The year She Fell Read Online Free

before making my demand. “How are you tonight?”
    “I only answered because I thought it might be my ride. I don’t work here anymore. Your mother just fired me.”
    This blunt declaration left me speechless. Merilee had been with our family for more than twenty years, almost since my father died. She ran the household, bought the groceries, cooked the meals. Without Merilee, well, I didn’t know what Mother would do.
    Naturally, this had to come up just when I was getting pole axed by marital meltdown. I found my voice. “I’m sure she didn’t mean—let me talk to her and I’ll see if I can get her to see reason.”
    “She accused me of stealing her jewelry.” Merilee’s voice was rich with contempt. “I’m not going to work for her after that, not if she begs me.”
    “But—” I rubbed my forehead, trying to make some sense of this. I thought of Merilee, well into her fifties and now unemployed. “If you need a reference, of course I’ll write a letter for you.”
    “Thanks,” she said curtly. “But everyone in town knows who I am, and what I am. Dr. Weaver will pay me twice as much as your mother does. He’s been trying to get me for years.”
    “Merilee, you know she didn’t mean it. She must be confused or upset about something.”
    “Sure. Or maybe it’s that young college boyfriend that’s confusing her, making her worry about where her treasures are going. But it’s your problem, not mine. Look, there’s my ride. Goodbye.”
    And she hung up before I could ask what on earth she meant by a young college boyfriend.
    It sounded so unlikely that I figured Merilee was making a joke about one of the elderly deans who sometimes lectured to Mother’s Philomathian Society. Or maybe she meant one of the students my father’s legacy funded, who were expected to express their gratitude with occasional yard work.
    I hit redial. This time, after ten rings, my mother answered, her voice imperious as ever. “Yes?”
    “Mother, this is Ellen. Look, I just called and talked to Merilee, and she told me—”
    “That I’d fired her.”
    “Mother, you know Merilee wouldn’t steal from you.”
    “I don’t know that at all. In fact, I saw her at my jewelry box this morning, and when I looked this evening, my grandmother’s cameo was gone.”
    I shook my head in confusion. “That cameo—it was buried with Cathy. Don’t you remember?”
    There was the barest moment of a pause, and then my mother said, “Nonsense. It was the gold brooch we put on Cathy. It matched the blouse better.”
    Her voice was so certain that I questioned my own memory. But I had too clear a vision of that cameo on my sister’s poor broken chest. She was buried with one item from each parent—my late father’s signet ring on her finger, and my mother’s cameo on her bodice. “It was the cameo.”
    “It’s been almost twenty years, dear.” Now Mother sounded soothing. “You can’t be blamed for forgetting something so trivial.”
    But it wasn’t trivial. I was about to protest once more, but Mother interrupted, “By the way, I have been thinking about my will. I should probably talk to you and Laura and Theresa about this before I call my attorney.”
    “Your will?” Was Mother ill? Was that why she was reviewing her will? “What about it?”
    “Oh, we should be together to discuss this, though I don’t know how that can come to be. After all, Laura is so . . .   busy with her career, and Theresa, well, I don’t know whether that cloister of hers allows her out for trivial things like a parent’s last will and testament.”
    It was getting hot in the car. With my free hand, I turned on the ignition and flipped on the air conditioner. “I’m sure,” I said as carefully as possible, “that if you think it’s important, Theresa will find a way to come home. It’s not as if they can hold her if she wants to leave. But is there some reason this has become imperative?”
    “No reason.” Not that Mother