The heat came on, blowing from the vent above the desk. The flowers, with their wired stems, didn’t stir, but the card waved, taunting her.
She felt like a prowler when she reached for the envelope. A knock at the front door sent her heart to her throat in a single bound. Mina peeked around the roses to see Brian standing outside, motioning for her to open the door, a carryout pizza in his arms.
Without moving, she said, “What do you want, Starrs?”
He smiled and knocked again.
“I don’t know why you expect me to let you in,” she said, unlocking the door. “I’ve been stuck here all day. You don’t call; you don’t send flowers. You don’t even tell me how it went down with the disks...”
He came in and put the pizza on the desk. All without a word.
Mina twisted the key in the lock, heard the deadbolt fall into place, and turned.
Oh, oh, there was a strange glint in his blue eyes.
“Cosa, what?” she said.
He walked to her, pushed her back against the glass doors and kissed her on the mouth.
For an instant her body stiffened, ready to fight back. Instead, she slipped her arms around his neck and parted her lips to taste the wetness of his tongue. He leaned into her, pressing her against the door with his body. The chill of the glass on her back, and his warmth, lent a fever to the kiss. When he finally let her go, they both gulped for air.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day long,” he said, his mouth in her hair. He smoothed it back, slid his lips along her neck. “Do you know how much I wanted to come over last night?”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” she whispered. “I needed the rest.” She felt him chuckle, and moved her hands to the back of his head, her fingers lingering where his hair came to a point to meet his shirt collar. “I’m so mad at you.”
“Yeah?” he said, and kissed her again until she thought the marrow of her bones would melt.
She didn’t know how long they stood, bodies molded together. She didn’t want to move. With her face against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, she felt happy for the first time in days, and a little confused.
“I hope you like mushrooms,” he murmured.
“Hmmm.”
“And peppers.”
“Si.”
“And anchovies.”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed back far enough to look in his eyes. “Brian, right now, Charlie the Tuna could be tap-dancing on that pizza, and I wouldn’t have a clue.”
That got her another kiss, and then he said, “I was kidding about the anchovies.”
They sat on the couch with the pizza between them. Between bites, she told him about Margo and the missing files, and he told her about the disks, confirming what she knew from Paco.
Cold pizza never tasted so good.
“I’m glad I followed my instinct instead of my common sense,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I got done about seven. No one answered the phone here. I should have gone home. Instead I bought the pizza and came over. When I saw your car out there, I knew it was fate.”
“Well, you almost missed me. I got here right before you did.” Mina told him about her impromptu freeway exit.
“Why’d you come back?”
She pointed to the flowers. “Those roses—,” she said.
“I noticed them when I came in. So,” he said, his tone casual, “who’s giving you roses?”
Good, he’s jealous. “They were delivered for Margo.”
“Something wrong with that?” Brian asked.
Mina nodded, staring at the flowers. “Suppose I read the note—what would happen?”
He laughed. “We’d both know who sent the roses, and one of us—I’m not saying which one—would sleep better.”
“Brian, you don’t understand. It isn’t just curiosity. I’m worried about Margo, and I feel there may be a clue in that note.”
He walked to the desk and plucked the envelope from the plastic holder. It wasn’t sealed, and he pulled out the small square card.
“Well?” Mina asked.
He handed her the note:
Sorry it had to end this way, Margo. Don’t take it so hard and don’t do anything stupid. Life’s worth living. Honest!
It was unsigned.
They looked at each other. “Do you know where she lives?” Brian asked.
“I need to lock up and call the alarm company,” she said.
“I’ll get the car.”
* * * * *
They drove up in front of the large, gated apartment complex on the corner of Edinger. Brian pulled his car up to the front and parked on the street.
“Number forty-three,” Mina said.
“Should we tell the manager?” Brian asked.
“Tell him what? That we have a dozen roses and we’re trying to find them a home?”
Steam rose from the lit pool as they walked the wide path, past the leasing office. At this time of night, with newly planted fast-growing shrubbery still in infancy stage, the enormous complex seemed like a cellblock: identical doors opening to identical spaces. Residents Only, warned the sign on the covered parking. Mina spotted Margo’s car in stall number forty-three.
“Her car is here.”
Brian scanned the numbered doors. “Do you remember which one is hers?”
“There,” she pointed to the second unit from the end. Music blared from one of the apartments, getting louder as they got closer to the end. If Margo was having a party after all that Mina had gone through that day, she’d kill her.
By the time they saw the white numbers on Margo’s door, Mina could hear that the music came from an apartment upstairs. With a glance at Brian, she pushed the doorbell, heard it chime inside.
After they’d waited a moment, Mina realized that the outside light wasn’t lit. The window facing them was dark, too, and the drapes weren’t pulled. She rang again.
Brian peered in the window, then knocked, softly at first, then louder.
Mina touched his arm. “Maybe you should get the manager. I can wait here, just in case.”
He hesitated. “Promise me you aren’t going to do something stupid.”
“Like what?”
Shrugging off whatever was in his mind, he moved in the direction of the office, then seemed to have second thoughts. “I’ll be right back. Don’t try anything, okay?”
The minute he disappeared around the corner, she tried the doorknob. Nothing. Television P.I’s always got doors open with a plastic card. She didn’t even have her driver’s license with her. Everything was in the car. Maledizione. She turned the doorknob again. This time she pressed her whole body against the door. It swung open. Yes! In spite of the darkness, Mina saw a large white form on the floor. Her mind jumped to the nearest conclusion: Margo!
Legs shaking, she stepped inside. Stale, uncirculated air reached her nostrils as she entered the apartment. She turned on the lights and let out a small gasp, blinking her eyes in the flash of brightness. The white form turned out to be a love seat.
“Margo,” She called out, “Margo!” No answer.
Mina examined the room. At one end an opening on the wall seemed to lead to the kitchen. Two closed doors in front of her. The first one revealed a closet full of garments in plastic bags. The other—would she dare?
She swung it open, and then stopped.
Dozens of votive candles flickered in the dark. Their dancing flames bathed the walls in a quivering amber glow. The candles, in glass containers, were set in front of huge posters and small photographs. All showing an androgynous face, on an androgynous body. Man or woman? The name, always in large letters, left no doubt: David Bowie!
David Bowie? Mio Dio, but this is Margo’s place. Yes, Margo’s place. And Margo’s body, clad in a white gown, lay in the center of the large bed, arms crossed, eyes closed. Shadows and lights streaked the stillness of her face, created the illusion of a smile on her sil
ent lips.
“Margo.” Mina’s voice, hoarse, seemed to come from deep inside her.
“Mina!” Brian grasped her arm. “How did you get in? Is she dead?”
Mina couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. She thrust her head against his shoulder.
Gently he pushed her away, turned to look at her. “Stay here and don’t touch anything.” He walked around the bed. Mina watched him bend over and put his fingers against Margo’s throat. She could see Margo’s limp hair and her waxy, bare feet showing from underneath the gown.
Brian came back to her, took Mina’s arm and dragged her into the living room. The smell of burnt candles lingering in her throat stirred childhood memories. Brian went straight to the phone.
Mina finally found her voice. “Is she dead?”
He shook his head no and dialed nine one one. “We need an ambulance immediately,” he said into the phone. “I suspect a drug overdose—Yes, I’m guessing—My name is Brian Starrs—Correct—I’ll wait. Mina, what’s the address here?” He repeated the information, hung up then dialed again.
“Brian, is she going to be okay?” She started to sound like a CD skipping.
“Detective De Fiore, please,” he said into the phone. “I see. Tell him—never mind. I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough. Just tell him Brian Starrs called. Thank you.” He replaced the phone in its cradle.
She took a step toward the bedroom. He grabbed her arm. “Mina, we’d better wait outside. There isn’t much we can do, and I want to make sure we don’t destroy evidence.”
“What evidence?” asked De Fiore from the front door.
Mina jumped. How long had he been there?
“That was quick, Dan,” Brian said. “She’s in there.”
“In the bedroom?” The detective frowned.
Mina gulped. “How did you get here so quickly?
“ESP.” De Fiore stepped in, followed by another plainclothes cop. A siren wailed in the distance. “You two stay put,” he said from the bedroom threshold. “What—David Bowie? Never figured her for a Bowie fan.” He turned to them, “What the hell are you doing here anyhow?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Brian said. Mina was still shaking and he put his arm around her. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered.
The siren grew louder and louder. When the ambulance turned into the apartment complex, the place was glowing in red and white strobes of light. Mina heard hurried footsteps. Two men wearing white uniforms appeared at the door. Before they could speak, Brian pointed to the bedroom.
“Hey, is there something wrong?” a young man with spooky eyes and a beer-can in his hand appeared out of nowhere, and Mina jumped. Where did he come from?
“Get your paws away from that door, damn it!” De Fiore yelled from the bedroom.
“And who are you, Mister?” Spooky Eyes asked.
De Fiore walked right up to him and held his badge an inch from Spooky’s eyes. “I’m the one who’s supposed to ask the questions,” he said. “Who are you?”
“The upstairs neighbor,” he said. A policeman in uniform appeared at the front door, and De Fiore spoke to him over the young man’s shoulder.
“Sergeant, talk to this clown and then seal off the area,” De Fiore said, “and tell someone to turn off that damn music.”
“What are they doing?” Mina whispered to Brian.
He craned his neck to see in the room, and then mimicked an injection on the arm.
De Fiore glanced over at Brian, a deep furrow between his almond-shaped eyes. “You two wait in my car,” he said.
“What for?” she said, and regretted it immediately. De Fiore gave her a strange look, and then turned his stare on Brian.
“Okay?”
“Of course,” Brian answered. “We called the ambulance,” he added.
“And my office,” replied the detective. “I know, I know.”
A commotion came from the bedroom. “Now,” he said to Brian.
“Let’s go, Mina.” He took her arm and guided her to the door.
Outside, cops were everywhere, stretching yellow tape in a wide cordon in front of Margo’s apartment. Clusters of people stood in the complex’s common area, some in their nightclothes, some still dressed. Before Mina and Brian reached the pool, the ambulance attendants passed them carrying a stretcher: an oxygen mask hid Margo’s face.
The men moved fast. Mina tried to keep up with them in spite of her high heels, but Brian held onto her arm, slowing her down.
“I want to know where they’re taking her.”
“Dan will tell us. Probably Fountain Valley Hospital. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
“Why was De Fiore mad at us?”
“He wasn’t. That’s just the way he reacts under stress.”
“You know him that well?”
“Yeah. Look at you. You’re all shaky. Are you angry? Cold? There’s a windbreaker in my car.”
They reached the front gate, now wide open. Police cars were parked on both sides, some on the sidewalk. De Fiore’s green sedan was behind Brian’s Mustang. That’s how he’d known they were there as soon as he arrived.
Brian opened the unlocked back door of the detective’s automobile.
“Can’t we wait in your car?” she asked.
“Let’s keep him happy.” She climbed in, and he got in next to her, smiling. “Besides, I’ve never necked in a cop’s car before, have you?” He saw the expression on her face. “Just kidding.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” she said.
He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her nose.
“Hey, there isn’t any handle,” she said, pointing to the smooth vinyl interior of the back door.
“That’s why I’m keeping the door ajar,” Brian said. “Patrol cars never have handles in the back. It prevents escapes.”
“No wonder you wanted to get me in here.” Before he could reply, she said, “Look, here he comes.”
De Fiore stopped at the security gate to talk to the other policemen. He slapped one of the officers on the shoulder and started toward the car.
“Is he going to take us to the police station?” Mina asked.
“Ask him.” Brian said.
De Fiore got in the driver’s seat and sat sideways, looking at them, “Well?”
“Well, what? If you don’t mind, I think I should go to the hospital where they took Margo,” Mina said.
“She won’t know the difference.”
Mina swallowed hard, “Why, is she...dead?”
“I hope not. There are a few questions—”
“Is that all you care about? Questions?”
The detective slid his legs in, closed the door and started the engine.
“Where are you taking us?” she asked.
“Didn’t you just say you wanted to go to the hospital to see Margo?”
“Yes, but—”
“Thanks, Dan, we’ll take my car,” Brian interrupted. He shoved the door open with his foot, got out and grabbed Mina’s hand. “Come on, Mina. Fountain Valley Hospital, correct?”
“Correct,” the detective said. Mina could tell De Fiore didn’t like it, but Brian was already out of the car. “Margo will still be in the emergency room. I need to speak to you two. Let’s meet in the coffee shop.” He noticed Brian’s arm around Mina’s shoulder and smiled.
“See you there.” Brian closed the car door. He paused an instant, then knocked on the driver’s window. De Fiore rolled it down.
“What?”
“Thanks,” Brian said.
The smile on De Fiore’s lips widened.
* * * * *
The detective waited in the hospital lobby. “Forget the coffee shop,” he said. “It’s quieter in the ICU waiting room, and there are vending machines. Margo will be admitted there when they’re through with her in Emergency.”
“This wasn’t a suicide attempt,” Mina said as they started walking.
“Mina—” Brian said.
“You
know it, too. I could tell what was going through your head when we read the note.”
Sparks flew from De Fiore’s eyes. “What note? Did you take something from the apartment?” He might have been Oriental, but he reacted a lot like an Italian.
“Please!” For the first time Brian raised his voice. “Let’s wait until we sit down.”
The sole occupant of the waiting room was a man slumped over in a chair, snoring softly. They sat down in the opposite corner.
“We didn’t touch a thing, Dan, relax,” Brian said before anyone else could start talking. “Okay Mina, tell him what you did from the moment you arrived at West Coast Software this morning. I’ll go get the coffee.”
By the time Brian came back with three Styrofoam cups in a cardboard box, she was almost through with her story. She left out the part about David Bowie, and she didn’t know why. Yet.
“We’ll have to go get that card,” De Fiore said. “Mina, you’re going with me.”
“I want to stay here. Take Brian.”
“This isn’t a multiple choice request. I need you for the alarm company.”
“Give me a minute,” Mina said. She got up, walked toward the ladies’ room.
In a few minutes she was back. “De Fiore, Paco is on his way to West Coast Software. I asked him to meet you outside, by the front door. Okay?”
De Fiore gave her a dirty look. “I expect to find you here when I get back.”
After he left, they sipped their coffee in silence. Until Margo was transferred up, all Mina could do was wait. Brian raised the coffee to his lips, and she studied his face.
She’d met him when—two weeks ago? He’d become such a part of her life; she couldn’t remember when he wasn’t there. How could she have known a nice guy would be so...nice?
“What made you tell nine-one-one that Margo overdosed?” she asked.
“There was an empty prescription bottle on the floor by her night table and the carpet was littered with capsules.”
“Hmmm.” She sipped her coffee. “I wonder how De Fiore got to Margo’s so quickly.”
“He didn’t—it was a coincidence.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“While you were gone.” Brian stared straight ahead, avoiding her eyes.
Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1) Page 18