The Sometime Sister by Katherine Nichols (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📕

me of the ocean view from Stella’s home. Eva drew back the drapes, and sunlight dappled the thick white rug that covered much of the floor. Two delicately carved wooden chairs with leather seats sat on either side of a matching table.

“Please.” She motioned toward a chair. “Sit. I will bring limonada.” She glided through the tapestry opening with Bruno at her heels, leaving me alone in the simple, but spotless home. A crucifix held the position of honor above the small fireplace, and family pictures adorned whitewashed walls. There were several spots where it looked as if she had removed photographs. Perhaps she, too, had lost someone she loved, and the sight of his or her smiling face had been too much to bear.

She returned with a tray, two glasses of lemonade, and a plate of snow-powdered cookies.

“Polvorones.” She pointed to the platter. “We make them at Christmas with ground almonds and sweet milk. Please, eat.” She sat beside me with Bruno at her feet.

Despite my heavy lunch, the sweets smelled too good to pass on. “Thank you.” I bit into one and moaned as it melted on my tongue. “Oh, my God. This is the best cookie I’ve ever tasted.”

She smiled. “They were also a favorite of your sister. She would eat them straight from the oven, covering her mouth and chin with the powder of the sugar.”

Stella always had a sweet tooth. When we were little, Gran banished her from the kitchen because she ate the cookies as fast as we baked them. I dropped my half-eaten cookie onto my plate, not realizing I was staring at it until Eva spoke.

“I cannot think how you must miss her.”

My throat closed, and I erupted into a coughing fit. She suggested a sip of lemonade.

“I’ve missed her for so very long. But I always thought there would be plenty of time to fix things, to stop missing her. I can’t accept I’ll never see her again. That’s why I came. I have to find out what happened, why she’s gone.”

She ran her fingers through Bruno’s fur. “I’m afraid there is very little I can do to help. I was not with her these last months. Señor Wilcott set fire to me.”

I sat up straighter, then remembered what Adelmo had said about Ben letting Eva go. “He fired you?”

“Yes. Not such a problem, not working for him. But I hated to leave her alone with that hijo de puta.”

My Spanish was rusty, but I recognized puta.

“I’m sorry to say, but your sister’s husband is an evil man.”

“Don’t be sorry. I couldn’t agree with you more. Do you believe he is responsible for her death?”

“I cannot say. I know he was rough with her, but I never saw it myself. Sometimes she had terrible marks on her arms and legs. Once, even on her neck. But she refused to admit it was him.”

Ben would have been too clever to let anyone see him abuse Stella. But there was no other explanation. Still, it was a stretch between knocking her around and killing her in cold blood.

“She told me things were not so pleasant between you. She did not explain why, only that she had done something terrible and was afraid you could never forgive her. She wanted to make things right. I urged her to return to her home.”

I wiped my eyes. “You said Ben let you go. Did he give you a reason?”

Before she could answer, Bruno jumped to his feet and began growling. An engine roared and tires ground on gravel. She rushed to the front of the house.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“Mierda! It is that ass-hat police captain, a friend of Señor Wilcott.”

I laughed. Ass-hat had been Stella’s “go-to” insult. Her high school biology teacher for failing her, her boss for insisting she be on time, a policeman for ticketing her—all ass-hats.

“We cannot talk in front of this person.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” I walked to the porch where I saw a uniformed man leaning on Prez’s window. Prez was gesturing wildly. I hoped he’d left his stash at home. Leaving Eva and Bruno standing in the doorway, I moved toward them.

“Can I help you, officer?”

He turned to me, his enormous belly threatening to burst out of his shirt. “I am looking for Señorita Grace Burnette.” Echoes of five-year-old Stella in the grocery store announcing the woman behind us in the checkout line was the fattest lady she’d ever seen came to mind. “You found her,” I said.

“Señorita Burnette, I am Officer Ricardo Ramirez, and I have an order to detain you on charges of assault.” He handed me the paper and unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I would ask that you come peacefully.”

At some point, Prez slipped out of the car. He stepped between me and the police officer and took the document from my shaking hands.

After a quick glance, he spoke in rapid Spanish. Ramirez shook his head and spat out several sentences while pointing at me. I checked to see if Eva was watching, but she and Bruno had disappeared behind the front door. I hoped I hadn’t brought trouble to the one person who seemed to have cared for my sister without wanting anything in return. The men continued to argue. The officer threw up his hands and stomped to his car.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not exactly,” Prez answered. “It’s more complicated here than in the US, especially with tourists. The warrant requires you to go to police headquarters, so he can make a formal charge. He was going to take you in himself, but I explained how that might not look so good for him to be seen dragging in a helpless American woman who just lost her sister. I got him to agree to let me drive you to the station.” He took my elbow and began leading me to the jeep.

“Wait a minute!” I stopped. “You mean you’re taking me to jail?”