Pages of Sin (10 page)

And speaking of Derek, he had called the night before to let me know he would be heading home after a brief stopover in London. I was relieved and happy and a little thrilled that he now considered our place his home, no matter how temporary. I told him a bit about the mystery we were dealing with in Dharma and admitted that I could have used his help. Derek laughed and said it sounded as though Mom and I had figured things out quite nicely. He was right, of course, but it would have been a lot more interesting if he could have been here with me tonight.

There was a sudden hush and I turned to watch Byron walk into the room with Robson. They spoke quietly for a few seconds; then Byron glanced around. His eyes widened when he noticed Elaine standing against the opposite wall. “You stayed in town, Lainey?”

I could see her hands shaking but she held her shoulders high. “Of course.”

“I’m . . . glad.”

Before Byron could say another word, Marjorie rushed to her sister’s side and threw her arm around Elaine’s shoulders. “I’m glad, too. We should be a family again. Wanda would have wanted it that way.”

I felt rather than saw my mother’s eyebrows shoot up at that comment. If Wanda had seen those documents hidden away in those books—and how could she
not
have seen them?—I doubt she’d be dancing a jig at this family love fest.

Byron set his wine glass on the nearest table and walked deliberately toward his sisters-in-law, his gaze glued to theirs. Time seemed to slow down with each step he took. It was riveting.

Mom and I looked at each other and I knew we were thinking the same thing: Would we have a replay of the passionate smooch from the other day? Would Byron dare to kiss Elaine in front of Marjorie? Or would he kiss them both? But how? Would he grab one sister, then the other? Who would he grab first? Or would it be a two-sister double smooch?

Okay, Mom wasn’t thinking any of those things. That was my imagination running wild. Still, my money was on a two-sister double smooch-a-rama.

We should have had a betting pool going,
I thought as Byron grabbed them both in a double-hug-cheek-to-cheek kiss, followed by a more ardent kiss on the lips for each of them. Wow.

The embraces were interrupted by a sharp gasp as Marjorie pointed at the stack of books resting on the ornate antique console against the far wall. “Where did those books come from?”

“I brought them here.” I moved casually toward the books, keeping an eye on the sisters as I walked. “We found them in Wanda’s living room. They’re a pretty set, aren’t they? Or they will be when I finish restoring them.”

Marjorie’s eyes bugged out in shock and her lips trembled. “But they’re mine. I’ve looked all over for them.”

“We found them easily,” Mom said brightly, not bothering to mention that we’d found most of them when they bounced off my head.

Marjorie flipped her hair back as she approached me. “I should be grateful to Wanda for keeping every little thing our family’s ever owned. But the books belong to me so I’ll take them off your hands now.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, obstructing her access to them. “Why did you give them to Wanda?”

“I didn’t
give
them to her,” she explained patiently. “I merely asked her to store my things for me when I went on an expedition a few years ago. I never got around to asking for them back.” But she swallowed nervously as she fiddled with her earring, so I figured she was lying.

Before I could accuse her of anything else, she threw her hands up in the air. “Fine! I gave them to her. I gave her a lot of stuff. She liked to read. What else did she have to do, stuck in that house of hers all day long?”

“Ah, but you gave her more than books to read, didn’t you, Marjorie?” Byron said, smiling at Elaine as he spoke.

Marjorie pierced him with a look. “What if I did? Like I said, she didn’t have anything better to do with her time.”

Elaine frowned as she took a step forward. “What else did you give her, Marjorie?”

“Nothing,” Marjorie said, her eyes widening and eyelashes batting in a futile attempt to look innocent. Sadly, that ship had sailed years ago.

Apparently, Byron was no longer in the mood to let her get away with it. Turning to Elaine, he spelled it out for her. “It’s time you learned the truth. Wanda wrote Marjorie’s travel memoirs for her.”

Marjorie groaned. “I was going to tell her.”

Whoa. I was not expecting that. I glanced at Mom, who looked equally surprised.

“But . . . how . . . but . . .” Elaine sputtered as she stared back and forth between Byron and her sister. “How did she have time to write
your
books when she was writing
my
books!”

Okay, not expecting that, either.

Blindsided, Marjorie’s mouth gaped open. “
Your
books? Why would she bother writing your books? You write
kids’
books! My God, you write about llamas!”

“And your point is?”

“My point is, why didn’t you just write them yourself? It’s not like there’s any challenge to writing a stupid llama story.”

“How dare you!”

“You’re kidding, right?” Marjorie whipped around and glanced at each of us as though she expected to find some common sentiment there. Then she glared back at Elaine. “Why would you bother Wanda with something so trivial when she could have been spending more time on my work?”

“I beg your pardon?” Outraged, Elaine slapped her hands onto her hips as her chin jutted pugnaciously. “My
Lucy the Lonely Llama
was short-listed for the Caldecott Medal. I happen to explore the dark corners of the human condition, you moron. My prose is richly layered, often punchy and bordering on magnificent. Damn it, read my reviews once in a while!”

Marjorie leaned closer until they were nose to nose. “Why would I waste my time? You write books for
six-year-olds
!”

“I write books for people with passion, regardless of their age.” Elaine took a deep breath, then sneered at her sister. “You should talk about wasting Wanda’s time. Don’t pretend you’ve ever written anything more significant than a few travel articles.”

Marjorie gasped. “I have a Pulitzer Prize!”

“Well, whoop-dee-fricking-doo. You sure as hell didn’t earn it. Wanda did!”

“You’re wrong! I gave her all my notes, everything she needed to put those books together. They were my words. Wanda did nothing more than a highly paid typist would do.”

“Now, hold on there,” Byron said, stepping into the middle. “Don’t act as if Wanda only typed for you two. She had a lyrical quality of her own that neither of you could ever match. That’s why you both begged her to write your books for you.”

Elaine wasn’t mollified. Shaking her finger at her sister, she said, “You used her and abused her. I’m no longer surprised that she took her own life, knowing she had to deal constantly with your overblown ego.”

“That was a low blow, Elaine,” Mom warned, acting as referee. She should have been wearing a whistle.

Marjorie snorted. “You’re the one who abused her. If I’d been forced to write another book about a freaking llama, I’d probably have ended it all, too.”

Mom made a
tsk
ing sound. “Marjorie, that’s not a charitable thing to say.”

Marjorie huffed, then whirled around and paced halfway across the room and back. “I can’t help it. She makes me so mad sometimes.”

“Sisters can do that,” I said with a sympathetic nod. Anyone with a sister could relate.

“Come on now, girls, stop fighting,” Byron said as he struggled to wrap his arms around both women, finally forcing them to face each other. “You’re both way off base. Wanda loved you two more than anything else in the world. She wouldn’t want you fighting with each other because of her. The only reason she committed suicide was because she was dying anyway.”

Silence fell on the room like a heavy cloak. I looked over at Mom, whose forehead was furrowed in distress. After a long pause, she touched Byron’s arm and said, “Was that true? Was Wanda ill?”

Byron gazed at Mom and his eyes grew misty. He only seemed to realize in that moment that he’d divulged a major revelation. “Yes. I’m sorry, but she was dying. Ovarian cancer.”

Hearing those universally hated words, I squeezed my eyes shut. It wasn’t fair, damn it.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. Dad laid his hand on Byron’s shoulder in sympathy. Robson placed both of his hands on Byron’s back as if to prop him up.

Byron tried to smile but it was a wobbly attempt. “She was determined to keep her sense of humor through it all. She said she didn’t want me to see her skin turn gray as she shriveled up to nothing, so she took things into her own hands. She looked so beautiful in the garden after Marjorie called me. It was her favorite place.”

“She was dying?” Marjorie whispered. “She never said a word.”

“I wasn’t sure if she told you,” he murmured. “But I never felt it was my place to betray her confidence.”

“She didn’t say a thing.”

“It’s because she didn’t want your pity,” Byron said quietly. “People had been pitying her for years and she was sick of it. So she decided to take matters into her own hands. It was important to her that she finish both of your books, so she did that. She tidied up her own personal affairs and then did what she needed to do.”

“Oh, poor Wanda,” Elaine said. She sucked in a great sob and began to cry in earnest. Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears, too. Byron pressed his lips in a thin line to keep from sniffling, but the pressure was too great. He pulled both sisters into another group hug and they all wept for Wanda. And maybe for themselves.

It was painful to watch, especially with my tendency to tear up at the first sign of a whimper. I blew my nose, then glanced at Mom, wondering if maybe we should leave them alone to grieve. But she was watching them avidly, despite the tears dripping down her cheeks.

I was right there with her, just as teary and captivated by these three as she was. There was no way I could walk out of here now. And that insight brought on another wave of weepiness, not only because of the pain I imagined Wanda had to have suffered, but because this was another one of those tender,
like mother, like daughter
moments you read about in books.

“Well,” Marjorie said, straightening her dress and sniffling as she stepped back from the group clench. “I guess my big plan to convince you to write my books for me is dead in the water. You’ll pardon the expression.”

“What?” Elaine said, then shook her head as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Are you kidding? You thought
I
would want to write for
you
?”

Marjorie sniffled some more as she examined her fingernails. With a shrug, she said, “My mistake.”

Byron cleared his throat. “Actually, Lainey, we both were sort of hoping you might agree to step in for Wanda. Marjorie’s
Traveling Anarchist
franchise is too lucrative to quit it now.”

“Don’t talk to me about lucrative,” Elaine snapped. “My last contract was for seven figures. My books have been translated into fourteen languages. The royalties alone have kept that God-forsaken castle in Somerset from crumbling around us for the last ten years, no thanks to Radisson’s latest indictment.”

“Seven figures, huh?” Byron considered her words. “Sounds like you might have owed Wanda a raise.”

Elaine gasped and slapped both hands over her mouth.

Marjorie laughed. “Oh, this is rich, no pun intended. Not only were you using your own sister as a ghostwriter, but you weren’t even paying her a fair wage.”

Elaine winced, then groaned as her shoulders sagged. “Oh, my God, I’m despicable.”

Laughing even harder, Marjorie threw her arms around her sister. “The fact that you can admit it is just one reason why I still love you.”

Byron wasn’t going to be left out of this group grope. He wrapped his big arms around both of them and gripped them tightly. “I love you girls. I’m sure we can all help each other, going forward.”

And just like that, they were back to being the Bizarro Family. I caught a glimpse of Mom and Dad, whose expressions indicated they were thinking the same thing.

“Let’s have a quick glass of wine together before we go to the service,” Byron suggested with a cheerful glint in his eye. “We can toast the restoration of our loving family and the beginning of a beautiful new business relationship.”

If he couldn’t draw them in with that love of family line, Byron probably wasn’t beneath stooping to a little blackmail. Perhaps Elaine and Marjorie realized the same thing, because a tentative smile passed between the sisters, then grew to a broad grin. I suppose they had to admire Byron’s panache.

I checked my watch. Since they seemed to have patched up their differences, I figured it was well past time Mom and I got some answers to our questions. I opened up each of the Jane Austen books and pulled out the documents we’d discovered over the past few days. I’d already decided to keep my tone light rather than accuse anyone of anything. I didn’t want to rock the fragile Bradford-Frawley family boat any more than it was already rocking.

I got their attention by clearing my throat. Then with a bright smile, I said, “I was going through this set of books and found some important documents you all might want to keep in a safer place.”

Approaching Marjorie, I handed her the first batch. “I believe this birth certificate and these adoption papers are yours.”

Before she could say a word, I turned to Elaine and handed her the letter. “This is yours, unless you’d like me to give it to Byron.”

They both frowned at me, then stared at the envelopes I’d given them. Finally I held up the faded photographs we’d found. “And there are some old snapshots of a pretty little girl named Elizabeth. Who might they belong to?”

There was a startled intake of breath; then Byron stepped forward. He took the picture and gazed at it, smiling fondly. “Look, honey. It’s Lizzie on her First Communion.”