “She never left the island, Jorgen. I want to know where her money went.”

  To her killer. Is that what he thought?

  She shivered again at thoughts of her sister’s murder but also of her sister’s life and how big a part the sheriff had played in it. He seemed to know Nadine very well. Intimately?

  Back at his house, he’d touched her, his hands on her arms. Had those big hands touched her sister? Had they held Nadine as Sasha wished he would hold her?

  But she had no right, no basis, for that wish, just weakness. And now that she was fully responsible for a small child, she couldn’t afford any weakness or distraction.

  “I don’t know where her money went, Sheriff. There’s not much I can tell you about Nadine Michaelson,” the lawyer said. “When she inherited the estate from Mrs. Scott, I inherited her as a client.”

  By foul means? Was that what the housekeeper’s resentment was about? Nadine’s inheritance, which was now Sasha’s? Or at least, what was left of it was Sasha’s.

  “All I know is Mrs. Scott changed her will to name Nadine heir shortly after Nadine started work here. Sheriff, you definitely knew her better than I did,” Albert Jorgen added, with a pointed man-to-man look that caused nausea to rise in the back of Sasha’s throat.

  It shouldn’t matter to her what the sheriff and Nadine meant to each other. She had no interest in him beyond his relationship to her niece. She would not serve as Nadine’s substitute.

  “Jorgen,” Reed said, his tone sharp. She waited but he said no more, neither confirming nor denying how well he’d known her sister.

  Weary of it all, Sasha turned to the lawyer. “Where can I reach you when I’ve made my decision about the estate?” she asked, wanting him to leave so that she could think.

  “You can call my office.” The lawyer handed a card across the table. “Or better yet, call my cell, that’s on there, too. I’ll be at the inn tonight. The lake’s too rough to take my boat back to Whiskey Bay tonight.”

  She stared out the window, where the clouds hung low with the threat of rain. She would have to call Annie and the nanny inside before it started.

  “Will you be staying at the inn, too, Ms. Michaelson?” he asked.

  She’d made a small decision, for Annie’s sake. She didn’t want to stay in a house where the staff glared at her and the resentment was palpable. But she had no choice. “I’ll be here…for now.”

  “You’re going to stay on Sunset Island?” Reed asked, drawing her attention back to him. She fell into his green gaze, into the relief there. But then she reminded herself that it wasn’t her he didn’t want to leave. It was Annie. And maybe Nadine’s double…her.

  “Yes.” And then clarified one reason why. “I think it’ll be best for Annie.”

  “To stay in the house where her mother was murdered?” the lawyer remarked with a snort.

  Something clattered behind the partially open pocket doors, confirming the presence of an eavesdropper.

  What was Sasha thinking? She wasn’t wanted or welcome here. She should grab Annie and beg a trip back to the mainland on the sheriff’s boat. But Annie wasn’t the only one she owed.

  She owed Nadine something, too. Maybe they hadn’t always acted like it, but they were, had been, sisters. Twins. Not only did she have to take care of this for Nadine but for her parents, too, for their peace of mind.

  “I’m not leaving until my sister’s body is found. She deserves a proper burial.”

  SHE WAS STAYING on Sunset Island. Not for good. Very few people ever stayed for good, maybe for a few consecutive summers, but not much longer than that before they got bored with the charm and irritated by the lack of amenities.

  And neither would she.

  Nadine’s body would be found soon. Reed had already led a systematic search of the woods and beaches. If he hadn’t kept her, the killer must have thrown her into the water, probably to cover up any evidence he might have left. But unless he had weighted down the body, she would float ashore again. Eventually.

  Would Sasha Michaelson stay that long? Reed doubted it. She’d made a gesture, something to assuage the guilt she felt over the years she’d had no contact with her sister. Once her patience wore out, she’d be gone, taking with her Annie and the piece of his heart that the little girl had owned since the day he’d brought her into the world. Although the wind howled outside the windows of the inn, he felt its co
ld chill down to the bone.

  “Want me to warm that up, Sheriff?” the waitress asked, already splashing more coffee into his cup.

  “Thanks, Carol. I’ve been waiting for that stranger, the one you said turned up the day Nadine was killed.”

  The older woman shuddered. “God, what a horrible thing. That poor little girl. Who would have ever thought something like that would happen here?”

  Not him. Not ever.

  “But her aunt’s here now, that’s good,” the woman continued. “Heard she looks exactly like her sister, huh? Gosh, imagine that much beauty in one family.” She shook her head.

  The island was worse than the smallest small town. Nothing went unnoticed or unremarked upon…except the identity of Nadine’s killer. A couple of tables over, the lawyer sat with some of the locals. He visited enough that he was one of them, even though he didn’t have a home or office on the island. And undoubtedly he’d shared most of the details of Nadine’s estate with everyone. And most of the details of Sasha.

  Yeah, she looked exactly like her sister…until a per son looked deeper. And he’d looked. And he’d touched. And he wanted to look and touch some more. Even now he itched for an excuse to go back to the mansion, to make sure she’d settled in. To make sure she’d rested.

  Sasha had a vulnerability to her that Nadine had never possessed. Or maybe he only thought that now because Nadine was dead and since he hadn’t protected her from a killer, he wanted to protect her sister…and her child. But he had no reason to believe they were in any danger. And hell, he’d already admitted that what he felt for Sasha wasn’t protectiveness. It was lust, plain old lust. Something he hadn’t indulged in for a long while and something he had no time for now.

  “So have you seen him?” he asked again, trying to steer the gossiping waitress back to the important issue. He’d been looking for the guy since the murder…in between looking for Nadine’s body and dealing with the crime-scene techs. Had she only been dead a couple of days? The time had passed in a blur of concern for Nadine, for her daughter, for the woman he’d just met….