The Sullivan Sisters by Kathryn Ormsbee
English | 2020 | Children/Young Adult | ePUB | 5.3 MB
Time changes things.
That painful fact of life couldn’t be truer for the Sullivan sisters. Once, they used to be close, sharing secrets inside homemade blanket castles. Now, life in the Sullivan house means closed doors and secrets left untold.
Fourteen-year-old Murphy, an aspiring magician, is shocked by the death of Siegfried, her pet turtle. Seventeen-year-old Claire is bound for better things than her Oregonian hometown—until she receives a crushing rejection from her dream college. And eighteen-year-old Eileen is nursing a growing addiction in the wake of life-altering news.
Then, days before Christmas, a letter arrives, informing the sisters of a dead uncle and an inheritance they knew nothing about. The news forces them to band together in the face of a sinister family mystery…and, possibly, murder.
The Sullivan Sisters is an unforgettable novel about the ghosts of the past, the power of connection, and the bonds of sisterhood.
At the same time Claire was not getting into college, Murphy was discovering the dead body.
Unlike, say, hamsters or hedgehogs, pet turtles have remarkably long lifespans; the average is forty years. Siegfried had lived to be thirty, so really, he’d had a decent turtle life. He hadn’t died of natural causes, though. He’d died—Murphy was convinced—because she’d forgotten to feed him.
She’d been busy lately, with school and drama club.
She simply hadn’t been thinking.
She couldn’t remember not feeding him. Only, that was the trouble with turtles: They didn’t remind you when you’d forgotten to fix them dinner. They couldn’t bark or meow or claw at their cages. They simply stayed in their shells, chilling. Hungry. Hungrier. Dead.
Murphy had read once that turtles could survive for months, even years, without food. That’s why she’d grown lax with feeding in the first place: Siegfried was cold-blooded, so he could handle a few skipped days. He could deal with dirty, months-old tank water and a blown heat bulb that Murphy hadn’t gotten around to replacing.
Now, though, it seemed that even the cold-blooded had their limit.
Murphy wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive herself.
To make matters worse, she had a dead body on her hands. What was she supposed to do about that? In her fourteen years of life, no one had prepared Murphy for this. Who did she even ask about turtle burials?
Not Mom. Leslie Sullivan had left that morning for her all-inclusive sweepstakes Bahamian cruise, and she’d told her daughters that once the boat hit the open sea, she’d have no cell phone service and only limited access to expensive Internet.
Even if Mom had been around to hear the news, would it have bothered her much? Six years ago, when Murphy had asked to take care of the family turtle, Mom had happily moved his tank into Murphy’s room like it was a big relief. She hadn’t even realized that Murphy had changed his old name of “Tortue” until months later, when Murphy had asked her to stop by Petco for Siegfried A. Roy’s food pellets. Mom was always busy working long hours at Walgreens. She didn’t have time to worry about Murphy’s schoolwork, let alone an old turtle.
That left Eileen and Claire, Murphy’s older sisters, as possible advisors on turtle funeral matters. Eileen, who locked herself in her bedroom, playing loud music and emerging only to sway and slur her words. Claire, who locked herself in her bedroom, emerging only to lecture Murphy about leaving dried oatmeal bowls in the kitchen sink.
Like Murphy would ask them for help.
Maybe four years ago, when they’d been nicer and hadn’t shut their doors.