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  The Bond of Sisters

  A Blyssfully Abnormal Short

  by

  A. Maire Dinsmore

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either

  are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments, or

  locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Blysster Press

  Cover Art and Design by A. Maire Dinsmore © June 2013

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

  any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise including, but not limited to,

  photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

  without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, contact

  Blysster Press at [email protected]

  Blyssfully Abnormal

  ISBN 978-0-9883734-7-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  www.blysster.com

  www.amairedinsmore.com

  The file fell to the cheap, damaged tabletop with a resounding thud, making Ann jump in her seat. Bringing her chin up, she turned her red rimmed eyes toward the sound, making herself face the finality of the situation. She managed to stare at it for a long, silent moment without reacting. Marginally proud of herself, her gaze flicked to the sheriff scrutinizing her.

  The barest of smiles crossed her lips, masked by a grimace when she felt it forming. She cast her eyes downward once more lest the sheriff get the wrong idea about her expression.

  How had they gotten to this point? That was the question she was expected to answer; the question on everyone's lips, repeated over and again in different forms.

  How had the group of seven friends vacationing together, gone for a boat tour of the small and lonely islands of Puget Sound inhabited only by birds and the occasional seal, returned with only six passengers?

  A part of Ann felt this wasn't really happening, despite the fact that she could still feel the sand from the beach between her toes, could smell the ocean in her hair. That she was, indeed, secured inside a small, windowless room in what passed for the police station around here. It couldn't possibly be happening…could it?

  Her gaze concentrated in her lap, she searched over her hands clasped there as if they held the answers. Instead, she only found the brushed gold wedding band Charles had given her six years ago and several bruises which had formed from attempting to manage the sails of the boat.

  Charles. Had he really fallen off the back of the boat?

  "I asked you a question."

  The sheriff's voice was rough and deep. The kind Ann thought would be good for radio. She shook her head, indicating with a confused expression that she'd not heard his query.

  He sighed and flicked the picture across the table at her. Instinct brought up her hands to stop it from sliding onto the floor. She'd seen this exact scene in television shows and movies countless times. She had the burning desire to peer in the corners of the room for signs of hidden cameras.

  "Was this the boat you rented?" he asked, leaning forward and stressing each syllable.

  Picking up the picture, Ann nodded. Seeing the lines of frustration gathering in his brow, she cleared her throat.

  "Yes sir," she replied, her voice a touch more than a ragged whisper. Her throat felt as if she'd tried to drink the same sand sticking to her feet. "We rented it and took it out before dawn this morning."

  "The seven of you?" Sheriff Jameson asked again, reaching for the picture and plucking it from her fingers.

  Ann watched as he touched only a tiny portion of a corner she was sure she'd not touched herself, wondering if they'd be dusting it for her prints.

  "Yes, as I told you before—myself, Charles, my sister Freddie and her boyfriend Chris, and our friends Dawn and Enrique and Noel." Pressing her fingers to her eyes, Ann rubbed until the blackness behind her lids was covered with white star bursts. How many times would he ask the same questions?

  "And at what point did Charles go missing?" Jameson frowned at his notes, tilting his head sideways as his eyes crept toward her.

  Ann's heart nearly stopped—why was he looking at her like that? Had she said something wrong?

  Wracking her brain for the answers she'd given before, Ann could feel blood pounding between her ears as she tried to organize her thoughts. She hadn't done anything wrong, yet fought against an overwhelming sense of guilt.

  "I don't know, sometime after lunch. I'd gone to lay down and when I came back he was gone." She said, forcing the words out of her throat.

  A long silence fell between them. Ann could feel the sweat building on the nape of her neck as she held her breath, waiting for him to speak.

  Sheriff Jameson stood from the table with a sigh, pressing his fingertips into the table as he rose. For a long moment, he towered over her and the light from the ceiling cast a shadow which loomed over her in such a way that she suddenly thought of Poe. A second later he stepped away to stare out the window.

  Ann found herself focusing on his back, waiting for him to respond.

  "Mrs. Anderson." Jameson's abrupt speech caused Ann to jump, her breath catching in her throat in a choked gasp. "I am sorry for your troubles. I will bring you out so that the search and rescue party can update you on their progress."

  Almost crumbling with relief, Ann's body shook with the unreleased sobs. Did he mean it or was this some sort of trick?

  "I have no indication of foul play here and, given the story that you've all told matches on all details, it doesn't look like we'll find anything leading us to believe anything of the sort. Will we?" Jameson arched a brow as he looked across the table, to which Ann mutely shook her head. "Good, then come with me."

  Bracing herself against the edge of the table, Ann lifted herself to her feet and followed the Sheriff out into the lobby.

  Outside the door, the tiny Sheriff ’s Department was alive with sounds that filled any office—fingers clicking on keyboards, ringing phones, and the low murmurs of conversation.

  Noel searched Ann's face from across the room as her friend followed Sheriff Jameson out of an office. The paleness of Ann's shallow cheeks worried her. It hadn't even been a full twelve hours since Charles had gone missing and already Ann was almost incapable of taking care of herself.

  Really, it was worse than Noel thought. Once upon a time, in college, Ann had been the bright light of their group, the one who had approached all the boys at parties and loved being the center of attention. She out-shined them all, even her sister, the naturally beautiful Freddie, based on personality alone.

  Now, she never went anywhere without Charles, or at least his permission. And the once extroverted Ann almost panicked when confronted with crowds these days. Just getting her to leave her house to go to the grocery store could be a chore. Ann's opinion lived and died with Charles's approval. Noel made no attempt at hiding the fact that it disturbed and disgusted her.

  The entire group felt that Ann would be better off without Charles, able to find herself again once she was out of his clutches and influence.

  That he'd fallen off the back of the boat while they were doing a particularly fast speed around a blind corner had seemed a stroke a pure dumb luck at first. But, as Noel registered the expression on Ann's face, the look that children get when they've lost the most important thing in the world to them, she wasn't so sure anymore.

  Slumping back in the chair after Ann and the sheriff had passed, Noel resumed her vicious chewing of a painful hangnail, glaring with suspicion at each passin
g deputy.

  Dropping the cigarette to the ground before the burning embers hit the filter, Freddie crushed it beneath the toe of her flip-flop and left the smashed bits of tobacco, paper, and fiberglass on the pavement, ignoring the ashtray not three feet from her as she walked away.

  The half-depleted pack and lighter were safely returned to the small purse strung over her shoulder; bouncing off her hip as she sauntered toward the front door. Inside she was fuming that they'd even been brought to the police station, much less being questioned about whether or not Charles falling off the boat had been an accident.

  Her eyes locked with the one she blamed for their being here. Chris, her current boyfriend, the idiot she barely knew and now deeply regretted bringing on this trip. He'd opened his mouth and mentioned the fight that had erupted the night before at the cabin. It had been verbal, not physical, of course, and nothing need have been said about it. Why bring it up at all?

  Freddie's lips curled into a vicious smile as Chris perked up at her reappearance. Stupid idiot, she thought. No matter, she'd make him regret having opened his fool mouth.

  Stepping inside the building and letting the door inch closed behind her for effect, Freddie arched her back and let the length of her legs become very apparent under the short cut of her sundress, an almost shocking yellow against the deep tan of her skin. Freddie was not above using the appealing factor of her looks in her sister's favor.

  Letting her gaze roam over the