Sniffing Out Murder (Mina's Adventures Book 7) Read online

  Instead of taking the freeway, Mina decided to drive back along the panoramic route. Traffic moved slowly once she passed San Clemente metro link station. Distant fire truck horns may have been part of the problem. It also reminded Mina how close she was to the spot where Isabel Cordero lost her life. Maledizione, end of the peaceful day.

  Twice in a few weeks that she stumbled onto emergency vehicles—bad omen. Of course right along thoughts of Isabel Cordero, came the ones about Diego Moran. She looked into her rearview mirror. Mocha slept peacefully after a day well spent. Time to get her back to the shelter.

  It was Leigh's turn to close up. She'd kept the shelter open an hour longer to meet with a family who wanted to adopt two cats, siblings hard to place. Mina could see her in the meet-and-greet room talking to an older couple. The two tabbies, one orange colored, were parading on the conference/lunch table. So cute. All in all, a good day.

  Once she left the office and was alone in her car, she couldn’t keep on pretending. Did Mrs. Somer get the socks? Why was everyone calling her Mrs. Somer? Where was Mr. Somer? But the real question was would she know who sent the socks and what would her reaction be? Mina parked her car in the garage and walked over to Ritzy Cats first. Millie was on the phone; she motioned her to come in. Mina sat next to Zeus and petted the calico who responded with happy purrs. He was getting chubby; she could feel it as she stroked him.

  “Oh dear.” Millie repeated the oh dear mantra a few times.

  What was going on? After hanging up she turned to Mina, a somber, absorbed look in her eyes.

  “Millie, what’s up? You look… worried.”

  “That was Tom. He’s in San Clemente, with the boys and…” The fire engines.

  “Oh, no, did the Chevy catch fire?”

  Millie suddenly snapped out of her strange mood. “Why would you ask about catching fire?”

  “Huh, I heard the sirens as I was driving back from the retirement home.”

  Millie let out a long sigh. “Oh, good. You had me concerned there for a minute because the fire was started by that woman, the boys' mean neighbor… Mrs. Somer?” Mina sent mental thanks to the power above for having already sat down. She found herself swallowing air a few times.

  Of course Millie noticed. “Mina? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Dear, what have you been up to these days that you always seem so deeply disturbed? Care to share?”

  Maybe it was Millie’s soothing voice or maybe her sense of guilt defeated her righteousness, but she told Millie the whole story about the Babies on a Monkey Tree purchase. She left out the part about Kalinda’s help, mostly because she didn’t know for sure if that could be public information or not.

  “Oh, my. You think she burned the socks? No, it can’t be the socks. Who would call the fire department for some baby socks?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But if that’s the case, I bet I’ll get a call from our favorite detective.” Her tone was light, her conscience not so much. “Better see what my cats are up to.”

  “Almost forgot, sorry.” Millie frowned, “We had quite the traffic over at the house for sale, a car with a family and lots of kids. I was hoping for a quiet older couple. Anyhow, here. I signed for you.”

  She handed Mina a large box.

  “What’s this? I didn’t order anything.” She shook the box. “Hmm, no ticking.”

  Millie smiled. “It came by regular mail delivery, and it clearly says it’s from a major international company. Italy maybe?”

  Mina looked closer. “Oh, The espresso machine company. This is sooo strange. De Fiore has one of these in his office. They aren’t cheap. You don’t think he’d send me one, right? What for? It’s not my birthday or anything else. Well, what a weird day this had been. I really need to get home. I’ll see if I can get this to do what it says it does, and maybe tomorrow we’ll have a real espresso. Millie, thanks. Oh, suppose that Mrs. Somer did set fire to the socks and somehow—just in case—would they know I was the one to send them?”

  “Dear, you’re asking the wrong person. Things are very different since I left my job on Pennsylvania Avenue. You know who you should ask, right?”

  Mina nodded. "If only I knew how to get hold of him.”

  She sat at the kitchen table, with real china and silverware because for a change she had real food in the house. A microwave-ready cheese and spinach quiche for one, a green salad, and a glass of Pinot Grigio from back home. Across from her table setting sat the big, unopened box with what she assumed to be the fancy espresso machine.

  Lately her life seemed to be a continuous parade of senseless incidents with serendipitous common elements. And the quiche tasted a lot better than anticipated. Her cats lingered around the kitchen, probably confused by the sight of their mommy actually sitting quietly and alone when it was dark outside. Or maybe they'd picked up Mocha’s scent.

  The fire set by Mrs. Somers was eating at her. All the cops had to do was to call the Chicago store and track down the credit card used to pay for the items, and her whole career as the great avenger would be over in a nanosecond. But the worse part was that she used the official FFF credit card. Maybe she should call Adams, her lawyer. It was after seven, ten at night in Chicago. Adams’ call could wait until morning.

  Why would De Fiore send her such an expensive gift? She was pretty sure they ran over $500. The one he had shown her was higher end, possibly close to a $1,000? She tried to remember their conversation regarding the espresso machine. What did she say to have him assume she couldn’t live without one of those? She wasn’t a big fan of the trendy ones where people would put little tiny foil things to get whatever beverage they picked—coffee, flavored no less, cappuccino, tea. She vowed never to use one of those for sure. The little modules had to be stuffed to the brim with chemicals. How else could you explain a large mug of steaming coffee from such a little pod?

  The more she thought about it, the more silly she felt—sort of like having a conversation with a box and pretending she was speaking to De Fiore instead. With a sigh she got up, and soon she was cutting the box open. What she removed from the box seemed like a prop from a Star Wars movie set. All shiny chrome and sort of square but not really, with knobs. Electric, hmm, could an Italian brand work with American power, or would she need a converter?

  Wait, this wasn’t at all the same thing De Fiore had in his office. Inside the large box there were two smaller boxes. Confusing and intimidating. The box didn’t show any return address except from the shipping warehouse. Maybe there was a note? She started to empty everything from the box—bubble wrap, foamy like paper, more shiny gadgets and a glass carafe? No, not a carafe, it was shaped like a glass tube, okay with a handle and a top and—manuals. A booklet with pictures and instructions. In so many languages. She’d given up reading assembly instructions in Italian years ago. She wasn’t going to start now. The English translation could be found by starting at the end of the brochure. And no note. Well, no assembly anything. Probably shipped to the wrong address. Besides, she had better things to do than learn how to make espresso. The opening quote, in large letters caught her eye. If you prefer drinking espresso and could care less about making it, then this is for you.

  Huh, what do you know? What else? She kept on reading. Easy-to-use unique digital touch screen control panel with programmable menu settings: adjust start time, auto off, clock, temperature, coffee strength. The whole paragraph was underlined in blue ink, manually. The same ink was used to write importantissimo. Next to it. Very important? In a very slanted, unmistakable handwriting.

  Diego?

  He sent her the espresso machine? Why? She had no doubt that was Diego’s way of reaching out, letting her know he was okay and most importantly, thinking about her. After all her mental scenarios of abandonment and downright disloyalty, she felt like dirt. She would make it up to him. She had to, but how?

  At some point Diego must have spoken to De Fiore. The detective who was on vacation in some unknown hotel. With Kal
inda. They had to know how to get in touch with Diego. Why all the secrecy? Okay, enough already. She was going to call De Fiore right now. She had his personal number. One way or another she would get some answers.

  Wait. She would feel better if she knew more details about the afternoon fire in San Clemente. Chances were pretty good that it would make the local news if the fire department had been called. She could wait thirty minutes. She started to clean up her dinner plates, moving around the kitchen, her eyes on the espresso machine. A work of art, too bad it didn’t talk.

  So deep in contemplation she was, that when her landline rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She recognized De Fiore’s number and froze. How would he know she just opened the box? Was someone watching her? The phone kept on ringing. She dried her hands, switched off the kitchen light and headed upstairs to wait for the evening news.

  TWENTY-THREE

  OH MY GOD! What was happening? The images on the television screen were blurry phone pics sent in by passersby. No audio. Probably nothing worthy of national news. All Mina could see was a bright yellow dumpster on fire. Next shot, no fire, a dark plume of smoke. Lots of commotion, a few firefighters, one trying to hold Mrs. Somer. A visibly upset Mrs. Somer.

  At first, Mina couldn’t tell where in San Clemente the drama unfolded. Then the newsperson came into view explaining the unidentified young woman emptied a small can of gasoline into the dumpster followed by a lit cigarette. Mrs. Somer smoked? The dumpster was a rental some neighbor up the street just had delivered the day before to use for a construction project. However, new renters in the process of moving in—the reporter pointed to a low building—had dumped their empty boxes in the large garbage bin. Mina recognized the low building as door A and door B, the newcomers were moving into the Cordero’s former home.

  And Mina had no doubt that in the yellow dumpster along with the discarded cardboard, were the box from Babies in a Monkey Tree and the lacy socks that came with it. First came a sigh of relief, followed by a wave of first-rate guilt for all the commotion her anonymous gift caused. The reporter closed with the announcement that the woman who had started the fire was being taken in for mental evaluation.

  What? But what about Lizabeth? It was after ten o’clock, too late to try to get information? If anything happened to that little sweet girl it would be Mina’s fault. She fought the temptation to call De Fiore. The fire happened at around four? Five? She tried to cheer herself up with the idea that it could have been so much worse. The woman could have set fire to her place. Gasoline and a lit cigarette? She could have burned both sides of the building to the ground.

  Good girl, Mina, you should be up for a medal for saving the whole block from going up in smoke. Not. She kept hoping Diego would call her. At this point she was willing to settle for De Fiore. In a way it was lucky for her that the detective was God knows where on vacation. Had he been around, he would have had some expert figure out what else Mrs. Somer plopped into the dumpster before setting it on fire. De Fiore was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them.

  It was near midnight when she finally turned off the television. She had searched every station in an effort to find more detailed information, but as anticipated, it only made the news on this minor league local station. Aria settled in next to her, and Houdini, rolled up in a ball at the foot of the bed, seemed to look at her and shake his head disapprovingly.

  * * *

  MINA PARKED HER LTD in the assigned space before the clock stroked eight AM. Inside, things were just getting started, so she marched into the large dogs’ room and asked Leigh which ones needed walking. She had to keep moving, keep busy, keep her head above the river of guilt threatening to drown her. Linda wasn’t due until nine o’clock, and the only other person there was one of the volunteers, also helping with the dogs. Mina figured she could call Adams after nine and find a way to explain about the credit card and the anonymous gift. How could she be so irresponsible? Drag the Foundation into her ill-conceived sense of justice? Her stomach growled. No breakfast, not even coffee. She'd only gone into the kitchen to feed the cats, and couldn’t even look at the gleaming espresso machine still sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, reminding her of how unfair she had been in judging Diego.

  And then the front door of the shelter opened to let Tom in, who for no reason had made a small detour from his new patrolling location and brought freshly baked muffins from the nearby newly opened bakery. And the volunteer made coffee and somehow the day didn’t feel so gloomy.

  “How are things with the boys?” Mina asked Tom.

  “Good, good. Keeps me busy.” He paused, and a smile lit his eyes. “Busy and needed. This evening after work we’ll go take the Malibu for a spin, see if we can bring it home.”

  “We should have some kind of celebration. Don’t you think so?” Leigh suggested.

  Tom shrugged. “Yeah, Leo is still not ready. He misses his mother a lot, and the car is a constant reminder. We’ll see. Got to get to work. It was good seeing the old hang out. Next time I’ll bring Buddy around.”

  “We should save a muffin for Linda,” the volunteer said just as Linda’s car drove in.

  Saucy voice and a bundle of energy pretty much described Linda. “What did I miss? You had a party or something? Muffins? What’s the occasion?”

  Leigh brought her up to date.

  “This afternoon we have to do our rehearsal for the beauty shop event. Sky is bringing the props. Some she rented; others we are borrowing.” She talked, moved around, and munched on the muffin all at the same time. “Before I make myself too comfortable, I’ll go check the mail.” She picked up the mailbox key from the desk drawer and walked out, still eating, crumbs dotting her fitted knit top.

  Nine o’clock came and went. Mina rehearsed in her mind what to say to Adams. All the dogs had been walked and fed, cat’s cages cleaned. No more excuses.

  “Here.” Linda dropped a pile of mail on Mina’s desk. “Have fun.”

  “Do we always get this much junk mail?”

  “Yes, but sometime I dump the most obvious offenders in the recycle bin outside before coming in. Can I borrow this?” She waved the latest issue of Bark, the magazine for dogs and dogs’ owners. “I want to show Roger an article about organic food for pets.”

  “Sure, but bring it back. The subscription was a holiday gift from one of our volunteers.”

  Linda was walking away, completely absorbed in the magazine.

  One more cup of coffee while I sort the mail and then I will call Adams. She pulled the wastebasket closer and quickly separated junk from business mail to the not-so-sure about it. “Hey Linda, you can let Mocha out, she’ll just come and sit under my desk.”

  Her cell chimed, it clearly showed American Express as the caller. A sense of panic fell over her. Breathe, Mina, breathe. She answered. A polite male voice identified himself as part of American Express and after assurance he was talking to the Mina Calvi, he asked her to call the number in back of the American Express card, the same one used by FFF. No other explanation. Her hands shook so hard she had to stand up and calm herself before dialing. After a series of questions she finally found out what it was all about. The credit card had been compromised. She was asked not to use it. A replacement card was in the mail.

  When the call was over, Mina rolled her eyes to the ceiling, meaning to look at the sky, and mouthed, “Thanks.”

  “Thanks, Mamma,” she said to no one there. No need to call Adams after all. Her escape hatch had just been delivered, courtesy of some hacker.

  Leo arrived first. Since the conference room was occupied by prospective adopters checking out the available canines, Mina offered to share her desk with Leo. He always did his homework while waiting for Simon and Tom. The refrigerator was also in that room. Without much fanfare, she went to get Leo a soda and see if there were some snacks.

  And that’s how Mocha got adopted. She quietly followed Mina into the room where a young professional couple leafed th
rough the photos of available dogs. Of course Mocha, used to befriending the old people at the retirement community, made herself at home on the woman’s lap. And after that, it was just a matter of getting the paperwork done. Two hours later, after having walked Mocha and played with her and made notes about her habits, two people and a pooch left the shelter for the forever home.

  Meantime Leo was done with his homework and had gone to watch the old TV monitor in the waiting room of the makeshift infirmary. There weren’t any pets quarantined. And the local channel reran the segment of the burning dumpster. Mina found Leo in tears. She got there at the tail end of the news and tried very hard to talk to him, soothe his pain.

  He said something strange. “Mrs, Somer hates my mom. You know, she calls her the devil.”

  “Leo, who said that? I saw the news last night. She didn’t say anything about your mom.”

  “Simon’s friend was there. He saw and heard what the television isn’t showing.” Mina handed him the box of tissues. She remembered what Tom had said about Leo missing his mom. She also remembered how her life had been after her mother’s death.

  Leo's efforts to rein in his crying couldn’t be missed. Mina felt so powerless. Maybe she should keep on talking. “Leo, you said it yourself that your mom and Mrs. Somer hardly spoke to each other. What does that woman know about your mom? Nothing. Don’t think about it, really.” She hugged him.

  “Do you think maybe my mom really had an accident? You know, maybe she didn’t fix our lunch because she was mad at me?”

  “Was she mad at you? Why? What did you do?”

  “I accidentally spilled the milk. I didn’t mean to. I was helping her with the groceries. You know, like it just slipped out of my hands, and half the container ended up on the car seat. I could still see a little bit of the spot when we went to Gordo’s.”

  “Oh, Leo, maybe she acted mad at you on that moment. I’m sure it was all forgotten by bedtime. Right?”