Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1)

by Maria Grazia Swan

Mina pushed herself up to look at him. “Why?”

  “The letter your sister left. Adams gave me a copy to bring you.”

  “You’ve had it since last night, and you never said anything? Where is it? Give it to me!”

  “Calm down. I’ll get it. You know, Adams has some connections at the Police Department.”

  “Brian, the letter.”

  “In my jacket.”

  Mina bounded up the stairs two at a time, Brian behind her. His jacket had slipped to the floor, and she tore at it, searching for the letter. “It’s not here. You’ve lost it.”

  “Give it to me.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket. Mina shook as she opened the letter.

  “I cannot watch people suffer for what I did.”

  The typed words blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Knuckling them away with one fist, Mina tried again:

  “I cannot watch people suffer for what I did. I killed Rachel Fernandez. I lured her into the loft, telling her I needed her help to move some furniture. I offered her the poisoned chocolate. When she began to feel ill I left. I locked the door behind me so that she couldn’t get help. Then I went to meet Paco and bought a new box of candies to replace the one I had used.

  You know the rest. Paco is innocent.

  Michael, I love you. I couldn’t stand to lose you. Please watch over my little sister.

  Forgive me,

  Paola

  Mina threw the letter down. “No way, I don’t believe this.”

  “You aren’t the only one who feels that way.”

  She turned to look at Brian, wishing she were as calm as he was.

  “Why would she confess to save Paco?” he said, “He was already a free man.”

  “They let Paco go?” Mina heard the tremor in her voice and wrapped her arms around herself so she’d stop shaking. “Because of Paola’s letter?”

  “No, they let him go because he told them how Rachel got the chocolate. There was no reason to hold him.”

  “Then Paola committed suicide for nothing?” The expression in his blue eyes needed no explanation. “You don’t believe she killed herself.”

  “No,” he said, “and certainly not over Michael.”

  “And the police? What do they think?”

  He shrugged. “I doubt Dan’s buying the suicide either.”

  “Then what are they going to do?”

  “Look, can we sit down?”

  Mina led the way downstairs to the living room, curled her feet under her on the couch. Brian sat down next to her, but not too close. She didn’t want to admit how much that bothered her.

  “It seems Paco felt funny about Michael’s habit of leaving little love bon-bons for Paola,” Brian began. “He overheard someone in the front office comment on how easy it would be to slip some poison into a chocolate-cherry cordial.”

  “Yes, it was one of the suppliers.”

  “Paco said he was joking around with Margo. But it made him think. So, every time Michael left a candy, Paco replaced it with one from a box he bought. Nobody, including Paola, seems to have caught on.”

  “Did he have Michael’s chocolates tested?”

  “His suspicions didn’t really go that far. He was just being cautious. Usually, he threw them away in the bin behind the warehouse. Except for this last one. He put the candy in the front pocket of his lab coat, then got busy with inventory and forgot about it.

  “Later, he ran into Rachel, coming in through the back. She saw the chocolate in his coat pocket, and teased him about stealing Halloween candy from some poor kid. She took the chocolate before he could stop her.”

  “Why did he let her have it?”

  “He didn’t know the candy was poisoned. What was he supposed to do, make a scene? Rachel told him she was there to pick up some smocks that needed washing. One of the workers came out and asked him a question about then, and Rachel disappeared into the warehouse. Paco had no idea she went into the loft. By the time he found her, she was dead.”

  The phone rang. Mina had about a hundred questions to ask, but she got up and walked to the kitchen. “Hello.”

  “Mina, my love.”

  Patrick’s voice came through loud and clear. She leaned against the kitchen counter, closed her eyes. “Hi, Patrick.”

  “My darling,” he said, “I waited for you. What happened?”

  Brian came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Mina turned toward the counter, her back towards him. “What’s the name of your dog?” she managed to ask in a low tone.

  “Le nom de mon chien?” Silence lingered, then he spoke cautiously. “I don’t remember us talking about my dog.”

  “No, I don’t think you mentioned it. I heard it barking when I talked to your wife.”

  “What?”

  Anger gushed through her when she heard the outrage in his voice. This was the man she’d wanted to turn to when Paola... “You heard me.”

  “You spoke to my wife!”

  “You’re being incredibly slow. She called me this morning.”

  “Ma femme? Ce n’est pas possible. You are lying to me.”

  Her lying to him? Mina couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Do you find this funny?” he demanded.

  “I don’t. Does your wife?” She slammed the phone on the receiver.

  Brian seemed engrossed by the back of the orange juice carton. Standing by the counter, she wondered what she could say to him. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew something was going on. Just as she opened her mouth, the phone rang again.

  Maledizione, damn. Why hadn’t she taken it off the hook? Exasperated, she picked it up. “Va all’inferno, go to hell, Patrick,” she yelled into the mouthpiece.

  Without looking at her, Brian got up, and disappeared into the foyer. She really knew how to crash land a relationship, didn’t she? Moving over to the table, she slumped down in a chair. “What do you want Patrick?”

  “Mina? Mina?” She sat up. Oh God, it was Adams. “Are you there?”

  Her voice came out as a squeak. “Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry—I thought—I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Don’t apologize, dear. I know what you’re going through. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” She hated that response, but it came out automatically. “No, that’s a lie. I’m not fine, but I’m okay.”

  “I understand exactly what you mean.” There was a long pause, and then a cough. “Excuse me, Mina. Is Brian there with you?”

  “He’s in the house. Would you like to speak to him?”

  “No, not right now.”

  Neither spoke for a moment. The big house was so quiet. She kept expecting Paola to burst in any minute, full of joy or anger or fear. How could that life be gone? “I wanted to thank you for my sister’s letter. It meant a lot to me.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “Mina, I need to see you immediately. I know it’s soon, and a holiday at that, but some things won’t wait.” His tone had changed, suddenly business-like.

  Until that moment, Mina hadn’t even thought about the practical ramifications of Paola’s death. “You mean about the funeral? Adams, I’ll need your help. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “No, I’ve already taken care of that. Due to recent events, I’m afraid I must—” There was a pause, and he coughed again. “As I was saying, I wanted to give you time to get over the shock of your, of Paola’s death. I have a letter in my possession that could help the police in their investigation. I feel compelled to release it. However, I want you to see it first.”

  “Didn’t you hear me, Adams? I’ve already read Paola’s letter. Brian brought it over, remember?” She heard that light coughing—or was it weeping?

  “It’s a different letter, Mina. I couldn’t give it to Brian. Would you like me to come to Mission Viejo? We’re going to sit down to dinner in about a half hour, but I could be there around two.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’ll come to you.” She heard the
hall bathroom door unlock. A second later, Brian appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Is there room for one more at dinner? If I promise you’ll feed him, maybe Brian will drive me.”

  “We’ll set two places. I’m sure you haven’t eaten either. Get here as soon as you can.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Adams. Bye.”

  Without a word, Brian took the phone from Mina’s hand, punched in a number. “Hi Mom, it’s me. Look, don’t count on me for dinner.” He grinned up at Mina. “I got a better offer—The one I told you about last night—Yeah, I think she’ll pull through—I love you, too. Happy Thanksgiving. Bye.” He hit the off button and set the receiver down. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Let me grab my bag.” Mina raced to her room, found her handbag. She was halfway down when she remembered her coat. They would probably be back before dark, but better to be safe.

  The Ultrasuede coat hung in the closet. Fingering one sleeve, tears rose in her eyes. Her last gift from Paola. Taking it down from the hanger, she draped it lovingly over one arm and went downstairs.

  Brian opened the door, held it, waiting for her to pass through. She stopped in front of him, reached up to pull his face down to hers, and kissed him.

  He put his arms around her waist. “Your neighbors are going to have something to talk about now.”

  “They’re all stuffing their faces with turkey. Come on. The traffic will probably be horrible.”

  He opened the car door for her. “That’s okay. It’ll give you time to tell me about Patrick.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The old Santa Ana residential district—turned professional—looked like a ghost town, deserted for Thanksgiving. Because of the proximity to the Courthouse, the whole block was dotted with lawyers’ offices. Without major changes to the architecture, the old little houses had been ‘groomed’ so that they now looked like very polished old little houses. During the summer months, colorful Jacaranda trees gave a coquettish look to the otherwise dull streets. But the Santana winds had dispersed the last lavender blossoms a long time ago.

  Brian parked his Mustang in the lot behind Adams’ office. The white cottage, once home to families with noisy children, appeared sad, shadowed by an old bare tree. “I guess I’ll go back to Adams’ house for pie and coffee while you two conduct business. Unless you want me to stay.”

  Mina gave him a weak smile. “No. He wants to speak to me alone.”

  Brian nodded out the window at the car next to them. “He must know a short cut, he beat us here.” Reaching across the seat, he took her hand. “Did you have enough to eat?”

  “Yes, thank you. Mrs. Adams is a great cook,” Mina said, “I’d better go. Adams is waiting.”

  Squeezing her hand, he released it. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.”

  The metal sign on the front door read Knock Please. In spite of the vicinity to the Courthouse and the plentitude of lawyers, this wasn’t the safest of neighborhoods and Adams kept the door locked most of the time.

  At Mina’s knock, the door opened immediately and Adams invited her in. She turned to wave at Brian, but he had already left. Adams pushed back a lock of silvery hair. Again, she noticed how thin he was. Tall and thin. He couldn’t have grown, and she knew she hadn’t shrunk. He must have lost weight. Yes, that would explain why he seemed taller than she remembered him. His pale blue eyes were kindly. In spite of the circumstances—or maybe because of them—his face maintained a look of serenity.

  When he closed the door behind her, she inhaled a light aroma of roast turkey from his clothes. The smell made her slightly nauseous. She hadn’t eaten anything at his house, luckily, no one had noticed. Through the entire meal she’d thought about her first Thanksgiving, her amazement at the sight of corn, chicken feed to an Italian, and sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows. As it turned out, sweet potatoes are known to Italians as patate Americane, American potatoes, and the marshmallows, well, neither Mina nor Paola could come up with a translation for the simple reason that marshmallows are totally alien to Italy’s supermarkets. Michael tried to convince Mina they grew on bushes and that she should export the seeds. That was a really fun Thanksgiving and Paola’s cooking was the best.

  “Come, dear,” Adams said.

  She sighed, followed him into the office. The familiar stained wooden shutters were now closed, the dark room illuminated only by the lamp on his desk. Adams sat in his large, leather chair, Mina across the desk from him. His hands fidgeted with a stack of papers, and he seemed to be avoiding her eyes. After a long sigh, he said, “I thought I’d begin by bringing you up to date. First, I have a piece of good news. Both Paco and Elena are spending Thanksgiving at home with their families. They’ve been cleared and released.”

  “That’s nice,” Mina heard herself saying. I didn’t even know Elena was in jail. How can I be so out of touch?

  “The police have established that Rachel ate the poisoned chocolate outside Michael’s office, just before she went up into the loft.”

  “How can they be so sure?” she asked.

  “Apparently Rachel dropped the paper outside his office door. The police think it happened while you were under the desk. The approximate time of death fits.” Pausing, he waited for her reaction. When none came, he asked, “Did you see anything?”

  Mina found herself fascinated by the cleanliness of Adams’ fingernails.

  “Mina?”

  “Sorry. You were saying?”

  Adams raised his eyebrows, but didn’t push the point. “Rachel got the candy from Paco—did you know that?”

  “Brian told me,” Mina said. “But what happened to the candy I unwrapped? The one in Paol...” her voice broke. “My sister’s in-box.”

  “Elena ate it. De Fiore told me she was lying about something, and he was right. She also hadn’t told them that, while she was cleaning, she found the wrapper Rachel dropped. Elena assumed it was from the chocolate she ate, and so didn’t tell the police.”

  So many little secrets. “Is there anything else?”

  Again, that sense of avoidance, she could sense it, feel it. Why? What was Adams hiding? He took an envelope from the top of the stack, hesitated, and then handed it to her. Paola’s handwriting—royal blue ink on pale gray paper—spelled out her name. The envelope looked so flat and felt so light that she gave Adams a questioning look.

  Avoiding her eyes, he got up from his chair. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

  Slowly, she opened the envelope and stared at the date. Six years ago. Dio mio, the year her parents died. Her whole body quivered, was it anticipation or was it fear?

  My Darling Mina,

  Today I watched you getting off the plane and entering my life. How you have grown. How I have missed you. I wanted to hug you and cradle you in my arms. Above all, I wanted to tell you why—but I can’t. So I’m writing this letter to you. As my pen draws letters forming words, I fantasize that my pen is my finger and the paper your face and every stroke becomes a caress from my heart to yours.

  Oh, how I love you, soul of my soul, breath of my breath. Why have I had to pay for someone else’s sin? And why, why, have you had to be the pawn?

  As you read this, I’m no longer with you, and so now my story can be told. Seventeen years ago, when I was a frightened young girl, barely fourteen, I gave birth to you. It’s true, my darling, I am your mother. The truth was so inconceivable, I couldn’t tell you. Even my mother did not believe me, thought I was insane.

  Immediately after your birth, I was sent out of the country, without you. My mother claimed you as her own. I didn’t see your first smile, didn’t hear your first word. Those years are just a dark, painful memory, buried deep inside me. But time is the great healer.

  I ended up as an au pair in the Adams’ household. They helped me find my path to acceptance.

  When I married my first husband, I began to dream about getting you back. He was rich and powerful, a famous lawyer. I saw him as my knight in shining armor w
ho would fight for us and put you back into my arms forever.

  You know how that fairytale ended. But in a twist of fate, mother and her husband died in a car accident that spared your precious life. Before I realized what was happening, here you were stepping out of that silver plane in your best Sunday clothes.

  “Paola,” you said, timidly smiling at Michael and me.

  I wanted to cry out. “Mother, call me mother.” But I kept my mask on, simply saying, “Welcome to California, sister dear.”

  Please, don’t judge me harshly. In spite of what the world may think, all I ever wanted was for you to know and accept me as I really am,

  Your loving mother

  Mina didn’t know how long she sat there, lost, confused, and fearful. The touch of Adams’ hand startled her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She stared at the gray paper, her body shaking. “Adams...” Her voice was just a murmur. She had trouble focusing. Paola was her mother? Her first reaction had been surprise, and skepticism. Now she felt hurt. Somewhere between her belly and her throat, where her heart must be. A hurt so deep, it took her breath away.

  Adams gently squeezed her shoulder, walked around the desk and sat in his chair, waiting.

  “Adams?”

  “Yes?” He leaned across the desk in an effort to hear her.

  “Do you know?” she waved the letter.

  He nodded.

  “Ma perche? Why...” Swallowing her tears, she tried again. “Why didn’t Paola, why didn’t she tell me before?” She couldn’t say “mother”.

  “Circumstances, dear. When you first arrived, you two were strangers to each other. One can’t tell a young girl who just lost her parents and is arriving in an unknown country, `Hello darling, forget your parents because I’m your real mother.’ It simply wasn’t a sensible thing to do.”

  “Adams, it’s been over five years.”

  “True, and I did encourage her to tell you, but you know Paola, she wanted everything perfect. At first she thought you should have time to get to know her. I understood that. In the meantime, problems began to surface in her marriage and in the business. Soon they grew so great that her sense of priority seemed to be lost. That’s when she decided that Michael had to go. She promised me she would ‘clean house’. That included telling you the truth.”