Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  They crossed Columbo’s parking lot. Brian grabbed her arm, slowed her pace. “Buy you a cup of coffee—” he volunteered.

  Mina followed him inside and they sat in the same “non-smoking” booth they had the day before. “You worry too much, I’m sure there is a very simple explanation to—Mina, are you listening?”

  She nodded, but kept her eyes on the silverware.

  A waitress brought two glasses of water, and took Brian’s order. Mina asked for coffee. They sat in silence. A dreadful kind of silence, the silence of the guilty, the dejected, the hopeless. Get over it, Mina.

  Brian’s order arrived, and her coffee too. She sipped it slowly, anything to keep from looking at Brian. The coffee tasted like it was poisoned with strychnine, she thought. Of course she had no idea what strychnine tasted like. Better stop the nonsense. “You said Adams is in court?”

  “That looks good. May I join you?” said a familiar voice.

  Mina looked up from her cup. “Not you again.”

  Detective De Fiore ignored her remark and sat next to her.

  “Hi, Dan. What’s up?” Brian said.

  “I want to talk to Mina.”

  “What are you, off duty? No more `Miss Calvi’? How did you know we were here?” Mina asked.

  “I’m a detective, remember?” De Fiore now seemed relaxed, friendly.

  That didn’t mean she could trust him. “Well then, Mr. Detective, have you solved the Fernandez puzzle yet?”

  “No, and that’s why I’m here. I need your help. Nice shirt by the way.”

  “Sorry, I’m not a detective, and I left my crystal ball at home.” She wasn’t going to discuss her choice of clothing.

  De Fiore leaned forward, elbows on the table. He wore a navy blue tie with tiny stars that looked more like polka dots. “I want you to think about Saturday morning, when you came to West Coast Software to get your sister’s papers.”

  “I found them where she said they’d be, went home and gave them to her. What about it?”

  “Mina,” he wagged his finger as if to warn her, “Paola and I had a good straight talk, so you can drop that story.” He pronounced Paola the correct way. She was impressed.

  “What story?” Brian asked.

  “Paola said you told her that Elena ate her chocolate. But then you added something that confused her: You said that you unwrapped it but Elena ate it.”

  Mina fidgeted with her napkin. Did Paola really want her to tell everything? She wiped her mouth, and then told them what had happened, including the part about the red patent pumps.

  When she finished, it was as if a heavy burden left her. Her coffee tasted like coffee now. Under the table, Brian took her hand, squeezed it. She met his eyes and smiled back.

  “Mina,” De Fiore said, “what did you do with the wrapper?”

  “The wrapper?”

  “The gold paper from the chocolate cordial.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I threw it away,” she said.

  “Did you throw it away before or after Elena emptied the wastebasket?”

  “Before...wait.” She’d spilled the trash and left it for Elena to clean up, but the wrapper— “I don’t remember.”

  “Think, Mina, think.”

  “Why is it so important? Are you looking for fingerprints? I’m the one who unwrapped the chocolate—you think I killed Rachel?”

  “Did you?” De Fiore asked, his black eyes looking straight into hers.

  “Oh si, come no? I always put cocaine in my chocolate cherries, it makes them taste better,” she said lightly. “Hey, I put it in my pocket!”

  “What?” Brian said.

  “I crumpled the wrapper and put it in my jeans pocket,” she said.

  “Bingo,” De Fiore said. “Are those the same jeans you’re wearing now?”

  She blushed remembering the absence of underwear, “No, not these. The ones I wore on Saturday.”

  “Where are they now?” For the first time since she’d met him, De Fiore sounded excited.

  A picture of her bedroom, with clothes in heaps on the floor, flashed through Mina’s mind. She took a deep breath. “Somewhere in my bedroom. The wrapper’s still in the pocket. I haven’t washed the colored clothes yet.”

  De Fiore stood. “Let’s go.”

  Over her dead body they were going to set foot into her bedroom. “I’ll go get it for you, Detective. It’ll only take an hour or so, and I’ll bring it directly to the station. I’ve always wanted to see what a real police station looks like.”

  He grinned. “I will personally give you a guided tour after we drop off the wrapper at the lab.”

  “I’d rather go myself,” Mina said.

  “I’ll get a search warrant if I have to.” De Fiore was no longer smiling.

  Brian’s look said: do what he wants. But Mina couldn’t give in so easily. “Why is that wrapper so important?”

  De Fiore’s eyes narrowed. “It could be evidence.”

  “What if I ride with Mina?” Brian asked De Fiore before she could object. “I’ll drive back with you.”

  De Fiore hesitated. “I guess that would be all right.”

  Brian got up, took her hand and led her out of the restaurant, leaving De Fiore to stare at the bill, for the second time in two days.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Let’s stop by the office,” Mina told Brian. “I need to let Paola know that I’m going home.” Together, they walked into West Coast Software’s reception room. There was Margo, near the closed door of Michael’s office, her back to them. She didn’t bother to turn when they entered. No need to guess what she was doing, Paola’s angry voice resounded through the closed office’s door.

  “How dare you hire another Fernandez? We can’t make payroll for our good workers and you bring in another parasite.”

  “Paola,” Michael began.

  “You hired him; you fire him. Now! I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to see any Fernandez face around the warehouse. Understand?”

  Without a word, Mina went back out the front door, pulling Brian along. She didn’t want him to hear her sister like this. This wasn’t Paola, not her Paola. When they got to the car, Brian waited on the passenger side probably waiting for her to unlock the door.

  “It’s open,” she said, getting in.

  “You don’t lock your car?” The old VW squeaked as he pulled on his seatbelt.

  Mina looked at the car’s shabby interior. “The way I see it, anyone who steals this piece of junk must need it more than I do. So let them have it.”

  “It’s a classic. It could be restored.”

  She could feel his puzzlement but before could she answer De Fiore pulled up behind them. He waved at Mina as she started her engine.

  For a while, they drove in silence. Mina dreaded getting there. In general, she didn’t care about her messy bedroom. But somehow she felt different about Brian’s opinion. Conflicting thoughts whirled in her mind, and she wondered what Brian’s bedroom looked like. Spotless probably. Maybe she’ll get lucky, and he would wait in the living room. If she were like Paola, there’d be no trace of that wrapper by now.

  If she were like Paola... From kindergarten to teens, every time she had looked in the mirror she’d thought that same thing.

  As far back as she could remember Mina wanted to go to America, join her big sister in the new world. She’d soaked up her new country through every pore, but in the end it didn’t matter. New country, new people, same story. Even when no one reminded her, she couldn’t forget it.

  If she were like Paola, she’d be so much better.

  “Mina.” Brian’s voice startled her. “About the chocolate wrapper—”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes?”

  “The person who put the cocaine in the candy probably used a syringe to inject it into the cherry liquor. Dan will want to give the wrapper to the lab experts, hoping they’ll find the perforation left by the needle. That would establish Paola’s chocolate as the poi
soned candy.”

  Some idiot up ahead was going too slowly in the fast lane. Mina pulled over and punched the gas, making the little Bug shudder. Finally, she passed the other car and cut back into the lane. “You mean Michael poisoned Paola’s candy and left it in her mail tray?” She wasn’t Michael’s biggest fan, but she couldn’t believe he’d do that kind of stuff.

  “Just about anyone could have injected the cocaine. Even before the box was sold.”

  “Oh, Dio mio. I almost ate that candy.”

  “But you didn’t. Calm down Mina. You’re doing seventy, with De Fiore right behind you.”

  “I could be dead. I accused Elena of taking it, but if she had, she’d be dead. Poor Rachel!” Those red patent pumps under the desk seemed so pathetic now.

  Then something occurred to Mina. “Rachel wasn’t the intended victim, was she?”

  “At this point, without sufficient evidence, that can’t be established. That’s why the wrapper’s so important to Dan,” he said.

  Mina glanced over at Brian. “How come you know so much about police work?”

  “I’ve taken classes in Criminology and Police Science, and I attend workshops for police officers. At one point, I considered joining the force.”

  “But...?”

  “My mother. I mean, the effect it would have had on her life.”

  “You two are very close, uh?”

  He nodded.

  Lately, she had felt closer to Paola than ever before. “Sometimes, you take families for granted.”

  Brian reached over and brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Precisely,” he said.

  Mina parked in the Davies’ driveway, with De Fiore right behind her. The mailman was closing the box, and he waved at her, smiling. “Good day for correspondence, Mina.”

  “What does that mean?” Brian asked.

  Mina shrugged. She knew what the postman meant: there was a lavender letter in the stack of mail.

  “You can get the mail later.” De Fiore appeared by her side, his walk almost a jog.

  “Neither wind nor snow, Detective.” Turning her back on him, she went to the mailbox and retrieved the letters. After fumbling with the keys for a minute, the big double doors swung open.

  “Wow.” De Fiore glanced around the impressing foyer. The entrance, with its Gone with the Wind staircase and imported Venetian chandelier, often affected first time visitors that way.

  Brian whistled. “Your sister sure knows how to decorate a house.”

  “Paola bought the house with her first husband,” she explained. “He was a famous lawyer and they did a lot of entertaining.” She stopped babbling. Why should she make excuses for her sister’s dramatic flair?

  “Oh yes, I remember,” said Brian.

  Mina stared at him. He remembered what?

  “The wrapper, Mina,” De Fiore said. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.” She climbed the stairs, hoping the men wouldn’t follow her, but they did. By her bedroom, she paused, took a deep breath and opened the door wide.

  De Fiore stepped past her, stopped. “Can you point me in the right direction or do I have to dig through all this?”

  The clutter seemed even worse, if that were possible. Coming in behind the detective, Brian made no comment.

  Mina strode to her bed and sat on it, dropping the mail next to her. “You’re a detective, you figure it out.” Why was she being such a bitch? Misplaced anger? Possibly. Well, she only had herself to blame. De Fiore walked around, carefully lifting and dropping clothes.

  “I don’t have a contagious disease,” she said. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to wear gloves or something so you don’t destroy evidence?”

  “You watch too much TV. What kind of evidence could possibly survive this?”

  She flipped on the radio on the night table, turned the volume up high, and sorted through the mail. Something inside her was seething. It wasn’t only anger, but a sort of sadness, and intense discomfort. Was Brian judging her? Brian came over to the bed, knelt beside her. “Mina, where are the jeans with the wrapper?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Brian’s hand covered hers. He turned off the radio. “Yes you do.”

  Mina sighed, jerked her hand away, and jumped off the bed. She moved to a pile of dirty clothes by the closet door and, with a theatrical gesture, picked up a pair of jeans and handed them to De Fiore.

  “Here.”

  He patted the pocket’s lining and a big smile lit up his face. With the white linen handkerchief from his breast pocket wrapped around his hand, he pulled out a crumpled gold wrapper stuck to a shred of pink tissue.

  She could swear his fingers trembled with excitement when he took a plastic sandwich-size bag from his pocket, dropped the wrapper inside, and sealed it. An expression of triumph filled his dark eyes as the bag disappeared into his coat pocket.

  “Let’s go, Starrs,” he said.

  Mina, who had gone back to her bed, saw Brian glance at her, but she refused to look back. She lay stretched out, staring at the ceiling, her arms folded behind her head, feeling like a complete jerk.

  “I’ll call you,” Brian said, and followed De Fiore out the door. Mina heard their footsteps on the stairs.

  “Don’t bother,” she yelled back. Go ahead, be a bitch to the end.

  A minute later, the front door closed and the house was quiet again. She picked up Patrick’s letter and tore open the envelope.

  CHAPTER 9

  The class was ending, the aerobics instructor slowly raised her arms over her head; a graceful gesture, like a swan. “One more time: breathe in, hold it, hold it. Now slowly exhale. Thank you very much. You were a wonderful class. Have a good evening.” She clapped her hands, signaling the end. The class applauded and began to disperse.

  In a state of euphoria, Mina picked up her towel and headed for the lockers. Taking the class had been a good idea; she felt so much better, relaxed. Now she could go home and break the news to Paola in a semi normal way, not like a wind-up talking toy.

  “Hey, Mina. Wanna go for a drink?” a friend called out.

  “Not tonight. I’m going straight home.”

  As she hurried past the gym’s front desk, the girl behind the counter said, “What’s with you tonight? You look like you swallowed a light bulb.”

  Without stopping, Mina gave her a big grin. She hopped down the front steps and ran to her car, humming La Vie en Rose, an old French song that was sister’s favorite.

  Paola must be home by now. She couldn’t wait to tell her the news. Thanksgiving weekend in New York with Patrick. Whoa! The ticket was taken care of, he had written, and all she had to do was pack.

  Like a sapphire, the early evening was clear, cold, and precious.

  Viva l’America. Life is good!

  The lights of the Davies’ front yard were lit, but that didn’t mean much since they were on a timer. The house itself was dark. Maybe Paola was in her room, which looked out the back of the house.

  Mina entered through the kitchen door and dropped the gym bag to the floor. The clock on the microwave, the only source of light in the room, read six-thirty p.m. Stepping into the dark foyer, she called out: “Paola.”

  No answer. She was alone. Her black leotard, still damp with perspiration, clinging to her skin, she went back into the kitchen. First things first: a drink, and then a shower.

  As she turned to get a glass, she noticed the door to the garage was ajar.

  Michael, the jerk must have come home and left again. Mina pushed the door open with her elbow, and stopped. Paola’s red T-Bird was in the garage. So her sister was home; or at least her car was. Michael’s black Corvette wasn’t there, but Mina couldn’t believe they’d gone out together. Not with everything that had been happening lately. She opened the door to the garage wider. A faint smell of exhaust reached her.

  Mina put down the glass and went upstairs.

  Paola’s double bedroom doors we
re open, but the bedroom was dark. “Paola, are you home?” she said, then walked into the room and stumbled. Patting the ground at her feet, she recognized the shape of a high-heeled sandal. Fear crawled up her spine. Was it red?

  Enough of this nonsense. She turned on the light and heard a feeble cry from near the window. “Please don’t.”

  Paola sat in the chair by the dark window, staring into the night. A mystical Gauguin’s rendition, her ebony hair hanging limp around her pale face. Black rings, like smudged mascara, circled her eyes. This was such a bizarre scene. What was going on?

  “Paola, what are you doing here in the dark? Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Off,” her sister said.

  “Are you okay?” Paola didn’t answer. Mina switched off the light, took a step and promptly tripped over the other sandal. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she moved toward her sister.

  Outside the window, the wind ruffled tree branches, and their shadows played over Paola’s features. In a state of absolute puzzlement, Mina knelt by her sister, stroked her cold hand.

  “Paola?”

  The violet eyes looked empty.

  “Paola, cos’e? Talk to me.”

  Paola let out a sob and put her hand on Mina’s head. “I never wanted this to happen,” she whispered. “Never. It’s all over. We’re finished. It’s the end of West Coast Software, and the end of us, too.”

  “What are you talking about? Rachel’s murder?”

  The hand withdrew. Paola tilted her head, looked straight into her sister’s eyes. “Murder?” she shook her head. “It’s money.”

  Mina sighed. “Here we go again, money problems.”

  “Takawa’s inventory is missing along with the copyright content he entrusted us with. And a hundred thousand dollars worth of disks are also gone.”

  “What does that have to do with you?”

  “We’ve always offered free disk storage for our large accounts. A stroke of marketing genius, as Michael put it. Takawa is our largest. He’s been with our company from the beginning. Even if we could replace the disks, I have no way of knowing in whose hands the original copyrighted programs ended up.” Paola’s voice was almost inaudible.