LITMIR.BIZ

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      April 14, Kingston, New York

      GREER DUCHESS could tell by tapping feet and shifting bodies that her sisters were getting antsy. “We’re almost through, guys. For November is it agreed we’ll go with Ginger Rogers Did Everything Fred Astaire Did, But She Did It Backward And In High Heels?”

      “Like I said before, not everyone who buys our calendars knows who Ginger Rogers is,” Olivia spoke up.

      “It doesn’t matter, does it? Piper’s drawing is so wonderful they’ll still get the point,” Greer murmured, making a unilateral decision on the spot. She adored the stylized cartoons of Luigio and Violetta, the two winsome Italian pigeons who were in love with each other.

      Though Piper did the actual drawings, and Olivia headed sales, Greer was the instigator and power behind their business enterprise.

      “Moving on, here are the choices we narrowed down for December. Behind Every Successful Man Is A Surprised Woman, and, A Man’s Got To Do What A Man’s Got To Do. A Woman’s Got To Do What He Can’t.”

      Piper got up and stretched her softly rounded body. “I liked both those sayings the first time you thought them up.”

      “I still like them,” Olivia asserted. “Your clever mind never ceases to impress me, Greer. You make the decision. We trust your judgment,” she said, rising to her feet on long, shapely legs. “Now we’ve really got to go or we’ll be late for the reading of Daddy’s will. We’re supposed to be there at ten.”

      “Okay. Get the car started while I e-mail this to Don. It’ll take me two secs.”

      Within a minute the sent message appeared on the computer screen. She felt relief that next year’s calendar entitled, For Women Only, would be printed and ready for distribution in May which was only a few weeks away.

      Don Jardine, one of several guys she and her sisters had been dating, was the owner of the print shop. He did a terrific job for them.

      Unfortunately he kept hinting that he wanted her to take him seriously because he’d fallen for her. But she wasn’t in love with him. Lately she’d found excuses not to go out with him anymore. If they could just remain business friends…

      All things considered, Duchesse Designs—her brain child inspired by their only illustrious female ancestor and heroine—the Duchess of Parma, a woman in advance of her time—was doing much better than her initial conservative estimates indicated.

      With orders from all over the country quadrupling since Christmas, she and her sisters were going to make a substantial profit. For the first time in five years they would be able to invest part of their earnings while they put the rest back into their company.

      Naturally that was going to mean more money for Don and make him happy, too. Maybe happy enough to forgive her? She had yet to find that out. If he sent a reply e-mail that she’d better take her business to someone else, then she would have her answer.

      After turning on the answering machine, she dashed out of the basement apartment to join her sisters.

      All the rituals of laying their beloved father to rest had been observed except for this visit to Mr. Carlson’s office. It was a formality. Once it was behind them, they’d be able to channel their sorrow by expanding their growing business.

      Twenty minutes later they arrived at the law firm in downtown Kingston, New York. The receptionist showed them into the conference room where a TV and DVD player had been set up.

      Soon after they’d sat down, Mr. Carlson walked in with a legal file under one arm. He greeted them, shook hands, then took his place at the end of the rectangular conference table.

      “Your father asked me to read you a letter he wrote in his own hand.” He opened the file and drew it out. Once his bifocals were in place, he cleared his throat.

      “To my darling daughters Greer, Piper and Olivia, whom I’ve always referred to as my precious pigeons. You came along after I turned fifty and had despaired of ever giving your mother children—

      “If Walter Carlson has assembled you for the reading of this will, then it means my troublesome old ticker finally gave out and you’ve already been informed that our humble home has to be sold to pay all the medical expenses.

      “I wish I could have left it to you, but it wasn’t meant to be. At least you aren’t saddled with debts.

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