I stacked it on top of the one from Gran and shoved them both under the bed before leaving for Ecuador. I spotted the pink edge of the book, pulled it out, and blew off the dust bunnies.
Flipping to the page of party photos, I stopped at the one of Ben and Adelmo standing with my sister between them. It transported me to another world. It was a happy time, one where Stella glowed next to her lover, even though her husband also stood beside her. And then I saw it: the locket. She was wearing it the night of the party. I thumbed through the pages, and in all but the shots of Stella in a bathing suit, she was wearing the locket. My sister hadn’t stopped wearing hers, so where was it now?
The most likely explanation was she had it on the night of her murder. She and Prez struggled, and he ripped it off while strangling her. But wouldn’t such a violent effort have scratched her delicate neck? Justin had given me copies of the horrible pictures taken by the seaside. Now I needed to examine them. My hands shook as I removed them from my desk drawer. Scarlett stood beside me, whining.
“Me, too, sweet girl. But I’ve got to look.”
The close-up was as gruesome as I remembered. Purple outlines of Prez’s fingers looped around her throat. But those were the only marks on her slender neck. This didn’t prove she hadn’t been wearing the locket, but it increased the possibility the locket might still be out there somewhere. It made no sense, but finding it had become important to me.
. . . . .
Although we made it home in time for the holidays, no one felt like celebrating. Even though Stella hadn’t spent the past three Christmases at home, the knowledge she would never be there again was agonizing. Another reminder of how different our world was without her.
Our grandmother always gave me, Stella, and Lesroy matching pajamas on Christmas Eve. When Stella wasn’t home for the holiday, Gran mailed the pjs to her. After Gran’s death, my mother kept up the tradition.
This year Mom broke down a few days before Christmas, confessing she tried to pick out matching pajamas, but just couldn’t do it. I assured her it was okay, but it wasn’t.
When we gathered at her house for Christmas Eve dinner, there were four packages under the tree marked “Open Xmas Eve” and labeled: Grace, Justin, Lesroy, and Vincent. They were flannel pajamas Mike had picked out.
After the winter holidays, Lesroy’s graphics business took off, which meant more work for me. I discovered Justin didn’t just work for a security firm; he owned it. He, too, had more than he could manage.
With our busy schedules, we agreed it was silly for us to live apart. So, we moved in together, neither of us acknowledging the significance of the decision. We might have downplayed the direction our relationship was taking, but Lesroy most certainly did not. Thrilled that I had found Mr. Right, he admonished me not to screw it up.
The prospect I would not end up a withered old maid excited Mom and Rita, too. To my amazement, however, they played it cool around Justin, most likely out of fear they would spook him.
Winter melted into spring, and Justin planted a tea-rose bush in our backyard for Stella. He screened in the back patio, creating the perfect space for Scarlett to watch squirrels and catch the afternoon sun.
He kept in touch with Harry, who hadn’t heard from Eva. Even Eduardo had gone MIA. Harry had, however, been in contact with the lawyers in charge of probating Ben’s and Stella’s wills. The situation was complicated, but he promised he’d stay on it.
Mild, breezy spring days evolved into steamy, hot summer weather well before the middle of May. Scarlett spent her afternoons lounging on the sofa near the air vent. Justin and I spent our evenings in bed with the ceiling fan whirling on high.
No day passed without a reminder of Stella. The sight of a slender, blonde woman ahead of me in a crowd. The return of bluebirds to the house we watched Mom and Gran put in the backyard. A song with the power to buoy me up or break me down or both.
She continued to float through my dreams. Sometimes it was the peaceful Stella, smiling with the sun on her face. Other times, it was my sister lying broken on the beach. Once, she came to me open-handed, the missing locket in her palm. Adelmo showed up occasionally but never in the same dream as Stella. Even in the realm of my subconscious, they were forever separated. Whether I woke whimpering or stifling a scream, Justin was there to hold me.
On the last day of May, my phone rang at a little after nine in the morning. For a few seconds, I couldn’t place the familiar voice, soft and sibilant.
“I hope I am not disturbing you. This is Luis Cordoza, Harry’s friend from Guayaquil. I am in Atlanta on business and hoped we might get together. I wish to share some important information about your sister.”
“Information?” What could he have to share? Unless he had news about Adelmo, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to learn the fate of the man who had loved Stella enough to kill for her.
“The kind best delivered in person. I am staying at the Ritz Carlton, but I’m only in town through tomorrow evening. Could you drop by around lunchtime today? I am sorry for the late notice, but I assure you, your time will be well spent. And I would
