Rosalind and Portia stood in the threshold of their father's closet, staring in.
Her sister shook her head. "I don't want to do this, Rosalind."
"We have to clear out his things. You don't want Mum to do it, do you?"
"No," Portia admitted reluctantly. "Mother will most likely create a bonfire on South Street with his belongings."
And no one would blame her.
"I don't like this closet," she declared.
Portia glanced at her. "That's strange, since you have a penchant for them. You were always hiding in Mother's closet when we were children."
"Mum's closet is orderly."
"Father's closet is orderly, too."
To the point of being irritating. She took a blue dress shirt and stuck it right in the middle of all the white ones. "That's better."
Portia put it back in its original place. "I don't think we should do this now."
Ignoring her sister, she pulled out a drawer. "Where are those boxes Fran said she put in here?"
"He only just died," Portia said, pushing the drawer closed and standing in front of it. "It's too soon."
"I know it seems like it's too soon, but it won't make any difference whether we do this now or next week." She put a hand on her sister's shoulder. "It's going to be difficult regardless of the day, Portia. But his memory will always be with you."
Portia shook her head. "Obviously I care about him more than any of the rest of you. You're all so willing to erase his memory, but I'm not going to let you."
"He doesn't deserve your loyalty and goodness."
"Yes, he did. He was the best."
Rosalind stared at her sister. "Are we both talking about the man who died with his mistress next to him?"
"Of course he had a mistress," Portia retorted. "If you had to live with Mother, you'd get a mistress, too."
Her eyes narrowed as her temper rose. "Did you ever think Mum's the way she is because Father was such a bastard?"
"Don't talk about him that way." Portia opened the drawer and threw a rolled up pair of argyle socks at her.
Arms crossed, Rosalind let it bounce off her chest. "He was a bastard. He never did anything kind for anyone, and for all his belief in Honour and Family he treated all of us with callous disregard. Acting like this isn't going to make him come back, or make him love you."
"You're just awful."
She sighed. "I'm sorry, Portia. I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did."
"Okay, I did. But I didn't mean to be cruel. She reached for a handle. "I know this is upsetting you, so just let me get it done. You don't have to be here."
"No." Her sister wrestled to keep it shut. "Leave it."
Rosalind yanked on it, trying to push Portia out of the way. Her sister lost her footing and fell backward onto a shelf of sweaters that came tumbling down. The drawer pulled all the way out, crashing onto the floor.
"Rosalind," Portia cried, struggling to get off the pile of wool and cashmere. "Don't touch anything."
She wasn't, because she could hardly believe her eyes. She tossed the few T-shirts left in the drawer aside and looked at the drawer's depth.
Portia righted herself, tugging her clothing straight. Then she frowned. "What are you doing?"
"It looks like there's a secret compartment. The drawer looks deeper on the outside than it is." She turned it upside down and knocked on it.
Something fell onto her feet.
Setting the drawer aside, she lifted her finds. A leather-bound book that looked like a diary and some loose papers that looked like contracts.
Before she could stop her, Portia snatched the papers and began sifting through them. She gasped, paling, and abruptly sat down. "He sold Suncrest Park."
"What?" Rosalind gently pried the papers out of her sister's hands.
Sure enough, it was the deed of sale for Suncrest Park, their old ancestral house. It'd been in the family for centuries.
Rosalind had never been fond of visiting the enormous, crumbling estate-she was a city girl at heart-but Portia ... She looked at her sister, feeling her heart break at the stricken look in her eyes.
"I don't understand." Portia held on to her pearl necklace. "Why would he sell it? It was part of the family legacy. I wanted to live there. He knew that."
"He probably needed the money."
Portia looked up. "I loved Suncrest Park."
"I'm so sorry, Portia."
Her sister shook her head. Standing up woodenly, she walked out of the closet.
Rosalind started to go after her, but then she glanced down at the book in her hands. It'd fallen open to the last entry. It wasn't a diary-it was a calendar of sorts, and on the day he'd died the scribbled in entry said: Holiday, France, with TW.
"Bastard," she muttered, wondering how many entries like that she'd find.
Some of the entries she couldn't understand. Some of them were mundane, like his weekly appointment to get his hair trimmed.
Then a week before his death, she saw Barrows entered, followed by papers to TW the next day.
TW had to be Tabitha Welles, his mistress. Her mother had said that the week before his death he'd redone his will. Was she drawing conclusions thinking that he'd taken a copy to his mistress?
She pulled out her phone and called Beatrice. As soon as her sister picked up the phone, she said, "I think we have a problem."
"Wait a minute," Bea said. There was rustling in the background. A muffled conversation and a few seconds later, her sister returned to the phone. "Do you know what time it is here, Rosalind?"
"No, actually. But if it's that late, then you can't possibly be busy." The telling silence made her gasp. "Beatrice Summerhill, do you have a man in your hotel room?"
"I refuse to acknowledge anything but the late hour, or early hour, depending on how you look at it. Is Mother all right?"
"I haven't seen much of Mum. She's been gone a lot."
"Where is she going?"
"I don't know."
"You're supposed to keep an eye on her, Rosalind."
She shrugged helplessly. "What am I supposed to do? Follow her?"
"If need be."
"She's our mother, not a jewel thief. I'm not going to spy on her."
"Have you talked to her at all?"
"A little, but she's being remarkably elusive, and I've been busy doing your dirty work"-she knew better than to mention playing with Nick-"which is why I called."
"Have you found it?"
"No, and I'm afraid it might not be here." She gave her sister a quick rundown, ending with, "I think you need to come home."
"I think you're right." There was a masculine rumble in the background. "Rosalind, I need to go."
"Lucky girl."
"You have no idea." She sighed. "Keep everything in line. I'll be on the first flight back."
Good. She hung up, worrying her lip, hoping her father wasn't as much a jerk as she suspected he was, knowing he likely was.
Two nights later, Rosalind sat in the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand when Beatrice breezed in followed by Viola. "I picked her up on the way, but I thought I'd wait to explain it to her until we got here so Portia could hear, too."
Rosalind winced as she poured an additional two glasses of wine. "Portia's been avoiding me. I'm not sure she'll be willing to listen."
"Listen to what?" came a soft response from the doorway.
She glanced up warily. Portia hovered in the doorway. Her eyes and nose were red, a stark contrast against the paleness of her face. But her mouth was set in a resolute line.
"Wine?" Rosalind offered tentatively, as a truce.
"Yes, please." She sat on a stool at the counter. "Listen to what? And shouldn't Imogen and Titania be here?"
"Imogen is still on set and couldn't leave, though she said they were wrapping it up soon. God knows where Titania is." Bea turned to Viola. "Have you heard from her?"
Vi sipped her wine as she pulled up another seat. "I haven't, not since before Father died. Do you think she knows?"
Bea grimaced. "I left her a message to call me, but she hasn't."
They all exchanged worried glances.
"Is it normal for her to disappear like this?" Rosalind asked.
All of them replied with a resounding, "Yes."
"She marches to her own beat." Beatrice smiled before becoming all business again. "The copy of Father's will is missing, and I asked Rosalind to look for it in my absence."
"I haven't found it, and I've been over every logical inch of this house," Rosalind interjected.
Portia gasped. "That's why you've been so intent on going through his things. Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped."
"We were afraid he left everything to his mistress," Rosalind said. She didn't think she needed to say that they didn't think they could trust her.
Portia gasped. "He wouldn't." She glanced at Bea. "Would he?"
"That's what we're trying to determine." Bea leaned against the counter. "If someone else finds the will before we do, Mother could be in big trouble."
"How is that?" Viola asked, stretching out her glass for a refill.
"Father's lawyer hinted that the will had been changed, with a new beneficiary, and if he sold the ancestral home, nothing is sacred."
Rosalind glanced at Portia, who took Viola's glass and had a large swig before handing it back.
Viola shook her head. "Could he have been that bitter against Mother that he gave it all away?"
"And against us, too," Portia chimed in softly.
"Barrows thinks so," Bea said.
Rosalind pushed her glass to Portia, who accepted it with a small smile.
"Shouldn't Mother be here, too?" Vi asked.
Bea nodded. "I considered that, but not in light of the journal Rosalind found."
When they all looked at her, she said, "I found a note on his calendar that's leading me to believe he hid the will at her house."
She didn't have to explain who "her" was. They were all quiet, processing that thought. Bea finally broke the silence, saying, "The only thing is I can't see him trusting a woman with anything."
"And yet you think he's trusting her with the bulk of his inheritance," Viola pointed out.
"Bloody hell, you're right." Bea began to pace, cursing their father with a few choice words that made Portia wince.
"There's only one thing to do," Viola said calmly when Bea stopped her tirade. "We need to break into her house."
Rosalind gaped at her sister. She expected Bea and Portia to point out the insanity of the suggestion, but Bea just looked introspective and Portia said, "Count me in."
"Wait a minute," Rosalind said, holding her hand out. "We can't break into a dead person's house."
"Why not?" Portia asked. "She won't care."
"But she has two children who might." She shook her head. "What if there's someone living there? What if her children are staying there?"
"I'll have it checked out," Bea said, pulling out her phone and tapping into it.
"No, you-"
"Rosalind"-Bea glanced up-"do I need to remind you that Mother's future is at stake here. Where is she going to live if she has no money?"
"Where am I going to live?" Portia said absently, as if the thought suddenly occurred to her.
Viola put an arm around her shoulder. "You're always welcome to stay with us."
"That's because you want an in-house babysitter for your daughter." But Portia leaned into the hug and laid her head on Vi's shoulder.
Rosalind shook her head. "I can't believe you guys are considering breaking into someone's home."
"We're not considering it." Bea flashed a wolfish grin, sticking her hand out in the middle. "We're doing it."
Viola and Portia immediately put their hands in, and then they all looked at her, waiting.
She heaved a sigh. What the hell-Nick would bail her out if she got arrested. Hopefully.