Mom discovered the stolen items in a shoebox underneath Stella’s bed. When confronted with her larcenous behavior, my sister seemed surprised at all the fuss. She didn’t understand why it was a big deal. We explained it was wrong to take things that belonged to other people.
For months it looked as if Mom’s talk registered, and in a very literal way it had. Nothing went missing at home, and we thought our mother had successfully nipped Stella’s criminal career in the bud—until her distraught kindergarten teacher called.
We discovered what she had learned about not lifting stuff from family members had not translated into the classroom. She comprehended the law itself but not the spirit. Her classmates reported missing pencils, notebooks, even jackets and gloves. Rather than keep them, she always returned the confiscated booty to its rightful owners. There had been no question she was the thief because the teacher caught her red-handed—not in the act of theft, but while sneaking a stolen crayon box back into a little girl’s backpack. The woman was at a loss since she always returned what she had taken, but the behavior disrupted the daily routine and had to stop.
It was one of the few times I remember Mom spanking Stella. Later, I asked my sister why she stole from her classmates when she didn’t want the stuff she took. She smiled and said it was fun to see her friends searching for the missing objects. And it was a blast to watch their joyful reactions when they recovered their lost treasures.
She never got in trouble for stealing again, but I doubted she had stopped. She just became better at it, and after she stole Ben, she no longer returned stolen goods.
Until now.
Except I didn’t believe in ghosts. Stella was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. She had nothing to do with the reappearing purse. To think she did was nothing more than wishful thinking or a result of my guilt. Neither of these reasons accounted for my continued shivering. I grabbed a sweater from my suitcase and called for Justin.
“What’s wrong?” He appeared within seconds, Harry close behind.
I pointed to the bed. “It was here when I walked in.”
“Don’t touch it,” he commanded, then left and came back with a broom. We watched as he poked the bag as if he expected a bomb or poisonous snake to be in it. But there was no explosion nor slithering reptile. He hooked the handle through the straps, lifted it off the bed, and carried it outside.
“Really, Justin,” I said, following him through the patio doors. “It’s not booby-trapped.” But I didn’t protest when he dumped the contents onto the thick glass table.
“Is anything missing?” he asked, using the broom to move stuff around.
If there was, I couldn’t tell, nor did I notice any additions. Satisfied the bag posed no threat, he allowed me to put my things back in order. Then we walked inside.
“Here’s how I see it,” he began. “The only people who could have returned it are Ben, Prez, or whoever cleaned up after them. But Ben and Prez wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know you were there. So, they would have ditched it, not gone to the trouble of sneaking it into your bedroom.” He sat beside me on the sofa and put his arm around my shoulders.
“It could be a message,” Harry said. “They want to make sure we realize how easy it would be to get to us.”
“More of a threat,” Justin said.
“But what if it wasn’t them or their men?” I asked.
“There’s only one other person who would be interested in last night’s activities at the Point.” Justin paused before adding, “Balsuto.”
If it was Adelmo, why would he take such care to obliterate all traces of what had happened at the house? Ben and Prez had both disappeared, and Prez could be dead. No one had mentioned that possibility, so I brought it up myself.
“The last time I saw Ben he was alive, but Prez took a nasty fall. He might not have survived. Maybe whoever did the clean-up wanted to help me. Bringing back my purse was nothing more than a polite gesture.”
“I’d say it was more than mannerly,” Harry said. “But I sure as hell hope that’s not the case. Yes, the world would be a better place without those assholes in it. Regardless of the motive behind the cover-up, though, you’re involved now, which makes it easier for the authorities to consider you a murder suspect.”
The concept I might have taken a life hadn’t been real to me until Harry said it out loud.
“I’m more worried Grace didn’t kill him, which could mean they’re still after her,” Justin added. “Because they know what Balsuto’s capable of doing if he finds out they were trying to screw him over. That’s what they were so concerned about, and they should be. Balsuto’s not the forgiving type. They can’t afford for you to talk to him.”
Had I been a fool to refuse to believe the man I once considered my one and only true love wanted me dead? I had no doubts what Prez had in mind for me. I suspected he might have not only wanted me out of the way but had planned to shoot Ben, too.
“Maybe we should go home, leave all this insanity behind,” Justin suggested. “There’s a chance Javi is the only casualty from last night, and Grace had nothing to do with that. Regardless, it’s a good idea not to be here if bodies start turning up.”
I knew he was right, but we’d discovered almost nothing about my sister’s murder.
“I’m not worried about getting arrested. The only people who know for certain I was even in that house are dead or involved in bringing me there against my will. They can’t very well go to the police. Please, Justin. I could never face myself, not to mention my mother, if I left now.”
“Would she want to lose another daughter? Forget it. You won’t change your mind. So, I’ll just fix myself a strong drink and pretend everything’s going to be fine.”
“Make that two.” Harry and I said in unison.
He was overly generous with the vodka, but I didn’t complain.
Harry talked more about his unsuccessful attempts to find Eva or her nephew, but I had trouble listening. We’d been in Montañita less than a week, and I’d seen and perpetrated more violence than I had in my entire life. And it was the Christmas season.
I noticed no one was talking and that both men were staring at me. “I’m sorry. I blanked out.”
“Harry was saying he thought the two of us should go back to Ben’s this afternoon to see if he made it home and talk to Eduardo. It’s too dangerous for you to come, but we don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Stop right there. If you remember, I handled Ben, not once but twice. And after a pool stick to the crotch, Prez won’t be moving very fast.” If at all, I thought. “And there’s no good reason for Adelmo to hurt me. Even if I overheard something, who would take my word over his?”
Justin looked as if he wanted to speak, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s right.”
“Okay, okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But could you please promise to stay inside and keep the doors locked?”
I promised to try.
Harry glanced at his watch. “I need to see a client just outside of town about a problem he’s having with the security system we set him up with a few months ago. It shouldn’t take much more than an hour.”
After he left, Justin went to the patio to check emails. I sat at Harry’s laptop intending to send an email update to Mike but felt guilty about not talking to them in person since arriving in Ecuador and called instead. The call went to voicemail. After leaving a rambling message about how we were trying to piece together Stella’s last months, I told Mom I loved her and would get back to her later. I made no mention of my kidnapping or the possibility I was a killer.
When I finished, I joined Justin on the patio.
“I forgot to thank
you and Harry for rescuing me the other night. There’s no telling what would have happened to me if you hadn’t showed up.”
“Somehow, I think you would have been just fine.”
Only I didn’t want to be fine without him, couldn’t or wouldn’t imagine being without him. I understood how reckless it was to experience such strong emotions after the short while we’d been together. But losing Stella a second and final time had taught me to reassess my life.
Before I could tell him how I felt, he came to me and traced the outline of my chin with his index finger before crushing my lips with his. The suddenness took my breath. I wrapped my arms around him, desperate to melt into his body. He slipped his hands up my back, and I trembled. After nibbling my earlobe, he kissed the hollow of my throat, bringing his mouth lower until he reached the top of my breast.
Without warning, he released me, and I stumbled into a chair. When he threw himself between me and the patio door, I saw Harry standing there, tapping on the glass. The roaring in my ears must have drowned out the sound of his knocking. I adjusted my clothes and smoothed my hair while Justin did some adjusting of his own.
“Sorry,” he said, as Harry shuffled toward us. “Didn’t hear you get back.”
Nothing like stating the obvious, I thought, and resisted the urge to giggle.
“Hate to interrupt, but we should go if we want to miss the worst of the traffic.” He was blushing. This time I giggled.
I followed the men to the entryway where Justin grazed my cheek with his lips, then gave me a proper kiss.
“I’ll start the car. Later, Grace.” Harry scurried out without looking back.
“I think we embarrassed him.”
“You know you’re driving me crazy,” he whispered in my ear. “Could you please stay out of trouble or at least not cripple or maim anyone while I’m gone?” He lifted my hair and nuzzled my neck. “God, I don’t want to go.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.” I locked the door behind him.
I sat at the kitchen table and checked my email. Lesroy sent a picture of Scarlett lying in the middle of his bed, a leather slipper in her mouth. He added the caption: Police locate shoe of missing man. Hopes for finding the body are slim.
His message made me long for home. What if we all just said screw it, packed up, and left? Nothing we discovered or accomplished could bring Stella back. And I had to believe everyone gets what they deserve, that fate or karma or whatever would take care of her killer or killers. But what if I was wrong? What if the people who strangled my sister and treated her body like yesterday’s garbage got away with it? I couldn’t allow that to happen.
Although they had been gone only a short while, I was restless. I rummaged through the magazine rack until I found an English version of Star and curled up on the sofa to catch up on the lives of the rich and famous. I thumbed through the first few pages, tossed it aside, and drifted into a sound sleep.
My dreams weren’t about Stella. She just kept turning up in them. In one, Lesroy and I were in my living room, and she came in with a baby on her hip. I knew, in the inexplicable way you know things in dreams, the infant she carried was mine. In another, Scarlett and I were running in a field. The dog stopped and stared into the woods where my sister stood, then vanished into the thicket. The last started on a high note. Justin and I were lying entwined on my mother’s bed, kissing and touching. He rolled me over until I was on top of him, and I saw Stella’s reflection in the mirror over the dresser.
I startled awake, conflicted as usual about her but also in deep sorrow. Seeing her with my baby—a child I would never have, according to Mom, unless I got with the program—made me think of all the firsts Stella and I would never share. But the one with Justin brought back the bitterness I held far too long.
Dreams, like memories, deceive us. They show a reality we wish was real; then they destroy hope with truth.
I wandered around the room. It was after two, and I was beyond bored. I picked up the TV remote and began flipping through channels, stopping at a telenovela, like American soap operas only more melodramatic. It was in Spanish, but I decided to expand my limited vocabulary. Even without subtitles, I could tell the plot followed a beautiful young woman torn between two men. The story mesmerized me. Close-ups of passionate, open-mouth kisses and fade-to-black sex scenes were hot stuff for daytime television.
I couldn’t understand any of the dialogue and didn’t realize it was over until the credits ran on a split screen. Frustrated at the realization I’d never know which of the steamy heroes the heroine chose, I reached for the off button as the station cut to the local news desk. A ridiculously handsome man in a tan suit and red-striped tie stared into the camera with the words Noticias de última hora flashing below him.
The picture shifted from a shot of the newsroom to footage of police with grave expressions, standing next to a scattering of small boulders at the edge of the ocean. One of them began speaking. I moved until I stood inches from the TV, expecting proximity to improve comprehension. But the only words I caught were tablista and Estados Unidos: surfer and United States.
When the camera panned in on the base of the rocks, my stomach flipped. I strained to pick up what the reporter was saying, but it was useless. He spoke too fast. The cameras cut back to the anchorman. His solemn expression morphed into a cheerful smile as he transitioned to a commercial break.
I couldn’t have seen what I thought I had. I clicked through channels, hoping to find more on the story, but there was nothing. Nothing at all to confirm that quick shot of a bright orange and purple tennis shoe.
Chapter 31
I turned off the TV, took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and held it against my head, praying the coolness would provide clarity.
Calm down, Grace. You can’t be sure it belonged to Prez. The color on the set isn’t great and even if it is the same, Prez Allen can’t be the only surfer from the United States who wears orange and purple tennis shoes.
I told myself I was still in shock from my ordeal at the Point and not able to tell the difference between reality and imagination. The trick was to stay calm and not jump to ridiculous conclusions. A soft tapping sound interrupted my reverie.
Remembering my promise to be extra careful, I looked through the peephole where a stack of fluffy white towels blocked my vision.
I released the bolt lock and opened the door. The laundry tumbled to the ground. Instead of a smiling staff member, a bald man built like a linebacker stood there.
I stepped back, grabbed the knob, and tried to shut him out. But he was surprisingly agile for his size. He stuck a booted foot on the doorstep and sidestepped through the entrance, clicking the lock behind him. I continued backing away from him, then bolted for the patio. Once again, he moved faster than expected and took my arm without applying pressure.
“Por favor, Señorita.” He released me but stepped in front of me, blocking my flight path. “My name is Marco, and I am not here to hurt you. I have a message from Señor Balsuto. He wishes to see you, but only if you agree to it.” A look of genuine concern came over his round face, as he carefully removed a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to me.
Grace,
If you still want to know who caused your sister’s death, I ask that you go with Marco. It is a short distance to travel for the chance to take part in getting justice for our beautiful Stella. I will not have you brought against your wishes, but if you come to me, like the little creatures who crossed our path when we last met, you can be assured of your safety.
Yours always,
Adelmo
I assumed his reference to the colorful crabs we encountered on the way to the museum was to reassure me the n
ote came from him. I wondered what would happen if I refused him. Would Marco leave? Would my refusal end any chance of finding out what happened to my sister?
Adelmo promised he would uncover the truth about Stella, and, while his fervor frightened me, I believed him. I explained to Marco I would go with him but had to write a note for my friends to let them know where and with whom I was going. He smiled but shook his head in response to my inquiry about our destination.
“I am sorry, Señorita. I am under orders not to reveal such information. Your friends must trust you are safe.”
Trust. That was the issue. Justin said Ben destroyed my ability to trust, and until he came along, that was true.
Adelmo was a different story. I shuddered at his obsession for vengeance when we first met but had come to understand it. I even experienced a strange connection whenever I was with him. While lack of fear might not be the same as trust, it would have to do.
Marco waited while I found paper and pen. I supplied as many details as I could about who had summoned me and why I was going. I emphasized Adelmo had guaranteed my safety, and that I took him at his word.
My escort held the door open and guided me to a long, black limo. I sank into the dove-gray leather seats, wondering if I had made the right decision. While I believed my sister’s lover wouldn’t harm me, I suspected his information about Stella’s last hours would devastate me. And the line in his note about taking part in delivering justice for her might destroy me.
I closed my eyes. The image of a bright orange and purple tennis shoe flashed through my mind. I trembled at the possibility I had already played a role in settling the score for Stella. But if Prez had killed her, I wasn’t sorry. Besides, my actions at that hellish house were more self-defense than murder. Adelmo talked about getting justice, but what if it was more like revenge? If so, did I care?
The Grace Burnette who landed in the Guayaquil airport less than a week ago had been determined to protect Ben from violence, regardless of his culpability. But I wasn’t that woman anymore. I’d been bullied and terrorized, had seen brutality up close and personal in the form of my sister’s destroyed body. And I had faced the fact I would never get the chance to tell her that, despite all the heartache between us, I had never stopped loving her. She was and would always be my flawed, but beautiful, Stella Star.
The Sometime Sister Page 19