Convicted by Jan Burke Page B

always such a bad place to go.”
    â€œShe’s crazy,” Miriam said scornfully. “And a liar!”
    â€œShe’s neither. What brings you by this afternoon?” They were halfway up the stairs now, and although Bill thought Ellie was probably past being injured by Miriam’s remarks, he didn’t know how much longer his own patience would last.
    Miriam pointed one perfectly-shaped red fingernail at him. “How can you say she’s not a liar? She once told you Harry was her father.”
    â€œShe knew I wouldn’t believe it. She never tells me any lie she thinks I might believe. Come on, she’s waiting.”
    Bill had heard Ellie cross into one of the upstairs staging rooms. This meant, he knew, that she had staged some clues for him, placed objects about the room intended to remind him of specific Hitchcock movies. It was an extension of the old game they played, and one of the reasons that housekeepers didn’t last long. The last one left after finding a mannequin, unclad except for Harry’s cap, sitting in the bathtub. ( “The Trouble With Harry,” Bill had said, earning praise from Ellie even as they tried to revive the fainting housekeeper.)
    Ellie, knowing Miriam hated the game, always had one ready when her sister came to visit.
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    WEARING A PAIR OF JEANS with holes in the knees, Ellie was sitting cross-legged on top of a large mahogany table, passing a needle and thread through colored miniature marshmallows to make a necklace. She smiled as she moved the needle through a green marshmallow.
    â€œHow much this time?” she asked without looking up.
    â€œEllie, darling! So good to see you.”
    Ellie glanced at Bill. “Too many Bette Davis movies.” She chose a pink marshmallow next.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing? And why are you wearing those horrid clothes?”
    â€œShhh!” Ellie said, now reaching for a yellow marshmallow.
    Bill was looking around the room. As usual in a game, there were many oddball objects and antiques in the room. The trick was to find the clues among the objects. “How many all together?”
    â€œThree,” Ellie answered.
    â€œOh! This stupid game. I might have known,” Miriam grumbled.
    He saw the toy windmill first.
    â€œForeign Correspondent,” he said.
    â€œOne down, two to go,” Ellie laughed. “How much money this time, Mir?”
    â€œI didn’t come here to ask for money,” Miriam said, sitting down.
    Bill looked over at her in surprise, then went back to the game.
    Searching through the bric-a-brac that covered a low set of shelves, he soon found the next clue: three small plaster of Paris sculptures of hands and wrists. A man’s hand and a woman’s hand were handcuffed together; another male hand, missing the part of its little finger, stood next to the handcuffed set. “The Thirty-Nine Steps.”
    â€œBravo, Bill. Of course you came here for money, Mir. You always do.”
    â€œNot this time.”
    â€œWhat then?” Ellie asked, watching as Bill picked up a music box from a small dressing table.
    â€œI want to move back home.”
    Ellie stopped stringing marshmallows. Bill set the music box down.
    Don’t give in, Ellie, he prayed silently.
    â€œNo,” Ellie said, and went back to work on her necklace. Bill’s sigh of relief was audible.
    â€œEllie, please. I’m your sister.”
    â€œI’ll buy you a place to live.”
    â€œI want to live here.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s in the will. I can live here if I want to.”
    Ellie looked up. “We had an agreement.”
    Miriam glanced nervously toward Bill, then said, “It’s my home, too, you know. You’ve allowed a perfect stranger to live here. Well, I don’t deserve any less.”
    â€œWhy do you want to come back, Mir? You haven’t lived here in years.”
    â€œI think it’s time we grew closer as