She pulled the covers up to her chin and lay there awake for a while, eyes wide open. Put on your red shoes—Maybe she should phone Brian. To say what? “Hi, I’m scared; come hold my hand?” Forget it.
She sighed and slid a little further under the sheets. Michael’s abrupt visit had spooked her. She’d been sure the front door had been locked. How had he gotten into the house?
Her heart jumped. This time the noise was unmistakable—a creak from the stairs. Automatically, her hand searched for the light switch. No, that would mean giving away that she was awake.
She held her breath, her pulse pounding in her throat. Nine one one, dial nine one one, now. Instead, she remained absolutely still. Time passed, when the sound didn’t repeat itself, her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to normal.
Nothing to worry about, all the doors were locked. The emptiness of the house was getting to her. Maybe she should sell it. And then what? What was it that Americans say; home is where you hang your hat? Maybe she should buy a hat. Buy, sell, certainly that decision could wait until morning. Right now, she needed to get some sleep. A glass of warm milk would help.
Turning on the bedside light, she crawled out of bed. The room went dark. Don’t panic; don’t panic. She reached over and flipped the switch a few times, but the light was well and truly out. Great. A sense of urgency overcame her. Sweat dampened her nightshirt. It clung to her body like a shroud. She had to get her milk and rush back to bed before one-thirty. Yes, and she should be near a phone at all times but, she would not pick up that phone if it rang.
Enveloped by blackness and fear, Mina crept to the hall, clicked on the switch. A flicker, then darkness: another burnt-out light bulb? Two in one night? Okay, God, is this a test?
She had never changed a bulb in her life; she didn’t even know where Paola kept them. The idea of selling the house was becoming more appealing by the minute.
A sound from the stairs, a creaking, like before. Mina jumped. This was ridiculous. Houses creaked—she had to get used to it. She just never noticed it when Paola was alive. Rationalization may be good at the office but it failed her completely in the pitch-dark hall. Even her body seemed to move at a slower pace, the only part of her working overtime was her heart walloping in her jittery chest. Standing still wasn’t going to solve anything.
Mina slid her hands along the smooth wall, making her way to where the hall curved into the stairway. She searched for the switch to the chandelier; her fingertips met something warm, something human.
Mina screamed. Three night’s worth of fear and frustration were crammed into that scream. A hand grabbed her wrist.
“Shhh, it’s me.”
The lights came on. Her brother-in-law stood on the top stair. His tie was askew, his hair disheveled.
“Michael, maledizione, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Michael said.
“Well, you did. Let go of me.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. The strength of her voice surprised her; her fear vanished. “How did you get in?”
“Through the window.”
“Tell me which window so I can lock it, and then get out.”
“Mina,” he said, his tone hopeless, “can we talk? Please.”
He looked exhausted, defenseless. This was not the nasty, gutter-mouthed brother-in-law she was used to. Under her silent appraisal, he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie. She recognized that edginess, felt its kin under her own skin.
Instead of calling the cops, she sat on the edge of the landing and stretched her sweatshirt to cover her knees. Michael hesitated a moment, then sat down too, keeping his distance.
“I want to know how you got in—and I mean both times.” She couldn’t bear to look at him. “Start talking.”
“Both times? Oh, this afternoon. The front door was locked, but the kitchen door wasn’t. I came in that way. And, while all of you were busy talking in the living room, I unlocked the window in the laundry room.”
“You did what?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. I thought maybe you’d spend the night at a friend’s house. No one would ever have known.”
Something in his voice forced her to glance at him. “Known what, Michael?”
He sucked his breath in, smothering a sob, then cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was barely a murmur. “I want to spend the night here, one last time.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “Where?”
“You know.” He pointed to Paola’s room.
Was he crazy? She thought again of calling the cops. “What do you want?” Stall until you figure out how to make him leave.
“I want to stay, just for tonight. I won’t touch anything and I’ll never bother you again, I promise.”
“I didn’t know you were so sentimental.” The man was a liar. She knew that. He was a thief and a cheater. He could be a murderer.
“Please, Mina.”
He raised his eyes to hers. In his pain she found an echo of her own. “Just for tonight, huh?” she heard herself saying.
“Yes.” He choked on the word. No, he was choking on his tears.
“The bed isn’t made. It’s still the same way—it’s okay, I’ll help you put on clean sheets.”
“Thanks, I can handle it,” he said.
“Do you know where Paola keeps...sorry, of course you do. Tonight only, right?”
“I swear.” He got up and waited.
She didn’t move, didn’t say anything as he walked to the bedroom. Why was she being so weak? Let him stay after all he’d said and done?
We can all use some kindness at the beginning and at the end. It was a line from the play Evita. Was she being kind or stupid? The door clicked softly as it closed behind Michael.
She went downstairs, locked the laundry room window. On the way back up she listened, expecting to hear drawers opening and closing, the squeak of cupboards, but only silence came from Paola’s room.
It was past one a.m. Very soon the phone would ring. Wait. Wait. Paola’s princess phone was on the night table where Michael—yes! She would let the phone ring. Michael would pick it up and answer. Si, si, good.
Back in her room, she locked the door and went to bed, where she waited, tossing and turning, all kinds of what ifs whirling through her mind. Now that she had lost Paola, she was all alone in this world. No family, no close friends. In the dark, she checked her clock, her telephone. What would become of her? Maybe she should go back to Italy. The three-story casa flashed in her mind’s eye. Mina sighed; maybe this was a good time for a Hail Mary.
She fell asleep shortly before sunrise. The phone never rang.
* * * * *
In the morning, Paola’s bedroom door was wide open, the bathroom empty and the bed the same way it was before Michael’s surprise visit. On the floor lay a folded blanket and a pillow.
Michael was gone. Better see what else was missing.
Mina opened and shut drawers, closets, doors. Nothing. She’d decided to give up on her search when she noticed the photograph missing from the dresser. It was a small silver frame with a picture of Paola and Michael taken at Yosemite, in happier times. Poor Michael. Where was he now? Did he have any money? Should she have offered him a job at West Coast Software? Maybe she could discuss that with Paco later on. After all, Michael was also alone.
Mina surveyed her casual clothes. Now that she was a businesswoman, she’d better dress the part, as Paola used to say. One suit—Italian design, navy blue, fitted—hung at the end of the closet, still in the plastic cleaner’s bag. They had bought it for some occasion; she couldn’t remember what, only that Paola had insisted. She stripped the flimsy plastic and took it off the hanger.
Beautiful garments hung in Paola’s walk-in closet. Mina knew she could have them altered for herself, but no. She could never wear them. They should be given to someone special.
Sadness returned. Mina stood there, the s
uit in her hand, staring at nothing until the clock chimed nine. Shaking herself, she finished dressing. She had to get going; lots of people were depending on her.
She parked in Paola’s spot, aware of how odd the VW looked among the other automobiles. When she entered the front office, the phone was ringing. Where was Margo? Mina picked it up. “West Coast Software, may I help you?”
“Mina? Good morning,” Adams said. “What’s going on? The phone must have rung a dozen times.”
“Margo is probably in the bathroom, attending to one of her beauty-related emergencies.”
“I’m glad to hear your sense of humor is coming back. One moment, Mina.” She heard him speak to someone else, his voice muffled. “I’m back. I’ve arranged for Cindy to stop by after she’s finished here. She’ll try to help you make some sense of the business’ financial status. By the way, we canceled all the company credit cards and Michael’s cellular phone. I thought you should know.”
“Speaking of Michael, there’s something I should tell you.” She told him about the surprise visit the night before. He wasn’t happy.
“Mina, really. You are leaving yourself open for bad situations. I don’t want you to have anything else to do with Michael without my being present. You must learn to say no. Remember, he’s still a suspect.”
“Si, si, lo so. I know.”
Adams continued, “Brian is having breakfast with De Fiore right now, hoping to get the latest news. Anyway, how does it feel to be in charge of the business?”
Startled by his abrupt change of tone, Mina fumbled. “Um, well, I don’t know yet. You’ll be the first person I’ll tell when I figure it out.” She lowered her voice. “Listen, Adams, about the Fernandez matter—”
“Don’t worry, Mina. Have a good day, and call if you have a question about anything. I’m never too busy for you.”
He hung up, leaving Mina puzzled. Maybe someone came into his office. That was the only thing that would explain his sudden breeziness.
The phone rang again. Maledizione, where was Margo?
Mina checked the ladies’ room; empty. If she was out flirting with the workers, Mina would kill her.
The roar of machinery hit her before she opened the warehouse door. Margo, decked out in an orange polka-dot dress, stood in front of an idling forklift waving her arms and talking to Ishmael Fernandez, who sat in the driver’s seat. The noise of the forklift drowned out her words and made Mina frown.
Ishmael noticed her and, without warning, shifted gears. The forklift began to move. Margo jumped back and saw Mina.
“Good morning,” Margo pushed past her. “I had to give Ishmael a list.” She crossed the reception area quickly and answered the telephone. In spite of Margo’s heavy make-up, Mina could tell she’d been crying, but she couldn’t quite summon up the nerve to ask her why.
Paco came into the warehouse through the bay-door and saw her. He smiled and said, “Good morning, Mina. May I buy you a cup of coffee in our new office?”
Laughing, she held the door open for him. They went down the hall and into the office that Michael and Paola had shared. Paco poured the coffee and handed her a cup.
She took in the pleated trousers and white shirt under his open lab coat, “What, no tie?” Mina said.
Paco blushed.
“Did you have any problem opening up this morning?”
“No. I’ve opened the office before, you know.” Paco said.
“True. However, you’re now in charge of the whole business, including the security area.” She pulled a wrinkled paper from her purse. “I’d better memorize these numbers before I lose them.”
Paco closed his eyes, pretending he was pushing buttons while reciting. “Two, four, two, six.” He sat back and picked up the phone from the desk. Without dialing, he spoke into it, “Good morning, American Alarm, this is West Coast Software, we are opening up for the day. I’m Paco Mendez, two, zero, one, eight.”
“You mean you don’t say, Paco Mendez, vice president?” Mina giggled.
He shook his head, his eyes mischievous. “Not that I wasn’t tempted.”
Mina motioned for him to hang up the phone, put a finger to her lips and pointed to the front office where eavesdropping Margo was probably busy listening. “Since you opened, I’ll close. Okay?”
“You don’t need to.”
“I promised Adams I’d wait for Cindy. She’s coming by after work to pick up some files.” Fernandez, she mouthed.
Paco nodded. “Well, since you have to stay anyway, I’ll let you close. My wife will be surprised to see me on time for dinner.”
* * * * *
That evening, West Coast Software was too quiet with everyone gone. It made her nervous. For the hundredth time, she glanced into the parking lot. Very few cars left. What was keeping Cindy? Mina went back into her office, sat down and kicked off her shoes. How long would it take her feet to adjust to heels? A light knock on the front door sent her sprinting through the reception area in her stockinged feet.
By the time she recognized De Fiore through the glass pane, it was too late to go back into the office and pretend no one was there. Besides, Cindy might be right behind him. She sighed and opened the door.
“Good evening, detective,” she said.
“Mina, I’m looking for Paco.” He frowned when he said the name.
“Sorry, you just missed him.”
“Was he going straight home?”
“I suppose. You can call his house, although he may not be there yet.”
De Fiore stood as if debating with himself. “Since I’m here, I might as well take a look at the files.” He strode into her office.
“What files?” she asked, following him.
“Relax.” He flashed her a smile over his shoulder. “I just want to take a peek at the Fernandez’ files.”
“Haven’t you done that already?” Mina said. He didn’t answer. “Adams’ secretary needs them. She’s coming for them any minute.”
He was already opening the file drawer. “I told you, I just want to take a peek.”
“They ought to be in alphabetical order,” she said. “There are so many of them and, what’s worse, they’re all related.”
De Fiore fingered through the tabs, then stepped back and looked at the label on the drawer. “If I’m not mistaken, all the F’s should be in here.”
“That’s right.”
He rechecked every file carefully. When he was done, he slammed the drawer shut. “Dammit, I should have known. The Fernandez files are missing.”
CHAPTER 22
“Gone, poof, disappeared.” The minute she got home, Mina had called Paco. “Yes, all of them. Cindy and I searched the front office—nothing. All the Fernandez files are missing.”
“And De Fiore wanted to see me?” Paco asked.
“That’s what he said.” Getting milk out of the refrigerator, Mina poured herself a glass, put it in the microwave and hit the timer.
“My wife was here all day, and I came straight home from the office,” Paco said. “He never called or came over.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. He knows how to find you.” The microwave buzzer went off and she yawned. “It’s been a long day, I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow—you are opening up, right?”
“Sure, I’ll open. Have you heard anything from Michael? You want to make sure all your doors and windows are locked, Mina.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let the bogeyman get me. Ciao.” The bogeyman. Another great, untranslatable American expression.
After hanging up the phone, Mina sipped some milk from her glass. Why would anyone have taken those files? She put the milk back in the microwave, set the timer for one minute and stared at the rotating glass. What she really needed was a good night’s sleep. Was last night the end of the red shoes caller? She closed her eyes, relaxing. The phone rang.
“Yes, hello.”
“Hi Mina, this is Brian.”
Her heart did a small pirouette.
“Oh, ciao, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Her microwave buzzer went off. “Is someone at your door? Is it locked?” he asked.
“Yes to your last question, and no to the first.” There was a long silence at the other end. “Hellooo, are you there? Hey, I didn’t mean to be flippant, it’s been a long day.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s too soon, but I was wondering if you might like to go to a movie?”
“Tonight?”
“No, of course not. Tomorrow, after work maybe? We could grab something to eat first.”
“Sounds fine,” she said. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow afternoon, see how things are going. Okay?”
“Sure. Adams told me what happened last night. Are all your doors and windows locked?”
Oh, not him, too. “Yes, Brian, but I’ll check them again, just in case.”
“Want me to stay on the phone while you do that?”
“It’s really sweet of you, but I don’t think it’s necessary.” Mina didn’t want to say goodnight, and she thought she sensed the same feeling at the other end of the line. For a moment they were silent.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, sleep well,” he said.
“I will. Buona notte, Brian. See you tomorrow.” Sleep well, sure.
Because she’d promised, Mina toured the house, checking windows and locks, turning off the lights. Everything was quiet, peaceful. Upstairs, she paused in front of Paola’s bedroom. The door was open, and Mina blew a kiss in the direction of the big empty bed.
Good night, Paola. I love you. I miss you. Buona notte, Mamma, wherever you are.
* * * * *
A black Corvette with tinted windows inched ahead in the fast lane. Could it be Michael? Mina maneuvered the Bug across two lanes of traffic. She got the finger from the driver she cut off in the middle lane, but she didn’t care. The fast lane halted, and she finally caught up.
A glance through the dark glass revealed nothing. The driver must have noticed her maneuvering because he changed lanes in pursuit of the VW.
Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1) Page 16