Free The Girls of Tonsil Lake by Liz Flaherty

to Ireland to visit my sister. I haven’t seen her in all these many years, and I believe I have enough money saved.”
    “Of course. And you must stay as long as you want. I’m sure we owe you months in unused vacation time.”
    “A month will be enough,” she said impassively, dipping her head. “Thank you, ma’am.”
    She turned to leave, and I said impatiently, “Wait a minute.”
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “We’ve shared this house for twenty-some years, Archie. I’d like for you to call me Vin. No more ma’ams, no more Mrs. Stillsons. Now, do you have your passport up to date?”
    “Yes, ma—Vin. I’ve always kept it up in case I needed to go home quick-like.”
    “And when would you like to leave?”
    She looked surprised, and I all but tapped my foot waiting for her to answer. “A week,” she said definitely. “That gives me time to close the house and prepare for the trip.”
    “Fine. Come with me.”
    She followed me into Mark’s office, where I got on line and procured a plane ticket to Ireland and arranged for a car rental. “You’ll leave in six days,” I said, getting up from in front of the computer and handing her the confirmation and itinerary.
    “I will write you a check for this cost,” she said sturdily, waving the printed sheets at me.
    “You’ll do no such damned thing. Come with me,” I said again, and went back to the bedroom with her following in my wake. I could feel her antagonism smacking me right between the shoulder blades.
    This was fun. I felt strong again.
    I opened the door of Mark’s closet, nearly going to my knees when the unique and distinctive scent of him assailed me. So much for feeling strong. “Oh, God,” I muttered, and looked over my shoulder in time to see Archie crossing herself. “We need to do something about this,” I said, touching a cashmere sleeve.
    “Yes.”
    “Soon, but not now.”
    “Thank you.”
    I looked over my shoulder again, and we exchanged small, tentative smiles, then I walked into the closet, coming out with three pieces of luggage. I set them at her feet and delved into the closet again.
    It had been so long since I opened the safe that I no longer had any idea what all was in it, but I knew there was cash. There was also jewelry in a black velvet bag. I tucked the bag under my arm.
    I brought out three thousand dollars and slapped it into Archie’s hand. “If he were here,” I said flatly, “he would do no less.”
    She was pale. “Are you firing me?”
    “No.” I touched her hand. It was the first time I’d ever touched her in any way. We hadn’t even shaken hands when we met. “Please don’t think that. Is there any coffee?”
    “I can make it. I’ll have it up here in ten minutes.”
    “No, I’ll come down. Here.” I thrust two of the suitcases at her and picked up the third, keeping the black velvet bag in my other hand. “You can keep these bags,” I said on the way down the stairs. “God knows you’ve packed and unpacked them enough times to know every fold in the leather.”
    In the kitchen, I took a seat at the bar while Archie made coffee. I noticed that she tucked the money carefully into her purse and was glad she hadn’t refused to accept it. While I waited for the coffee, I poured the contents of the velvet bag onto the marble counter in front of me. “Forny.”
    “Mr. Stillson’s mother’s,” said Archie, bringing sugar, cream, and a spoon over to where I sat.
    There were sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, all in old-fashioned, ornate settings. They were extremely valuable, I knew, and uniformly ugly.
    “You should have them reset and wear them.” She brought my coffee.
    “Bring yours over here, too,” I ordered, “and sit down. Today, Archie, we are two women, not lady of the house and housekeeper. Okay?”
    “Yes, ma—Vin.”
    When I’m grown up, I’ll be rich, and I’ll wear jewelry like all the rich people do in the books, like Queen Elizabeth and Princess Grace, like Jackie