The False Sister

Chloe’s wine glass remained suspended, a crystal barrier between her practiced socialite persona and the terror hemorrhaging from her eyes. The silence in the living room stretched until it became structural, a heavy weight pressing down on the floorboards.

"Attic junk?" Chloe finally whispered, the vibrato in her voice betraying the effort it took to speak. She set the glass on the side table with a sharp *clink*, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Arthur never mentioned anything about... camping gear."

"It was tucked away," I said, leaning forward and letting the shadows of the Tudor window mullions mask my expression. "Behind a wall that shouldn't be there, Chloe. A wall that matches the joint compound Julian found."

Chloe’s breathing became shallow, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven hitches. She smoothed her skirt over and over, her manicured nails snagging on the expensive silk.

"Arthur is just... he’s stressed about the appraisal, El," she said, the lie tasting like ash in the air. "The house is old. The taxes. The maintenance. He wants to make sure everything is... accounted for."

"Is that why he updated the security codes? To make sure I’m accounted for?"

Chloe flinched, her eyes darting toward the foyer as if she expected Arthur to manifest from the dark hallway. She recovered with terrifying speed, the socialite mask snapping back into place, though it looked brittle and translucent.

"He’s just being protective," she said, her voice rising an octave. "You know how he is. He thinks you're overwhelmed. In fact... I should help you. Why don't I come over tomorrow morning? We can go through the attic together. Clear out all that old 90s junk before the appraisers get here on Friday."

She was fishing. She wanted access to the hatch. She wanted to see if I had physically breached the seal.

"Tomorrow is bad," I said, pitching my voice into a high, scatterbrained register. I waved a hand dismissively, performing the role of the dizzy, drugged sister. "I have that follow-up at Harrison’s clinic. And Julian is coming by to... or was it the plumber? Oh, honestly, my head is a sieve lately."

Chloe leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she scanned my face for a slip. "When then? Thursday? It needs to be done, Eleanor. Arthur was very clear about the second floor being clear."

"Let’s say Saturday," I lied, forcing a hazy, compliant smile. "After the appraisal. Once the stress is over, we can have a proper sister-in-law day. Mimosas and old memories."

Chloe exhaled, a long, shaky breath that smelled of expensive Pinot. She seemed to buy the performance, her posture relaxing just enough for me to see the calculation beneath the surface.

"Saturday it is," she said, standing up and reaching for her coat. "I'll tell Arthur you're... focusing on your health. He’ll be glad to hear you’re resting."

I walked her to the door, the house watching us with its thousand-yard Tudor stare. I watched her heels click down the driveway, her silhouette sharp against the frozen lawn.

She reached her car and didn't immediately start the engine. The interior light stayed on. I saw her silhouette tilt forward, her head bowing toward the steering wheel.

She wasn't resting. She was reaching for her phone.

She needed to know if Chloe would report back to Arthur.