Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  “Sorry, Miss. You have to back up, please.”

  “I’m with them,” she pointed toward West Coast Software. “That’s my sister’s company.”

  “Well, right now you must move back, make room.”

  “Make room for what?” She stood on tiptoe to look over his shoulder. Two white-coated men were pushing a gurney. As they came closer, she saw that a body lay on the gurney, shrouded in a white sheet.

  She backed up, stiff as a marionette.

  A voice behind her said, “Move to the side, please, out of the way.”

  Mina turned. The coroner’s white wagon was backing up to the entrance, its back door yawned wide. Panic hit her. She tried to get away, but the crowd pressed her back against one of the policemen. The gurney came closer and, wheeling past her, hit a speed bump. Wedged between the policeman and a barricade, Mina had a clear view. She shuddered; the sheet covered everything but one red patent leather shoe.

  CHAPTER 3

  Mina sat in the receptionist’s chair just as she had—was it only that afternoon? All was dark and cold outside the big glass windows. Yet, thoughts rushed through her mind like sparks from a fire burst.

  Night or day, time didn’t matter. Not to her and not to Sarah. Oh, how she wanted to shrink, get smaller and smaller, disappear into that chair. Even her breathing felt shallow. If she kept still and quiet maybe no one would notice her.

  She needed time to think, understand, and make sense of this death.

  Sarah Fernandez. The girl with the red shoes.

  Dio, Dio mio, why? Death had no country, no conscience; it paid no attention to age, race, intelligence, or personality. Death gathers souls indiscriminately, the way bees gather pollen from flowers.

  Flowers, yes. She closed her eyes, seeing big, yellow chrysanthemums. Crisantemi, flowers of death. In Italy, November second was Il Giorno dei Morti, Day of the Dead. To Paola, that was a silly tradition, another senseless Catholic ritual like fish on Friday. But religious or not, every year, Italians kept their date with their dead.

  In the cold November morning, after Mass, the townspeople walked the steep road to the cemetery. A row of tall, somber cypresses guarded the way. The bent, old women, black shawls covering their heads, held children’s hands. White pebbles skittered under the heavy shoes; weathered fingers rolled rosary beads. Mina remembered passing through the rusty gates, the acrid smell of flowers, the murmur of voices, and the quiet sobbing over the moist dirt of the newest graves.

  And crisantemi everywhere. Bright yellow, like the California sun, like the police tape—chills ran through her, she wrapped her arms around her body. Was there a Day of the Dead where Sarah came from?

  Mina opened her eyes. The drab reception area felt downright spooky tonight.

  Across from her, Brian sat on the only couch. “Is Sarah related to Rachel Fernandez?”

  “Her older sister, I think. It’s hard to tell. They have so many relatives working the line and boxing the finished diskettes. Sarah had probably been with the company the longest. To me, all the sisters look so much alike, except for Rachel, and that’s because she bleaches her hair. Do you know Rachel?”

  Before Brian could answer, Paola came out of Michael’s office with Paco Mendez, the girls’ supervisor. Paco, in his early fifties, had a bushy head of gray hair and a mustache that threatened to take over his face. Mina didn’t know where her sister had found him, but he’d worked at the company from the beginning, moving up from warehouse worker to warehouse supervisor, to plant foreman.

  He was also Paola’s closest friend.

  “Paco found Sarah when he turned on the alarm,” Paola said, “but the police think she’s been dead for several hours. Poor Sarah.”

  “What happened?” Mina asked.

  “It looks like she fell down the stairs.” Paola pointed at the closed door next to Michael’s office that led to the loft. “She hit her head on the concrete edge of the last step. If the carpet layers had finished their job in time, this probably wouldn’t have happened.” Paola paused. “Maybe I should call Adams.”

  “Afraid of a lawsuit?” Mina asked. Peter Adams was her sister’s lawyer and old friend, yet she always referred to him by his last name.

  “For what?” Paola hesitated, as if carefully choosing the answer. “She may have forgotten to take her epilepsy medication and had a seizure. It’s happened before. Remember? She went into convulsions the day she started working here; caused quite a commotion. I rushed her to the doctor—back then she didn’t speak English. I felt so sorry for her, on her own in a new country. I tried to be a big sister to her and the rest of the girls, until...”

  Until Rachel entered the scenario, Mina finished her sister’s thought.

  Paola took a breath before continuing. “Sarah is—I mean, was—careless about her prescription. Anyway, that’s what the police suspect.”

  “How do you know that?” Mina asked.

  “I told them about her health problems.” Paola passed a hand over her forehead, massaged the space between her eyes. “I don’t care if it’s late, I’m calling Adams.”

  She went back into Michael’s office and closed the door. Paco collapsed on the couch, next to Brian. The two men greeted each other. Mina wondered if they’d been introduced.

  Yawning, Brian stretched his arms over his head. “I could use a ride home. Jet lag is catching up with me, and I’m no help here.”

  Mina jumped up; she could use a change of scenery herself. “I’d love to take you home, but my sister doesn’t let me drive her car.”

  “Mrs. Davies is a wise lady,” Paco said, a gentle gleam in his eyes.

  “Grazie for that vote of confidence, Paco. Anyway,” she flashed Brian a big smile, “if you can talk her into giving you the keys...”

  “Sounds good.” Brian rubbed his eyes. “Paco, what did you tell the police?”

  He swallowed hard. “I noticed the blood first.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mina sat down. “It’s not...I don’t...”

  Paco didn’t seem to hear her. “There was a big dark spot under the door to the loft. I thought it was coffee, at first. About a month ago, the girls left the machine on the whole weekend. It exploded, and on Monday I found glass and coffee grounds all over the upstairs room and down the stairs.

  “There’s a second story to this building?” Brian asked.

  “It’s just a loft. It used to be for storage, but we needed more space in the warehouse, so Mrs. Davies came up with the idea of turning the loft into an eating area. That freed the dining room, and we were able to expand into it. Most of the remodeling is complete, except for a few finishing touches, like carpet and a new railing.” Paco shook his head. “I don’t understand what Sarah was doing up there, or how she got in. I’m sure I locked the access door when I left Friday night.”

  Paco probably had keys to the building that Paola didn’t even let Michael have, Mina thought.

  “She was wearing her work smock,” Paco continued, “but she didn’t punch in her time card. I was doing inventory most of the day, but I never saw her. Not until...”

  Red patent pumps. Was she the last one to see Sarah alive?

  “How did it happen?” Brian asked.

  Mina wished he would shut up.

  “She must have passed out at the top of the stairs. The police found one of her red shoes up there.” Paco’s voice wavered. “It looked like she fell face-first. I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know if I could have helped her. When I found her, her hair—Madre de Dios.” He made a quick sign of the cross. “The blood had dried and her hair was stuck over her face. I wouldn’t have recognized her except for the name on her smock.”

  The three of them sat, the clock’s buzzing the only sound in the gloomy room. Mina felt sick inside. Should she tell the cops about the red shoes? It would help establish that Sarah was still alive around one o’clock when... The memory of a speeding Thunderbird roared in her head. Maybe she should wait, talk it over wit
h her sister. Nothing could bring Sarah back now.

  Si, she would talk to Paola first.

  Paco said something to Brian, got up and went through the door to the warehouse. As the door closed behind him, Paola came out of the office.

  “Done. Where is Paco?” she asked.

  “Locking up the back and leaving,” Brian said. “He’s going to check on the Fernandezes on his way home. They don’t have a telephone.”

  Michael Davies picked that moment to walk in, looking as if he had just returned from a coffee break—no overcoat, no briefcase, hands in his pockets. He used to be a handsome man, but the years and the extra weight had greatly changed his appearance. The full, sensuous lips of his youth now sagged into his fleshy jaws. It was hard to remember the attractive man Paola had brought to Italy to meet their parents. Only his eyes held a glimmer of the charm and sensitivity that had made him so appealing.

  Met by a trio of stares, Michael stopped. “What’s this, West Coast Software welcome wagon?” He turned to Brian. “Who the hell are you?”

  Paola replied quickly. “Mina’s new friend.”

  Mina’s first impulse was to choke her sister; instead, she smiled.

  “Sorry I’m late, I missed my plane,” Michael said. “What’s that police tape doing by the flower bed?” At their silence, his tone grew suspicious. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Paola pointed to the loft. “Sarah Fernandez fell down the stairs. I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  Michael’s incredulous look struck Mina as genuine. “Honey, if that’s meant as a joke, it’s a sick one.”

  Paola tilted her head and peered at him from almost-closed eyelids. She spoke slowly. “I said Sarah, not Rachel, darling.”

  His face reddened with anger. “Of course. Pushing people down stairs is hardly your style.”

  “Michael!” Paola lowered her voice. “Let’s continue this in your office.”

  After the door closed, Brian turned toward Mina, “It’s hard for me to imagine Paula married to that man.”

  “He wasn’t always like this. When they got married, he was quite handsome. All my girlfriends were smitten with him. They used to call him L’Americano.” Mina swiveled gently in the receptionist’s chair. “They came to Italy for their honeymoon. Our parents were alive then. Everyone could see he was crazy about her.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, years ago.” Before he met Rachel. For the second time that night, Mina wondered why, if someone had to die, it couldn’t have been Rachel.

  Better change the subject.

  “How about you?” Mina said. “How’s your love life?”

  The amused look in Brian’s eyes was the only sign he had heard her question. “I think I’ll hit the rest room.” He stood, stretched, and walked up the hall toward the warehouse. “Then we can see about getting you those car keys.”

  After he left, the intercom buzzed. Mina jumped to her feet. Paola’s voice sounded scratchy over the wire. “Mina, can you come in here please?”

  She had barely stepped over the threshold when Paola threw her the keys to the Thunderbird.

  “Why don’t you drive Brian home while Michael and I talk.”

  A smile spread across Mina’s face, “Yes, ma’am, mille grazie.”

  Michael knelt next to her sister’s chair and stroked her arm. So, the snake had some residual charm. Mina was just glad to see that Paola had calmed down.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She held up one hand. “Wait, don’t say it—I’ll drive carefully, I promise. Ciao!” The keys jingled as she gave a saucy wave and closed the door.

  Brian came out of the bathroom. “Hey, snoop, guess what?” Mina called.

  His eyes were riveted on something behind her.

  Mina turned. A woman in a brown tweed coat stood by the receptionist’s desk, her back to them. She stared out into the dark parking lot. Mina recognized her by the coarse bleached hair that hung down her back.

  “Rachel,” Mina whispered.

  The woman didn’t move.

  A heavy wool coat. Mina’s mind leapt. She’d been to Chicago with Michael. How dare she come in here!

  Mina strode over and tapped the woman on the shoulder. “Rachel.” She said the name quietly between gritted teeth. Better than being overheard by Paola and Michael.

  The blonde turned. Mina found herself staring into the eyes of a very alive Sarah Fernandez.

  CHAPTER 4

  Mina’s scream rose from deep inside. It wasn’t a screech or a shrill, but a loud cry of astonishment. Loud enough to bring Paola and Michael rushing out of the office.

  “What is it?” Paola asked.

  In complete state of shock, Mina couldn’t find her voice. Sarah? How could this be? Silently, she stepped aside and pointed at the blonde.

  “Dio mio, dear God, it’s Sarah. But...who is...Dio mio, I’m losing my mind,” Paola whispered. “Your hair—Oh, Sarah, haven’t you heard?”

  Sarah turned to Michael. She seemed confused and probably couldn’t understand anything being said.

  “Well, Paola, she looks alive and well to me.” He laughed—a brief, strident laugh—but his eyes never left his wife’s face.

  “May I use the telephone in your office?” Brian headed toward the office without waiting for an answer.

  Mina felt soooo stupid. Screaming, what a mature reaction. She glimpsed at Sarah. Sarah alive! But then, who was the dead girl?

  Now Mina understood Michael’s earlier disbelief. He knew the dead woman couldn’t be Sarah because she had been with him in Chicago. What a fool she’d been, blaming Rachel, when it was her sister having an affair with Michael. To hell with all the Fernandez sisters.

  “Paco thought...he’s on his way to tell the family. Shouldn’t we send somebody to let him know it wasn’t Sarah?” No one paid attention to Mina.

  “Sarah, how did you get in here?” Paola asked, her voice back to normal.

  A puzzled look was the only reaction she received from the young woman.

  “Leave her alone,” Michael said, “She drove some relatives to the airport. We ran into each other and she gave me a ride.”

  Mina waited for Paola’s explosion. When it didn’t come, she snapped, “Paola, wake up! You don’t believe his story, do you?”

  “Excuse me.” Brian was back on the scene. “I just spoke to a friend on the Santa Ana Police Department—”

  “You what?” Michael said. “Who do you think you are?”

  “One of the detectives is a friend of mine. So—”

  “And you are Mina’s friend?” Michael sneered.

  “To have friends in the Police Department is a good thing,” Brian ignored Michael’s sarcasm, “especially in a mess like this. We’re to meet Detective De Fiore at the morgue.”

  “Fuck, just what we need, another goddamn wop,” Michael said.

  Mina flared. “You jerk, any one wop is better than you, you bloated—”

  “Mina, basta, stop it this instant!” Paola said. “Why don’t we all start behaving like adults and go meet Detective De Fiore? Where is this place?”

  “Off Santa Ana Boulevard and Fourth Street. I know how to get there,” Brian said.

  “I’m not going to the morgue,” Mina said.

  “Don’t be difficult, signorina!”

  “You can shout all you want, Paola. I’m not going.” She backed up against the wall.

  “Why not?” Brian said.

  Her face reddened. “I guess...I don’t know. Si, I do know. I don’t want to look at dead bodies. It’s morbid. It’s sick.”

  “Well, since you’re not involved with this, you could wait here.” Brian said.

  “Stay here alone?”

  “Sure. Sarah, Paula and Mr. Davies need to be at the morgue, and I promised Dan—Detective De Fiore—that I’d go with them. You stay and guard the fort, okay?”

  Mina glanced at the door to the loft. “I’m not staying here by myself.”

  “Goddamn, M
ina, make up your mind.” Michael’s face flushed with anger. “It’ll be time for Sunday brunch by the time we’re finished with this shit, and I want to go home and get some sleep.” Michael said.

  “Okay, I’ll go. But I’m waiting in the car.”

  “Is it settled?” Paola asked.

  Mina nodded.

  “Then everybody out, I’ll turn on the alarm,” Paola said. “Let’s go.”

  Everyone piled into Paola’s car, Paola and Michael in front, Mina in the back, sandwiched between Brian and Sarah. Michael followed Brian’s directions to the morgue. The ride was short. In the misleading shadows of the night, the Santa Ana barrio looked like any other poor neighborhood. The headlights of the speeding Thunderbird probed the stillness of the streets on this late Saturday night, yet, like a magic eraser, blotted out the gangs’ graffiti, the barred doors and windows.

  Twenty minutes later, they parked in front of a brown brick building trimmed with orange glazed tiles.

  Forensic Science Center, the sign said. A modern looking place; not at all the gothic horror Mina imagined. She felt a little foolish about her reluctance, but wasn’t about to admit it.

  The others went inside. Before he closed the car door, Brian leaned over and mouthed, “Chicken.”

  Mina pretended she didn’t see him. Soon she grew tired of staring at the oversized orange lamp glowing in the window of the reception room. She made sure the car doors were locked and leaned her head against the window. Why would anyone decorate a morgue orange? It took her a moment to make the connection. Orange as in Orange County.

  Less than ten years ago, Mina had never heard of the place. She knew Paola lived in California, but to an Italian teenager and her friends, California was San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge, Disneyland and Hollywood. She closed her eyes and smiled, remembering the way she used to pronounce Hollywood. Howlyvoood, like the howl of a werewolf in the moonlight.

  Mina dozed off. The next thing she heard was a tapping on the window. Nervous, she looked outside. Brian flashed his fluoride smile. She rubbed her eyes, careful not to disturb the mascara, and then rolled the window down a few inches. “I don’t have to come in, do I?”