Her Sister's Keeper

“You really shouldn’t drive,” Dr. Mattson was saying. “Look, I’d be happy to drop you off at a friend’s house….”

Melanie was taken aback by his unexpected offer. “Thank you, Dr. Mattson. I’d appreciate that. And, if it’s not too much trouble…my car is still at the Beverly.”

“Not to worry,” Kent said. “I’ll arrange for an officer to deliver it to your house, just give the desk sergeant over there the address and your car keys.” He held up his hand as she began thanking him again. “It’s the least I can do, after all you’ve been through today. I’ll go round up an unmarked car, and you just point me in the right direction.”

BLACKSTONE WAS NEARLY an hour’s drive from the station house, not because it was all that far as the crow flies, but because the Santa Monica Freeway was choked with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Melanie was content to leave the driving to Dr. Mattson. Twenty minutes into the trip, as she gazed out the passenger window in a blank haze of exhaustion, he said, grinning, “Are we there yet?”

She cast him an apologetic look. “It’s not much farther. I’m sorry, Dr. Mattson. I should have taken a cab. You’ve had a long day, too.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugged. “This is actually a pretty drive. Living so near the ocean you’d think I’d see it more often. Fact is, I hardly ever lay eyes on the Pacific, except when I’m flying to the ranch.”

“You’re lucky to have a place where you can get away from it all.”

“I couldn’t survive without it,” he said. “Especially with this job. There are days when it’s hard to find the good side of anything, kind of like today. But then I think about Chimeya at sunrise, when the sun rounds out of the east, the sky lights up from inside itself and the mountains glow like fire…. There’s nothing else like it, and no place better for centering the soul.”

Melanie felt the tension in the pit of her stomach ease as she listened to Kent. “It sounds lovely,” she said. “Are you really going back there tonight, with all that’s gone on today?”

“I do my best thinking there, and there’s no commuter traffic. Just a fast taxi and a straight one- hour shot to heaven.”

Melanie studied his profile as he spoke. She wanted to ask him if he was married, but didn’t know how to phrase the question without sounding nosy. How could he not have a partner in his life? He was damn near perfect. In fact, she was still searching for some annoying fault, some irritating quality that would reaffirm her belief that she was far better off without a man in her life. He had to have at least one or two bad habits, aside from drinking too much coffee.

“You told us that your sister had a lot of male friends,” he said, glancing at her, “and that you hadn’t spoken to her in six months, but maybe you could tell me a bit more about who the father of her baby was? Who knows? It might give us some clues to help us find her.”

His tone was casual, but Melanie felt the anxious knot form in her stomach again, even as a voice within whispered, Tell him. Tell him everything.

She wanted to. She sensed that Dr. Mattson knew she was withholding information. His long silences had been filled with the loudest unspoken questions that Melanie had ever endured. She bit her lower lip and stared out at the thinning blur of traffic as they sped away from the city. The irony of this situation was not lost on her. What she couldn’t, wouldn’t, talk about in Dr. Mattson’s office was no longer her secret to keep. Not as long as Ariel and the baby were missing. She drew a painful breath and released it slowly.

“The father was Mitch Carson, and he was my fiancé.”

AS KENT DROVE DOWN Blackstone’s private drive, access to which had been ensured by Melanie’s obvious acquaintance with the security guard stationed at the gatehouse, he was struck by how isolated and unique this property was. He liked the way the natural beauty of the place had been allowed to flourish, an unusual sight amidst this obsessive modern culture of manicuring every blade of grass.

He also liked the way Melanie had begun to open up to him, talking about her fiancé, her sister and her wedding day. It hadn’t been easy for her to broach the subject, but once she started, the words came faster and faster, tumbling out in a rush to release all the pent-up emotions of the past six months. When she had finished, she slumped back in her seat with a dazed look, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d finally confronted the demons of her past. For the last five minutes she’d been silent, gazing out the window. Kent was glad for the break in conversation. It gave him a few moments to process her revelations and how they may or may not be connected to the day’s events.

“That’s the guest cottage,” Melanie said, rousing as he rounded a curve and a simple gabled dwelling tucked in a grove of eucalyptus trees came into view. “The mansion’s on top of the ledges, another quarter of a mile beyond here.” She sat up straighter. “Look, the door’s open. Maybe Victor’s inside. If you’ll stop here, Dr. Mattson, I’ll go check.”

Kent parked the unmarked police car and followed her to the cottage. The spicy sweet scent of the rose bushes lining the brick path mingled with the salty Pacific air. Grapevines adorned both sides of the arbored entry and a purple wisteria twined against the shingled outer walls. Six o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun’s rays were strong and golden, spilling into this small Tudor-style cottage as Melanie pushed the door completely open.

“Victor?” she called out as she entered. “Vic?”

Kent stepped over the threshold and into the dim coolness that smelled faintly of cedar paneling, leather and wood smoke. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the lower light level, then followed Melanie into the living room, which was dominated by a beautiful fieldstone fireplace, the old andirons still cradling several half-burned logs. Built-in bookshelves lined both sides of the fireplace, and comfortable leather furnishings and a braided rug complemented the restful feel of the cozy space.

“We used to live here, Ariel and I,” Melanie murmured, looking around.

“For how long?”

“Three years.” Melanie walked to the bookshelves and scanned the titles. “Victor offered it to me a few months after I began working for him. He knew I was struggling to raise my sister and having a hard time making ends meet on a gofer’s pay. We lived here until Ariel landed her first big movie role and Victor’s wife had a few too many glasses of sherry and came here to tell us she thought it was high time we moved on.” Melanie glanced at him with a wry smile. “I never told Victor that the reason we left was because his wife was jealous of Ariel. At the time I thought that was ludicrous. Ariel was only nineteen. She was still just a baby…or so I thought.”

Kent followed Melanie up the narrow stairs, where four doors opened onto the landing. The first room Melanie looked in was big, with a queen-size antique sleigh bed and two dormer windows framing an ocean view over the treetops. “This used to be my room,” she said. “At night, with the windows open, I could hear the waves pounding against the Blackstone ledges.”

The bedroom was simply furnished and uncluttered. There was one framed picture atop the bureau, which Melanie studied for a few silent moments before turning away abruptly. Kent glanced at the photograph, a high quality black and white of a lean, athletic man on a Harley wearing an arrogant grin, leather pants and a dark T-shirt. Arms like Sylvester Stallone’s and features reminiscent of a young and virile Marlon Brando.

Melanie drifted out of the room and into the corridor. Kent followed as she passed a second door that opened onto a tiny bath. He glanced inside. Old-fashioned porcelain sink with brass bistro fixtures, small claw-foot tub, vintage pull-chain toilet. Everything clean and neat as a pin. A third door opened onto a smaller bedroom. “This was Ariel’s room,” Melanie said, stepping inside and looking around. “The wisteria vine growing against the cottage was so thick and strong that she’d climb down it like a monkey and spend the night raising hell with her friends. Ariel hated school, and couldn’t have cared less about her grades. It’s a wonder they graduated her.”

Melanie paused outside the fourth door off the landing. “This used to be what we called the study, but Ariel never used it for studying.” She was still smiling as she swung the door inward. She gasped and froze, hand still on the doorknob. Kent glanced over her shoulder and saw a charming nursery, painted in pale pastels, complete with a crib, baby toys and a changing table. A tiny writing desk set beneath the window and a day bed completed the furnishings. “Stephanie must have been wrong. Ariel did come back,” she said, gazing around the small space. “I knew she’d been trying to work things out with Mitch before he was killed. She must have hoped he’d move in with her here and help raise the baby.”

“What?” Kent burst out. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you tell Captain Murphy that your sister lived in Beverly Hills?”

“Yes. That’s true. She has an apartment there which she loves, but according to Stephanie, Victor offered the guest cottage to Ariel a few months before the baby was born. Stephanie told me she didn’t take him up on his offer, but she was obviously wrong.”

Kent stared, first at Melanie, then back at the baby things. He had to restrain himself from cursing aloud. “So you’re telling me your missing sister might have been living here?”

Melanie shook her head, puzzled. “It doesn’t really look like they were living here. I mean, there are no personal belongings, just that damn picture of Mitch and a nursery that looks as if it’s never been used. I’m sure Victor would have told me if Ariel had moved in.”

Kent stood beside her, analyzing every detail of the small room. The entire cottage had an empty feel to it, and this room was no exception. Even the desktop was bare, although… Kent spotted the small, cream-colored envelope propped against the base of the table lamp at the same time as Melanie did and they crossed the room together. On the face of the envelope, in a childlike scrawl, a name had been written and underlined twice.

Mel

Kent heard Melanie’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Ari,” she said as she reached to retrieve the message.

“Wait,” he said, staying her hand with his own. “You shouldn’t touch it. It’s evidence….” Her hand was ice-cold in his, and as she lifted her pleading eyes, he felt his resolve begin to crumble. After a few moments he sighed and reached into his jeans pocket for the fresh pair of latex gloves he’d grabbed earlier at the Beverly Hills Regency. “All right,” he said. “I’ll open the letter and lay it on the desk for you to read, but you can’t touch it. Understand?”

She nodded.

The envelope wasn’t sealed, which made things easier for Kent. He withdrew the folded sheet of matching stationery, acutely aware that Melanie was clinging to the edge of the desk and her face was even paler than it had been before. He hesitated, caught between knowing what was right and what his heart was telling him to do. Not only did he stand to lose his badge twice over for doing this, but Melanie was probably going to faint on him again.

And yet, she deserved to read the note. Hell, if it was his sister that was missing under suspicious circumstances and his best friend that T. Ray was examining probably at this very moment in the hospital morgue, wouldn’t he want to study the note before the investigators arrived and took it to the crime lab? Damn straight he would, no matter what it said, good or bad. And so Kent carefully unfolded the piece of stationery and laid it flat on the desktop.

Dear Mel, I’ve messed up everything so bad…

The words seemed to float up from the pages to her eyes. As she read, the unmistakable delicate scent of CK One, Ariel’s favorite perfume, wafted up from the paper. Melanie swallowed hard, blinked a tear from her eye and prayed that the letter would hint at Ariel’s whereabouts, and reassure her in some way that her sister was all right.

I’ve ruined my life and, worst of all, I’ve de¬ stroyed the lives of the people I love most. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me. I don’t even blame you for hating me. After what happened with Mitch, I guess it’s what I deserve. But, I have to tell you—beg you to understand— I never, ever meant to hurt you. What I did was selfish and stupid, I know, but when I first met Mitch it was love at first sight, or at least that’s what I thought. You must be able to understand that.

Melanie certainly could. It was the same effect Mitch had had on her when Victor had introduced them on the location of Hammerhead Row. The movie was full of explosions, fights, high-speed car chases and numerous other risky stunts, and Mitch had been the body double for the lead actor.

Melanie remembered the almost electrical charge she had felt when she and Mitch met. Hammerhead Row had been shot almost entirely on location in San Francisco, and that required Melanie’s constant presence. The initial mutual attraction between them had led to lunches, which soon evolved into dinner dates at various city hot spots. By the time the movie was into its third week of production they were sleeping together. In fact, Melanie could still blush recalling those first passionate encounters in Mitch’s trailer. By the time the film wrapped they were living together and by the premiere, they were engaged. And all that time, Mitch was playing both Melanie and Ariel.

Melanie forced the memories out of her mind and turned her attention back to the letter.

I don’t expect your forgiveness, but maybe one day you will want to meet your new niece. She’s so beautiful, and I hope she takes after you. Strong, smart, brave and dependable. All the things I’m not. All the things I admired so much about you. All the things I lost. And please try to forgive Mitch. I think, no, I believe, he realized how much he had hurt both of us. He wasn’t a bad man. He was just caught up in the Hollywood scene and he let it go to his head. He really wanted it to work between us and to support this baby. I regret she will never know her father.

Mel, I love you. If nothing else, please believe that. I would like to tell you that in person, and maybe someday in the future I can. We’re going away for a few weeks but maybe when I get back we can come visit you. Motherhood is going to be the toughest part I’ve ever played. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to be lonely, but I can do it. I have you for a role model, after all. You’re so strong, and I’ve been so weak, but that’s going to change, I promise you that. And I ask you to promise me one thing. No matter how you feel about me, if anything ever happens to me, please, I beg you, take care of my little girl.

So, for now this is goodbye. When we get back, I’ll call you. I can only hope it is a call you will take.

All my love,

Ari.