Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  “Adams.” Her internal tremor came through in her voice, “Can he do that?”

  “You mean keep you out of West Coast Software and the house? My dear, I’m one step ahead of him. That’s why I was a bit late. I was in court.” He picked up a thin stack of papers, showed them his name on the top left and numbers running the length of it, “Restraining orders,” he said.

  “In plain English?” she asked.

  “Michael can’t come near you. While we’re here talking, Brian Starrs is at the house in Mission Viejo having all the locks changed. When Mr. Davies wants to collect his belongings, he’ll have to do it with one of us there, and in the presence of a deputy.” Adams beamed, absolutely pleased with himself.

  Mina didn’t know how to react. She felt lightheaded; part of her wanted to thank Adams, yet another part felt almost sorry for Michael. Paola was dead. Did he ever even knew what he had, what he’d lost? The door-slamming act was probably a way of denying his fear and longing. She glanced at Paco.

  He patted her hand and said, “Mr. Davies has brought this upon himself.”

  “What about the company, what’s going to happen now?” She pulled a tissue from the box on the desk and blew her nose.

  “I’m so glad you asked.” The smile on Adams’ face was almost impish now. “Here,” he said, handing her a page from a yellow notebook. Her name and Paco’s appeared next to some numbers.

  “What’s this?” Mina asked.

  He rummaged in a drawer, pulled out some keys that looked brand new. “Those are your codes for the alarm system, and these” he dangled the keys in front of her “are for West Coast Software.”

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You had them installed while we were in your waiting room.”

  “Very good, my dear.” He looked at his watch, “One of you will have to go back there today, to close up. And remember, no one else has clearance with the alarm company. Only you and Mr. Mendez.”

  She stared at the yellow paper. The numbers seemed to have a life of their own, moving around as she tried to read them.

  “I’m not good at this.” Her voice was low.

  “You’ll learn. You’re a smart kid. You’re Paola’s daughter,” The fire in Adams’ eyes surprised her. “ You’ve got the best genes—”

  “Excuse me...” Paco said.

  “Of course, I almost forgot. With Michael leaving in such a huff, we never got to the will.”

  Mina fidgeted in her chair. The grin on Adams’ face made her squeamish.

  “We can skip the usual legalese for now, I suppose. Here we are, my dear, the part regarding the business: I leave the software company called West Coast Software, Inc. to my daughter Mina Calvi, as her sole and separate property, with all of its right, title and interest, provided she agrees to keep Paco Mendez as Vice President of Operations for the duration of five years minimum with optional rights of partnership. Should one of the two become incapacitated by—”

  “When did Mrs. Davies do all this?” Paco asked, his voice shaking. “She never said a thing to me.”

  “Why are you so upset?” Mina asked him.

  “Mina, I loved Paola like my own daughter. You know that.” He was almost in tears, and obviously embarrassed by his show of emotion. “She should have prepared me for the responsibility. I don’t understand. A legal paper, it seems so impersonal. I don’t understand.”

  Mina got up from her chair and hugged him.

  Adams, his voice serious again, said, “Mr. Mendez, Paola left a letter for you. I’m sure you’ll find your answers there. By the way, Mina, I may be over-cautious, but I would like you to park your car in the garage from now on. Brian said you usually park on the street. He has had the opener re-programmed, and gotten you a new remote.”

  Oh no, she had forgotten Paola’s Thunderbird.

  “Adams, Michael is giving Paola’s car to Sarah Fernandez. He told me it’s being repainted because Sarah doesn’t like red. He’s already taken some of Paola’s jewelry. I saw one of Paola’s anklets on Sarah this morning. What can we do to stop him?”

  “Let me worry about that. Go back to West Coast Software; you and Mr. Mendez need to get accustomed to running the business. I’ll talk to De Fiore about Michael.”

  “He was just here.”

  “Who?”

  “De Fiore. He was talking to Michael outside your office when I drove in.”

  “He probably warned him not to leave town.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, logically Michael must be one of the prime suspects in their murder investigation.”

  “Did you say murder?” Paco whispered.

  “Yes, Mr. Mendez, the results of the autopsy are in. There’s no doubt—Paola was murdered.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Thank God it was over.

  Still wearing the black dress borrowed for Paola’s funeral, Mina glanced at the people gathered in her living room. When would they leave? She felt emotionally spent. Ready to snap.

  Paco, Brian and Adams had accompanied her home from the funeral. The at-home was supposed to be for relatives and close friends only, but—to her surprise—De Fiore had followed them. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t fit either category. Being a cop undoubtedly cleared his way into many situations.

  Michael wasn’t here. He’d left the funeral alone, and probably didn’t have the nerve to show up. But she wouldn’t put it past him. What puzzled Mina was that Margo hadn’t attended. Or called. She was so ghoulish about things like this—a true voyeur. Not that Margo didn’t care about Paola, but a funeral was really up her alley.

  Adams had left early, whether from tact or impending business, Mina didn’t know. Now the rest of them sat in the living room, listening to De Fiore. Mina sipped espresso, Paco drank beer—only Brian was empty-handed. Any minute her duty as hostess would require her to ask if anyone wanted anything, when really she wanted to tell them all to leave. Nothing at all like an Italian funeral where everybody gets together the night before for la vigilia, the wake. Neighbors and friends got together, if the dear departed was in the house, some of the neighbors brought their own chair to lean on. And everyone prayed, chanted and recited the rosary. Of course, in Italy and especially in her rural village, Catholicism was the only game in town. Next day, the funeral procession would parade through the narrow streets, from the church to the cemetery, businesses would close their shutters and doors to show respect and onlookers would make the sign of the cross as the funeral went by. After the cemetery, everyone went home. She tried to remember her parents’ funeral; it seemed so long ago. She craved solitude, silence. Silence… that reminded her of those phone calls.

  Put on your red shoes...

  Every night, at one thirty a.m. And the laugh, whispery, long, couldn’t tell if it was from a man or a woman. She kept assuring herself she wasn’t going to pick up the phone, no, not tonight. It was like an addiction, the anticipation, and the cold sweat of fear.

  The song’s beat played and replayed on her head, continuously, even now, sort of Name That Tune of terror...If she could be alone, maybe she would recognize the title of the song and—if De Fiore didn’t shut up, she was going to gag him. Why was the detective so talkative, anyway? Was he giving information or cleverly getting it?

  She put her demitasse on the coffee table and sat back in her chair, studying the men.

  The Tiffany lamp cast a rosy shadow on the group. Paola always said that pink lighting was the most flattering, if you were over twenty-five. The others all were past that landmark, but Mina didn’t feel younger by comparison. She didn’t know how or what she felt. She seemed to be watching her own life from a great distance, as if it belonged to someone else.

  Brian caught her attention when he mentioned her name. Was it just she or could the others see the glow in his eyes when he spoke about her?

  “Mina came to see me with Paola when I got back from Chicago,” he said. “That was the first time I’d met her. She acted lik
e a brat most of the evening.”

  She’d almost forgotten that meeting. “Why had you gone to Chicago? Paola was very vague about the whole thing.” Was that really her, asking the question? Her voice sounded so far away.

  “That whole trip was a nightmare.” Brian looked at Paco, as if asking permission to tell her. Paco nodded. “Paola sent me to follow Michael. She thought we were going to catch him with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. We’ll never know for sure, I guess.”

  “Know what?” she asked.

  Brian sat forward. “When Michael made several trips to the Chicago area without bringing back any orders, your sis—sorry, I can’t get used to this—your mother became suspicious.

  “Up to that time, Paola didn’t believe Michael was involved with the missing disks. But what if he was making these trips to sell disks that weren’t his in the first place? So, on that trip to Chicago, I followed him. Everything seemed on the up-and-up—until we got to the airport.”

  “Was he alone the whole time?” Mina asked.

  “Well, he had lunch with the purchasing agent of one of the businesses he visited. But no female company, if that’s what you mean.”

  Paco twirled his Corona and sighed. “Some mess those missing disks got us into. Almost put Mrs. Davies out of business. I just knew there was something wrong. I would walk through that warehouse and—even though everything looked the same—I knew someone had been there. Weird, I tell you. I kept telling Mrs. Davies we ought to do inventory and we ought to be more careful. But she trusted that two-timing husband of hers.”

  De Fiore spoke into the silence. “Maybe you should have done something about it, taken charge maybe.”

  “Well,” Paco grinned up from his beer, “I did.”

  It seemed like an invisible hand suddenly turned up the thermostat in the room. All the men sat forward, their attention riveted on Paco.

  “What did you do?” De Fiore asked.

  Paco swigged the last of his beer, shrugged and put down the empty bottle. “It’s quite simple. Every time we received a new shipment of disks, I marked them.”

  De Fiore slumped. “The boxes?”

  “No, too easy to get rid of those. I marked the disks.”

  “All of them?” Brian asked.

  “Every one.”

  “That must have taken you forever.” Mina said.

  “Not really. After I opened the boxes with a razor blade, I slashed a precise line on the edge of the disks. Always the same way, in the same spot.” Paco’s eyes twinkled. “One long swipe and all the disks had an identical, almost invisible notch. To anyone else, it would look as if it had happened when the box was opened.”

  “Doesn’t that ruin the disks?” Mina asked.

  “Oh, no. I didn’t cut deep enough to do damage. Just enough for identification.”

  Mina didn’t get it. She looked over at the other two. Brian shrugged.

  Only De Fiore seems to understand. “Clever, Paco. Very clever. Any luck so far?”

  “No, but I haven’t given up. I still make my rounds.”

  The detective fished a card from his wallet. “This isn’t really my department; however, there may be a connection. If you think you’re getting close to something, call me on this direct line.” He handed the card to Paco. “Don’t try to play the hero.”

  “Excuse me for being stupid,” Mina said, “but what exactly is Paco doing with the slashed disks?”

  “After I’m done, I reseal the boxes,” Paco said. “They usually disappear within a couple of days. On my days off, I drive with a friend to Computer Swap Meets—both here and in LA—and I shop around. I’m hoping someone will offer me the notched disks—at a greatly discounted price, of course.”

  “Because they’re stolen,” De Fiore added.

  “That was a great idea, Paco. I hope something comes of it.” Brian got up and stretched, then sat down next to her on the couch. Mina knew he hoped the other two would leave.

  “Care for another beer?” she asked Paco.

  “No thanks, Mina. I should get going. Detective Fiore...” He hesitated. “I don’t mean to intrude, but what’s going on with Mrs. Davies’ investigation? I mean, do you think there’s a connection with the other? You know. Rachel.”

  “Hard to say, hard to say. Paola Davies’ murder doesn’t make too much sense,” De Fiore said. “There wasn’t any forced entry. The entire world could have walked in. Michael Davies left the garage door wide open all night. The drunken fool was passed out cold in his parked car.”

  The anger in his voice brought fresh tears to Mina’s eyes. “I didn’t know that,” she said. Brian touched her hand with the tips of his fingers.

  De Fiore continued. “Some neighbors noticed the lighted garage on their way back from a party. They stopped to check, saw Michael in the car. Realizing he was drunk, they weren’t sure what to do, but he seemed all right. Just sleeping it off. They went home, forgetting Michael until they heard about Paola.” He paused. “She was probably already dead when they came by, but we’ll never know for sure. Such a waste.”

  Mina sobbed softly. Brian slipped his arm around her, caressed her hair.

  “I’m sorry, Mina,” De Fiore said, his voice more human than she had ever heard it. “I shouldn’t bring this up right now. Being a policeman makes you socially inept.”

  “No, go on,” she managed to say, “I want to know what else you found out—please.”

  “There isn’t much more to tell. The paperboy came by in the morning, saw a man passed-out in a black Corvette, and called the police. I wish we had something to pin on Davies, but we don’t.”

  “It would comfort me to know that she didn’t suffer,” Mina said.

  De Fiore got up, began pacing. Couldn’t he see the pleading in her eyes?

  “She went to sleep, Mina, that’s all. That’s why we thought suicide.”

  “In other words, she died of an overdose,” Brian said.

  “She drank a glass of wine loaded with a lethal dose of Seconal and a small quantity of Soma Compound.”

  “Her own medicine?” Mina asked.

  “I told you, it doesn’t make sense. Not yet. We have her prescribed drug on the nightstand, but no Seconal in the house. Michael swears Paola never used it, and her doctor confirmed he never prescribed the drug.” Lowering his voice, he continued. “Whoever killed her brought the Seconal and left with the empty capsules and the bottle. I intend to find that person or persons. I promise you that.”

  Mina wiped her eyes. When she lifted her head to thank the detective, she saw Michael standing in the archway.

  “Who let you in?” The front door was locked, wasn’t it?

  De Fiore took a step toward him, but Michael raised a hand and spoke. “Since you are all here, I thought it would be okay if I stopped by to get some of my things.”

  Mina bit back the words she was going to say when she saw his anguished eyes. Where was Adams when she needed him? “I guess that will be all right. Paco, will you go with Michael while he packs?”

  Her heart like ice, she played the perfect hostess in what had been Michael’s home, even offering him coffee when he came downstairs from packing.

  De Fiore waited to say his good-byes until her brother-in-law was finished, then accompanied Michael down the walk. From the door, Mina watched him get in his old green sedan and follow Michael’s black Corvette down the street, around the corner.

  Later, after Brian and Paco had left, she felt guilty for ignoring that look of desperation in Michael’s eyes. She wanted to hear a human voice, something alive and vital in the empty house.

  She found Brian’s number in Paola’s handwriting under the S’s.

  “Mina!” He answered after her hello.

  “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

  “Of course not. I’m glad you called. I felt funny about leaving tonight. I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone.”

  “What are you doing?” Should she tell him a
bout the nightly phone calls?

  “Studying. I have a test coming up.”

  She heard a woman’s voice in the background. “You’ve got company. I ought to let you go,” she said.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Mina smiled at his emphasis on the word. “My mother spoils me. She just brought me a cup of hot cocoa.”

  “With marshmallows?”

  Brian laughed. “No, no marshmallows. So now you know my weakness—hot cocoa.” He must have covered the receiver with his hand, because the rest of what he said was muffled. “It’s my friend, Mina Calvi. I will, good night, Mom. Sorry, Mina.”

  “Please, don’t apologize. You know, I had never seen marshmallows until I came to America. At first I thought they were miniature meringues, until I touched them, of course. I should let you study, huh?” She didn’t want to hang up.

  “Are you afraid of being in the house alone? Do you want me to come over? I could bring my books.”

  Put on your red shoes—tell him about the calls.

  “Thanks, but I may as well get used to it. It’s nice of you to ask. I just wanted to hear a voice, and I thought of yours. I’d better go now.”

  “You can call me anytime, I’ll be up late.”

  “Brian...” Talk to him, he cares.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh, nothing, it can wait. Good night. And thanks for being there.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Mina’s eyes flung open. In the darkness of her bedroom, the alarm clock showed twelve forty-five AM. Two hours of sleep, almost a miracle! Something had awakened her, what? She listened for unusual noises or strange creakings, but there were none. Could it be anticipation and fear for the one-thirty call? Go back to sleep, Mina.