A Veiled Deception Read Online Free

there. Just drop off the suitcases and go home.”
    Nick squeezed my shoulder and rose reluctantly. “You’re all heart, Meyers.”
    Eve smirked. “You’re all testosterone, Jaconetti.”
    “You got that right.” Nick gave me a bawdy wink as he left. Eve joined me on the sofa. “He’s a heartbreaker,” she warned.
    “But lower in calories and way tastier than cheesy fries.” I licked my lips. Eve twirled a finger in the air, an acerbic whoop-de-do, her favorite hand signal, right after the L for loser.
    “As a matter of fact, I could get him to help me work off a few of those calories, if—”
    Eve choked. “Do not finish that sentence!”
    I wrote in the air, “Maddie one, Eve zero,” and chuckled at her disgust. “I shouldn’t be enjoying myself,” I said. “It’s time to rescue the bride.”
    Eve checked her watch. “Right, and I have a date with your brother’s hockey buddy.”
    “Oh, is Ted a member of your stud-of-the-month club?”
    “Dahling, when you’ve got it, you’ve got it. I like hockey players.”
    “He’s the coach now.”
    She wiggled her brows. “He’ll always be a player to me.”
    “Are you notching your bedpost, Meyers? Or are you looking for a man with feet bigger than yours?”
    “Maddie wet her panties,” Eve sang in payback, beneath her breath, as we returned to the keeping room.
    She claimed Ted; they said their good-byes and left.
    I hugged Fiona Sullivan, lawyer, possible witch, confidant, and aunt to the Cutler brood, by virtue of her friendship with our mother.
    After that, I had fielded questions from our neighbors about my career and love life. Not my favorite sport, but everybody cared about everybody else in Mystick Falls, and to be fair, most of them had taken a hand in raising the four of us. I hugged my brother, Alex, gushed over the pictures of his pride and joy, twoweek-old Kelsey, a little blonde doll, at home with her mom, and made him promise to let me play auntie soon.
    Eventually, I had no choice but to greet Deborah, the society-queen wannabe, who made me feel dowdy, despite my Faline halter dress and Versace platform mules. Somehow, Deborah knew that my outfit came with the job and I’d rather be wearing vintage.
    Still conspicuously absent from the gathering, however, were Jasmine and the bride.
    No good could come of that!
    As I climbed the keeping room stairs, foreboding crept up my spine until I shivered. I was ten again, on my way up to visit my mother, who was recovering slowly from a car accident. The same sinking sensation had churned in my stomach then . . . right before I stood at Mom’s open bedroom door to find my father crying with his head on her chest, Mom still and silent in the bed.
    Even now, I avoided looking toward the master bedroom and headed straight for Sherry’s room, but the lavender-scented chintz exhibit stood empty. Three sets of stairs beckoned: front, back, keeping room. The smart thing to do would be to take one of them down.
    I wish I could say that I always did the smart thing.
    Closed, latched, oak-planked doors wearing their age-old patinas surrounded me, but only one door interested me, and I wasn’t sure why. Brandy’s. Yes, Brandy, who detests her name more than she detests designer clothes. Brandy—middle sister but third child—works for the Peace Corps somewhere . . . anywhere in the world, except here. On the off chance the bride was hiding, which I might be inclined to do in her place, I should check Brandy’s room. My hand hovered over the matte black latch while I questioned my nebulous inclination to go inside.
    Why Brandy’s room? I turned away and turned back, then finally clutched the latch handle almost as if I expected it to burn.
    I found it cool to the touch, smooth, and easy to open.
    Too easy?
    I had to push on the door and it wailed in protest. In this place, doors occasionally opened and shut on their own, which I attributed to our otherworldly inhabitants, but this, this resistance