Three Sisters (7 page)

As so often happened, Cassandra’s psychic dart had hit the bull’s-eye.

The German shepherds did not return home. Nor would they ever. Never again would the energetic canines romp exuberantly on the lawn, chase a Frisbee thrown by Beatrice, or—for that matter—pursue an unseen creature into the forest on Spencer Mountain. Though she had been fond of her pets, Bea accepted the loss as one of those unfortunate events that are bound to happen from time to time, and comforted herself with the observation that having dogs around the house was not all wine and roses. Animals could be such a bother. No sentimentalists, these Spencer women. Like Daddy, they were made of tough stuff. But was it the
right
stuff?

A few days after the meeting in the DA’s office, the sisters marched into the Sugar Bowl Restaurant, nodded curtly at a middle-aged waitress whose feet ached from too many years on concrete floors; knotty varicose veins traced circuitous backcountry road maps on her parchment-pale legs. In hope of a generous tip, Mandy smiled through the pain and led the wealthy women to a booth that was partially concealed behind a walnut-paneled partition.

They waved away the proffered menus.

“Sun tea,” said Beatrice with a flippant cheerfulness. “Lightly iced, with a slice of lemon.”

Cassandra ordered a carafe of New Mexico Piñon coffee. “Freshly ground beans, if you please.”

The weary waitress yes-ma’amed her customers, turned her back, allowed the smile to fall away.

Beatrice and Cassandra exchanged a few bright comments about the new spring outfits at Felicia’s Fashions on Main Street. When Mandy had delivered the beverages and departed, Beatrice looked past her sister. “Well, guess who has surfaced.”

Behind her, Cassandra heard footsteps on the tile floor. “Is it
him
?”

The older sister smiled. “Good morning, Andy.”

Andrew Turner approached the booth, gazed at the attractive women. “Morning, Bea. Cassie.” The melancholy expression added just the right touch of gravitas to his boyish features. “I came in for some coffee.”

“You may share mine.” Cassandra patted the seat beside her hip. “Please sit with us.”

“Well…I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” Uncertainty clouded his brow. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Beatrice was tempted to wink at her sister, who’d had a crush on Turner since he’d hit town two years ago and bought the ailing Granite Creek Electronics and Computers.

“Very well, then.” Turner slid into the booth. Beside Beatrice.

Cassandra’s mouth went thin. Hard.

Oblivious to the tension, Turner released a mere spark of the dynamite smile—that dazzling flash of charm that had disarmed so many of their tender gender. “How are you two getting along? Under the grim circumstances, I mean.”

Beatrice put on a brave face. “We are managing.” She arched an elegant eyebrow. “And yourself?”

“The days are barely tolerable.” A manly set of the jaw, a shrug. “It’s at night when I…” His voice cracked, choked to a stop.

Bea reached around his shoulders, gave him a hug. Also a little peck on the cheek.

The best Cassandra could do was reach across the table and pat his hand. Hardly an effective follow-up to a kiss, the affectionate gesture went unnoticed. The dark-haired beauty felt cheated by her sister. If only the psychic could have foreseen the treachery that was just around the corner….

Having lost interest in coffee, Turner waved away the approaching waitress, said to the sisters, “There’s something I must talk to you ladies about.”

The sisters waited.

He tap-tapped a finger on the table as if transmitting Morse code, decided on a preamble: “As you can well imagine, this has been a terribly traumatic time for me. I find it difficult to concentrate on practical matters, which nevertheless must be attended to.”

The golden-haired sister took his hand in hers. This affectionate gesture was definitely noticed. Andrew returned Bea’s little squeeze.

The star of
Cassandra Sees
displayed a brittle smile. Unseen, under the table, the psychic bent a spoon into the shape of a horseshoe. No. Not by
that
means. With her hand.

Had her jealous sister vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, Beatrice might not have noticed. “It has been terrible for us all, Andy—but you and Astrid were practically newlyweds.” As they disengaged hands, she added quickly, “I do hope you’re not thinking of hiring a manager for your store and going away on some long trip. Cassie and I would miss you so.”

Relieved at having his revelation made easier, Turner smiled across the table at Cassandra. “It would appear that you are not the only mind reader in the Spencer family.”

The psychic blushed to her toes. Vainly attempted to straighten the unseen spoon.

Evidently weary of telegraphy, he drummed all four fingers on the table. “I’m thinking about putting my business up for sale.” Granite Creek Electronics and Computers would bring a pretty price. “And travel is definitely in the picture.”

There were quite audible gasps from the sisters.

Beatrice frowned. “But where will you go—and how long will you be away?”

“As to the first part, I’ve not quite made up my mind. But I’m thinking about France. Toulon, perhaps. And Nice. Then off to Italy. I’ve always wanted to visit Rome. And Naples. As to the ‘how long’…” The fingers kept on drumming. Like a spirited horse running. “I might not return at all.”

Beatrice felt almost faint. “Oh, dear—you can’t really mean that!”

“But I do. With Astrid gone, I don’t have any reason to remain in Granite Creek.” He concentrated his gaze on a heavy glass ashtray. “I’ll be putting the Yellow Pines Ranch up for sale. I thought I ought to tell you ladies immediately—offer you right of first refusal.”

The sisters were struck dumb.

Sensing that this was turning into an awkward situation, Turner promised he would telephone them within a day or two, said a hurried goodbye, got up, and strode away.

“Well,” Cassandra said. And again: “Well.”

“Indeed,” her sister murmured. And after taking thought, she added, “Poor, dear Andrew—he believes he is going to inherit Yellow Pines.”

Cassandra nodded. “Evidently, Astrid neglected to tell him about Daddy’s will. Andrew doesn’t realize that in the event of any of our deaths, our share of the Spencer real estate passes on to the surviving sisters.”

“Cassie, I hate to sound catty—especially under the circumstances. But I would not have put it past Astrid to have
purposely
led Andy to believe that he was marrying into her lion’s share of the Spencer land holdings.” Beatrice added, somewhat acidly, “A woman who has her heart set on a man will stop at nothing.” She bared her teeth, suggesting a shark about to attack. “And I do not exclude myself. Or you.”

Cassandra pretended to be shocked. “Bea, you are really
terrible
.”

The terrible sister took no offense. “Do you know what Andy is lacking?” This was one of those pesky rhetorical questions that Cassie detested. Beatrice clarified: “The poor baby needs a wife.”

Unable to think of a word to say, Cassandra kept her mouth shut.

Neither sister was aware of the fact that their waitress was just on the other side of the panel, wiping a damp cloth on the immaculately clean salad bar. And being a sponge for gossip, Mandy was soaking up every word.

Beatrice continued to provide the desired product: “Andy will be terribly shocked to discover that he is not going to inherit an acre of real estate.” She had an odd glint in her eye. The left one. “Which shall provide us with an unprecedented opportunity.”

Sensing that her sister was about to suggest something outrageous, possibly even dangerous, Cassandra’s asked, “What sort of opportunity?”

Beatrice flashed a beatific smile at her sister. “To add a measure of happiness to our lonely lives.”

“Oh.”
I don’t get it.

She doesn’t get it.
“Cassie—one of us must marry Mr. Turner.”

“Did you say
marry
him?”

“I did.”

“Oh.” Now she got it. But the solution to one problem often raises another thorny conundrum. Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “But whom will it be—me or you?”

“I can think of only one solution.” The calculating sister removed two wooden toothpicks from a glass dispenser. She broke one in half, tossed the unwanted splinter into a potted palm, pinched the remnants between a pair of perfectly manicured digits, and tapped the sharp tips until they were precisely even. She offered her younger sister the choice.

Cassandra stared at the pointy little objects. “What?”

“Think of it as drawing straws.”

Never one for games, the brunette was looking askance. “Straws?”

“It is a simple process. She who draws the short straw loses.” Regretting the necessity for redundancy, Beatrice added, “And the sister holding the long straw wins.” When explaining such matters to Cassie, one must not presume too much. “But as there are no straws readily available, we shall use toothpicks. One whole one, one half.”

Cassandra frowned at the little spikes of wood. “I don’t know.” The psychic sibling felt an odd chill ripple along her spine. “Resorting to a game of chance to see who vamps our poor dead sister’s husband…” She seemed about to cringe. “Under the circumstances, it all seems rather
icky.
”

“Icky?”

“
Triple
-icky.”

“Dear Cassie—I did not realize you had such scruples.”

“It’s not only icky. It’s crazy.” She raised the most serious objection: “And it could be embarrassing. I mean—what if he’s not interested?”

“If you have what men want—and both of us do—they are always interested.”

Cassandra’s face burned. “Oh, Bea, you are absolutely
shameless
!”

Beatrice arched a brow. “My reference was to valuable real estate, with which—in light of Astrid’s untimely demise—we are both rather well endowed.” She effected a coquettish pose. “And as to physical attraction, I daresay neither of us resembles a mud fence.”

Cassandra stared at her sister.
You were always the prettiest.

“But if you are suffering an attack of conscience, you may leave the snaring of Andy Turner entirely to me.” Beatrice, a natural actress, raised her chin in an impudent gesture. “I’ll show you how easy it is to trap yourself a man.”

“Perhaps that is just what I should do. Leave him to you, I mean.” To demonstrate her contempt for Sister’s brazen plan, Cassandra tossed her raven mane. Came very close to snorting. But she could not tear her gaze from the toothpick ends that protruded between Bea’s finger and thumb.

As she had during all their years of growing up together, Beatrice waited for the inevitable. She had not the least doubt that Cassie would reach out and select the toothpick that would seal her fate.

Which she did.

Beatrice threw back her head, laughed. Games are such great fun. Especially when you win.

Mandy was distressed to be called away from her eavesdropping to attend to a famished couple at table 5 who desired to see a menu.

Cassandra stared at the offending splinter.
Bea was always the lucky one. Dammit—dammit—dammit!
She dropped her puny little half toothpick into the ashtray, announced, “I’m
glad
that I got the short one.”