Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  “You’d better come in here. You too, Brian. There’s news,” Paco said.

  The phones were ringing as Brian closed the office door behind them. Mina sat at the desk.

  “Coffee?” asked Paco.

  “No, thanks, I already drank plenty.”

  “Me too,” Brian said.

  Paco sat at Mina’s side. “I hope this is all behind us, Mina. De Fiore called and filled me in. I still can’t get over it. Who could have guessed, especially about Ishmael—or Amado—what an evil man. Mrs. Davies was very intuitive. She never liked him.”

  There was a tap at the door. “Yes?” Paco and Mina said in concert.

  Diana peeked around the corner of the door. “There is a Mr. Adams to—”

  Adams pulled back the door and came into the office before Diana could finish her sentence.

  “It’s all right,” Mina said to the receptionist. “Hi, Adams.”

  “Well, where did you two disappear to last night?” Adams asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Brian said.

  “I’ll bet. Lots of things have been happening. I guess I just missed you at the police station.”

  “What were you doing there?” Mina asked.

  Adams pulled up a chair, sat down and sighed. “Did you know Sarah asked me to represent her?”

  “You must be joking,” Mina said. “What nerve!”

  “Well, it’s understandable. She doesn’t know anyone else.”

  “Next you’ll be telling us she’s innocent,” Brian said.

  “No, and I explained to her I’m not a criminal lawyer. But she is cooperating, so to speak.”

  “Oh, please, you’re breaking my heart,” Mina said.

  “Well, anyway,” Adams continued, “she’s scared and she sounds sincere—most of the time. She told us the whole sordid story.”

  Mina tried to smile at him, but her eyes filled with tears. She was afraid of what Adams would say next, but wanted to hear it. The question was: Would she be able to handle it?

  “Can you talk about Sarah’s statement or do we have to wait until it becomes official?” Brian asked Adams.

  “Oh, the reporters were there. It will probably make the noon newscast.”

  “What did Sarah say about—Margo?” Mina’s soul screamed Paola, but her lips couldn’t say it.

  “More or less what we all suspected; Margo’s only sin was to fall for Ishmael’s lies. He used her to get information and when she finally caught on, he tried to kill her and make it look like suicide. The roses were to cover his tracks. His plan from the beginning was to get Michael to marry Rachel. Margo must have told him about the Davies’ pre-nuptial agreement. So our resourceful young man planned the chocolate filling to get rid of Paola. Sarah swears that neither she nor Rachel knew of it. We already know how Rachel got the candy.” He cast a glance toward Paco, who was rubbing his moustache.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Paco,” Mina said.

  “Thank you, Mina,” Paco mumbled without looking at her.

  “Rachel had a key to the warehouse and the loft,” Adams continued. “She used to meet Michael there after business hours. And Michael gave her Paola’s security number. Nice, huh? As for her pregnancy, Rachel was a very—popular girl. Mina, are you okay?”

  She rubbed her eyes, but didn’t look up. “Yes, please go on.” Brian got up and came to stand behind her chair, resting his hands on her shoulders.

  “There isn’t much more,” Adams said.

  “Adams,” her voice was like a cry.

  “You should tell her what you know, Adams,” Brian said, “Better you than a stranger.”

  “You’re right.” The lawyer seemed to search for words. “When Rachel died, something happened to Michael. Maybe it was when he heard about her pregnancy. He knew he couldn’t have been the father. Or maybe he really loved Paola and decided to win her back. Anyway, he tried to break away from the Fernandez clan, but Ishmael wouldn’t let him. Sarah was always there, telling him what Ishmael wanted Michael to hear. The night of Paola’s death, that evening before Thanksgiving, Sarah persuaded Michael to spend the weekend with her. Sarah says he stopped by the house to get some clothes while she waited in his car, in the garage.

  “When he got to the bedroom, Paola must have confronted him about the missing disks and told him she’d filed for divorce.” He spread his hands apart in a dismissive gesture. “I’m just guessing here. All Sarah knows is that they were arguing loudly enough for her to hear them. Using his car phone, she called Ishmael, who was spending the night at Margo’s. Sarah says she just wanted to get out of there quick. But she made the mistake of telling Ishmael about Paola’s threat to divorce Michael.”

  The longer Adams talked, the more colorless his face became. “After coaxing Margo into taking a large dose of Seconal, Ishmael took her car and left. He also took her prescription bottle, but she didn’t discover that until much later. Because of the drug, she really had no idea how long he was gone.”

  Paco let out a long sigh and covered his face with his hands. “Poor Mrs. Davies. She deserved better than that—how could they? And for what? Money?”

  Mina kept her eyes closed. She would not cry, not now. But she had to know.

  “The Fernandezes didn’t know how much trouble West Coast Software was in,” Adams continued. “In their eyes, Michael was a millionaire. He never did or said anything to make them think differently. Remember how he used to spend, trying to impress those girls?”

  “Could we please get back to the subject?” Mina said.

  “What do you want to know, Mina?” Brian’s voice was gentle.

  “Did Paola suffer?”

  “I don’t think so, Mina,” Adams began, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat. “In the time it took Ishmael to drive from Fountain Valley to Mission Viejo, Michael had gone back to the car with a bottle of whiskey, drunk it, and passed out. When Ishmael got there, he and Sarah went up to Paola’s room. The bedroom door was open. Paola seemed to be asleep—she’d probably taken the Soma Compound earlier. I guess she’d been complaining about her back all day. After the fight with Michael, she may have taken a couple more tablets or drunk some wine; we’ll never know for sure. Anyway, Paola woke up. In the dark—in her drowsiness—she mistook Sarah for Mina and said she was thirsty. Ishmael went to the night table, dumped the Seconal in a glass of wine, and handed it to Sarah. Barely conscious, Paola drank it all. It was over in less than twenty minutes.

  “Sarah insists that Paola was still breathing when they left and that she didn’t realize the dose was lethal. She swears she never saw the suicide note, which, by the way, was typed on Margo’s typewriter. She and Ishmael wiped their fingerprints off the glass and drove off in Margo’s car.”

  Laughter came from the front office, where Diana was answering the phone. Young, carefree laughter.

  “Stop it, make her stop it,” Mina cried.

  Brian knelt and pulled her close. “It’s okay to cry, Mina. Don’t fight it.”

  She didn’t know how long she sobbed in his arms, her tears soaking his shirt. Paco pulled some tissues from the desk and handed them to her, his rough hand caressing her head. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Paco’s right,” Brian said. “Someone has to run the business.”

  Adams checked his watch. “Mina, dear, I’m due in court in thirty-five minutes. Where did I leave my briefcase?”

  Mina stood and hugged him. “Thank you, Adams, I know how hard it must have been for you to tell me about her death. Grazie.”

  “You’re welcome, darling.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” she said.

  “Me, too. I need some fresh air,” Brian said. She slipped her arm around his waist, and he hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

  They all walked into the front office. The receptionist swiveled in her chair, smiled and extended a box, filled with candies wrapped in gold foil.

  “Chocolate, anyone?”

  THE END


  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Grazie for reading Love Thy Sister!

  I wrote Love Thy Sister, the first book in the Mina’s series, while going through my divorce. For an Italian Catholic girl, a divorce is a big, evil downer.

  Spending my nights writing helped. Writing allowed me to be transported into a different world. Mina’s world. I tend to get into my characters head, and I mean, totally. That helped a lot with pain and anger management, plus, I got to kill off must of the people causing the pain. Most, not all of them. I guess I can now confess; the characters were loosely based on real people.

  A few years passed between Love Thy Sister and my next book. Some of the pain went away; some will be with me forever. Any of you who experienced heartache and betrayal know what I mean.

  If you have questions or suggestions, I welcome the feedback. That’s the best way for an author to grow. So, do share your thoughts, good or bad, they are welcome. You can write to me at maria@mariagraziaswan.com

  If you’re the type of reader who doesn’t like to get too close and personal, would you consider writing a review of Love Thy Sister? More and more authors are dependent on readers like you to keep our writing life relevant. Thanks again for taking the time to read and review my book, here is a link: http://mybook.to/LoveThySister

  Mille grazie

  Keep reading for a sneak preview of Mina’s second adventure in “Bosom Bodies”

  CHAPTER 1

  December 1990

  Employees must wash hands before returning to work. Mina stared at the sign posted on the mirror above the sink. She still couldn’t grasp the fact she was one of them, the employees.

  How could she have let Ginger, her yoga instructor, talk her into doing this? How? They weren’t even really good friends. From yoga to waitressing at Bosom Bodies? She glanced at the curly red wig, the thick, fake lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. The image looking back from the mirror was a full size version of that doll. What was it called? Orphan Annie? No, not that one, oh, Raggedy Ann. Mina’s eyes moved to her black top, stretched to the max over her foam-padded bra. This was no ordinary padding. The falsies had foam nipples to create the illusion of bona fide implants. Viva l’America. Two large, sparkly Bs marked the spots. According to the marketing people, the Bs stood for Bosom Bodies. Mina had her own version, Big Boobs! And to make sure everyone noticed them, the letters were imbedded with pretentious rhinestones. The kind Paola used to call, “circus diamonds.”

  “If Paola saw me like this…” She said it out loud. It had been over a year since her mother’s death. Mina still found herself talking to her and thinking of her as she did when she believed Paola was her sister.

  “There you are.” One of the other waitresses peeked in the bathroom door. “People are hungry. Orders are getting cold. What’s your problem? Wanna get fired your first day on the job?”

  “Magari. I wish,” Mina mumbled. She checked her red mini skirt, adjusted the uncomfortable top with the nametag that read “Ginger” and went to serve those hungry people. Barbara, the manager, hired Ginger, the real Ginger/yoga instructor, and since she hadn’t started working yet, no one else knew what Ginger looked like. The only person aware of the switch was Barbara, and she already clocked out for the evening. Two more days and Mina’s career as a redhead, big-busted waitress at Bosom Bodies would be over because Ginger would be back from her impromptu honeymoon. She didn’t know how Barbara would explain the new Ginger to the rest of the staff, and she didn’t care to know. The last time Mina waited tables was fourteen months earlier in October 1989. Before Paola’s death, before Mina met Brian. She wasn’t going to think about Brian now.

  Her high heels clicked on the concrete floors of the smoke-filled restaurant. The loud music and the chattering noise could cover up cannon fire, never mind the annoying shoes. Round tables, higher than regular dining tables, with stools to match, occupied most of the large room. The rest of the space was taken by a well stocked bar. Men of all ages, shapes and means warmed most of the seats. They must all come for the food, Mina thought as she stretched on her toes to be able to hear the orders. Even in high heels, she was the shortest waitress there, and the least busty, the least giggly and, at twenty-four, probably the least young. Then again, she wasn’t depending on the generosity of these men to make rent.

  “Ginger, psst,” Angelina beckoned from the other side of the glass separating the kitchen from the main room, “I put your plates here to keep them warm. Take them.”

  Angelina’s English was marginal, but her intention to help Mina/Ginger was clear enough. She was the only ally in this whole place. Mina suspected it had to do with the accent, sort of a bonding factor. Angelina sounded Latina and probably had cultural similarities to Mina’s Italian background. She looked so young to Mina. How did she end up here? In this…restaurant? Mina could see past Angelina’s sweet smile. She could read the sadness and uncertainty in the young woman’s eyes. They reminded her of her own eyes, her own feelings those many years ago when she first stepped off that plane at Los Angeles International.

  She grabbed the warm plates and tried to make sense of the orders. She couldn’t read her own handwriting. That’s what using computers will do to you! Eyes watching her? She turned around. The kitchen helper, a short dark-haired man, was looking at her. His name was Diego. The girls talked about him, calling him the silent type. Mina wasn’t even sure he understood English. Something about his piercing eyes made her uncomfortable. She gave Angelina a smile of thanks and scooted to her assigned tables.

  It was nearly midnight by the time she walked out of Bosom Bodies.

  Only Diego, a cashier named Lisa, and Mina remained. Angelina and another waitress left a few minutes earlier. Due to corporate policy, Mina had to change clothes before leaving, so she looked even more silly with the idiotic wig and fake lashes wearing her jeans and the Ultrasuede coat, which was Paola’s last gift. She was thankful she didn’t know a soul on this side of town and aimed to keep it that way.

  Her ragtop Bug was parked at the back of the building inside the fenced area reserved for the employees. There was that funny word again.

  Enough rain drizzled from the night sky to allow December to be taken seriously even in Southern California.

  Mina noticed something peculiar about her car. Maybe it was the reflection from the streetlight, but the car looked lopsided.

  “Hurry up,” Lisa the cashier said. “I need to lock the gate, I’m already late. The sitter will charge me overtime.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I think I have a flat tire.” Mina walked around her car and, sure enough, it was the front tire, passenger side–flat as her chest beneath the padding.

  She could call Triple A. Her membership was current, wasn’t it? It would take time, and Lisa wanted her out of there. She opened the hood and remembered the spare tire was sitting in the warehouse of West Coast Software where Mina left it to make room for moving boxes. That was last week. She had forgotten about the tire.

  “Maledizione!” She slammed the hood close.

  The male voice came from behind her. “So you’re Italian.”

  Mina turned. Diego stood looking down at the flat tire. She was surprised at his perfect English, no accent, yet he understood Italian? Italian swear words. How about that?

  “Lisa, go ahead, go home. I’ll lock the gate as soon as we take care of Ginger’s car.” Mina stopped herself short of explaining her name wasn’t Ginger. She bit her lip and avoided his eyes. The man made her feel self-conscious. How old was he? And what did she care? Lisa started the engine of her small, beat-up truck, waved to Diego, ignoring Mina and drove off in a blast of unmuffled engine and Michael Bolton’s falsetto.

  “Do you have a spare tire?” Diego asked.

  “If I did, I would have already taken care of this.”

  “Oh, you change your own tires? In the dark, while it rains?”

  She hated him. Smart-ass. That was one American expression she found fascinating an
d mostly to the point, especially on this occasion. How would that translate into Italian? Not very well. Smart furbo. Ass.

  “Do you want a ride home?” Was he talking to her?

  She looked around. The only vehicle left in the fenced space was her Volkswagen with the flat tire. “A ride? On your shoulders?”

  “Suit yourself. Your car will be safe until tomorrow, but there aren’t any cabs around here.” He glanced at her heels. The streetlights played hide and seek with his expression. Even so, she knew he smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he said.

  Mina watched him walk to the side of the building. She didn’t know what to do. The damp wig itched. Her leaden feet ached. She wasn’t used to being on her feet for so many hours. All her prickliness left her. She wanted to sit in her car and wait for the sun to come up or this restaurant from hell to open, so she could use a phone. Who would she call? Brian was on a flight to Europe with his loony mother, and Mina hadn’t dared tell Paco about moonlighting as a waitress in this place. Maledizione.

  The rhythmic engine growl preceded him as Diego cruised around the corner on a shiny monster Harley.

  “Last chance.” He looked even smaller on that huge thing. He revved up the engine and waited. Mina approached him, still unsure. He steadied the bike by firmly planting both feet on the pavement. He wore fancy black boots. Who was this Diego, really? A substitute for a honeymooning cook?

  “I don’t have an extra helmet.” He strapped his under his chin. “How far do you live? I don’t want to get a ticket because you aren’t wearing one.”

  “I’m wearing a wig. It’ll soften the blow if I fall.”

  He didn’t smile.

  She moved up beside the motorcycle and sent a mental thanks to the corporate policy that made her change clothes. She could never straddle that metal horse wearing a short skirt. Even with her jeans, she had trouble. Her legs were too short and she had to lean on Diego’s back to get on.