The Magnolia Sisters Page 2

  “The terms of the will are clear,” Damon interrupted. “Meredith, you inherit the Reed family home. Avery, the gallery and other commercial space he owned downtown. The ranch belongs to Carrie now.”

  Meredith narrowed her eyes. “Like hell it does.”

  “Sit down,” Damon told the fiery brunette.

  “You don’t tell me what to do.” Meredith’s voice cracked on the last word, and she swallowed hard. “I’m out of here. Niall didn’t care about me when he was alive. Why should I care about his wishes now that he’s gone?”

  Before anyone could stop her, Meredith fled the room. The door to the office banged against the wall in her wake.

  Damon looked toward Carrie, sympathy and compassion filling his tired gaze. “It’s worse than we thought. He owed a lot of money to a lot of people, Carrie.”

  She gave a shaky nod. “I’ll deal with it,” she promised. “Give me some time.” She rose from her chair and turned to Avery. “I have an appointment right now but will be at the gallery after one. Come by and we’ll talk about...next steps.”

  Then she left, as well. Avery wanted to follow but felt rooted in place. A man she didn’t know—her father—had left her his art gallery along with some overmortgaged real estate. She’d never even seen one of his paintings in person. She had two half sisters, who seemed to hate each other in equal measure to their ambivalence toward her. Just when she thought life couldn’t get worse, it did.

  “We can talk in more detail about the assets and debts Niall left behind when you’ve had time to process everything,” the attorney said, the words a clear dismissal.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought I’d be here for a day at the most.”

  He chuckled. “Niall didn’t make things easy—not when he was alive and not now. It will take a while to even begin to sort this out. Welcome to Magnolia.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  AVERY WALKED THROUGH the door of The Reed Gallery later that afternoon, not sure what she expected to find but surprised just the same.

  The space was clean and bright, with wide-plank floors and large windows looking out to Magnolia’s quiet main street. The walls were painted antique white with simple Craftsman trim around the high doorways. She could smell the scent of a candle burning, and soft music played from speakers built into the ceiling.

  Somehow the place still seemed...sad. In his heyday, Niall Reed had been a force of nature and an expert at branding, turning out overtly nostalgic paintings of American life and cloyingly sentimental works of the country’s famed landscape. One particular critic had likened him to a sorry mix of Norman Rockwell, Thomas Kinkade and Barney, if the giant children’s television dinosaur learned to paint. It had seemed an odd combination but standing in front of a wall of canvases, Avery understood the comparison.

  The scene depicted was the beach, maybe one on the North Carolina coast, although the colors and brushstrokes made it appear like something out of a dream. That had been Niall’s gift and shtick, depending on the viewpoint of the critic or consumer. A mother and daughter took center stage, holding hands and gazing at each other the way Avery had always wanted her mom to look at her. She resisted the sudden sentimentality squeezing her chest, feeling as if she’d somehow been coerced into the emotion.

  “A lot of people get that dismissive curl to their lip when they first see his work.”

  Avery turned as Carrie entered the open space, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her prim and proper manner was at odds with the bohemian mode of dressing, and Avery was unable to get a true read on her new half sister. At one time, Avery had prided herself on her ability to assess a person’s character, but after the mess she’d made of her life, she no longer trusted her instincts.

  “I don’t see what’s so special,” Avery admitted, moving closer to one of the paintings.

  “He hadn’t done his best work for several years,” Carrie answered. “I can show you photos of some of his older pieces, the ones that made him a household name.”

  “The ones that paid the bills?” Avery asked.

  “For a long time, yes.” The tight line of Carrie’s mouth pursed even further. “I knew he’d made some bad investments but not the extent of the financial risks he’d taken.”

  “You’re not to blame for that.” Avery shifted her gaze to study the willowy beauty. Carrie was tall and almost model thin, although it was somewhat difficult to discern her true figure under the shapeless clothes. Her features were classic—wide-set eyes and an upturned nose but Avery got the impression Carrie couldn’t see her own beauty.

  A strange concept since Avery’s mom had long been an advocate for using whatever assets she had at hand to get ahead in life. Avery had been taught to wield her beauty like a blade, slicing through any obstacles to meet her end goal. It was all she’d known until the collateral damage she’d left in her wake became too much.

  “I was his assistant, and in more recent years, his manager. He was the artist. My duty was to take care of the rest of his life. I failed.”

  “Your father’s keeper,” Avery murmured, finding it difficult to muster the resentment she needed to remain emotionally uninvolved. Carrie already seemed so close to broken. Who was Avery to add to that?

  She glanced from her sister to the far wall, on which hung a series of photographs of Niall Reed at different ages. Several of the photos showed him with Carrie, as a baby and then as she grew into a lanky girl with caramel-colored hair down to the middle of her back. Another featured Carrie in a cap and gown, Niall’s arm draped over her shoulder as he smiled proudly.

  Anger came surging back, like a sudden riptide that pulled her under until she had trouble drawing in a breath. “So we find a buyer for the space and try to recoup some of the losses. Can you recommend a Realtor—”

  “No. I won’t sell this place. I can’t.”

  “You don’t have any say,” Avery answered. “The gallery belongs to me.”

  “He owned the whole block.” Carrie’s voice held no emotion.

  Avery’s heart plummeted to her stomach. “Excuse me?”

  “All of the buildings on this side of the street.” Carrie squeezed shut her eyes for a moment.

  “You have rental income, then? Some kind of cash flow?”

  “Things have been tough in Magnolia lately,” Carrie answered, cringing. “Back in the late nineties, people flocked to the town to see Dad paint. He’d give demonstrations of his technique and held workshops and open houses at the gallery and his studio space next door.”

  “What does that have to do with your tenants?”

  “The town came to rely on the tourism dollars his reputation afforded the local businesses. When people stopped visiting, it impacted that revenue.”

  “Are you telling me Magnolia was built on one man’s popularity?”

  “The town has plenty of other things to offer, but it became tied to Dad’s legacy. Once that began to falter, so did the town. He felt a great responsibility—”

  “Too bad he didn’t feel the same sort of responsibility toward his other two daughters.”

  “Yes, well...” Carrie’s blue gaze met Avery’s. “He hasn’t collected rent for several years.”

  “What kind of an idiot was your father?” Avery pressed her palm to her forehead.

  “He was your father, too,” Carrie countered. It was the first time Avery heard any real emotion in her voice. To her shock, Carrie sounded angry, as if she’d been the one slighted in this whole deal.

  “He means nothing to me,” Avery lied. Niall Reed might be a stranger, but his impact on her life couldn’t be denied. “Tell me about the other one. Meredith... What’s her last name?”

  “Meredith Ventner.” Carrie’s features went stony. “I didn’t know about her, either.”

  “But you know her?”

  “We both
grew up in Magnolia,” Carrie said with a nod. “She’s a year younger than me.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  Avery sucked in a breath. “I turn thirty next month. I’m the oldest.”

  A few beats of silence filled the space as they each absorbed that added detail to their new reality.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” Carrie asked, then frowned. “I mean, besides Meredith and me.”

  Avery shook her head.

  “Me neither. Meredith is the youngest of three. She has two older brothers.”

  “And now two older sisters.”

  “She’ll never claim us as family. She likes being angry too much.”

  “From where I’m standing, she has good reason. We both do.”

  “We all do,” Carrie said. “He never gave any hint that I wasn’t his only child.”

  “Did your mom know?” Avery couldn’t help her curiosity.

  Carrie wrapped her arms more tightly around her waist. “I’m not sure. She and I haven’t spoken in a while.”

  Avery felt her mouth drop open. Her relationship with her mother was tumultuous, but she’d never gone more than a few days without a call or text from Melissa Keller.

  “When she divorced my...” Carrie cleared her throat. “Our father,” she amended, “my mom gave me an ultimatum. She thought he was too controlling of both of us and wanted me to leave with her.”

  “But you stayed?”

  Carrie shrugged. “He needed me.”

  “What about now?”

  Another shrug, and that brief lift and lowering of Carrie’s shoulder seemed weighted with far more than indecision about calling her mother. Why had Avery thought this trip to Magnolia would be simple?

  “I’ve made another appointment with Douglas Damon for tomorrow and left a message for the banker he referred to in the meeting.”

  “Julie Martindale,” Carrie supplied, scrunching up her nose when Avery narrowed her eyes. “It’s a small town.”

  “Right.”

  “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Mr. Damon said it could take a while to settle things. I’m hoping by a while he means a week or two.”

  Carrie’s large eyes widened further. “You’ll be here the whole time?”

  “Is that a problem?” Avery felt her hackles rise. Not that she expected a warm welcome, but she wasn’t ready to be run out of town so soon.

  “No. I just assumed you had a life to return to.”

  “I...I mean... Of course I have a life.” Avery willed away the color she felt rising to her cheeks. “But I can take some time away from it. You don’t know what it was like to grow up thinking your father was a nameless one-night stand. I might hate Niall Reed for not claiming me, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s part of who I am.”

  “You could come by his house,” Carrie offered, then clasped a hand to her mouth. “Meredith’s house now, although it still doesn’t make any sense that he left it to her.”

  “You lived with your dad?”

  Carrie let out a delicate snort. “Not for a few years. I’ve been staying there since he died while I work on cleaning it out. Dad became a bit of a pack rat recently. Do you need a place to stay?”

  “Yes,” Avery admitted, “but it isn’t going to be at Niall’s house. That’s too weird for me right now.”

  “I can give you the keys to my apartment. It’s a carriage house, actually. I still have my stuff there, but you can use it while you’re in town.”

  “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

  “You’re my sister,” Carrie said simply.

  Oh.

  Unfamiliar emotion clogged Avery’s throat. “That’s a concept that will take some getting used to, I suppose.”

  “Give me your phone and I’ll put the address into it. I don’t ever lock the place. Crime isn’t really an issue in Magnolia.”

  Avery automatically pulled the phone from her purse but hesitated before handing it to Carrie.

  “If that’s still too much,” Carrie told her, “I can recommend a couple of hotels nearby.”

  An image of the statement from Avery’s dwindling bank account filled her mind. “I appreciate you letting me stay there,” she said as she gave the other woman—her sister—the phone.

  * * *

  “VIOLET, I KNOW you’re in here.”

  Grayson Atwell glanced around the quiet carriage house at the back of his property as he entered later that evening.

  “I’m not,” a tiny voice called out from the far side of the couch.

  Gray ran a hand through his hair and threw a longing glance at the refrigerator sitting in the small kitchenette. Carrie kept it stocked with his favorite brand of beer, and he could use one right now.

  His shift had been hectic, but he’d agreed to a few hours of overtime because his ex-wife was supposed to pick up their daughter from school for an overnight at her house. Stacy hadn’t shown, and his mom had stayed with Violet until he’d found someone to cover the rest of his shift.

  True to form, Stacy hadn’t answered any of his calls or returned his messages demanding to know what the hell she was thinking flaking out on their five-year-old daughter. He’d finally gotten a terse text from her as he pulled into the driveway minutes earlier. She’d had an emergency at the office.

  He didn’t bother to wonder what constituted an emergency for a cosmetic dermatologist. This wasn’t the first time she’d made plans with Violet only to cancel at the last minute or not show at all. It was the clichéd trauma of children from divorced families everywhere, and it burned like acid in his gut that his daughter had to deal with it.

  His mom meant well but had the unfortunate—if understandable—habit of talking trash about his ex to Violet. Gray knew his daughter was hurt by her mother’s callous treatment, but she was still loyal to her mom. Nana’s reminders of how much Stacy didn’t care only hurt her more.

  Violet often retreated to the carriage house behind the two-story Victorian he’d bought after the divorce. Carrie Reed, his easygoing tenant, always made the girl feel better. From baking cookies to painting nails, Carrie had an effortless way of distracting Violet from the pain of her mother’s indifference.

  But Carrie had been staying at her childhood home for the past week, so Gray was on his own with no domestic or personal beauty skills to help ease the sting of Stacy’s latest stunt.

  He came around the edge of the sofa and lowered himself to the carpet next to Violet. “Nana said you wouldn’t eat dinner tonight.”

  “She put broccoli in the mac ’n’ cheese,” Violet told him, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did.

  “Yuck.”

  “Did she do that when you were little?”

  “Probably,” Gray admitted. “Your nana was always trying to get Uncle Chase and me to eat healthier. Just so you know, she does it because she loves you.”

  His heart pinched as the girl’s chin trembled. “Why doesn’t Mommy love me?”

  “She does, sweetie.” He opened his arms and she climbed in, burying her face against the front of his T-shirt. “Your mom loves you so much, but you know how busy she gets at work. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  A statement both true and not. Stacy was selfish to the point of narcissism, which was completely out of his and his daughter’s control. But that didn’t mean a five-year-old could or would understand. To Violet, it felt like a rejection and Gray hated his ex-wife for it.

  “She was going to fancy braid my hair tomorrow.” Violet sniffed. “Margo’s mommy can do a Dutch braid, and I told her mine could braid even better.”

  “Better than a Dutch braid?” Gray whistled appreciatively even though he had no idea what a Dutch braid was. His mom had raised two boys and st
ill sported the same low-maintenance bob from his childhood. He couldn’t imagine she’d be any help. “That’s a tall order. Maybe I can try in the morning?”

  Violet lifted her head and gazed up at him with those melted chocolate eyes. “Daddy, you’re a terrible braider.” She patted his cheek and the soft touch practically undid him. If it took an entire night of watching YouTube videos, he’d learn to braid. “When is Carrie coming back?”

  He had no doubt his neighbor could have helped with the hair dilemma, although he hated relying on her. He’d known Carrie since kindergarten, and there had never been a spark of attraction on either of their parts in all these years. She was sweet and generous with Violet because it was her nature, but he didn’t want to take advantage. Carrie already had plenty of that in her life.

  “I don’t think—”

  His answer was interrupted by the sound of the carriage house’s door opening.

  “Carrie!” his daughter shouted and jumped up from his lap. “Who are you?” she demanded a moment later, her feathery brows furrowing.

  “Who are you?” a feminine voice answered, somehow familiar to Gray but definitely not Carrie.

  He quickly straightened and felt his jaw go slack at the sight of the woman glaring at him from inside the front door. The same woman who’d given him hell at the gas station this morning.

  Glancing from her face to the pocket-sized can of pepper spray she’d pulled from her purse, Gray tugged Violet closer to his side. “You’re not Carrie,” he said and mentally congratulated himself for his mastery of the obvious.

  “But this is her place,” she answered. “What are you doing here?”

  “My daddy owns this house,” Violet said, her jaw jutting forward. “Carrie is our friend. You can’t be here.”

  Gray stifled a groan. Violet usually redirected her anger toward Stacy at Gray or his mother, and they were both adept at defusing the girl’s temper. Apparently, it was now transferring to this stranger, and by the way her sea-glass-blue eyes narrowed, she wasn’t in the mood to be so patient.