Every once in a while, Natasha would murmur under her breath or drink from her travel mug. Genevieve would hum or catch Natasha’s attention to show her an old artifact she’d uncovered.
After the things she’d just divulged to her sister, the companionship that usually came very naturally to the two of them felt fragile. Genevieve was having to work for it, and “fake it till you makeit” required effort that sapped her energy.
She glanced at her sister’s bent head. The line of her neck and profile were sweetly familiar.
Ever since Genevieve had caught up to Natasha’s height, people had asked them if they were twins. The question should have been insulting to Genevieve, the younger sister. Instead, she took it as a compliment. Though the family resemblance was very strong between them, Genevieve had always thought Natasha to be the prettier sister.
They both had hazel eyes, ivory skin, and their mother’s cheekbones. When they were young, they’d had matching golden blond hair, but their hair had darkened during their college years. Nowadays, Natasha highlighted hers to keep it light. She either wore it in a ponytail or parted down the middle, tucked behind her ears, the ends breezing against the base of her throat.
Genevieve’s features sloped to a pointy chin, giving her a narrower but still heart-shaped face. Natasha’s face was more square, her jawline pronounced.
Genevieve’s body introduced her as someone who had thin genes but very little muscle. Natasha’s body introduced her as someone who began every day by walking, a la Elizabeth Bennet.
There were differences between them in temperament and personality, too.
Genevieve was an extrovert. Natasha, an introvert.
Genevieve was passionate. Natasha, steady.
Genevieve felt things deeply. Natasha reacted to things with practicality.
Genevieve second-guessed and worried. Natasha cut a path through life with certainty.
Both were driven, high-achievers. Natasha metabolized stress well. Genevieve did not.
Both of them knew that their sister had their back.
After the earthquake, when Mom had become overprotective, their family’s dynamic shifted. It was no longer one sister competing with the other for the attention of their parents but both sisters commiserating as a team against their mom.
“Nada,” Natasha announced almost two hours after they’d started searching. “I can’t find anything amiss.”
“Me neither.”
No clues.
No suspicious items or documents.
Since their mother’s powers of observation could have been a great asset to Scotland Yard, Genevieve and Natasha put everything backexactlyas they’d found it.
“Do you now believe that Mom and Dad are as normal as they seem?” Natasha asked as they walked downstairs.
“No.” After sitting on the floor, Genevieve’s bad ankle had stiffened. She paused to shake it out and continued down carefully.
“What’s our next step?” Natasha asked.
“I think I’ll see if I can find records on them. I went online and hunted around a little after the letter arrived. I couldn’t find anything then, but I’m willing to give it a more thorough try.”
“A lot of counties haven’t made their records available online. Rabun County records are stored in a building in downtown Clayton. You may have to stop at a few different offices inside. One for vital records. Another for court records.” Natasha had been a practicing family law attorney until three years ago, when her oldest was born and she chose to stay home with her.
“In that case, I’ll head to Clayton.” Clayton was less than twenty minutes from Misty River.
Natasha held the front door open, and they made themselves comfortable on the porch’s wicker chairs as they waited for their mom to return with Natasha’s kids.
“I want to come see your cottage,” Natasha said.
“Come by after this.”
“’Kay. We won’t be able to stay long because the all-important nap time beckons, and I’d rather swallow glass than miss nap time.”
