C.J. Carmichael - A Sister Would Know

At the top landing, Grant gave directions again. “First door on the right.”

Davin rushed in as soon as Amalie twisted the key. She let him go ahead, while she hesitated on the threshold with Grant.

“This is just a hunch, but I’m guessing Mrs. Eitelbach didn’t care much for my sister, either.”

Grant leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His posture was relaxed, but Amalie felt that he was watching her keenly.

“She’s a sharp old bird,” he said, “but she didn’t mean any harm. She had a lot to put up with.”

Amalie pulled her checkbook out of her purse, then searched for her ballpoint pen. “I suppose you mean from Helena?”

His gaze unwavering, he didn’t say a word.

Quickly, Amalie wrote out the check for nine hundred dollars, unable to stop her hand from shaking as she added her signature. It was so much money. Her parents would really think she was crazy if they knew.

When she was done, she contemplated her companion. The hall light overhead cast long shadows across the lower portion of his face. She noticed a mark now, under his bottom lip, where he might have cut himself shaving that morning.

“Just what is it you have against my sister? What did she ever do to you?”

Grant stepped away from the wall. “It’s not so much what she did to me as what she did to my friend.”

“Oh?”

“The man she was skiing with?”

She tried to remember. “Ramsey—”

“Ramsey Carter.” The name came out short, clipped with anger. “My best friend. My married best friend.”

Amalie stared at him. “You can’t mean—”

“Your sister was having an affair with a married man. Now he’s dead, and his widow will have to raise their two children on her own.”

Grant took her check, holding it between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, as if it were something he’d rather not touch.

“That’s one of the things I have against your sister.”

HELENA’S APARTMENT WAS A SHOCK. Amalie stood with her back to the closed door—Grant Thorlow’s final words still echoing in her ears—and surveyed the scene.

“Kind of weird, isn’t it?” Davin said. He’d turned on the television and was manually searching the channels. “I mean, there’s nothing here. Not even a lamp.”

It was true; the only illumination came from a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. An old sofa—the kind you might see discarded at the side of a curb—was against the long wall of the living room. Opposite was a small TV, sitting directly on the stained, tan carpet.

“I guess Helena didn’t have much money.” Or maybe she hadn’t planned on staying very long.

Amalie set down her purse, then followed the short hallway to the right. Here was the bathroom and two bedrooms. The first was empty; the second was obviously Helena’s. On the floor was an old mattress, the bedding scattered and wrinkled.

An old oak dresser stood in the corner, next to the open doors of a closet. Eager to find something, anything, that would connect this place with the fastidious sister she remembered, Amalie opened the drawers of the bureau, but here, too, all was a jumble.

Automatically, she started sorting and folding, only pausing when the lush wool of one sweater had her peeking at the label. Cashmere, sure enough, from a designer Amalie had seen advertised in fashion magazines.

Intrigued, Amalie checked over the rest of the clothing. Interspersed with regular, department store items, the kind she normally bought for herself, she found a couple more treasures—a beautiful hand-knit sweater, some silk lingerie.

In the closet, the same dichotomy was evident. Mixed in with a beautiful Anne Klein suit and butter-soft leather pants were no-brand jeans and cotton T-shirts.

Probably the less-expensive items had been purchased here in Revelstoke, but it was the high-end clothing that most puzzled Amalie. Presumably, money had once not been a problem for her sister—an hypothesis borne out by the contents of the carved wooden box that sat on top of the bureau. Once opened, it released a delicate scent of sandal-wood and light chimes played “My Favorite Things,” from The Sound of Music.

Amalie smiled, remembering the first time she’d watched the musical with her sister, on an outing to the theater with some friends. Their mother had been livid when she found out. Strictly speaking, dancing was forbidden by their church, and the sight of her daughters whirling and singing around the living room had prompted her to ground them for an extended period.

Their parents’ religious doctrines had been such a confining presence in their lives. Amalie knew that Helena in particular had resented it. She herself, however, still found them a comfort, although in her heart she took significantly more moderate views from those of her parents and their minister.

Inside the carved box were little velvet bags. Amalie selected one and pulled the silk cord gently. Out tumbled a gold ring with a sapphire as big as her thumbnail. Gasping, Amalie put it back in the bag, then checked another.

This time she found a short gold chain strung with diamonds. Where had Helena found the money for this jewelry? Or had they been gifts…?

Amalie shut the lid on the ornate box and was about to turn away, when she noticed a small indentation next to a carved rose at the bottom of the case. She picked the box up and worked the nail of her index finger into the hollow. A small drawer sprang out from the bottom. Inside was a pouch of dried grass and several sheets of thin white paper.

Amalie didn’t have to smell the one rolled cigarette to know what she’d found.

She pulled the drawer out from the case and carried it to the bathroom. One flush, and the marijuana was gone. The papers she threw in the trash.

Amalie returned to the bedroom, pushed the drawer back into the box, then shoved the whole thing underneath a pile of Helena’s lingerie.

As far as she knew, Helena had never used drugs when she’d lived on her own in Toronto. And certainly not when she was still at home with their parents. Alcohol and tobacco had been major taboos. Drugs were unthinkable.

So when had Helena changed, and why hadn’t Amalie sensed the changes from the occasional letters and phone calls that had tenuously linked them over the years?

Amalie closed the bedroom door behind her and went to check on Davin, who remained transfixed in front of the television.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes not leaving the screen.

An open doorway to the left gave access to a small galley kitchen. She was relieved to see the counters and stovetop were clean. Beside the fridge, though, stacks of empty beer and wine bottles brought back Mrs. Eitelbach’s admonishment: “No parties. No loud music.”

After toeing a case of Kootenay Mountain Ale out of the way first, Amalie opened the fridge, then checked the cupboards. Not much to choose from, except boxes of macaroni and cheese.

Amalie smiled. She’d forgotten how Helena had loved these. Just like Davin.

She pulled out a package, then put water on to boil. There was milk in the fridge, but it had gone bad. She would have to mix the dried cheese sauce with water and a little margarine. First thing tomorrow she’d go shopping.

Amalie set the table, picturing yet more dollars flying out from her savings account. This trip was going to cost her much more than she’d expected, putting her goal of owning a house even further into the future.

And yet she couldn’t regret having come. Despite all the disturbing reports she was getting about her sister. Or maybe because of them.

THE NEXT DAY Amalie cleaned the apartment and stocked the cupboards and refrigerator with enough food to last a couple of weeks. She stopped at the local hardware store to pick up a few items, including a foam mattress for Davin’s sleeping bag.