The Sometime Sister

by Katherine Nichols

  “We do,” Harry responded. “But we’re not sure it’s a good idea for you to see them.”

  My stomach turned at the implication behind those words. “Is it that bad?” I whispered.

  Justin rose from his chair and sat beside me. He put his hand on my knee. “It’s not that. It’s just once you see it, you can never unsee it. When you think about your sister, all the memories you have will fade into the background. Instead of Stella when she was a little girl or at her first dance or even when you were the maddest at her, it will be the Stella in these photos.”

  I imagined Justin had seen quite a few last images during his stint in the service, and a part of me wanted to tell him to put the pictures away. But if I didn’t see for myself what had happened to my sister, it would be too easy to give up and go home. To pretend I believed Stella’s death had been an accident.

  “I have to, Justin.”

  He walked to his room.

  “He’s right, you know,” Harry offered. “Why don’t you let us take things from here? The photos might be enough to insist on further investigation.”

  “I want to. I do. But ever since Mike called about them finding her body, I’ve kept waiting for someone to say it was a terrible mistake. That a young woman washed up on shore, and she looked like Stella, but it wasn’t her. I’m very sorry for the family of the real accident victim, but what a relief to discover my sister had been hiding from Ben. Or she had gone into rehab. Or a hundred other happy endings. Then I could tell her I forgive her.” Tears trickled down my cheeks, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand.

  Justin returned with a thick envelope. He sat beside me and opened it.

  “There are ten photos, all from different angles. You can see them all if you like, but I’m going to suggest you only look at these two.” He laid them on the coffee table, face down.

  My hands were shaking when I turned one over. At first, I couldn’t separate Stella from the surface beneath her. She was halfway on her side, her pale body sunk into the frothy sand, fossil-like. Seaweed threaded through long, blonde hair that covered half her face. From the exposed side, one milky, sightless eye stared up at the camera. The straps of her sundress had fallen low on her forearms, and her skirt had ridden up, exposing bare hips and splayed legs. I dropped it onto the table.

  “Are you okay?” Justin asked.

  I nodded and turned over the second photo. It was a close-up of the marks on her body, a body mottled with dark purple splotches. I picked it up and focused on my sister’s neck. The bruises formed a cruel necklace of blurred fingerprints around her throat.

  “It’s her,” I said. There would be no surprise happy ending for me and my family.

  The force of pure grief, unadulterated by anger and bitterness, crushed me. I’d been running on the power of my fury for years. Without it, the weight of my sorrow was paralyzing.

  Justin touched my cheek. “Are you all right?”

  The earth skewed, but I nodded and assured him I was fine.

  “Of course, you’re not fine,” he whispered. “Just let me take care of you for a little while.”

  One of the many terrible things about grieving is the fear of getting lost in that grief. It’s as if naming your pain gives it power over you, defines you. The only way to survive is to refuse to admit how lonely and afraid you are. You pretend you are in control. For the first time since I learned of Stella’s death, I didn’t care about being in control. I wanted someone to take care of me. Not forever but for a little while.

  “It’s just seeing her like that,” I leaned back on the sofa pillow.

  Harry handed me a glass of water. “Honey, nobody can look at pictures like that without—”

  “It’s okay. We have to talk about them and what they mean.” I held out my glass. “I know it’s early, but do you think I might have something a little stronger?”

  “Hell. It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He headed for the kitchen while Justin sat holding my hand.

  He returned with a snifter with less than an inch of amber liquid. “It’s brandy. Sip it slowly.”

  The last time I had brandy was at one of Ben’s fancy parties. I didn’t like it any better, but after the second sip, it had a steadying effect.

  “Your sister’s injuries didn’t happen from falling off a boat,” Harry began. “Luis put me in contact with one of his friends, the kind of guy who knows people from both sides of the law. He’s going to check into Ben’s troubles with Balsuto and find out why the authorities ruled the death accidental in the face of contradictory evidence.”

  I continued to reject the possibility Adelmo had something to do with Stella’s murder. No one could fake the kind of misery he was in. But wouldn’t a man in his line of work have to be a convincing liar?

  “We contacted Mike to let him know we’ll be here longer than we expected. He said your mother’s better but still not talking much.”

  Other than sending a few quick emails, I hadn’t communicated with Mom since she sent me on her revenge mission. But I would only disappoint her with anything other than news of Ben’s death.

  “We can’t just sit around waiting to hear from Luis’s friend.” I swirled the contents of my glass.

  “Harry and I are going to give the local authorities another shot after we make copies of the pictures and put them in a safe place. We don’t want them disappearing again. And Mike got in touch with a friend who runs an independent security group that does business with both local and US governments. He’s going to present the photos in Guayaquil and pressure the authorities to reopen the investigation.”

  “I guess it’s just me who’ll be sitting around doing nothing.”

  “That’s what I’d like for you to do, but I know you aren’t going to listen to me, so we thought you might try to get back in touch with Eva.”

  I did need to talk more with Stella’s housekeeper and friend. Since Prez was the key to finding her, we had lunch at the hotel bar. But a pretty, dark-haired woman was working in Prez’s place. She scowled when I asked if she knew how to get in touch with him. When Harry slipped her a ten-dollar bill, her smile returned, and she agreed to let Prez know we were looking for him.

  Back at the villa, Harry touched base with some of his employees, leaving Justin and me standing awkwardly outside my bedroom door.

  My judgment in matters of the heart had been unreliable even when I wasn’t dealing with the complications of grief and danger in a foreign country. Should I reach out to him or leave things as they were? He made the decision for me, by patting me on the shoulder and suggesting I rest.

  I liked the idea of a power nap but fell into a deep sleep instead and dreamed of my lost sister.

  We were in a church filled with pink and coral tea roses. An instrumental version of “This Will Be an Everlasting Love” played in the background as a little girl with curly, black hair skipped up the aisle, scattering petals. I followed her. Every time I stepped on a blossom, it smoldered into ash. Two men in cream-colored tuxedos waited at the front, a smoky haze obscuring their faces. I joined them, and the traditional wedding march began.

  A young woman in a white dress with a bright red veil came toward me. She was accompanied by an older man in a black tuxedo and an old-fashioned top hat. I expected to see our long-lost daddy beside the bride, but it was Uncle Roy looking stern and sober. He stopped, turned to the woman at his side, and lifted her veil.

  I looked away to where Ben stood next to Adelmo. Ben mouthed the words, “It should have been you.”

  I bolted for the exit, but my heel caught the hem of my dress, and I plummeted into darkness, awaking with a jolt. Drenched in sweat, I threw off the covers and che
cked the time. It had only been a little over an hour since I fell asleep. I lay back for a moment, watching the ceiling fan perform its sluggish rotation. Ben’s words echoed. I was furious because it should have been me when Stella and Ben eloped and again when they left for Ecuador. And when my sister died? I felt as if my mother had been thinking those same words: It should have been you.

  I threw my legs over the side of the bed, walked to the kitchen, and saw a note taped to the refrigerator.

  Harry’s guy had time to see us this afternoon. Should be back in time for dinner—Rest and feel better. Justin.

  The walls narrowed around me, and I rushed to the patio to take a deep breath of ocean air. No way would I be able to sit around waiting for the men to return. I remembered Prez might have left a message about contacting Eva, so I hurried to the front desk. A female employee I’d never seen told me I had no calls.

  By now it was after two. The sun slipped in and out of the clouds. The air was heavy and hot. Beads of perspiration dotted my forehead, and my sunglasses slid down on my nose. I could see the shoreline from the pathway and remembered Justin’s suggestion I take a walk or go shopping. The idea had annoyed me at the time, but now there really wasn’t anything useful for me to do. It was a good time to walk along the beach and wander around town.

  I stopped at the room, stuck a bottle of water in my bag, slathered on some sunscreen, and grabbed a straw hat before setting out. I strolled along the path, marveling at the panoramic view below me. Surfers defied the laws of gravity as they popped out of the sea and catapulted into the air. Striped umbrellas dotted the beach, and groups of children built forts and castles.

  By the time I reached the sea, sweat and sunscreen ran in rivulets into my eyes and my clothes were damp. I took off my sandals and walked ankle-deep into the water. A slight breeze offered some relief from the heat. When I stumbled into a shallow drop-off, a wave twice my size knocked me off my feet. I stumbled up and raced to the shore.

  Feeling like the loser in a wet t-shirt contest, I ventured into a rocky area and stretched out on a coffin-shaped stone to dry out. A sailboat glided across the sparkling surface. Beyond it, a fishing boat bobbed in the rough water. Peace descended over me for the first time since Stella’s death. I wanted to stay in this exact spot forever, forgetting the ugliness that propelled me into a world where a woman like my sister could be broken and tossed aside.

  After my clothes dried enough to lose their transparency, I threaded my way through the rising tide and across the rocks to shallow water, where I knelt to rinse sand off my legs. A heavyset man several yards behind me stopped at the same time I did. When I looked in his direction, he pulled his white baseball cap over his eyes and bent over as if searching for shells.

  He is looking for shells, I told myself. Just because the police had tracked me to Eva’s didn’t mean I was being followed today. Mr. Fat Cap was most likely some harmless tourist out for a relaxing walk on the beach. The fact he was now walking toward me was nothing more than a coincidence.

  Chapter 26

  No need to panic. I moved away from the waters’ edge and weaved through the maze of sunbathers on blankets and towels. Comforted by their presence, I reached the pavement, dusted the grit off my feet, and slipped on my sandals. My shadow was nowhere in sight.

  Vendors selling everything from fresh oysters to tacos and ice cream lined the street, but I kept walking until I came to a small building with an elaborate thatched roof. Cheap T-shirts and swimsuits hung from racks on the walls. I walked to a carousel of sunglasses and tried on a pair, using the mirror to scan the throng of shoppers. There was still no sign of him. I exhaled and returned to trying on sunglasses. A flash of white caught my attention. Head down next to a row of clam-shaped ashtrays, my friend was back.

  I modeled more glasses before grabbing a pair with faux tortoise-shell frames. Then I moved to a rack of cheap sundresses in vibrant jungle colors. I selected an orange one with a parrot perched across the skirt. At the register, I asked the clerk if there was another exit. He motioned to the back, and I ambled out into a narrow passage between the shops. A few feet away, an elderly man in flowered shorts and no shirt smoked a cigarette. He ignored me as I ran past him.

  I ducked into the shop a few doors down and found myself face-to-face with Bob Marley, all sunglasses and serenity on a bright red, yellow, and green flag. Below him sat the biggest bong I’d ever seen. A dark-skinned man with dreadlocks beamed at me with a gap-toothed grin. I asked for directions to the ladies room. There I removed my T-shirt and slipped the sundress over my shorts. It was at least a half-size too big in the top, and the straps kept slipping off my shoulders, but it would have to do. I stuffed the clothes in my bag and gathered my hair into a bun.

  I exited the shop and walked toward our hotel. Before I rounded the first corner, a whisper tickled my ear.

  “Please, Señorita, I do not wish to hurt you. But you must come with me.”

  Instead of the heavyset man from the beach, I faced a young boy whose dark hair hung over the side of his face. When he pushed it back, he exposed the half-moon on his wrist. It was Ben’s houseboy.

  “Eduardo! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry to frighten you, but it’s better if no one sees us talking. Please, come with me.”

  Fearful the man from the beach was still following me, I glanced over my shoulder. The street was clear, but a more private location seemed like a good idea.

  We wound through side streets, and I speculated on his need for secrecy. Could he be working with Ben, luring me away from the crowds to shut me up? From his reaction to seeing his boss shrieking on the floor, I didn’t sense a closeness between employer and employee. Next to Eva, he was the most likely person with insights into what Stella’s last days had been like. I had to trust him.

  He stopped at the back entrance of a restaurant and held the torn screen door open. I stepped inside, where the rattling of pots and pans threatened to drown the hum of nearby voices.

  “This is where my cousin works,” he announced and led me to a walk-in closet filled with cleaning supplies. He pulled out a step stool from underneath a shelf and requested I sit.

  “I hope Ben didn’t fire you because of me.”

  Eduardo smiled. “No. I still have my job, but Señor Wilcott has been away on business. He left the morning after your visit. He is expected back later today. That is why I needed to see you now.

  “I’m sorry to say I cannot help you with how Señora Stella died. But I can perhaps explain to you what happened earlier. A little over two months ago, just after Señor Wilcott fired Eva, your sister left her home. The señor was very disturbed. He sent men to search for her, but they had no luck. He insisted I go to Eva and she return to answer his questions, but she also was not to be found. I feared he suspected Señora Stella had run away with a lover, but I knew she had not.”

  “You did? Please, tell me how.”

  “Because Eva had taken her to the home of her sister in Ibarra.” He explained she was from the remote town between Guayaquil and Quito.

  “But why would Stella leave like that? And how did you find out?”

  “I cannot say why, but I know it was true because Eva is my aunt.” He grinned. “Señor Wilcott is not aware of our connection.”

  I enjoyed the thought of Ben blustering around trying to discover where Stella had gone while the answer was literally at his door. Yet, I wasn’t sure the boy was being completely transparent.

  “She may not have run off with a lover, but she had one: Adelmo Balsuto.”

  His eyes widened. “I cannot help you.”

  “Please, Eduardo. It’s important. Was Señor Balsuto aware of where your aunt and my sister had gone?”
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  If Adelmo had known where they were, it was likely he had helped Stella hide. If he hadn’t, she might have been hiding from him. Either way, he had misled me.

  “They did not tell me that. Only that Señor Wilcott did not and could not find out where they were.”

  “They may not have told you, but you are a very clever young man. What do you think happened?”

  “It is not for me to say.” He looked over his shoulder. “But you must believe me. Señor Balsuto would never cause harm to come to your sister.”

  “If you’re so sure it wasn’t Adelmo she feared, you must have an idea who would. Was it Ben?”

  “It is not good to make guesses about such things here in Montañita. But your sister did not plan to return to her home here. My aunt told me she wanted to go back to her own country. Something happened that brought her back to Montañita.”

  I begged him to tell me what the something was that had resulted in her death, but he claimed ignorance. I had no choice but to believe him.

  “Please, be careful, Señorita Burnette. Señor Wilcott was very angry when you ran from the house. Regardless of whether he was the one who killed her, he is a dangerous man. You should go home before it is too late.”

  He stepped out of the small room, signaling our meeting was over. We didn’t talk as he led me to the busy street. He left without saying goodbye.

  I watched him walk away and bit my lip to keep from screaming in frustration.

  The more I learned about Stella’s last few months, the more questions I had. I was sure Adelmo had helped her get to Ibarra, which meant he had lied to me earlier, but why? And why had Eva gone with her? If my sister wanted to come home, why hadn’t she? And most important of all, why had she returned to Montañita?

  It was almost 5:00 when I began walking to the villa, still trying to make sense of what Eduardo had shared. Clouds like black smoke hung low, trapping the heat between them and the beach. My bun had fallen out, and my hair expanded into a bird’s nest of curls. I had done nothing to prepare for afternoon showers but wasn’t worried about getting wet. It was the rumble of thunder in the distance that made my heart race.