Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  Margo, the story of Paola’s rape, then Michael, and now this. And Ishmael, or whatever his name was. Basta, enough!

  If he wasn’t a Fernandez, then—the smoldering look between Sarah and her so-called brother flashed before her minds eye. Maledizione! He was her lover; they were in this together. Now if she only had an idea of what this was. Was Sarah in the warehouse tonight? Who brought her there, Michael or Ishmael?

  No more wondering. Time to take action.

  She opened the bathroom door and heard De Fiore’s voice coming from the front office. Keeping the door ajar, she held her breath and listened.

  He was talking on the telephone: “Let’s assume he needs quick cash. No. He didn’t take anything from the warehouse, and Davies’ wallet was still in his back pocket. If he acted alone, he’s driving around with a bullet in his body.” A pause. “Maybe, but we won’t know for sure until we find the Corvette.”

  There was another pause and then the detective said, “I bet he’s already ditched it. Look, I don’t think he’s going to make a run for the border. Right, Sarah. Put out an APB on her too, will you?” He waited, “Ed, how are we doing with the witness? Great—Here or at the hospital. You too.” He hung up and Mina heard his footsteps receding, then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

  Holding her purse against her chest, she peeked out of the bathroom, then managed to tiptoe out of the building without being noticed.

  The few cops in the front parking lot were busy with the van and the tow truck.

  Of all the people involved, the one who probably knew the most about this mess was Margo. If she could talk to her, she might know how to find Ishmael and Sarah too. But Margo was still in coma and time was running out. Ishmael had to be stopped from crossing the border. Now.

  Mina searched her handbag for the car keys. The door was unlocked as usual, but she needed the ignition key. She sneaked into the Bug quietly, hoping to drive out unnoticed.

  A hand grasped her shoulder. Someone was in the back seat. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Maledizione! Brian, you scared me.”

  In spite of Brian’s frown, Mina recognized the concern in his eyes. She couldn’t lie to him. “I’m going to find Ishmael or whatever his name is.”

  For a moment, he seemed uncertain. Then he sighed, “Oh, and where would that be?”

  Mina didn’t answer. They drove out of the parking lot unnoticed.

  * * * * *

  “Which way are we going?” Brian asked when Mina turned right on Harbor.

  “Trust me,” she said, flooring the gas pedal.

  He shook his head then sat back and kept quiet. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, and she rubbed them with her fist. God, she should probably call the hospital, see how Michael was doing. After all, he was family. Extended family? Is that what it’s called?

  Mina pulled onto the freeway. Brian was staring at her, she could tell.

  How would he react when he found out she was heading home? Wait a minute, how was he going to get back? His car was still parked in Adams’ driveway. She gave him an oblique glance.

  The motion of the car began to lull her. Fighting to keep her eyes open, she turned on the radio. Wouldn’t you know it? David Bowie’s Let’s Dance filled the car.

  She told Brian about the phone calls. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Mamma mia. He sounded like a guard dog. “What else have you been hiding?”

  “I won’t even respond to that,” Mina said, scowling and getting off the freeway.

  “Hey, you’re going home. Good.”

  “I have this feeling...you know that saying...about returning to the scene of the crime...” She didn’t want to say it was woman’s intuition.

  “De Fiore is right. You watch too much TV.”

  Maybe. But De Fiore and all his cops hadn’t come up with any solution. Mina turned off the engine. “You can sleep on the couch.”

  Brian didn’t answer. He was obviously upset. About the couch or about her private manhunt? They got out of the car. Darkness enveloped the house. “Strange, the outdoor lights are on a timer. I wonder what’s wrong now.” Mina said, remembering her last experience with the burned-out light bulbs.

  Her voice sounded strained but she was past tired, past sleepy. Dead on her feet, she thought, but her mind was awake, sharper than ever before. She reached into the Bug and pushed the garage door opener. Nothing happened.

  “Here, let me try,” Brian said, he got the same result. “It must be a fuse. We’d better use the front door. Do you know where the fuse-box is?”

  Can’t he hear my heart pounding? I’m scared. Shaking her head, she walked to the front door, searched for the house key in her purse. Then tried to find the keyhole in the dark.

  “Where’s the moonlight when you need it?” Brian put his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck. He doesn’t have a clue about how I feel. Something is wrong and we are walking into it.

  When Mina finally got the door open, she switched on the hall chandelier. “At least this one’s working.” She said softly, listening for unusual noises, creaking or whisperings.

  Brian headed toward the kitchen. “The fuse-box is probably in the garage.”

  “Have fun. I’m going to change,” she lied. Mina removed her shoes, and started climbing the big staircase.

  Don’t be a hero. Just do it. Wait for Brian, there is safety in numbers. Feel the fear and do it anyway. All the American clichés she so cherished flashed through her mind. She kept climbing. Slowly, listening for a tremor of sound. Carefully, looking for the faintest movement.

  Her heart pumped blood with such force she knew she would be heard. Fear licked her ankles, drenched her body. One more step. When she reached the top and flipped on the light, nothing happened. Mina remembered she hadn’t changed the light bulb.

  An unfamiliar smell lingered in the dark hallway, filled her nostrils. Sweat? Yes, and cheap cologne. Halfway between the landing and Paola’s bedroom door, she stopped dead.

  Light from downstairs glinted on the doorknob of Paola’s room as it turned. The hair rose on the back of her neck. Fear, she smelled fear. Hers or...a muffled sound came from behind her. She spun around and collided with a swiftly moving body.

  Someone’s feet became entangled with hers. She grabbed on to the stranger. Caught in a freeze-frame, they stood. For a split second, or an eternity. And Brian’s cry reached her just as they fell backward. Together they tumbled, one step at the time.

  Paola’s million-dollar staircase.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Fifty-thou a step,” she remembered Paola’s voice.

  Her mind was blank, her body weightless. Only her will sustained her. She hung on to the intruder, her nails ripped his shirt, clawed his torso.

  Thump, thump, thump. Her head hit the wall just as the intruder’s resistance relented.

  “Mamma...” The pain grew intense, stopped her mind.

  “Mina, Mina, answer me.” Her eyes opened slowly, painfully, to see Brian’s face. She felt his body shaking. Or was it hers? The marble floor felt cool against her legs, her head burned on Brian’s lap.

  “I’m okay, Brian.” She couldn’t move her head. “Ouch, my head hurts.”

  “That’s good. If you feel the pain, it’s a good sign.”

  “Gee, Brian, I’ll remember that line. It may come handy some day.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see a body sprawled on the white floor of the foyer, next to her.

  “Is that—?” She pointed to the form clad in a Hawaiian shirt.

  “Ishmael,” Brian said. “I saw the Corvette when I went into the garage looking for the fuse box.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She choked on her words.

  “I don’t know, Mina. I’ve called De Fiore. And an ambulance.” He glanced behind them. “You landed on top of him and he broke your fall.”

  Following his gaze, she noticed the blood—bright red against the white
marble—trickling from Ishmael’s head to the floor.

  Her fingers grasped Brian’s arm so hard her knuckles turned white. She felt nauseous.

  Without letting her go, Brian stretched to check the man’s pulse. When his head drooped between his shoulders, she knew Ishmael was dead. Did the fall kill him? Why was her life spared? She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All these deaths—why? What brought Ishmael here ? How had she known?

  Something in her mind clicked. Grazie mamma. For the first time, the picture came into focus.

  “I’ll get some ice for your head.” Brian, helped her to sit up, headed for the kitchen. “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

  She had just heard him opening the refrigerator when a cry came from the top of the stairs, echoing through the silent house.

  “Asesinos. Murderers!”

  Mina looked up as Sarah flew down the steps. The girl’s clothes were torn, and she wore one of Mina’s towels as a sling around her left arm.

  When she saw Mina, she stopped. A look of hatred distorted her features. It was so intense, Mina instinctively slid back. Sarah lifted her fist and shook it, inches from her face.

  Mina pushed her away with both hands. “Don’t you call me a murderer. What are you doing in my house?”

  Mina didn’t know Brian was next to her until he grabbed Sarah and pulled her away. The girl began to sob and fell to her knees like a rag doll.

  Dark red spots appeared on her towel-sling. Michael’s bullet, of course. Sarah crawled away from Mina, to Ishmael’s body.

  “Don’t touch him!” Brian warned her.

  Too late, Sarah had already lifted his head onto her lap. Blood spread across her legs and skirt as she sobbed and rocked back and forth, cradling his head in her arms.

  A clear plastic bag fell out of Sarah’s makeshift sling. In it, Mina recognized some of Paola’s jewelry.

  CHAPTER 25

  De Fiore rubbed his hand over his face. Even from her seat on the other side of his desk, Mina could hear his beard scratching against his palm. He looked exhausted, but no more than she. Although she hadn’t seen herself in a mirror lately, she felt spent.

  Ten o’clock in the morning. Sitting here with Brian in De Fiore’s bland cookie-cutter office, under the glare of fluorescent lights, it was hard for her to believe that last night’s events weren’t just a bad dream. But the painful soft lump on the back of her head was a good ‘reality check’.

  “What do you want to know first?” De Fiore asked. The man may have been up twenty-four hours, but his dark eyes weren’t dulled.

  “Who was he?” Mina said.

  De Fiore didn’t have to ask whom she meant. “Amado Corea. A coyote.”

  “A coyote?” she asked.

  “That’s what we call people who smuggle immigrants across the border—that’s how he met the Fernandez girls,” De Fiore said. “Has a rap sheet three feet long, and warrants in Texas and Arizona.”

  “I.N.S?” Brian asked.

  “The Texas warrant is. In Arizona he’s wanted for manslaughter. We just got the file last night.” De Fiore leaned over and took a folder from the top of a stack on his file cabinet. Opening it, he browsed the papers and said, “It looks like during that last heat wave, our boy tried to cross the Sonora desert with a group of illegals. He got panicky when a helicopter started circling low and abandoned them. Two died before the rescue teams arrived.” He slapped the file closed and tossed it back on top of the stack. “One was his own nephew, eight years old.”

  Brian turned to Mina. “When did Ishmael start at West Coast Software?”

  “I’m not sure. It was one of those deals Michael liked to do behind Paola’s back. After Paola...” At the sting of tears, she closed her eyes. God, she was so tired, she had no defenses left. “Anyway, the files were missing, so I don’t know.”

  De Fiore spoke up. “It was after September, if that’s what you’re asking. He assumed the Ishmael Fernandez alias and, thanks to Rachel, got a job at West Coast Software.”

  “So what happened last night?” Brian asked.

  “Wait a minute, back up just a little,” Mina said. “Was Michael really stealing the diskettes? Or was that another little plan of Ishmael’s? I mean, Amado’s.”

  “No, according to Michael himself, he had been taking diskettes from the business for some time. He kept them in a rented storage unit a few miles away. He also hid the original Tawaka and he said it is in a safe place.”

  “Why on earth would he steal from his own business?” Brian said.

  De Fiore leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “This is the most bizarre part. Michael said he wanted to force Paola out of business so he could come to her rescue.”

  Typical Michael. Never walk a straight line when a crooked one was available. “He wanted to be her knight in shining armor,” Mina said.

  De Fiore shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway, Sarah said that after Paola died, Ishmael made sure she was always close to Michael. He was an easy target, close to the edge of a breakdown. When you entered the picture, Michael lost everything. Ishmael decided to cash in on what he could. First, he and Sarah loaded West Coast Software’s truck with the stolen diskettes Michael had stashed away, and sold them to that Iranian in Los Angeles, Sarah posing as Rachel.

  “His next step was to strip the company of the diskettes, sell them and split with Sarah. But when Michael found the rented storage empty and all the Fernandez’s gone, he knew he’d been taken. He caught up with them last night in the warehouse, and confronted them.”

  “But how did they get Paco’s identification number?” Brian asked. “The security company said they used his access code last night.”

  “I’m sure that was Margo. You know how she’s always eavesdropping.” Mina shifted on the hard chair. “I know Margo’s a sucker for anything in pants, but I can’t believe she was in league with that man. He was probably the one calling me up at night.”

  “Ah! I’m glad you mentioned that. There were indeed calls made from Margo’s phone to your house. All around one o’clock in the morning. I understand you were being—serenaded—? Yes, that was another side of Amado’s twisted mind. For what it’s worth,” De Fiore said, “I think Margo’s just another of his victims.”

  “How is she?” Mina asked. “I called the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me speak to her.”

  “She’s very lucky. If she hadn’t had such a high tolerance for Seconal, Ishmael’s dose would have killed her.” Brian yawned while he was talking, and De Fiore smiled. “Sorry the tale isn’t exciting enough for you, Starrs.”

  “How about some of that industrial strength coffee you detectives live on?” Brian said.

  “Sounds good,” De Fiore responded, and before Mina could blink, he was gone.

  “He didn’t even ask me if I wanted some,” she said.

  To her surprise, he came back with three cups of black coffee. Mina took a sip and recoiled. “What’s in this?”

  De Fiore grinned. “The secret is letting it age.”

  Brian swallowed half the cup in one gulp. She stared at him in amazement. “It’s an acquired taste of college students,” he said. “Okay, Dan, back to last night. Michael confronted Ishmael and...”

  “And recognized Paola’s gold bracelet around Sarah’s wrist. Michael swears Paola was wearing it the night she died. I guess he had suspicions about Paola’s death, and that just confirmed it. He literally ripped it off her, and started waving his gun around. He and Ishmael really got into it, but when they heard someone banging on the bay door, they stopped fighting.”

  “Then how did Michael get hurt?” Mina asked while the tip of her fingers searched deep in her pocket. Withholding evidence. Found it. Her fist closed tenderly around the broken chain. Holding on to memories. She smiled at De Fiore who kept on talking.

  “Ishmael tried to pin him against the wall with the forklift. When Michael fell to his knees, the gun went off and hit Sarah in the arm. Ishmael panicked, grabbed Sarah an
d they drove off in Michael’s Corvette.”

  “And they went to Mina’s,” Brian finished.

  Mina tucked her legs under her. The police station evidently didn’t believe in a heater. “Why take a chance on my house, just for Paola’s jewelry?”

  “I doubt if they knew you were still living there,” De Fiore said. “Don’t forget that they drove away in Michael’s car. Ishmael had all his keys. Not knowing the locks were changed, he probably thought he could get into the house without any problem. Instead, he had to force his way through the garage.”

  Remembering Ishmael’s body on the cold marble floor, Mina shivered. How long would that haunt her? She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to the office.”

  * * * * *

  She and Brian rode for a while in silence, his hand resting comfortingly on her arm. Her head hurt, especially the tender spot on the right temple. With only those two catnaps the night before—Brian didn’t even have that. She couldn’t imagine how he felt. “I called the hospital,” she said. “Michael’s going to make it.”

  She could feel his gaze on her profile. “How does that make you feel?”

  Shrugging, she pulled into West Coast Software’s parking lot. “I don’t feel vengeful, if that’s what you mean. Things sped out of his control. He’ll suffer from that more than I could ever punish him.”

  They got out of the car and walked to the entrance. A surprise awaited them when Brian pushed open West Coast Software’s front door.

  “Good morning, may I help you?” asked a trim young lady sitting behind the desk. Her red hair was held back with a clasp, and her dress was neat and professional.

  Mina was so used to Margo’s flamboyance that the woman looked out of place. She hesitated before extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Mina Calvi.”

  At the sound of her voice, Paco poked his head out of the office. “You’re back,” he said. “Have you met Diana?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Calvi.” The receptionist looked embarrassed. “My name is Diana Mason, I’m a temp.”