The Secret Sister. Brenda Novak

a beautiful outfit,” her mother said.

      Maisey was tempted to indulge in the same game her mother did by saying, “What, this old thing?” But knowing Josephine would easily figure out that she was the brunt of that joke, Maisey overrode the impulse. “I’m glad you like it.”

      “Keith’s been so excited about your arrival. How was the trip?”

      They hadn’t seen each other for ten years, and yet it was Keith who was excited? Keith had visited her several times in New York. He’d last seen her at Ellie’s funeral. Fortunately, he’d also come earlier, when she was born, or no one in Maisey’s family would ever have met her baby.

      But Josephine could never admit to needing or missing anyone who’d dared to question or criticize her. Or maybe she really hadn’t missed Maisey... “Not too bad. Still, I’m glad it’s over.”

      Josephine scooped up her little dog. “This is Athena.”

      “She’s darling.”

      Cuddling her dog, Josephine stepped to one side and peered into the entry. “Where’s your luggage?”

      Maisey hadn’t wanted to break the news that she’d be staying elsewhere so soon. But now that the question had been posed, she had no choice except to answer it. “I, um, stowed it over at Smuggler’s Cove.”

      Her mother’s eyes flashed with an emotion she quickly suppressed, and she put her dog down again. “Why would you leave it there?”

      “I’ve decided to move into one of the bungalows. I like the idea of being so close to the beach.” She mustered a smile as if she couldn’t feel the torrent of her mother’s displeasure. “It reminds me of Dad.”

      The mention of her father didn’t distract Josephine for a second. “But the bungalows aren’t ready for occupancy.”

      “Unit 6 isn’t so bad,” Keith said, obviously trying to smooth the way.

      “And I can manage until your contractor gets around to the rehab,” Maisey added.

      There was a protracted silence. As a child, Maisey would’ve caved in and said something to relieve the tension, something like, “But I’ll stay here, if you’d rather.” She’d always been a pleaser. Even as an adult, it required determination not to succumb to her mother’s powerful will.

      “You’d rather move into a damaged shack than return to Coldiron House?” her mother asked.

      “I’d hardly call the bungalows shacks, Mother,” she said, choosing to skirt the real issue. “They’re structurally sound and will be quite cozy once they’re restored. In all honesty, I’d like to assist with the restoration if I can. I enjoy do-it-yourself projects.”

      “Since when?” Josephine demanded.

      “Since I married Jack,” she replied coolly.

      There was a slight pause. “Yes, Jack brought out a lot of things in you I didn’t know existed.”

      Maisey almost reacted to her sarcasm by saying, “You mean like a backbone?” But her mother was still talking. And, determined to maintain the peace, Maisey stifled that rejoinder.

      “You’re no contractor,” Josephine was saying. “And I’m already paying Raphael Romero. Why would you get involved?”

      “Because I think I’d find it...therapeutic.”

      Her mother waved her words away. “Therapeutic how?”

      Was she serious? “It’ll give me something to concentrate on to get my mind off...the recent changes in my life.”

      “Surely you have better things to do,” her mother said. “Why impinge on your writing time?”

      Now wasn’t the ideal moment—if there could ever be an ideal moment—to tell Josephine that she hadn’t been able to produce more than a few words, which she’d edited right off the page. She hadn’t been able to draw, either. Not for months. “I’m sure I can fit everything in.” These days she had nothing but time.

      “At least you get paid for writing. You’ll get nothing in exchange for working on the bungalows.”

      “I’m not expecting anything.”

      Josephine’s chin went up as she sank back into her seat. “Except free rent.”

      She just had to make Maisey acknowledge the financial help she’d be receiving. Her mother had inherited a fortune from her father, who’d inherited it from his father. Yet she acted as though she’d earned every penny. “I’m willing to pay rent,” Maisey said. “How much would you like to charge me?”

      Josephine grimaced. “Stop.”

      “You’re the one who mentioned it.”

      “It doesn’t make any sense to go there when you could stay here for free. That’s all.”

      “How could my moving into the damaged bungalows cost you any more than having me move here? They’re empty, aren’t they?” Maisey regarded her mother expectantly. Putting Josephine in a position where she’d have to state her objection in order to get her way was the only effective tool Maisey possessed.

      “If that’s what you want, it’s of no consequence to me,” she said, right on cue.

      After a quick glance at Keith, who was standing by the hearth, Maisey sat down and pretended to take Josephine’s words at face value. But she was more convinced than ever that staying at Smuggler’s Cove, even with Rafe Romero living next door, might just save her sanity.

      There was a slight clatter in the doorway, and a girl in her late teens carried in a tray of small sandwiches, deviled eggs, cookies and tea.

      “Thank you, Clarissa.” Josephine slid forward to pour.

      Maisey waited until Clarissa had left to question the girl’s identity. “I see you have someone new on staff.”

      “Clarissa is Pippa’s niece. She’s helping out until Pippa’s well enough to resume her duties.”

      Maisey shot Keith another look. If Pippa was sick, why hadn’t he told her in the car? Pippa, her mother’s most recent housekeeper, had started the year Maisey left, so they didn’t know each other well. They had, however, communicated now and then over the past decade—usually when Pippa sent out invitations to Josephine’s annual Christmas party and Maisey replied with a note expressing her “regret” at being unable to attend. Pippa would invariably follow up with a Christmas card and an interesting summary of all that’d happened on Fairham that year. Although Pippa never revealed anything Josephine wouldn’t want her to, Maisey had always considered that update a kind gesture. Pippa had even sent a gift when Ellie was born. “She’s ill?”

      “Not seriously,” Josephine replied. “She has a bronchial infection, so, for the past week, Clarissa’s been filling in.” She put down the teapot. “I might keep the girl on. There are times Pippa could use the extra help.”

      “I’m sure Clarissa would be grateful for the work.” Because there was so much that stood between them, and Maisey had lost faith that they’d ever be able to breach the gap, she felt it was better to discuss the daily running of the estate than anything personal.

      “She should be. She has no other prospects,” Josephine said.

      Maisey twisted around to make sure Clarissa wasn’t in the hall, but her mother didn’t seem to care whether she heard or not. In the rare moments when Josephine chose to be honest, she could be brutally so.

      “Tea?” Her mother gestured at the tray.

      As Maisey picked up her cup and saucer, Keith walked over and popped two cucumber sandwiches into his mouth, one right after the other.

      “At least put your food on a plate!” Josephine