The narrow split-level home had probably once been charming. Now, the white wood was rotting and crumbling at an alarming rate. Portions of the roof hung in jagged edges over the front porch, like a medieval defense system against intruders. What had probably once been a comfortable covered porch that had held a few rocking chairs, now was a death trap waiting to ensnare its next victim, from the rotted steps leading to the porch to the chipped and peeling railing. The blue shutters on either side of the front door hung lopsided as if someone had tried to pull them off, but had grown tired before finishing. Charlie hadn’t been inside—and she wished she could keep it that way—but she had a feeling that it would be even worse.
Kendra had disappeared inside the house ten minutes before, and neither Charlie or Quinn had heard anything from her since.
Charlie glanced around the quiet stillness of the country. Cloudless blue skies, free of the smog and towering skyscrapers of Los Angeles, and rolling green hills greeted her. Across the dirt road from the house was a line of imposing redwoods that were so dense that Charlie couldn’t see past the first few rows. There was not another house or car or any other sign of civilization in sight. All the trees and stillness and fresh air made her uncomfortable.
Charlie returned her attention to her younger sister and forced a smile. Quinn was dramatic by nature. Being an actress on the popular daytime soap, Diamond Valley, didn’t help matters. Nor did the fact that Quinn was gorgeous, with the ability to make men do her bidding with one bright smile. She was tall, thin, as most actresses were, had vanilla skin, hazel eyes and long, silky, sandy-brown hair. Quinn would never be caught without makeup or a pair of stiletto heels.
“It’s not that bad, Quinn,” Charlie lied. “In fact, it’s almost…sort of charming. Quaint.”
“Quaint?” Quinn repeated, her hazel eyes widened with disbelief.
Charlie nodded vigorously and added, “It just needs a little elbow grease and soap.”
“Elbow grease and soap?” Quinn repeated, with the same tone of stunned disbelief. When Charlie smiled, Quinn exploded, hysterically, “The only thing that house needs is a wrecking ball.”
Charlie threw up her hands in surrender then turned back to the trunk. She dropped another suitcase onto the dirt and peered into the dark recesses of the trunk for her bag. Her need for chocolate was reaching a critical level. While Quinn, who stood over five foot nine and weighed probably half as much as the shorter Charlie, literally flinched from chocolate like a vampire confronted with garlic, Charlie needed chocolate the way she needed oxygen. And, of course, it showed on her wide hips and thighs.
Charlie grunted from the weight of another bag then threw it on the ground.
“Careful with that,” Quinn cried, tearing her gaze from the house at the sound of the suitcase hitting the ground. She wobbled on four-inch designer stiletto heels towards the suitcase. “I have shoes in there.”
“You have a whole suitcase devoted to shoes?”
“Of course. Don’t you?” Quinn asked, blankly.
Not for the first time, Charlie wondered how she and Quinn could be related.
“This just can’t be real,” Quinn murmured, shaking her head.
“Shoes don’t break, Quinn—”
“Not the shoes. This house. The will. Us living together again, after all these years. It’s unreal.” She paused for obvious effect then whispered dramatically, “It’s as if Fate, that fickle mistress, is punishing me for my success.”
Charlie knew it wasn’t the reaction Quinn was looking for, but she bit her bottom lip to restrain a burst of laughter. She had watched Quinn whisper that same phrase, with that same expression of overplayed guilt, on Diamond Valley. At the time, Quinn’s character, Sephora, had been wracked with guilt because her husband’s brother had jumped off a bridge after Sephora had ended their affair. Of course, his body had never been found, so there was always a possibility that Sephora was not out of the woods.
Charlie sighed then said, “Grandpa Max is not punishing you, and although I can’t speak for Fate, I also doubt that she’s punishing you.”
Quinn stared at Charlie and asked, in a hoarse voice, “Then why would he sentence me to two weeks in this hellhole?”
“It’s his childhood home, Quinn. He was born and raised in this town. The town is named after him, after us. Maybe Grandpa Max wanted us to see where he came from, what we come from. He didn’t always live in a mansion in Beverly Hills, and maybe he wanted us to know that.”
“Couldn’t he just have said that then?” Quinn protested, nearly screeching. “I, personally, don’t need the up-close-and-personal history lesson.”
The torn screen door opened with a creak that echoed across the yard. Their oldest sister, Kendra, stepped onto the porch. The disgusted expression on her flawlessly made-up face told Charlie everything she needed to know. The inside of the house matched the abandoned and neglected exterior.
The screen door flapped closed behind Kendra and promptly one side of the lightweight wire crashed to the floor. Quinn flinched in surprise, while Charlie laughed at Kendra’s expression. She wiped her hands on an immaculately tailored dark skirt and looked over her two younger sisters with the mask of calm disdained boredom that she had perfected in junior high school.
She coolly eyed Quinn then said, “I heard your complaining all the way in the house, Quinn. Feel free to leave at any time. No one will stop you.”
Charlie groaned and raked both hands through her chin-length hair. It seemed to have doubled in size from the heat and stress of the past few hours since the sisters had left Los Angeles and driven four hours into California’s heartland to Sibleyville, population fifteen thousand. Quinn and Kendra had been at each other’s throats for the entire four-hour drive. Actually, Quinn and Kendra had been at each other’s throats since birth.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Quinn shot back, with narrowed eyes. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder in a move worthy of Sephora and said, “Of course, if I left then you wouldn’t get any of the money. Remember that part of Grandpa’s will, Kendra, the part where the three of us have to remain in this house together for two weeks or else all three of us lose our inheritance. Do you still want me to leave?”
Charlie pleaded, “You guys, come on. It’s been a long day—”
“Why did you even agree to this, Quinn?” Kendra demanded, ignoring Charlie’s plea for peace. “You’re a big actress, if one could consider what you do acting—”
“You’re just jealous,” Quinn shot back. “You’ve always been jealous.”
“Of what?” Kendra asked, with an amused laugh.
Kendra’s smile would have been gorgeous if Charlie had thought for one second that she was sincere. Kendra was a few inches shorter than Quinn, but still taller than most women. Instead of being tall and thin like Quinn, or short and curvy like Charlie, Kendra was like a gazelle: lean muscles, athletic grace and awesome power. She was mocha-chocolate, with bone-straight midnight-black hair that she wore in a straight bob to her shoulders. Her razor-sharp bangs would never dream of not hanging how Kendra wanted them to.
“That I have a life. Friends. Lovers. People
