Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Geraldine shifted, her mouth coming open as she began to snore like a water buffalo.
Jayna straightened the blazer she wore and strode out.
It was time to let Quaid Havery know he wasn’t the only game in town anymore.
* * *
• • •
“He’s not telling you the truth,” Gwen Mallory-Giles insisted. “My mom wanted me to have them.”
Stephen Mallory shook a finger his sister’s way. “She wanted me to have them. You ignore them. You don’t pay a bit of attention to them and you never did.”
There were days when Quaid Havery wished his father had been a doctor. A surgeon, perhaps, the kind who spent five minutes talking to a patient and then another two explaining how the surgery went. The rest of the time would be spent in blissful silence.
If his father had been a surgeon, Quaid would have dutifully followed in his footsteps and then he wouldn’t be listening to a couple of ornery septuagenarians arguing over a collection of antique dolls.
Unfortunately, he was a lawyer, and he’d been the one to write the last will and testament of one Imogene Louisa Mallory, who had been very specific about every aspect of her estate with one exception.
Some really creepy dolls. There were four of them, and until he managed to negotiate a truce between the siblings, the dolls lived in his office and probably attracted the absolute worst karma because they were obviously cursed.
“Have we considered splitting up the dolls? There are four of them. You could each have two,” Quaid offered.
Both siblings gasped as though he’d offered to murder them and post the video online.
“You can’t separate them,” Gwen sputtered. “How could you even suggest such a thing? What is wrong with you, Quaid Havery? Your daddy would never have thought to do something so heartless.”
This was why his daddy had taught him to keep a bottle of Scotch in his desk. “I would never want to be heartless. I can, however, be very ignorant. Why exactly can’t we split up the dolls?”
“They are a set,” Stephen insisted. “What you are looking at is a perfectly kept set of Loveland Dolls created in the early twentieth century and painstakingly handcrafted by Idella Loveland. She is considered a master.”
Of the dark arts, perhaps. He would believe that. He wanted to ask if Idella had maybe channeled any evil deeds she’d done into those dolls, but he knew better than to ask about the religious practices of his clientele. That tended to open doors he didn’t want to walk through.
“Momma always told us you can’t separate them. They would be lonely,” Gwen insisted. “Carmen keeps everyone’s spirits up while Justine is the pragmatic one. Shelby, well, they couldn’t get on without Shelby.”
“And Laurelin is the heart of the sisters,” Stephen said with a smile. “She’s the one who got them all through the war, you know.”
Gwen turned to her brother, a fond smile on her face. “Oh, I remember that. Momma used to tell us the best stories about the sisters.”
Stephen dabbed at his eyes. “When our daddy was deployed, we would be scared sometimes at night, but Momma would tell us stories about the dolls and how they would watch over us.”
Quaid wouldn’t be able to sleep if those damn dolls were in the room with him, but he had to be tolerant. They obviously meant a lot to the siblings.
Gwen had married but was now widowed. Stephen had never married. Neither had children.
What they had were those dolls.
“Have you considered what you’re going to do with the house?” A plan was playing around in his head. The siblings had argued over their mother for years before her death, with Gwen insisting that Stephen wasn’t taking good enough care of her. Gwen hadn’t lived in the house with her mother. The majority of their mother’s care had been provided by her brother.
Was Gwen too proud to ask for what she wanted?
Stephen frowned. “Well, it’s my home. I wasn’t going to do anything with it.”
“It’s half mine,” Gwen pointed out. “Momma left me half of everything, including the house. How are you planning on giving me half the house, Stephen? Have you thought about that at all?”
“You want me to sell it?” Stephen had gone pale at the thought. “We grew up in that home. I’ve lived in it all my life. I can’t sell it and go live in some apartment. What would I do with the cats? I don’t think those sad apartments will accept ten cats. Mittens is eighteen years old. She can’t handle a shelter. You are killing Mittens, you mean old crone.”
Gwen’s eyes went wide. “How dare you.”
He needed to shut this down and fast. “What if Gwen moved home to help you with the cats? I imagine Mittens requires a lot of care.”
Stephen seemed taken aback at the suggestion. “Well, yes. Yes, she does. She’s on seven separate medications and needs a special diet. I have to make sure the others don’t get in her food. They can be a jealous lot, you know.”