I turned up the radio. Gloria Gaynor was belting out “I Will Survive.” I wondered if I would.
We stopped at a Mexican cantina and picked up tacos to go, then ate on the patio of our villa. We were sitting there, staring at the ocean, when Harry joined us with a six-pack of beer.
“Not much luck tracking down Eva. No one’s seen her since your visit, or no one will admit seeing her. How about you guys? Did you get the bag?”
The prospect of listening to Justin recount our morning was more than I could take. I excused myself and went to lie down. With the blinds drawn, the room was cool and dark, so I didn’t notice it until I turned on the bedside light. Dead center on top of my bed sat my missing purse.
Chapter 30
I rubbed my arms against the chill bumps popping up in response to what seemed like a ten degree drop in temperature. Shivering, I wracked my mind to come up with an explanation for the bag’s return.
Instead of a logical reason, I thought of the year we discovered Stella’s involvement in a series of petty thefts. Although I knew it was impossible, I was certain she was the one who had engineered the reappearance of my purse.
When my sister was five, we called her magpie, not because she was chatty or quarrelsome. Because she liked to steal bright, shiny objects and hide them. She started with random articles from around the house: Gran’s clip-on earring, a jeweled crown from my one and only ballet recital, a lipstick from my mother.
Mom discovered the stolen items in a shoebox underneath Stella’s bed. When confronted with her larcenous behavior, my sister seemed surprised at all the fuss. She didn’t understand why it was a big deal. We explained it was wrong to take things that belonged to other people.
For months it looked as if Mom’s talk registered, and in a very literal way it had. Nothing went missing at home, and we thought our mother had successfully nipped Stella’s criminal career in the bud—until her distraught kindergarten teacher called.
We discovered what she had learned about not lifting stuff from family members had not translated into the classroom. She comprehended the law itself but not the spirit. Her classmates reported missing pencils, notebooks, even jackets and gloves. Rather than keep them, she always returned the confiscated booty to its rightful owners. There had been no question she was the thief because the teacher caught her red-handed—not in the act of theft, but while sneaking a stolen crayon box back into a little girl’s backpack. The woman was at a loss since she always returned what she had taken, but the behavior disrupted the daily routine and had to stop.
It was one of the few times I remember Mom spanking Stella. Later, I asked my sister why she stole from her classmates when she didn’t want the stuff she took. She smiled and said it was fun to see her friends searching for the missing objects. And it was a blast to watch their joyful reactions when they recovered their lost treasures.
She never got in trouble for stealing again, but I doubted she had stopped. She just became better at it, and after she stole Ben, she no longer returned stolen goods.
Until now.
Except I didn’t believe in ghosts. Stella was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. She had nothing to do with the reappearing purse. To think she did was nothing more than wishful thinking or a result of my guilt. Neither of these reasons accounted for my continued shivering. I grabbed a sweater from my suitcase and called for Justin.
“What’s wrong?” He appeared within seconds, Harry close behind.
I pointed to the bed. “It was here when I walked in.”
“Don’t touch it,” he commanded, then left and came back with a broom. We watched as he poked the bag as if he expected a bomb or poisonous snake to be in it. But there was no explosion nor slithering reptile. He hooked the handle through the straps, lifted it off the bed, and carried it outside.
“Really, Justin,” I said, following him through the patio doors. “It’s not booby-trapped.” But I didn’t protest when he dumped the contents onto the thick glass table.
“Is anything missing?” he asked, using the broom to move stuff around.
If there was, I couldn’t tell, nor did I notice any additions. Satisfied the bag posed no threat, he allowed me to put my things back in order. Then we walked inside.
“Here’s how I see it,” he began. “The only people who could have returned it are Ben, Prez, or whoever cleaned up after them. But Ben and Prez wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know you were there. So, they would have ditched it, not gone to the trouble of sneaking it into your bedroom.” He sat beside me on the sofa and put his arm around my shoulders.
“It could be a message,” Harry said. “They want to make sure we realize how easy it would be to get to us.”
“More of a threat,” Justin said.
“But what if it wasn’t them or their men?” I asked.
“There’s only one other person who would be interested in last night’s activities at the Point.” Justin paused before adding, “Balsuto.”
If it was Adelmo, why would he take such care to obliterate all traces of what had happened at the house? Ben and Prez had both disappeared, and Prez could be dead. No one had mentioned that possibility, so I brought it up myself.
“The last time I saw Ben he was alive, but Prez took a nasty fall. He might not have survived. Maybe whoever did the clean-up wanted to help me. Bringing back my purse was nothing more than a polite gesture.”
“I’d say it was more than mannerly,” Harry said. “But I sure as hell hope that’s not the case. Yes, the world would be
