A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

knew Esther’s hug was intended as affection, but to Jo everything grew claustrophobic. Even the cool breeze off the Long Island Sound. “Hello, Esther.” Jo cleared her throat at the slight crack in her voice, trying desperately not to snatch her hands away and scrub them against her skirt.

“I can’t believe old Victor is gone.” Esther dropped her hands and pulled the bottom of her apron up and used it to dab at her eyes.

Before Jo could react, Esther had taken Jo by the hands again and stood back, spreading Jo’s arms out, giving her a thorough look-over. “I’m happy you’re home. Oh, I know it’s only been a couple of months. But that dern dog runs through the house looking for you, whining as if his very life is about to end. Lordy, every time I see you, I see how well that finishing school you attended served.” Esther tugged her inside. “Get in here right this minute. I have tea waiting for you in the library. Thomas will bring in your bags.”

“Have my sisters arrived yet?”

“You’re the first, dear. So dreadful what happened to Mr. Montgomery. I still can’t believe it. I’m going to miss him something fierce. He’d been remodeling like a madman.”

Another bout of tears welled up, blinding her. Despite her fury, Jo would miss him too, and that surprised her. His controlling tendencies were the bane of her existence.

Sighing, Jo moved farther into the entrance hall. The minute updates in the old manor amazed her. She’d only been gone a few weeks and now she stood on black and white tiled flooring that was more reminiscent of the Frick House located in Manhattan than it was of the small island. Gleaming wood, freshly waxed, and a new and elaborate chandelier overhead both shone brightly. “It’s good to be home,” she said, slipping off her whimsical little hat, a Madame Agnes that was all the rage. She handed it to Esther, along with her navy wool cloak.

“Hurry along, dear.”

Jo followed her into the library, anticipation gripping her, hoping Victor hadn’t changed anything in that room. It had always been Jo’s and her sisters’ favorite in the whole house. They’d always taken tea with Victor in the cozy warm two-story round room. Now with Victor gone, everything would change. Jo wasn’t so good with change.

She hesitated at the door, observing the wainscoting that partially covered the curved white plaster walls. The familiar built-in nook under the bay window filled Jo with relief.

The house would likely go to Jackson. And if that happened, Jo knew she’d never step foot on the island again. Jackson was Mary and Victor’s only son and she hated him.

Jo took in the room with a sense of finality, stopping at the vase of brilliantly colored hibiscus. The sight was so Aunt Mary, it startled her. She hadn’t been all that close to Aunt Mary. But with Victor now gone, she felt at odds. As if her body and mind were detached from one another…

“The service is in a couple of days, dear. They’ll do the reading of the will the next day, I suppose. Will that give you and your sisters a chance to get reacquainted?” Esther had never been known for her lack of curiosity.

Jo rolled her eyes. “You know perfectly well, we share a living space in the city. In any event, it’s obvious we’ll be on the island for the next few days.” Like they had any choice in the matter. Mr. Guthrie’s letter had been specific regarding the funeral and reading of the will. Jo took it as another dictate. This one from the grave.

Esther grunted.

A shudder went through Jo. It was probably too much to hope that Jackson would fail to appear. Highly unlikely.

Jo meandered to the tea service Esther had set out on a small table surrounded by two wing-back chairs and the settee and poured herself a cup. She forwent the sugar and cream, instead moving across the room to browse the shelves, touch old books, run a fingertip over antiquities she and her sisters had never been allowed to handle as children. Aunt Mary had been most particular, and a precocious five-year-old Tevi had been like a trapped squirrel in a tightly confined space, desperate to escape.

Smiling, Jo made her way around the cozy chamber. This room had been her real sanctuary when she and her sisters had come to live with Victor and Mary. Even when Victor wasn’t present, Jo had spent the majority of her time in this room whenever she visited the island. If pressed, she might be forced to admit to an obsessive love of books. Her thoughts wandered as she roamed the space, and she concluded books were much easier to deal with than men, which reminded her of the news she needed to break to her sisters—that they had different fathers.

Knowing her sisters, such news would not go over well. They were a suspicious lot, the Weatherford girls.

She put the thought out of her head and reveled in the room’s balm she craved.

A squeal of delight filled the hall outside the library. Jo gulped the last of her tea, set her cup on the tray then smoothed her fingers over her navy-colored rayon skirt. She stood back and watched her youngest sister from the arch of the library door, conscious of the sense of indulgence surging through her. They’d breakfasted together with Victor a couple of weeks earlier, and Tevi looked as feisty as she ever did. She had a knack for living carefree. Jo envied her that.

Tevi handed off her coat and met Jo’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. “Oh, Jo, I still can’t believe it. I still can’t believe Uncle Victor is dead.” She dashed forward and threw her arms around Jo’s neck.

Jo hugged her back then pulled away. “We’ll persevere. Just as we always have.”

“Have you heard from Lydia?” Tevi pulled off her smart pillbox hat.

Jo led her into the library. “No.” She wrinkled her nose. “We