Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

  “You’re sick, Margo.” Mina headed toward Michael’s office.

  “Wait a minute, there isn’t anyone in there. Paula’s in Production, talking to Paco.”

  Mina walked back to the desk. “I guess I’ll wait for her here.”

  “Good, then can you catch the phones for me while I run to the john? I’ll only be a minute.” Margo blew on her nails to dry the polish.

  “The last time I fell for that line, you were gone forty-five minutes. You came back with a different hairdo,” Mina said.

  “No more than five minutes, I swear. I’ll freshen my makeup, just in case that reporter comes back. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.” She winked at Mina, her jumbo earrings jingling like tambourines.

  “Okay, Margo, five minutes. If you’re not back, I’m leaving. Don’t blame me if you get in trouble.”

  Margo put the nail polish back in the drawer, grabbed her studded handbag and sashayed into the ladies’ room.

  Setting her purse behind the desk, Mina settled into the receptionist’s chair. Was it really only forty-eight hours ago that she’d come searching for Paola’s papers? Poor Rachel.

  “Mina.” Paola stood in the hall leading to the warehouse. “I didn’t know you were here. Where’s Margo?” She walked to the desk. “Let me guess—powdering her nose for the hundredth time this morning. That woman. She sees a pair of men’s trousers coming her way and immediately piles more makeup on her face. Disgusting.”

  “No need to ask you how your morning’s going.”

  Paola shrugged. “None of the Fernandez girls showed up for work. I understand, but it meant we had to reshuffle the assembly line. Rachel didn’t have many friends among the girls; still, everybody’s kind of edgy about her death. Why aren’t you in school?”

  “Paola, look at your watch. My class is over. I came to see if you wanted to grab something to eat at Columbo’s.”

  “I can’t leave now. Paco had to make a delivery, so I’m on my own here.”

  “Where’s Michael?

  “With a client. Listen, if you go to Columbo’s, bring me back one of their banana muffins, would you?”

  “Well, va bene. I’ll get my food to go and eat here with you.” Mina glanced at her watch, hopped from her seat. “The five minutes are up. I warned Margo. I’m going.”

  “Margo,” Paola called in the direction of the ladies’ room. Then, in a lower voice, “You’d think by the time a woman wrestles hot flashes, she’d stop acting like a teenager overrun by puberty.”

  “One banana muffin, coming up. Ciao.”

  What would “muffin” translate to in Italian, Mina wondered on the way to the restaurant-bakery. Ciambella, pagnotella? No, of course not. Muffin, sounded like a pet name. Oh, well, another unsolved mystery, like doughnut and shake. Such tasty mysteries!

  In spite of the mild weather, the gas log in Columbo’s’ fireplace flickered non-stop from opening to closing time. A large sign by the entrance listed the day’s special. Paisley furniture and pastel- colored silk flowers gave the place a homey feeling. While waiting for her take-out order, Mina checked the bakery display. Everything looked delicious. She was seriously contemplating some giant chocolate cookies when someone behind her said, “Tempting, aren’t they?”

  Mina recognized Brian’s voice. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “I always eat here.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said, squeezing her upper arm. He let his fingers slide down her bare skin until they reached her hand, and twined his fingers through hers.

  Mina snatched her hand back. “Meaning what?”

  “What’s the matter? Why are you so defensive?”

  “Never mind, Mister Detective,” she said.

  Mina could tell he was puzzled, but she was in no mood to explain, not with the whole restaurant looking on.

  “Let me introduce you to a real detective.” Brian pointed to a booth in the non-smoking section. “Dan is just finishing his coffee.”

  “Who’s Dan?”

  “Detective De Fiore. You didn’t get a chance to meet him last night.”

  Ah, the detective in charge of Rachel’s case. “Does he speak Italian?”

  “What?” Brian laughed.

  “Just forget it,” Mina turned her back on him. “I’ve got to get back to West Coast Software anyway.”

  “I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.” He gently turned her to face him. “Once you meet Dan, you’ll understand why I’m laughing.”

  Columbo’s green calico cafe curtains deflected the worst of the sun from the diners. Office workers from the surrounding buildings converged on this place about a quarter after twelve, but for now, the atmosphere was still quiet and relaxed. Mina let Brian guide her to a booth in the back of the room.

  “Dan, may I introduce my friend, Mina Davies.”

  “My last name isn’t—” Mina began.

  Detective De Fiore looked up from the papers spread on the table and extended his right hand. He was probably between thirty and thirty-five. Straight black hair, black eyes and, despite the Italian surname, definitely Asian.

  “You must be Mrs. Davies’ younger sister. Would you like to sit down?” He gestured to the booth.

  “I...uh.” She sat. “I’m her only sister, half-sister to be exact.” How she hated that word—half-sister, like she wasn’t really whole.

  Brian nudged her over and slipped in next to her. “She thought you were Italian,” he said. “I guess she feels sort of silly...”

  “Brian, you set me up.” Mina punched his arm, harder than she meant to. He winced.

  The detective grinned. “I have that effect on a lot of people. De Fiore is my stepfather’s last name. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I wasn’t disappointed, just misled.” She glanced at Brian, who rubbed his arm dramatically. “I bet you don’t get all the stupid paisan jokes like I do.”

  “Only on the phone.” De Fiore said. “We thought we’d grab a bite before we headed over to West Coast Software.”

  Mina sat forward. “Why? Did you find out something about Rachel?”

  “You don’t know?” De Fiore gathered his papers. “The autopsy on the Fernandez girl determined that her death was caused by circulatory collapse.”

  “You mean collapse, as in falling?”

  “Circulatory collapse is a medical term for heart attack, Mina,” Brian said.

  “Grazie, Dottore,” she said.

  De Fiore laughed. Mina noticed the whiteness of his shirt, the silk tie with gray and silver swirls. Nice.

  “So she fell down the stairs and had a heart attack,” she said.

  “She fell down the stairs because of the heart attack,” Brian said.

  “Isn’t she kind of young for heart problems? I didn’t even know she was ill.”

  “She wasn’t,” said De Fiore, “not according to her relatives. They said she was never sick.”

  “Oh, yeah? Go ask Paco; he’ll tell you about all the times she called in sick. Of course, they mostly coincided with Michael’s business trips.”

  De Fiore studied her face. “Are you implying that your brother-in-law was having an affair with Rachel Fernandez?”

  Her and her big mouth. Why did she always make such a mess of things?

  “Mina’s just repeating gossip,” Brian said. “I’ve been following him, Dan. I’ve never seen him with Rachel.”

  “You only followed him to Chicago, Brian.” De Fiore shook his head. “Rachel was just a kid. What did your sister have to say about it, Miss Davies?”

  The waitress came by and dropped their check on the table. “Your order is ready up front,” she said to Mina.

  “Let me out,” Mina said to Brian. “My lunch is getting cold, so if you two will excuse me.” She scooted out of the booth. “Ciao.”

  “Wait, I’ll go with you,” Brian stood, took her elbow.

  Mina tried to pull away, but he held o
n tight. “I’m on foot, get yourself another ride.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll walk with you.” He turned to De Fiore. “Take your time, Dan. I’ll see you at West Coast Software.”

  She walked fast, but Brian kept the pace.

  “Mina, don’t beat yourself up for telling De Fiore about Michael and Rachel. He would have found out eventually. According to Paco, everybody who works at West Coast Software talked about it, even Elena.”

  Mina stopped. Elena wouldn’t have said anything about the red shoes and the chocolate, would she? “When did you talk to Elena?”

  “A couple of days ago. What is it? You’re so edgy.”

  “I’d better go home and take a nap. If I talk in my sleep, it won’t matter.”

  They walked on in silence. Fear for Paola sickened her. “De Fiore never told me what he’s doing here.” Maybe Brian wouldn’t notice the tremor in her voice. “And why are you with him?”

  “He gave me a ride to pick up my car.” Brian paused. “Do you want to know what De Fiore said or not?”

  Mina shrugged. “If you want to tell me, go ahead.”

  “Fine. In a young woman with no health problems, circulatory collapse won’t wash as an accidental death. The forensic people are running some chemical tests. Normally, Dan wouldn’t be involved at this point. He’s with Homicide and there’s no murder case yet. But he likes to stay in touch with things, just in case.”

  “In case someone pushed her down the stairs?” Mina insisted.

  She heard the exasperation in his voice. “Mina, she died of a heart attack. Now, it’s possible Rachel was born with a defective heart, but she didn’t fit the profile. That’s why they’re running more tests.”

  “A chemical test shows that?”

  “No, those tests are to rule out drugs.”

  Mina shifted the weight of the sack in her arms. “I don’t think Rachel used drugs. Everyone who knew about her affair with Michael would have known that too.”

  Brian nodded. “Not bad. When you’re not biting my head off, you think pretty well.”

  Mina flushed.

  “But,” Brian continued, “even people who don’t do drugs can die of an overdose.”

  “You mean suicide?”

  “Look, this is all premature. In a few days we’ll have more answers.”

  Answers? She couldn’t even get a handle on the questions.

  They came around to the front of the building and started up the walk.

  “There’s Dan,” Brian said.

  A sedan, painted a sickening shade of green, pulled up to the entrance. De Fiore got out and waited for them before entering the front office. The door whooshed shut behind them.

  “Shhh.” Margo held a bright gold fingernail to her lips and pointed to Michael’s door.

  “I don’t give a fuck what Takawa said.” Michael’s angry voice blasted through the office. “None of his inventory is missing. That goddamn Jap must be on drugs.”

  “I had Paco verify it—” Paola began.

  “You did what? So that’s what you do when I’m out of town, conspire against me with your beaner friend? I’m going to fire his ass right now.”

  “Michael, don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice sounded sweet, honey to trap a fly. “All I did was ask Paco to check the inventory. How are you involved?”

  Everyone but Margo seemed fascinated by the exchange. Mina noticed her studying De Fiore’s left hand. The woman had no shame. At least he was older than Brian. Still, Mina bet he was at least ten years younger than Margo.

  “I’m not going to stay here and take your bullshit,” Michael yelled. “You can go to hell, along with your faithful hound Paco and that coke-head Takawa.” Storming out of the office, Michael slammed the door behind him.

  Seeing who was in the reception room, he came to a dead halt.

  “Hey, Detective—De Fiore, is it?” Michael managed a lukewarm smile. “How are you? Closing the Fernandez case, I suppose.” He reminded Mina of a crab as he edged sideways toward the front door. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat with you. I’m late for an appointment with a client.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Davies. I’m sure I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Michael paled. Mumbling, “Great, great,” he bolted out the door.

  Margo sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Mina, darling, how about introducing me to your friends?” she said.

  Paco came down the hall from the warehouse. “Detective, Brian,” he said, “how are you gentlemen today?”

  Margo thrust out her lower lip. “Am I the only one who hasn’t been introduced?” She extended her hand. “I’m Margo Swift, the receptionist here.” She giggled. “Of course, you knew that right off, didn’t you, Detective? Well, I’m sure glad to meet you.”

  Mina expected her to break into a Southern drawl any minute. Opening the top drawer of her desk, Margo held out a box of candy. “Could I interest you gentlemen in a chocolate-covered cherry?”

  Before they could reply, Paco hit the box, sending the candies flying.

  “Where did you get these chocolates?” He was breathless, as if he’d been running a race.

  “Are you crazy?” Margo said. “I bought them. Why?”

  Paco sagged. “I’m sorry, Margo.” He bent down and began picking up the chocolates. “I thought you were eating Mrs. Davies’ candies.”

  Mina blinked. Was that relief in Paco’s voice? She glanced at De Fiore.

  The detective watched Paco pick up the chocolates, his black eyes glittered like a cat that had just spotted the mouse’s tail disappearing around the corner.

  CHAPTER 6

  The phone kept ringing. Mina didn’t answer. Who would call before ten a.m.? Barbarians. Well, she didn’t know any of those, and even if she did, she was in no mood to talk now.

  The annoying sound came from a pile of clothes next to the bed. “Oh, basta, Shut up!” On cue, the ringing stopped.

  With a sigh, she pulled the covers over her head, hoping to recapture the dream brought to a premature end by the telephone.

  She’d been lying on the beach. Sand clung to her dewy skin, speckling her tanned, nude body. A shadow descended over her, like a veil over a bashful bride, and peering from under half-closed eyelids, she glimpsed Patrick’s silhouette against the blazing sky.

  Patrick, his predatory eyes staring with such intensity, it could sear the skin off her quivering body. He lay down next to her, his tongue teasing her earlobe, his fingers playing with the specks of sand around her navel. “Elle m’aime, elle ne m’aime pas,” he whispered. “She loves me, she loves me not,” removing the grains of sand, one by one, without haste. When no more sand remained, Patrick drew circles on her tummy. His hands moved slowly, the hands of a consummate artist, she thought, as the imaginary loops ran over her whole body. Her breathing quickened, she wound her fingers through his thick, curly hair, pulled his face down to quiet the moan seeping from her lips. Her eyes locked into his. Patrick’s blue eyes, so passionate, so...

  Blue eyes?

  Mina swung the covers away from her and sat up, sweating. Blue eyes, maledizione. Patrick’s eyes were dark brown and thousands of miles away. Sighing, Mina got out of bed and headed for the shower. After turning off the water, she slid the glass door back, the bare silver bar reminded her that all her towels were on the bedroom floor, waiting to be laundered.

  Goosebumps dotted her flesh as she streaked into the bedroom, her wet feet leaving soggy footprints on the thick pile carpeting. She grabbed a towel from one of the mounds and wrapped it around her before she realized it was a beach towel filled with sand from her last outing.

  She was afraid to open her underwear drawer knowing the solitary pair of panties lying there had no elastic. Always forgetting to get rid of those. The wastebasket was already heaped, but this time, the panties got stuffed in anyway. Mina found the oversized sweatshirt she’d worn on Sunday, put it on, and started sorting her laundry. Better do whites first, then at least she’d ha
ve underwear to put on.

  While the washing machine churned, Mina sat at the kitchen table, glancing at the newspaper and eating cereal, another tasty American discovery. The phone rang again. This time, she picked it up.

  “Mina, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get you since nine-thirty.” It was Margo.

  “So you’re the barbarian.”

  “I’m who? Are you hung over?”

  “No, are you?” Mina spoke with her mouth full of crunchy cereal, a habit that drove Paola crazy.

  “You’ve got to drive up here right now. Hurry.”

  “Margo, I’m doing laundry and eating breakfast. West Coast Software’s not high on my list of priorities.”

  “The cops are here again. Paula wants you to come over as soon as possible.”

  Mina dropped her spoon. “Is something wrong?”

  “Of course something’s wrong, you fool.” Margo lowered her voice. “It’s about the Fernandez—wait a second.” It sounded like Margo dropped the phone, then Mina heard her say, “Oh, yes, Mr. Davies. Yes, I’m done.” After a long pause, Margo came back in a whisper: “I can’t talk anymore. Get over here; your sister’s frantic.”

  Mina replaced the receiver, picked up the spoon and went back to the cereal. Margo always exaggerated. It was hard to imagine Paola frantic. Her sister was like the Statue of Liberty.

  Better go, just in case. She threw the rest of her breakfast in the garbage disposal and, with pictures of starving kids in China flashing through her mind, went upstairs to get dressed.

  What was she going to wear? The panties without elastic slouched over the side of the wastebasket. She could go without; she’d done it before. But the cops were at West Coast Software. What if they arrested her? She did have all those overdue parking tickets.

  Okay, so she would wear underwear. She’d have to borrow Paola’s. Her sister would have a fit if she found out, she was so narrow minded about that sort of thing. But if she wore it there and back, washed it, and put it back in the drawer, Paola would never know, right?