Ashes of Autumn (Mina's Adventures Book 4) Page 2

  Had he seen her? For a fleeting moment their eyes met, or so she thought. Could she have imagined the whole thing? Maybe it wasn’t Diego at all? Not her Diego kissing the tall, dark beauty. Loneliness could play tricks on a lover’s heart. Yes, that must have been it. Clear your mind, Mina. Diego is probably in Italy, tucked in bed since it is late evening there.

  Better to think about something else. One week to the changing of the guard at West Coast Software. Adams, her lawyer, said it was a done deal, no turning back now, and with that assurance Margo had already blown her future severance pay on the very convertible they were driving in. Should she listen to Adams’s suggestion and allocate a chunk of her money to a house? He gave her a booklet on why you should invest in real estate. Mina promised to read it, but it was still on the night table where she left it. The negotiations to sell West Coast Software, the business Mina inherited after her mother was murdered, had been long and hard. Of course it wasn’t like Mina’s input made a big difference. She relied mostly on Adams’s recommendations and Paco’s gut feelings. In the end it all worked out. Paco kept a percent of the business and remained as the senior production manager. Margo received a large severance pay and had all kinds of ideas on how to invest it, which all changed when she fell in love with the Camaro. As for Mina? Well, she was about to be a very rich single female living in Orange County, California–a lonely heart dying to go back to Italy and set up house there. That is she was until a few hours ago when she spotted the object of her passion kissing a raven-haired stranger. Or so she thought.

  The streetlights of Newport Beach twinkled behind them as Margo approached the Costa Mesa Freeway that would take them inland. The two-story townhouse they rented in Irvine didn’t have much charm, but the proximity to the main freeways made it practical for the present situation. While everything was under Margo’s name, they split the rent and utilities and had agreed it was a temporary arrangement until they made up their minds on the path to take after West Coast Software would be no more. Of course, deep down inside, where impossible dreams fester, Mina fantasized of her future with Diego. Right!

  Sigh. She relaxed a little and let her fingers search the bottom of her purse. Yes, the mobile phone was there, faithful companion of her darkest moments and her greatest joys, as she never knew when it would chime and bring her the voice of the one she loved.

  Ring, please, ring. She’d done her mental begging before with zero results, but hope never dies.

  What if he was on assignment? Povero Diego. Her first instinct had been to run out and confront him or whoever the man was. That would have been terrible, put his life in danger. Common sense had won, and she left, broken heart and all. However, she felt maybe her emotions had been obvious, and she had no doubt the homeowner–what was his name? Surowiec–sensed her sudden mood change from the way he looked at her and didn’t even pretend to stop her from running out the front door pulling Margo along. A loudly complaining Margo. What was done was done. Nothing she could do but wait for Diego to contact her. What if he didn’t? She wasn’t going to think about it. Not tonight, not now. She had enough excitement to last her a lifetime. No, not really, but she could use some good news.

  The flowers arrived the next afternoon, at the same time of the day as they always did. Margo was just back from West Coast Software, and she answered the doorbell. Mina loved that the flowers were boxed the way Italian florists used to do in the past. Through her second story bedroom window she was trying to read the name on the delivery van parked outside when Margo called from downstairs, “Mina, get down here to sign this. And bring some change for this nice man.”

  Nice man? Must be a different delivery person or Margo would have mentioned him before.

  Mina grabbed her wallet and went down to see what all the commotion was about. The deliveryman was late forties, medium build. He wore a uniform, no name tag, but all very professional, and Mina was pretty sure he made at least one other delivery before. He handed Mina a clipboard and pointed to where she should sign. Margo fidgeted with the white box.

  Holding the five-dollar bill in her hand and wearing her sweetest smile, Mina asked, “Are you from around here? I don’t remember seeing you before. You new?”

  The man checked her signature as he accepted the tip. “No, I’ve been working for this company for two years, but I only do the overseas orders. Probably why you may not have seen me before. Although I seem to remember…” He glanced at Margo, but didn’t finish his sentence.

  “Overseas? What does it mean?” Mina asked.

  “Want to come in, have a soda?” Margo stepped away from the door.

  The man hesitated a minute, looked back to his vehicle, then shrugged and stepped into the living room. “We have a whole department for foreign orders, and they happen to come mostly from other continents.” Overseas, so Diego was in Europe, maybe Italy, not up some mountaintop playing sex games with glamorous women.

  “I’m Bob.” He sat on the couch and watched Margo drop ice cubes in tall glasses.

  “Hi, Bob.” They answered in unison.

  “I’m Mina Calvi, but you already know that, and this is Margo Swift. We are roommates.”

  She was dying to run upstairs, open her box to see what kind of flowers he sent, and read his message. None of the notes accompanying the flowers had been signed, but she would recognize his very slanted, large cursive among hundreds of handwritten notes. It was that unique and special to her. And the flowers were different each time. Margo had an old book with pictures of all kind of blooms, local and exotic, that explained the meaning of flowers. Mina remembered the first delivery, blue irises. According to Margo’s book they were flowers of hope.

  “Do you have to speak different languages?” Margo was interrogating her male prospect.

  “No, no. The orders come in through faxes and computers. Codes are used for the different types of arrangements. It’s very organized and well run. We don’t even have a storefront, we do this for many smaller flower shops around Southern California.”

  “How do you know where the orders come from?” Mina asked.

  “Couldn’t tell you. That’s not my department. I only deliver the finished product.”

  “Too bad, it would be fun to look at the orders and be able to say, ‘Oh, that one is from Paris, France, and that fancy one came in from Moscow.’ How about the flowers in the box? Well, that’s an easy one. The boxes seem to all come from Italy.” She giggled.

  The man seemed amused. “I guess if I took the time to learn the country codes I could do that, but my job is to make as many deliveries as possible in the least amount of time. That reminds me. I should get going. Thanks for the soda, Miss…”

  “Margo, call me Margo.”

  The deliveryman was up and walking out the door. He slowed down and took a look at the board where Mina signed. “Italy you say, maybe, can’t tell, looks like this order came in five days ago with a specific date for delivery. Is it a special occasion?”

  Five days ago? Mina stiffened all over.

  “No, no special occasion, she is just a lucky girl.” Margo came to her rescue and escorted the man back to his vehicle.

  Was Diego being cautious, or was it pure coincidence? This was the fourth flower delivery since she came back from Italy three months ago. The first skinny, long box arrived twenty-four hours before his phone call. The note accompanying the blue irises simply said: At times I think I’d rather let fate take away years of my life than take away a moment. And Mina knew without hesitation it meant their last moment together under the arched vaults of the Italian cemetery from her Italian summer, hours before he left for Germany for his surgery. She hadn’t seen him since.

  The day after the first delivery he called on the cell phone he’d given her to take back to the States. She was so excited and surprised her voice trembled, and she struggled to be heard.

  “Mina?” He had sounded tired and sleepy. “Are you okay?”

  That should have been her
question. “Okay? I’m so happy. It’s you, and you’re alive, and you’re talking to me, and thank you for the flowers.”

  “That’s more like my Mina.” He laughed a short, soft laugh. She hadn’t heard him laugh like that before, and then he cleared his throat. Was he getting emotional? That was a side of him she wasn’t familiar with, and it made her love him even more.

  What was keeping Margo? Mina wanted to open the box and enjoy the blossoms without interruption, but she had to wait for Margo, or there would be all kind of questions and pouting if her friend missed what she liked to call “the unveiling.”

  The slamming of the front door announced Margo’s return. “Looky, looky what Margo’s got,” she hummed, waving a piece of paper.

  “Let me guess, it’s Bob’s phone number. What a surprise.”

  “Oh, Mina, enough with the sarcasm. He said I have beautiful eyes while his peepers were staring at my boobs.” She laughed. “Besides, I’m doing it for you.”

  “Scusa? Run that by me again? You are going to go out with this man for me?”

  “Yes, I’m going to get close to him and find out everything about the flowers, and who is sending them and from where.”

  Mina was annoyed beyond words. She opened the box, laid it on the coffee table, and waited for Margo’s ohs and ahs.

  White rosebuds and stock lavender. Unusual. By habit she brought the purple blossoms to her nostrils, but the scent was quite different than she expected. Not sweet. More spicy, raw. Sort of like the way she felt about the sender. She sighed.

  “Enough already,” Margo said. “Stop getting all sentimental. Let’s see what my book says, and what’s in the note?” She went to get her old book with the worn out pages. “This one will be easy, white roses, hmm–humility and innocence? What? Are you dating Mother Teresa of Calcutta? Come on.” She closed the book, shaking her head. “What’s the name of the purple flowers? Any idea?”

  “I think it’s called stock lavender, although it looks nothing like the lavender we have in Italy. Ours grows wild you know.”

  “Shhss, later, stock lavender? Lav… luckily it’s all alphabetical. Oh, here we go. Yeah, you’re right. Look, it’s like the picture. I’ll be damned, never saw these flowers before. It says here they originated in the Mediterranean. Well, that leaves Mother Teresa out for sure. What else?” Margo recited, “This purple flower symbolizes bonds of affection. The sender is saying, ‘You will always be beautiful to me.’ Wow. When do I get to meet this man of mystery?”

  “Come on, Margo, give it a rest. Hey, don’t touch it.” Mina smacked Margo’s fingers as she tried to open the note that came with the flowers. “Okay, show’s over. Now I’m going up into my room and read my message and probably cry a little, and you can go call your Bob. Fair enough?”

  “Since when has life been fair to me?” Margo pretended to be ticked off as she went to the refrigerator for a beer. “But I’ll live.”

  Before she took her first swig, Mina was closing the bedroom door behind her.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Adams–Adams…yes, I understand. Yes, it’s right in front of me. I am considering it, but not a townhouse, not a condo, and not even a penthouse. I want my own little house, with a yard. I don’t care if it’s only one bedroom and one bath but no more going up elevators and sharing walls with the neighbors. I promise, I’ll call the lady Realtor the minute we hang up.” What was it going to take to get him to stop nagging her? “Yes! I will.” Mina looked at the dozen printed pages scattered on her bedspread. Each piece of paper represented a property for sale in Orange County. A residential property like this woman, Kathy O’Sullivan, liked to point out. Adams sicked that Kathy on her. And she was relentless. For reasons she didn’t understand Mina disliked the Realtor. Okay, that wasn’t right. She was mostly intimidated by her. And she couldn’t figure out why. Kathy O’Sullivan was a very elegant, older version of a Barbie doll. Bleached hair, perfect do, impeccable make up, and fingernails and toes always in matching nail polish. So why did she find her soooo antipatica? Yes, that was the perfect word in Italian. The English translation of antipatica didn’t do justice, disagreeable? Hardly. The woman, with all her glamour and knowledge, was so annoying. Get a grip, Mina. You only spoke to her twice.

  Might as well bite the bullet. She loved that American expression and had images of herself, a silver bullet held securely between the blinding whiteness of her teeth, while she smiled to the cruel world.

  She’d better stop fantasizing and call O’Sullivan before the sun went down and the Realtor turned into a witch. Now, why would she think that of that poor woman?

  Mina glanced at the white roses now fully open and starting to wilt–five days had gone by since the delivery and no phone call from Diego. She sighed and dialed O’Sullivan’s cell.

  The place had been peaceful since Margo started dating the flower deliveryman. No loud music, no drawers slamming or neighbors coming by uninvited to share a few beers. The first day felt like heaven, but after four days of sitting faithfully by the cell phone waiting for Diego’s call, Mina sort of missed her loudmouthed roommate.

  The phone conversation was brief and to the point. Mina would meet O’Sullivan at her fancy Newport Beach office, and they would spend the day looking at suitable homes. The Realtor offered to pick up Mina, but she declined. She wanted to take her old WV Bug for a spin before Adams forced her to buy a new car. She had the feeling he had that already penned into the agenda. Damn.

  Mina pushed the button to the 19th floor. Her smile lingered as she remembered the expression on the face of the man who parked her car. You would think she handed him a pail of dirty diapers instead of the keys to a nearly classic automobile. Too bad. She loved her 1978 ragtop Bug. They had a history together. The car was instrumental in her first personal encounter with Diego. He gave her a ride home because of her flat tire. Such fond memories. She stepped off the elevator. Even before opening the glass door to O’Sullivan’s place of business, she could see a flash of blue water blending with the late morning sky. Another reason Mina felt uncomfortable, such a show of wealth. The real estate company occupied the whole 19th floor, and the place seemed built of glass with views from every angle. From the lobby the harbor looked a stroll away and a peek of Fashion Island was also visible. That high-end shopping center was no doubt where O’ Sullivan bought her expensive rags.

  The offices appeared empty. Where was everybody? Since her first time there Mina had concluded that to be a Realtor you had to possess the energy of a bunny and the determination of a racehorse. Just then a door at the end of a corridor opened, and several people strolled out. Men in suits and women in high heels and elegant outfits. A billow of mixed perfumes reached her nostrils before the first hello.

  “Hi, Mina, have you been waiting long?” Kathy O’Sullivan headed her way in a burgundy suit that looked like a Chanel or something. The clickety-click of her heels could be heard over everyone’s steps. “Our weekly meeting went overtime. Sorry. Let’s go into my office and talk.”

  Mina followed her into the large corner office, wondering if the size and location of one’s office had anything to do with their business clout. The gray-haired receptionist appeared magically behind her fancy desk, and the whole place buzzed like a beehive.

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  Mina hesitated. She could use something. She skipped breakfast altogether, afraid to be late to their appointment. By the same token she didn’t want to see the poor lady up front fetching coffee for her. That woman was old enough to be…her grandmother. To her surprise, without a word, Kathy walked out of her office and reappeared five minutes later with a tray and two steaming white mugs. The woman had class. Whatever was in the mugs didn’t matter; she hadn’t asked anyone else to do it for her. The pleasant surprises kept on coming. There was cappuccino in those cups. And on a small silver plate, what Americans called biscotti.

  Before Mina could speak, Kathy said, “We have a machine that makes ind
ividual servings. It’s really cool actually and having visited your country a few times I had a feeling you’d prefer a cappuccino to our coffee. She sat the tray on her desk and winked at Mina.

  Between munching and sipping Mina explained to the Realtor what she wanted in her first house. Kathy listened and nodded, then she sat in front of her computer. “I think I have a pretty good idea of what you are looking for. Let me see what I can find out there, and then let’s take a ride and compare locations. What do you say?”

  Mina agreed, and suddenly couldn’t remember what she found so questionable about Kathy O’Sullivan. Antipatica? No way. She really, really liked her.

  The silver Jaguar glided down Avocado Avenue to Pacific Highway where they headed south. Mina’s Bug was still parked in the underground garage of the building hosting Kathy’s office.

  “Mina, do you mind if we stop by my house for a minute? We’ll be driving by anyhow.”

  “Sure, it’s not like I have to be someplace.” Diego’s cell phone was safely tucked in her purse in case he called.

  “I live a few minutes from here in Corona del Mar. I’ll be quick, but I’m taking care of a kitten, and I would feel better knowing all is well. Plus, you’ll have a chance to take a look around. I have a hunch it’s the type of place you have in mind. No, I’m not trying to sell you my house. I’m talking more about feelings. Buying a home, especially your first one, is an emotional decision. I can tell within minutes of a client entering a front door if they are going to like the house or not. It’s that much of a gut reaction, and it’s perfectly normal.”

  “You adopted a kitten?” Images of Fufa, her friend Emilia’s cat back in Italy flashed in her mind.

  “No, no, it’s a very unfortunate situation. I found the poor thing alone and probably starving in a condo I manage for a client. The renters moved out, and I assume they left the house pet behind. Such irresponsible people. I don’t see how else a cat so young and helpless could have ended up on a second floor condo. I brought it home and have been caring for until I figure out if someone is missing a cat or if I should turn it in to the Orange County Humane Society.”