The Secret Sister (25 page)

Maisey almost stumbled back. “I—I don't know. I haven't discussed it with her.”

“You'd better leave well enough alone, girl,” he said, and closed the door.

Shocked that he'd presume to tell her what to do, Maisey knocked again. “Mr. Phillips?”

“Go away!” he yelled. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

Maisey was breathing hard as she trudged over to her scooter, but it was from emotion, not exertion. Ranger Phillips knew something, something he wasn't saying.

You'd better leave well enough alone, girl...
Hadn't Keith told her essentially the same thing?

Almost as if the thought of Keith had triggered a phone call from him, her phone buzzed. She glanced down at it, nearly answered, but decided not to. She'd deal with her brother later. She couldn't go yet; she had to try one more time to get Mr. Phillips to talk.

* * *

Rafe couldn't help watching the clock. He'd dropped Maisey off a couple of hours ago. He thought he'd hear from her tonight, once she got rid of her ex. But...nothing so far.

He went to the window and peered out, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to see her cottage. With Keith acting so crazy last night and this guy from New York waiting at Maisey's house earlier, Rafe couldn't relax.

Should he check on her?

No. She'd think he was crowding her. He'd promised to give her time and space, and he needed to keep his word. He was fairly certain he'd heard a car earlier, which meant Jack was gone. Considering everything she'd been going through, she was probably exhausted and confused. Maybe her ex had rekindled bad memories.

How could he not, given the loss they'd suffered and what he'd done afterward?

She was asleep, Rafe told himself. That was why she hadn't called him. With Laney at her grandmother's, he'd hoped they'd spend the night together. But...she must want to be alone.

He should follow her lead and go to bed. Work would come awfully early in the morning if he didn't get some rest...

But he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep and didn't see any point in lying there only to stare at the ceiling. So he went into the kitchen to crack open a beer, and that was when his phone finally rang. He hoped it was Maisey, but it wasn't. The number wasn't one he recognized.

“Hello?”

“Where's my sister?”

Keith.

“You're asking
me
?”

“She's not answering, and I want to talk to her.”

“Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you.”

There was a brief pause. Then he said, “Listen, I was an asshole last night. I admit it, and I'm sorry. That's what I have to tell her. And we have...other things to discuss. She's not with you?”

“No. But I can walk over and see if she's home, tell her to give you a call, if that would help.”

“I'd appreciate it,” Keith said.

Rafe didn't feel like doing Keith any favors. He wasn't ready to forgive him for nearly running Maisey down. But Rafe was eager to stop by and see why she wasn't answering her phone, and this provided him with an excuse.

Once he got over there, however, no one came to the door. He would've checked the beach next; he'd found her there before, had seen her seek the calming influence of the ocean when she was upset. But he looked for her scooter first and discovered that it wasn't where she usually parked it.

He stood in her driveway and turned in a slow circle, wondering where she might've gone. The lights were on in her house, as if she didn't plan on being away long. Had she driven to town for some reason?

“She's not here,” he said when he called Keith back.

“Where could she be?” Keith sounded irritated, impatient.

Rafe didn't know whether to mention Jack. “What about your mother's place?”

“Maisey's not at Coldiron House,” he said. “
I'm
at Coldiron House.”

Of course. That must be how he'd gotten Rafe's number. Josephine had it. “Your mother hasn't heard from her, either?”

“Not today.”

Rafe frowned as he searched for possible answers. The store was closed this late on a Sunday night, so she couldn't have gone there... “Then I don't know what to tell you.”

“If you see her, can you have her give me a call?” Keith asked.

“Sure.” As Rafe walked back to his house, he reached into his pocket to see if he had his truck keys. Part of him was tempted to go looking for her. The other part insisted that he'd seen too many movies. Her scooter was gone. That suggested she'd left of her own free will.

Unless Keith had shown up to finish their argument from last night—or had her meet him somewhere—and his call had been some kind of cover-up.

No, that was crazy, Rafe told himself. Despite the anger he'd witnessed last night and that unnerving, cold look on Keith's face as he tore past them, surely he wouldn't harm his own sister...

24

A
fter much coaxing and one plea—“I can't leave until I know what you're keeping from me”—Ranger Phillips had let Maisey into his house. If it hadn't started to rain while she was pounding on his door, she was convinced she'd still be out there. He'd quit ignoring her only after she'd said, “It's cold, and it's wet.
Please?
I'm not leaving, no matter how long this takes.”

Regardless of
why
he'd let her in, she wasn't feeling a whole lot more comfortable. Ranger was old and stooped and lived simply—all positive associations that reminded her of her grandfather on Malcolm's side. But the comparison ended there. This place wasn't particularly sanitary. His living room was so cluttered with garbage there was barely room to move. He'd had to clear a spot for her on the couch. Although it would be difficult for him to haul away his own trash, she had no idea how he lived as he did. The stench was almost overpowering.

Not only that, but Maisey thought Ranger himself seemed strange, remote, even antisocial.

“I realize we're talking about something that happened a long time ago,” Maisey said, trying to keep from shooing away the cats that were creeping closer. Between the smelly fishing nets he had piled everywhere, and the litter boxes that needed to be cleaned, she could hardly breathe.

He continued to eye her dubiously.

“And I understand that you probably don't want to get involved,” she went on. “You've never met me before and you don't owe me anything. But like I said, I hope you'll help me, anyway.”

Obviously agitated, he scratched his head. “I've been trying to tell you, I
can't
help.”

“I don't believe that. You know something about the summer my sister died.”

She'd been afraid that saying those words out loud—“the summer my sister died”—might be the key to Pandora's box. She hadn't even known she had a sister until a few days ago. But she'd seen and heard enough since then to be convinced of it, and she was so compelled to learn the truth that she couldn't stop herself. All the distrust, anger and resentment she felt toward her mother made her defensive of this child whose existence had been erased.

Besides, Maisey had to start the unraveling process somewhere. People weren't going to volunteer information—not to her. She was excluded from the gossip circles that had kept the rumors alive for so long.

“She fell,” he said. “Ask anyone. You don't need me to tell you that.”

“The interesting thing is...no one wants to talk about it. Not to me.” And not
everyone
knew. Rafe and his mother hadn't acted as if they'd heard anything.

“That surprises you?”

“No, but it means I have to ask.” Well aware that she was taking one more step toward her own sort of cliff, she gently set aside a cat that had climbed into her lap. She loved animals, but enjoying Ranger's pets was the last thing on her mind. If her mother ever heard that she was asking these questions, Josephine would cut her off for good. There would be no more
home
. She probably wouldn't even be allowed to stay in Smuggler's Cove. And she had so few assets left...

Was she really willing to go
that
far, especially after everything she'd endured in the past two years? Could she handle uprooting herself again and going somewhere else?

She wasn't sure she could, and yet she didn't feel she had any choice. If Josephine had used her name, money and power to avoid justice,
someone
had to take a stand against her.

“You might not like the answers you get,” he warned.

“Why?” she asked. “Was it not an accident?”

He dropped his head to stare at the worn rug.

“I just want the truth,” she said. “If you know it, why not tell me? What do you have to lose?”

He looked up and his eyebrows—severely in need of a good trim—rose high. “What do I have to lose?” he echoed. “Only my house. And where will I go if I get kicked out of here?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It's your mother who lets me live here.”

“
Lets
you?”

“It's her property, ain't it? She owns most all the land on the island, except once you get over to Keys Crossing. She could turn me out anytime.”

“You're not paying rent?”

He motioned around them. “Does it look like I can afford to pay rent? Would I be living like this if I could?”

“But does she even know you're here?”

“I'm sure she does.”

“And she's letting you stay out of the goodness of her heart?”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“Then what?”

“She's not going to kick me out if she thinks I know something she doesn't want me to talk about.”

A second cat approached Maisey, a black one that stared up at her with wide, unblinking eyes. “What if I was careful not to tell her, or anyone else, where I received my information?”

“I'm afraid she'd come right to me, anyway. Who told you about Gretchen?”

“My father...”

“No. He didn't leave you a note to look her up. I don't believe he'd do that.”

Did she dare reveal what she'd discovered? She didn't know whom she could trust, but...she had to trust someone. “It wasn't as direct as I made it sound, but...he saved her letters for a reason.”

“He saved them?”

“Yes. Over a three-year period, she wrote him many times, asking for money.”

His lips pursed.

“Was she blackmailing him?”

“I don't like getting involved in other people's lives,” he replied.

“The little girl who died that day deserves a voice!”

He got up and began to pace.

“Please, Mr. Phillips.”

“Your father was protecting someone.”

“Who? My mother?” she asked.

With an uneasy glance over one bony shoulder, he said, “No, your brother.”

The cats scattered as Maisey jumped to her feet. “What do you mean?”

He swung around to face her. “Annabelle didn't just fall off that cliff. Someone pushed her.”

“But it couldn't have been my brother! He was only about four at the time!”

“That's all I'm going to say.” He raised his hands, which trembled slightly from nerve damage or age or anxiety. “Now you'll have to leave.”

Maisey didn't budge. “You honestly think Keith pushed Annabelle.”

“Everyone who's ever had anything to do with him knows he's not like other people.”

“That doesn't make him a murderer!”

He grimaced. “Forget I said anything. Please. I have my own troubles.”

“How can you accuse a four-year-old of such a heinous act?” she asked.

“I can only tell you what my sister-in-law saw that day. I don't like the idea that a four-year-old could do something that bad, either. No one does. That's why everyone prefers to think it was an accident.”

Maisey shivered in spite of the woodstove that was doing a very efficient job of heating Ranger's humble abode. “Keith could never have done that! Even if he did push Annabelle, he wouldn't have realized how badly he'd hurt her. He must've shoved her out of anger or frustration.”

“That's a possibility. I'm not saying it ain't. Now you need to leave. I wasn't there that day, and I don't like spreading gossip.”

He was afraid of what might happen to him as a result of what he'd disclosed, but Maisey didn't think he had any reason to worry. She wasn't going to tell anyone this...this craziness. She couldn't accept such a preposterous explanation!

But then that memory of someone locking her in the attic rose, unbidden, in her mind. She'd been playing for quite a while before the light went off and the door closed. Had it been long enough for Keith to get home from practice and find that she hadn't listened to him about waiting until he returned? Had he decided to punish her? He'd already been upset about being left out of the starting lineup...

On some level, she believed it
was
something he'd do. She could see him as a boy, taking his anger and frustration out on her and feeling she deserved it for displeasing him. She'd seen him do similar things most of his life.

How many times had her mother stepped in to rescue him from one mess or another? Josephine had taken him out of public school and put him in private school because he was skipping too many classes and getting into so much trouble he wasn't going to graduate. Then she'd paid to have him go to three different colleges. She'd even had to intervene at the final school, when the administration accused him of cheating on his exams, to make sure he received his diploma.

He claimed he hadn't cheated, but Maisey had always wondered, even if she'd never wanted to admit it.

“How did Gretchen see what happened?” she asked dully. “That cliff overlooks a private beach.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “She'd just bent down to tie your shoe, so she was right there. When she glanced up...” His words fell off.

“She was with
us
?”

“Of course. You don't know? She was the first person your mother hired as a nanny when your family moved to the island.”

Maisey's blood ran cold. She'd been standing there, as a two-year-old, when it happened? Had watched her sister fall to her death? Get swept out to sea?

She didn't remember a thing about it. Thank God...

“Did anyone else see?”

“No. Like you said, that cliff overlooks your family's private beach. There was no one below. And when Gretchen told your mother the story, Josephine paid Gretchen to keep her mouth shut and move off-island.”

Maybe Gretchen had moved, but she hadn't settled for that initial payment. She kept coming back for more...

“So she was blackmailing two grieving parents who were trying to protect their young son from being blamed for such a tragedy.”

“It wasn't like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Gretchen told me! I was putting in a swamp cooler at her house when she got home that day...”

“
You
were at her place?”

“Yes. My brother had passed away. I was doing what I could to help out.”

“And...”

“And when she showed up, she was a wreck. Shaking and crying. Said your brother was the devil himself.”

How many times had Maisey heard that? No one trusted Keith. He'd behaved too badly. But she couldn't believe he'd killed his own sister. Not knowingly. Not on purpose. “Yet Gretchen had no compunction about turning the situation to her advantage and blackmailing my parents. My father sent her thousands of dollars, even bought her a Lexus!”

“It's easy to judge when you've always had everything you need,” he said. “She had her own kids to raise. One of 'em—Sarah—had a rare kidney disease and died before she turned twenty.”

Sickened by the whole sordid story, Maisey shook her head. Her father had been protecting Josephine, as she'd thought. Just not in the way she'd first imagined. “That's no excuse.”

The lantern cast odd, moving shadows across Ranger Phillips's seamed face. “Would you rather she'd come forward with the truth? Rather have had your brother taken away? Put in an institution? That was what he needed. If you ask me, it's
still
what he needs.”

Maisey didn't want to hear that, but despite all her love for Keith, all her loyalty to him, she wasn't entirely sure she could refute it. He'd always had severe emotional problems. Did he even remember the incident at the cliff? If he'd meant to push Annabelle that day, did he feel any remorse?

She recalled the conversation when she'd told him about the pictures, and he'd said he vaguely remembered a sister, too. Had he just been playing along? Because right after he admitted to having memories of Annabelle, he'd pointed a finger at
Josephine
.

Maisey didn't know what to think, what to believe. And the more she went over that conversation, the more frightened and confused she became. He'd come over the very next day, demanded those pictures and burned the most meaningful ones. He'd wanted the letters, too. If it wasn't for Rafe, he would've gotten them.

Had he done all that to protect their mother, as he claimed?

Or had he done it to protect himself?

* * *

As soon as he returned to his own house, Rafe texted Maisey.
Keith's looking for you. He's at Coldiron House. Where'd you go? Are you okay?

He didn't get a response, so he tried calling her, but she didn't pick up.

He waited another thirty minutes and dialed her number again—with the same result. Then he called Keith, but Keith didn't answer, either.

Could they both have gone to bed? Although he'd been listening for the scooter, he could've missed the whine of that small engine.

He sent another text to Maisey.
Hello? Can I get an answer?

Nothing.

Frustrated and growing concerned in spite of all the reasons he shouldn't overreact, he walked back to her place. The lights were still on, the scooter was still gone and Maisey still wasn't answering her door. He did see something he hadn't noticed before, however. There was a slip of paper half-under the doormat. He pulled it out and found a short note. “I just learned something else. Call me. —Dinah.”

* * *

“I can't believe it,” Maisey said. “That's what I've decided. I can't believe it.”

Rafe shoved his hands in his pockets. It was past midnight and he had to work at dawn, but when he'd called Maisey one final time, she'd answered. She'd said she was just getting home, hadn't checked her phone since before she left and hadn't been able to hear it while driving the scooter. It wasn't until she'd reached his place, and he'd shown her the note from Dinah, that she'd finally explained where she'd been—and why. At last he understood the reason she'd been so torn up about those pictures, and what had started that fight between her and her brother.