My Sisters

Chapter One

Saturday

Margaret Lansing was carefully dropping lichen extract onto a sterilized chromatography plate when the phone rang. Startled out of a deep concentration, she jerked. The contents of the capillary tube dribbled across the plate, ruining it. “Crud,” she muttered. “I’ll have to make a new one.”

A few feet away, Bruce Cropper, the other PhD working on the project, frowned. “Who in hell would call the lab on Saturday night?”

“Probably a wrong number.”

“Let’s hope they figure that out and hang up.”

They couldn’t afford the interruption, not with Hassell Pharmaceuticals pushing them for results. Shutting out the distraction, or trying to—the darned phone rang at least ten times—Margaret returned to her work, which required care and focus. This was why she and Bruce had turned off their cell phones, to avoid unwanted intrusion.

Not that anyone she could think of would call her on a Saturday night. She wasn’t dating anyone, and most of her friends were either already out or at home with their families. Whether Bruce had a late date or something else planned, she didn’t know. They never discussed those things.

By the time she finished the plate the annoying Rrring! Rrring! started again. Bruce shrugged.

Margaret wasn’t so unflappable. “All right!” Carefully setting the aside the capillary tube she slid from her stool with her lips compressed.

“Whoever they are, I don’t envy them talking to you mad,” Bruce said. His grin softened the words.

He was an attractive man, and the smile was contagious. Margaret strode across the white linoleum floor in a better mood.

The phone, a dingy yellow wall model that had seen better days, was at the far end of the lab, and by the time she snatched the receiver from its cradle she was slightly winded. “Margaret Lansing.”

“Hello, Maggie,” said a kindly, masculine voice she hadn’t heard in years.

No one had called her “Maggie” since she’d turned eighteen and moved to Seattle fifteen years ago. People here called her Margaret or Dr. Lansing. “Dr. McElroy? Is that you?”

“Yes, it is. I tried to reach you at home and on your cell. Lucky your mother carries your lab number in her purse.”

News to Margaret. Her mother had never used it, but then she never called, period. Susan expected her daughters to do the calling.

Certainly Dr. McElroy had never phoned. He hadn’t been her doctor since she’d left town, so there was no reason to. Fearing bad news, Margaret leaned against the cinderblock wall and bowed her head. She noted that her summer-weight slacks were creased from sitting so long, and idly smoothed her hand over them. “What’s happened to mother?”

“There’s been a car accident.”

Margaret could hear the doctor’s heavy breathing, as if he were struggling with the news. “And?” she prodded, gripping the phone.

“Your mother… she died.”

“What?” Too shocked to fully absorb what she’d just heard, Margaret sank onto the floor. “When? How?”

Bruce stood, his face a mask of concern. Warning him off, Margaret shook her head and stared at her lap.

“She was broadsided by a pick-up truck. Some teenage boy from out of town, passing through. Wasn’t his fault, though. According to eye witnesses and Officer Washburn, your mother ran a red light because she took her attention from the road and leaned down. Suzette was sitting in the passenger side, and we think she must’ve slipped off the seat…” Doctor McElroy stopped and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“Suzette. Naturally.” Feeling oddly disconnected, Margaret didn’t tear up. But her sinuses ached and felt swollen the way they did when the weather was about to change. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “My God.”

Doctor McElroy made a sympathetic sound. “Would you like me to call your sisters?”

“No, I will.” Margaret hadn’t talked to either one in nearly six months, since Christmas. She dreaded sharing the grim news, but someone had to. Better she than their old family doctor. “It’ll take me five hours to drive over, but if I leave in the morning I’ll be there by mid-afternoon,” she said. “Rose lives in Sacramento and Quincy’s in Las Vegas, so it may take them awhile longer.”

“As long as you all come home, Maggie. Anything you want me to do?”

“Start calling me Margaret. And please get hold of Mrs. Overman. Ask her to make up the beds, and leave the key under the mat.”

“You know we don’t lock our doors in Shadow Falls, Magg—Margaret. Mrs. Overman is over at the house now, getting it ready for you girls.”

Margaret hung up. Her mother’s death still hadn’t hit, and for a few moments she stared numbly at the receiver. Then with a sigh, she pushed to her feet.

Bruce headed forward. “You look as white as a lab coat,” he said when he reached her.

“My mother was killed in an accident tonight.” Saying it felt surreal and horrible.

“I’m sorry.”

His hands curled and opened at his sides, and she knew he wanted to comfort her. In the past he’d asked her out, but she always turned him down and he’d stopped asking. Odd that now, feeling numb as she did, she wanted him to put his arms around her. She wouldn’t let him know, though. What if she lost control?

Margaret was a private person. She kept her feelings to herself. Sometimes she pushed them so deep she could pretend they didn’t exist. But now…

Needing to hold herself together she fell back on what always worked—focusing on practical issues and decisions. “I’ll need a week off, starting tomorrow,” she said. Even that was too long away from the lab, but with a funeral, the house and who knew what else to deal with, she didn’t have much choice. “Can you handle things without me?”

“Don’t worry about a thing. Just take care of yourself. I’m real sorry, Margaret,” he repeated.

The tears she didn’t want to shed just yet gathered behind he eyes. Blinking and afraid to speak, she ducked her head and nodded. And concentrated on what to do next, who to call first.

Rose or Quincy? Margaret wasn’t close to either one, and hadn’t been in what seemed forever. By age seemed fair, and Rose was older than Quincy by eleven months. Unfortunately both had unlisted numbers that were neither stored in Margaret’s sharp memory nor programmed into her cell phone. They didn’t talk often enough for either. She would have to drive home, when what she wanted was to stay here with Bruce and escape into her work. Or at least try.

She looked and caught Bruce’s concerned frown.

“Go on, Margaret,” he said, shooing her out.

Mind whirling, feeling as if she’d been stabbed in the heart, she grabbed her purse and left.

*    *    *

With a heavy heart Rose Abbott trudged from the bathroom and returned to the living room. Danny hadn’t moved from the sofa. He was flipping through the latest Enology Today magazine and eating the popcorn she’d made for their Saturday night movie fest.

On the TV screen the Sideways DVD they’d been watching—for what? the third time in as many years?—paused while Rose used the facilities, showed Paul Giamatti, his expressive face frozen in sadness. How fitting.

“Ready to watch the rest of the movie?” Danny tossed the magazine onto the end table, but it didn’t quite make it and landed on the floor. Ignoring it, he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

The buttery aroma that five minutes ago had made her mouth water now sickened her. She picked up the magazine and set it on the rack beneath the table. Straightened and remained standing.

“I started my period,” she said, slipping her antsy hands into the lace-trimmed pockets of her favorite dress, which she’d sewn from Laura Ashley fabric.

Her husband’s round, friendly face fell before he caught himself. “That’s okay, honey.” Grabbing a napkin from the pile on the coffee table he wiped his hands. “We’ll try again next month.”

He’d been saying that for nearly two years now. They both had.

 “I’m not getting any younger,” she said, sounding shrill to her own ears. With reason. At thirty-one her biological clock was ticking right past the best childbearing years.

“Maybe it’s time to make an appointment with Rachel Grant, that fertility doctor Mike and Linda used.”

Rose recalled the cadre of questions Linda had had to answer, and the myriad tests that left no secrets untold. The very thought terrified her. What if Dr. Grant somehow could tell what had happened in college? She’d want to tell Danny. The panicky feeling Rose hated but couldn’t ignore squeezed like a boa constrictor. No! She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. No matter how badly she wanted a child.

Oh, the irony. Here she was, a home ec teacher who couldn’t create the home she longed for. A woman who loved her husband, but sometimes hated him, too, who was honest but afraid to tell the truth. Her life was one big contradiction. If that didn’t make her her mother’s daughter…

“It’d be easier if you got tested first,” she argued, knowing that Danny wouldn’t and that she was safe. For now.

Predictably his jaw tightened. “We’ve already discussed this, Rose.”

She crossed her arms. “Grow up, Danny. Finding out whether your sperm count is low is not a threat to your masculinity.”

“I don’t need any test to know I’m fine,“ he insisted, looking threatened all the same. Now his arms, too, were crossed. He studied her through slightly narrowed, slightly accusing eyes that spoke volumes.

You’re the faulty one.

Rose feared he was right. The sins of the past and all that. Guilt and remorse churned in her gut, twin plagues she’d harbored for twelve years. Between the panic and the regret she sometimes thought she’d go mad. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she snapped. “I’m going to bed.”

The ringing phone startled them both. Rose glanced at her watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. Nobody called this late, even on a weekend.

Danny stretched toward the end table and picked up. “Hello.” He listened. “Maggie,” he mouthed to Rose. “It’s been a long time, Margaret.”

Both Rose and Danny thought the formal name, which Maggie insisted they use, pretentious. What was wrong with plain old Maggie? And why call now? Rose sent Danny a curious look.

Equally puzzled, he shook his head. “Rose is right here. Hang on.” He handed over the phone.

Forgetting she was mad at her husband Rose sank onto the arm of the sofa. “Hello, Margaret.”

Mother’s dead,” Margaret said with in her usual no-nonsense fashion.

“Mother is dead?” Rose repeated, exchanging a shocked look with Danny. “But she’s only fifty-one, and really healthy.” Physically, anyway.

“I know.”

She heard Margaret sniffle and her own eyes filled.

Danny scooted over and held out his arms. She batted him away. “What happened?”

“Car accident. A kid passing through town plowed into her.”

Despite the tears running down her face, Rose couldn’t feel much quite yet. “A kid.” She shook her head. “Was he drinking?”

“Not that I know of. Apparently mother was at fault. She ran a red light. Something about leaning down to pick up Suzette while she was driving.”

“Of course Suzette would be involved,” Rose muttered.

“Exactly what I said,” Margaret replied.

“Suzette.” Danny rolled his eyes and snickered.

“When did this happen?”

“Earlier this evening.”

“Who called you?” Why didn’t they call me instead? Jealousy reared its ugly head. Petty in light of her mother’s death, but Rose couldn’t help her feelings. After all, she was the middle child. What with Margaret’s brains and Quincy’s stunning beauty, the invisible one.

“Dr. McElroy. I suppose he contacted me because I’m the oldest. I would’ve called sooner, only I was in the lab and didn’t have your number with me.”

That her own sister didn’t know her number by heart stung. Even though Rose rarely called Margaret or Quincy, she knew their numbers. “Does Quincy know?”

“Not yet. I’m about to call her.”

At least she knew before Quincy. That felt good. Also small-minded and awful. Here she was, gloating over knowing first, when their mother was dead.

It finally sank in. My mother is dead. Pain welled in Rose’s chest, filled her heart and clogged her throat. Crying noisily she tumbled from the sofa arm into Danny’s embrace. His solid warmth comforted her, and she burrowed against his chest.

“I’m leaving for Shadow Falls in the morning,” Margaret said. “How soon can you get there?”

Rose swiped at her eyes. “I’ll book a flight out as soon as we hang up.” The plane trip from Sacramento to Seattle took nearly three hours. From there she’d need a car to get to Shadow Falls, a five-hour drive that meant crossing the Cascade Mountains. “But summer school starts a week from Monday, and the kids and district are depending on me, so I can’t stay long.”

“Me, either.”

Susan is dead. Mama. A name Rose and her sisters had been forbidden to use since their father had run off with a blonde bimbo.

Rose raised herself from Danny’s chest and slowly shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“It hasn’t sunk in for me, either,” Margaret said, sounding tired and sad.

Fresh tears rolled down Rose’s cheeks. Danny handed her a paper napkin. She dabbed her eyes, then crumpled it in her fist.

“Mrs. Overman is making up the beds,” Margaret said. “You and Danny can sleep in Susan’s room.”

Danny barely knew their mother. They’d met exactly twice, at their spring wedding four years ago and again at Thanksgiving that same year. The worst holiday of Rose’s life, which said a lot. That her sisters agreed said even more. None of them had gone back to Shadow Falls since.

Rose didn’t want Danny to come with her, not now. Maybe in time for the funeral. “Um, Danny won’t be with me.”

He looked confused and hurt. She covered the mouthpiece. “You can’t afford to miss the enology conference in San Francisco.” Which started tomorrow. “Just come for the funeral. I’ll manage.” Sniffling and wriggling off his lap, she stood.

“If that’s how you want it,” he said, pouting like a little boy.

Now was no time to worry about soothing his feelings. She carried the phone into the kitchen. “I suppose I should call Quincy,” she mused to Margaret. “We can meet in Seattle and rent a car together for the drive.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. You’ll probably kill each other before you leave the airport.”

Which could happen, since she and Quincy were as different as cotton and Lycra. Margaret was permanent press. None of them got along. Now their bitter, self-absorbed mother, whom they all hated, was dead.

How wretchedly empty that felt.

“Even if we fight the whole time, sharing a rental car is a good idea,” Rose insisted. “I’m calling her.”

“Fine, but give me ten minutes to break the news.”

*    *    *

Breathing hard, Duke rolled off Quincy. “That was great.”

If you liked men interested only in satisfying themselves. Quincy pasted a fulfilled smile on her face. “It sure was.”

Duke, who was old enough to be her father, pulled her tight against his flabby side. She tried not to grimace. Every night for the past two weeks he’d shown up at the Blue Dove, the cocktail lounge where she worked. Or had until her boss had fired her earlier tonight. A drunken customer had pinched her behind one too many times and she’d lost her temper and slapped him.

Barely able to pay the rent and other bills as it was, especially since Chuck had moved out, she was in a world of trouble now. Quincy hated being alone. So when Duke, who’d witnessed the whole thing, grabbed her hand and said, “Come on, Doll Baby, let’s go someplace,” she had.

He’d treated her to dinner, which was sweet. Trouble was, instead of eating he guzzled gin and tonics. Her second husband had been an alcoholic, and Quincy wanted nothing to do with another drunk. Before she finished her dinner salad she’d decided to ditch Duke.

Yet here she was, in bed with him, and as lonely as ever. Without a job and broke to boot.

Disgusted with herself and her life, she pulled out of his arms. She’d clean up and grab a robe. Then she would send him home. “Be right back, Sugar.”

Knowing he was watching, she fluffed her red hair and sashayed her perfect rear end across the room. The wrong thing to do when she wanted him gone, but second to her face, her body was her best feature, and she simply couldn’t stop herself.

She was out of the bedroom and half-way to the bathroom down the hall when the phone rang. That it was after eleven on a Saturday night was no big deal. This was Las Vegas and the night was just beginning. Quincy pivoted around, returned to the bedroom and snatched the phone from the dresser.

“This is Quincy,” she said, putting a purr into her voice. She winked at Duke, whose eyes were clouded with booze and lust, and again paraded toward the hallway and bathroom.

“It’s Margaret. Did I wake you?”

“Who’s that, Doll Baby?” Duke hollered.

“Are you kidding?” Of all the people to call now, when she’d lost her job. Quincy forced a laugh. “I have company, Mags, and he’s hung like a—”

 “Quincy, please,” her sister said.

Margaret hadn’t been laid in years. Quincy could hear the contempt in her voice. Or was it jealousy? Either worked for her. She grinned. “Sorry about that, Mags.”

“My name is Margaret.”

She sounded as if she were gritting her teeth. Getting to her was fun, and so easy. “What in the world are you doing up at this hour on a Saturday night?” Quincy asked.

If Margaret heard the dig—outside her work with lichen—lichen, for God’s sake—she didn’t have a life, she didn’t let on. “Mother’s dead.”

Quincy’s smile faded. “No way.” She carried the phone into the bathroom. “What happened?”

“Dr. McElroy said it was a car accident. Her fault. She drove through a red light. Witnesses say she was leaning down, probably distracted by Suzette. A poor kid driving through town on his way someplace else smacked into her.”

“Wow.” Overwhelmed, Quincy sat down on the toilet. “Suzette, huh?” She shook her head. “So Susan’s favorite caused her death. How fitting.”

“Baby Doll?” Duke called out.

Quincy covered the mouthpiece. “Shut up!” She kicked the door closed, which since the bathroom was small, was easy to do from the toilet, and returned to Margaret. “I’ll have to ask my boss for time off,” she lied. “He won’t let me take more than a week.” She could barely afford that. “What’s the plan?”

“There isn’t one yet, but we’re all busy with our own lives, so we’ll get things done fast.” Margaret sniffled. “We can decide how to do that when we’re together. I’ll be driving to Shadow Falls in the morning. Rose will fly in as soon as she can. You should, too. She mentioned the two of you renting a car at the airport and driving over together.”

“Rose and me alone in a car for five hours?” Despite her grief, Quincy laughed.

“Well, it does make sense from a practical standpoint.”

Practical. That was Rose. Margaret was, too, and look where it got them? One sister spent her life isolated in a lab and the other taught Home Ec to high school kids and was married to a man without an ounce of imagination. Bo-ring. Quincy was the only one who enjoyed life to the fullest. Though at the moment, “enjoy” seemed a tad exaggerated.

My mother is dead. As lousy a mother as Susan was, her passing hurt unbearably. Tears spilled from Quincy’s eyes. Her chest felt heavy and way too full. Or was it empty? She couldn’t wait to send Duke home and bawl like a baby. “I’ll make a plane reservation right away,” she said.

“You might wait until you hear from Rose, so you can coordinate. She’ll probably call as soon as we hang up.”

Despite her grief and fierce need to cry, Quincy changed her mind about sending Duke home just yet. She wanted him all hot and bothered when Rose called. Just to get her goat.

After all, grieving or not, she had a reputation to uphold.