Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  Brian dangled the keys of the Thunderbird in front of her. “Wanna give me a ride home?”

  Mina climbed into the front seat while Brian walked around and unlocked the passenger door. He handed her the keys. “Paula says—”

  “I know, I know,” Mina interrupted him. “Be careful, drive safely: the same old stuff.” She started the car, loving the roar of the T-bird’s engine. Such a nice change from the Bug. “Well, who is she?”

  “Who is who?”

  “Come on, Brian. The dead girl.”

  “It’s hasn’t been confirmed, although I have a pretty good idea.”

  “Of course, Mr. Detective,” she said.

  “I talked to Paco. He got here before we did.”

  “You and Paco seem pretty chummy. He doesn’t usually warm up to people that fast.”

  “I’m Paula’s friend.”

  “Then why don’t you call her by her real name: Paola.” Mina yawned and stretched. “Where to, Mr. Detective?”

  “How about some all-night place where we can get you some coffee?”

  “No way, I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “That’s the idea.” Again, that smile.

  Mina’s heart went into overtime. “Um, you said the body hasn’t been identified. Who do you think it is?”

  “I’ll tell you over coffee.”

  “I don’t want any coffee. Besides, I don’t want to be seen in public like this. I feel—like I need grooming. “

  “It was good enough for Coco’s, earlier.”

  He was looking at her, maybe staring, but she wouldn’t look back.

  Not with her heart pounding like that. What was the matter with her? She shrugged, trying to seem cool. “It’s late and I’m tired.”

  “We could go to a drive-through,” Brian said.

  “Va bene, let’s get the damn coffee and get it over with.” Mina slapped the car into gear and backed up.

  “You’re really cute when you’re angry.”

  “And you talk like the soaps.”

  Brian stirred and retreated to his side.

  A sudden desire to let her fingers do the walking—through his hair and down his back—came over her. “Tell me where to go before I get lost.”

  “Go east on Santa Ana Boulevard. You’ll see a Jack In the Box.”

  Mina craved silence, time to think about the strange twist of the night’s events, time to put this all in perspective, but she couldn’t concentrate. She was conscious of Brian’s every movement, every glance in her direction. Better talk about something neutral. “So what happened back there, at the uh...morgue?” Mina tripped a little over the word.

  To her surprise, Brian reached over and stroked her hair. She flinched, and his hand fell back to his lap. “What was that for?” she asked.

  “Oh, for an instant, you looked like a little girl with big spooky eyes. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Warmth stirred deep inside her. She saw the drive-through ahead. “Here we are. Jack in the Box.” The mixed odor of grease, salt and hamburger greeted them as she pulled into the lot.

  “You park while I get the coffee. We can drink it in the car. Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming inside?” Brian said.

  Mina shook her head.

  Brian stepped out of the car, closed the door, then opened it again and asked, “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Dark, hot and sweet.” Mina blushed when she realized how that sounded.

  Brian gave her a long glance but, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He shut the door, strode into the glaring lights of the fast food restaurant. By the time she’d parked the car, he was back. The hot coffee steamed the windows, and soon they were isolated from the world outside.

  “So, who do you think the dead girl is?” Mina stirred the coffee, sipped it.

  “The girls in the assembly line wear blue smocks with their name tags sewn on, right? The smock was Sarah’s. However, she shared the locker with three other girls.”

  “Three other sisters,” Mina corrected.

  “Right. Paco saw the nametag and the long black hair; I can see how he made the mistake. It could happen to anyone.”

  “Her hair. That confused me, too. Rachel bleaches hers. Sarah’s is usually dark. When did they change her hair color?” Mina asked.

  “Do you know about Halloween?”

  “How could I forget? It was last Tuesday. That night I joined the ranks of the unemployed. Again.”

  “You lost your job? Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s routine for me,” Mina said. “Now, tell me about the hair color mystery.”

  Taking a sip of coffee, Brian leaned his head against the back of the seat. “I guess there’s a resemblance between the sisters. That’s what gave Rachel and Sarah the idea. Sarah bleached her hair blonde, and Rachel dyed hers black. They wore each other’s clothing and make-up, and fooled a lot of people at a Halloween party.”

  “How do you know all that?” Mina asked.

  “Paco and Sarah told me while Paula—Paola—was in with Dan.”

  “What’s going to happen—cosa?” she stammered, “Are you saying that the girl at the morgue is...”

  “Rachel Fernandez. It’s just a tentative identification based on Sarah’s statement. But my gut feeling tells me that’s her.”

  “That’s not possible. I mean, Paola said the dead girl had an epileptic seizure that’s how she fell down the stairs. Rachel isn’t epileptic. You’ve got to be wrong.”

  Brian stared at her. “Calm down. Maybe she lost her balance on those spike heels.”

  “No, no, it just can’t be,” she moaned.

  “Don’t get so upset,” Brian said.

  “Damn it, you don’t understand. When I found out Sarah died, I wished it were Rachel instead. Now you’re telling me it happened.” Mina covered her head with her arms and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

  “Mina, the girl was dead before you made your wish. You had nothing to do with it. You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to burn in hell for this,” she said, and burst into tears.

  “Are you Catholic?”

  She had been baptized and taken first communion but had stopped going to mass. “Sort of.”

  “That explains it.” Brian propped his coffee against the windshield, reached over and gathered her to him. She turned her face into his shoulder.

  “Mina, maybe it’s not Rachel. Please don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault, believe me.”

  She straightened and wiped her eyes. “I need a tissue.” Mina found a box of tissues under the seat, and blew her nose. She’d managed to embarrass herself in front of him twice in one night. “What did the police want from Paola?”

  “There were lots of unanswered questions,” Brian said. “Since they can’t write it off to Sarah’s epilepsy, the whole scenario has changed.”

  Mina froze. Oh God, if it was Rachel, the police might suspect Paola. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, Mina. There are more questions than answers. Why don’t you drive me home? It’s only a couple of miles from here. Things will look better in the morning.” He checked his watch. “Or rather, the afternoon. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She started the car and pulled out onto Santa Ana Boulevard.

  “You sure?”

  “Honestly Brian, you’re worse than Paola.”

  He directed her to his house. It was in an older neighborhood. She pulled in front of his address. “I like it here. The houses have a character of their own.”

  “I like it too. We’ve lived here for a long time.”

  “We?” Did her voice sound shaky?

  “My mother and I.” He yawned. “Jet lag. I can sure use some sleep. Can you find your way home from here?”

  Mina nodded.

  “I’m glad I met you.” His blue eyes, undimmed by fatigue, looked into hers. “The neighborhood is much more interesting in the daylight.
Maybe you could come over later today. I’ll give you a deluxe tour.”

  She shook her head. “I’m too tired to think now. Ciao, blue eyes.”

  Driving off, she remembered Patrick and suddenly felt guilty. She had dated other guys off and on during Patrick’s long absences—not that she planned on dating Brian. Why did she feel guilty about having a cup of coffee with him?

  At the end of the deserted street, the freeway lights beckoned.

  She pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The Thunderbird leapt forward, the box of tissues slid to the far end of the dashboard.

  “Damn,” Mina reached out, it slid away. She stopped the car, grabbed the box and tried to force it under the seat, where she had found it. Something blocked her effort. A hard, sharp object. Cold sweat shot down her spine. A red patent pump, from under Paola’s seat? “No!” She felt soiled, damaged. Still holding the shoe scorching her soul. Get rid of it. How? The shadowy anonymity of the freeway called to her. No, she couldn’t. The muffled thump of the red pump landing in the back seat rekindled more fear, more doubts. Oh, Paola, why? Again, Mina floored the gas pedal, the Thunderbird roared into the night. Soon she left Santa Ana behind, but stowed away in her mind, the demons went with her. You can run, but you can’t hide.

  CHAPTER 5

  Slices of sun, filtered through the mini-blinds, rested on Mina’s bed. The blanket lay in a lump on the floor, and a corner of the bottom sheet had popped off the mattress, ensnaring her toes. The bed felt like a prison, a lonely place where nocturnal terrors seemed to multiply. Every time she closed her eyes, nightmarish visions of red spiked heels hammered on her head with haunting precision.

  Red shoes and the Fernandez sisters, red shoes and her own sister. Maledizione. Red shoes from hell. Basta, stop. Her sister didn’t own red shoes yet something told her there had to be a connection. Time to talk to big sister. Si, as soon as Paola got out of bed, they were going to have a nice, long chat. Well, maybe not nice. Thinking about it made Mina even more nervous.

  How about some warm milk? Anything was better than lying here, thinking, worrying.

  Mina scooted off the bed and scrounged around for something to wear. Days ago, she’d started to sort her laundry, but never finished it. Small mounds of clothes littered the floor.

  An oversized sweatshirt with a Guns N’ Roses logo perched on the closest pile. She slipped it on and went downstairs. She put a mug of low-fat milk in the microwave and watched it go round and round until the timer buzzed.

  “Is that you, Mina?” Paola’s voice called from someplace near.

  She hadn’t expected her sister to be up or she would have picked a different top. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Up already?” Paola sat in the living room, staring at the wall. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

  Mina tried to read her sister’s expression, her thoughts. She looked...somber. Mina gulped down some milk. “Ouch, I burned my tongue.”

  “Good thing your Frenchman is out of town.”

  “Paola, I can’t believe you said that.” She studied her sister’s face. There was no reaction, didn’t even mention the offensive sweatshirt. Suddenly, talking about the red shoes didn’t seem so urgent. “I’m lucky I got fired.” Mina said. “Otherwise, right now I’d be serving eggs sunny-side-up to the after-church crowd, and they’re lousy tippers.”

  Paola smiled, but her eyes kept the blank look. “You know how to find the silver lining in your cloud, every time. I wish I could.”

  “Cheer up. Things may get better now that Rachel—maledizione, here I go again.”

  “What? Now that Rachel’s dead?” Paola shook her head. “Poor Rachel. Everyone thought she was in Chicago with my husband, having a blast.”

  “How’s he taking it?”

  “Michael? He’s sleeping peacefully, as if he hardly knew her. Just some Central American refugee who fell down West Coast Software’s stairs. Plenty more where that one came from.”

  “Yeah and from the same family. This time Sarah was the one that went to Chicago with him.”

  “Mina, no one went to Chicago with Michael. Believe me, I know.”

  Thanks to Brian Starrs, the would-be detective. She took another sip of milk, wondering how he slept.

  Paola glanced up the stairs toward her bedroom. “Why don’t we go sit on the terrace? The sun’s warm and we won’t be disturbed by Michael’s snoring.”

  Mina didn’t hear any snoring, but she grabbed her mug and followed her sister outside.

  Yellow and brown leaves floated on the pool. While pleasing to the eyes, these witnesses of summer’s end saddened her soul.

  She eased into one of the white pool chairs. “What happened at the morgue? Did they make you sign a deposition or whatever?” Mina asked.

  “No. As far as we know, Rachel is the victim of accidental death. An autopsy is being performed right now.”

  “Are you worried about it?”

  “Why should I be? I didn’t know she was at West Coast Software. I was here or with you all day, remember? Besides, Detective De Fiore says an autopsy is routine in a case like this.” Paola closed her eyes, letting the sun bathe her face, which was beautiful even with no sleep and no makeup. “What’s cooking in your wild little head, Mina?”

  Mina watched the water’s reflection play over her sister’s neck and shoulders. Why would Paola lie? She hadn’t been home when Mina came back with the papers.

  “When we thought the victim was Sarah, you had this theory about an epileptic seizure,” Mina said. “But Rachel isn’t epileptic. What made her fall?”

  “I don’t know—maybe too much to drink.” Paola’s detached tone troubled Mina.

  “Last night must have been terrible for Sarah. Was she the one who identified the body?” What Mina really wanted to ask, was how the red shoe ended up under the car’s seat.

  “Both Sarah and Paco. Thank God he offered to take her home and help contact her family. Dear Paco, he’s always there when we need him.” Her sister’s voice warmed the minute she spoke of her old friend.

  “He’s very fond of you, too.”

  Paola lifted her head. Her gaze took in the lawn, the trees, and the flowerbeds. “This yard used to be a showcase when he did the work.”

  “You know, I completely forgot Paco was your gardener. That was before Michael, right? When you were married to that other guy—” Mina waited for Paola to supply the name, but her sister remained silent. “What ever happened to your ex?”

  “My former spouse is still defending the rich and famous in court. He isn’t someone I like to talk about, Mina. Count your blessings you never met him.” Paola glanced around again. “I never regretted giving Paco a job at West Coast Software. Best decision I ever made.”

  “Why did you hire Brian Starrs?” Red shoe, Mina, ask about the red shoe.

  Paola pushed her chair back into a reclining position. Mina couldn’t see her expression. “I told you, Adams recommended him.”

  You also told me you were here all day. “That doesn’t answer my question. You said it had nothing to do with infidelity, but you had Brian follow Michael to Chicago.”

  “Cara, you know the old saying—if it isn’t sex...”

  “It’s money. Stop playing games. Talk to me.”

  “I am.”

  “Whose money, quanto, how much? Are we talking thousands, millions or what?”

  “Mina, please. Trust me. I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

  Trust me. Two dead leaves, stirred by a breeze, drifted down and shivered on the water. Ripples spread across the pool. Beneath the surface, more leaves, brown and heavy with water, lurked in the depths. Was she like the leaves, waiting for something unknown to suck her down?

  “Do you trust Brian?” Mina asked.

  “Of course I do.” Paola shaded her eyes. “I thought you liked him.”

  “He’s not my type.”

  “Because he doesn’t have a French accent, or because he—”

  �
��Oh, taci, shut up.” She’d been tired last night and Brian had caught her off guard, that’s all. He was okay at first, but she didn’t really like him. Not the way she liked Patrick.

  Patrick was shadowy rooms and silk sheets, imported wine and custom shirts—and that she understood.

  Brian was vintage California—open smiles, open skies, and Levi’s 501. Too good to be true?

  “It’s November, and here I am, sitting outside in only a nightgown,” Paola said.

  “Yeah, Mamma would have a fit.”

  “She’d have more of a fit because it’s Sunday morning and we aren’t in church. Times changed, but Mamma sure didn’t. Was she still going to church every single morning?”

  “No, only on Sunday, but on Saturday we always went to the cemetery. I hated that. There was a thick, sweet, sickening smell around the graves.” Mina wrinkled her nose. “I told Mamma dead people smelled funny. It was years, before I realized the smell was from the flowers decaying in their fancy vases. Now every time someone talks about death, I smell it again.” She glanced at her sister. “That’s why I didn’t want to go to the morgue last night. Pretty sick, huh?”

  “There’s nothing sick about you, Mina. Don’t ever change. And don’t let anyone change you, either. I love you just the way you are.” Paola yawned and got up from the chair. “I think I can sleep now. You’d better try to get some rest too.” She kissed the top of Mina’s head. “Sogni d’oro, cara.”

  Sogni d’oro? How can Paola think about sleeping and dreaming? Mina had all those questions, all those doubts clogging her mind. Sogni d’oro? Nah. Red nightmare was more likely. She finished her milk and went back to her room.

  * * * * *

  “Oh, it’s you!” Margo Swift, West Coast Software’s receptionist, seemed awfully cheerful for a Monday. Her hair was a different color today, Mina noticed. A purplish, reddish kind of plum described it better than anything else.

  Well into her forties, Margo fought the aging process with an arsenal of foundation and blush, eye shadow and lipstick that left Mina stunned.

  Margo pulled out a bottle of nail polish. “Did you hear about Rachel? There was a reporter from the Orange County Register asking questions, and I didn’t have a thing to tell him.” She dipped a brush into the metallic gold polish and touched up her acrylic claws. “Why do I always miss all the fun?”