A Well-Kept Family Secret

by Marja McGraw

  “It certainly does, Mother. Did you get a look at the driver?”

  “No, the windows were tinted and he was too far away to make out any of the details about him.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. Pete will be there in about twenty minutes.”

  We hung up and I turned to Pete. “I was right. There was a car following me. He parked at my apartment and watched the place for awhile.”

  “Come on, why would someone be following you?” His tone of voice told me that Pete didn’t quite believe me. “We’re not working on anything big right now.” He knew the last time I’d had someone tail me had been a consequence of working on the case involving a missing college student.

  “I don’t know why, but the fact remains that someone is following me. I’m sure of it. The car my mother described sounds like the same car that drove by a few minutes ago.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Just keep your eyes open and stay alert while I’m gone.” He looked dubious about the whole thing, but didn’t quite write it off as my imagination.

  “I will.”

  Pete left to pick up my mother, and I turned on my computer. While it was booting up, I poured myself another cup of coffee.

  What next, I wondered. Mother visiting, Frank showing up, murder, hidden gold and someone following me. Oh well, at least things were never dull.

  Pete soon returned and dropped off the papers. He’d left my mother waiting for him in the car.

  “Not a good idea,” I said. “You know what happened the last time she was left in a car by herself.”

  “She’s fine. I made her promise not to leave the car.”

  “And you believed her?” Silly, trusting Pete.

  “Nice, Sandi. You don’t trust your own mother?”

  “Not for an instant. Would you?”

  “Be back later.” He shook his head and walked out the door.

  I opened the larger of two manila envelopes containing the papers and began to peruse them. There were copies of old newspaper clippings and letters. I didn’t see anything official, such as records about the hearing or evidence, but at least I could get a feel for what happened. My grandmother had written several letters to her sister, filling her in, and the sister had apparently saved most of them. I couldn’t have asked for much else. I knew the newspaper stories were probably biased, considering how people felt about Vincente.

  There was also an article about the gold, which surprised me. Apparently it was more than just a family legend. It seems everyone knew about the gold and many had tried to find it, without success. I set that article aside, to be read later.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I sat back in the chair, trying to decide where to begin. I thought of the murder and the hidden gold. Could there be any connection between those two things? I leaned forward and typed in Los Angeles History, then clicked on the Search bar.

  Chapter Eleven

  1898

  The old man reached his destination and climbed down from the buggy, walking with purpose and remembering exactly where to look for the gold, only hoping no one was watching. After checking for signs to see if anyone had tampered with the hiding place and finding none, he turned and left. Somehow the ride had helped clear his head of all the day-to-day clutter, leaving him with memories of the previous year.

  1897 (One year earlier)

  Vincente had summoned the police after finding the nurse’s body, but they’d immediately arrested him. He’d felt no fear, but the anger had been overwhelming. He’d kept his feelings in check though. It wouldn’t do under these circumstances to let anyone see the great Vincente Chavez angry. He would have lost his edge if they thought they could rattle him.

  One of the officers marched him to the kitchen and told him to sit down at the table and stay there. Vincente clenched his fists as he recalled how he’d been ordered around. As if anyone could get away with speaking to him that way and not expect retribution. The officer was an ignorant man and would soon be out of a job.

  Although he tried to avert his eyes, his gaze kept wandering back to the body of the nurse. The anger briefly ebbed and the sorrow and guilt in his heart swelled until a strangled noise burst from his lips, which seemed to delight the police officer. One more nail in the officer’s coffin.

  The doctor, an old cohort, had shown up and gone through the motions, examining the corpse. He’d glanced at Vincente with… What? A look of fear on his face? Or hatred? Maybe condescension. The old man was again too angry to read the expression. Sadness and guilt were alien emotions and he’d shaken them off easily.

  2003

  I didn’t have time to wade through all of L.A.’s background, so I deleted Los Angeles History. It was too general and I needed more specific information. After a lot of research, I came up with the name of Adrian Praetzellis, a co-principal investigator from Sonoma State University who’d been involved in the archaeological work at Union Station. In an effort to save time and shoe leather, I sent him an email asking for information about the project.

  Next I typed in Los Angeles Historical Society. Again, I sent an email asking for information about the old Red Light District, and I also inquired about Vincente Chavez.

  I turned away from the computer with the intention of going through the letters my mother had brought with her.

  My mother. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for my doctor’s office, mentally crossing my fingers.

  I told them I was a patient of Dr. Gordon’s, explained the situation with my mother and asked if the doctor might be able to see her. Initially they said no, but I wheedled. I’d learned how to wheedle from the best, my mother. They finally asked me to hold. I tapped my fingernails on the desk while I waited.

  “Sandi?” Good. A familiar voice and just the one I wanted to talk to.

  “Dr. Gordon. I’m so happy you have time to speak to me.” Dr. Gordon knew me well. Not only was I her patient, but I’d handled a case for her once upon a time involving a traffic accident and fake injuries on the part of the other driver.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m fine, mostly. I called to ask a huge favor, because if something isn’t done, well, I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “What’s going on?” There was concern in her voice.

  “My mother is visiting, and she’s having a terrible time with menopause. She really needs to be on hormone pills or something. I mean she really needs help. I mean I really need help. We both need help. I know she’s not your patient, but I wondered if you might be able to work her into your schedule. Please.” I sounded whiney, and it wasn’t pleasant.

  Dr. Gordon laughed. “You sound so desperate. I guess I ought to help you. Do you know who her insurance company is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll have you talk to Gretchen and she can check to be sure we take your mother’s insurance. Then she can set up an appointment for her.”

  “Dr. Gordon, I owe you. I really do.”

  “No, Sandi, I owed you.” She was laughing again as she put me on hold. I guess I really sounded desperate, but she didn’t know my mother. She would soon enough though.

  Gretchen came on the line and we were able to take care of everything. The only problem, well, one of them, was that they couldn’t fit her in until late next week. The other problem would be telling my mother that I’d even made the appointment. Maybe Frank would be a good temporary diversion, until I could work up the nerve to tell her about her upcoming doctor’s visit. After all, she hadn’t really agreed to see a professional.

  After hanging up, I called to make hair appointments for us. Trish said she’d had a cancellation and she could work both of us in the next morning. I thanked her and added the appointment to the list I was putting together.

  I turned back to the letters. The first few were newsy, but didn’t have anything to say that was pertinent to my investigation. Then I hit upon one that mentioned the gold.

  M
y grandmother referred to her husband as the “old skinflint” twice in her letter. The first time it sounded like an endearment – almost. The second time she called him the name wasn’t quite so endearing.

  ...the old skinflint raided his business during the early morning hours and took up all the gold pieces. He’s buried his treasure so no one else can find it. These are the same gold coins he wouldn’t have had were it not for my inheritance. There should be laws in this country to stop a man from using a wife’s money.

  I truly believe his brother is the recipient of his anger. I do not think he’s directing any of his actions at myself or the children, but you know who it affects the most. He has said, though, if he doesn’t come back for the gold first, someone from a future generation will benefit from it. He offered me no clue as to its whereabouts.

  As if he would care about a future generation. He does not even care for this one. His own children are mere possessions to him, and he would use them to his benefit if he could.

  No, it certainly wasn’t an endearment the second time. I could almost hear her sighing and see her gritting her teeth while she wrote this.

  She didn’t mention whether or not she had any ideas about the location of the hidden gold, but maybe something would show up in another letter.

  Also, she mentioned that the last of the children, a daughter, had recently married and moved to a new home near her on Figueroa Street with her husband. So much for my idea that they were small children. They were grown, for crying out loud.

  As I reached for another letter, I heard the door to the office open. Looking up, I saw Stanley trying to scrape something off the heel of his shoe. I decided not to ask him what it was. I’d ask Pete to clean the threshold later, when he returned from the airport. I knew he wouldn’t mind. I almost giggled.

  “Stanley. Come on in.”

  “I’m trying,” he mumbled, “but I need to get something off my shoe.” His face scrunched up as though the offending stuff might be putrid.

  He stepped back outside, took care of business at the curb, and returned to the office, still mumbling.

  “I wanted to stop by and tell you what a wonderful time I had last evening. Your mother is a delightful lady.”

  “Why, thank you.” I was genuinely pleased that he liked my mother. “I’m glad you had such a good time.”

  “I truly enjoyed sharing stories with her. My goodness. She’s such a tiny thing to have knocked down a mugger.”

  “Did you take a good look at her purse? She could knock out an elephant with that thing.”

  “Good point.” Stanley chuckled. “Anyhooo, I have a second reason for stopping by. I thought I’d see if you have something for me to dig into. You know, on the computer. I’m anxious to begin helping you with your research.”

  “What about your job? Don’t you have to get back?”

  “I worked a day of overtime recently and opted to take the day off in lieu of payment. We’re allowed to do that on occasion.”

  I told him about my emails to the archaeologist, Praetzellis, and the one to the Historical Society, and asked him if he had any suggestions for further research.

  “Let me just play around for a while and see what I can come up with,” Stanley replied. “I’ve got a few ideas, but it may take some time.”

  “I don’t care how small it is, whatever you come up with might help the investigation.” I needed help and wanted to encourage him. Maybe he really could save me some work. “Would you like to use my computer? I’ve got to run out to take care of a few errands.”

  “If you don’t mind. I can get started right now since you’re offering me your computer.” The expression on his face was a happy one, and somehow I had a feeling that Stanley would enjoy sitting in the office of a P.I. to do his research. I just loved this guy. Everything seemed to be an adventure to him.

  “Be my guest. I won’t be gone long.” I wanted to run over to the State Library and see what it would take to get copies of old newspapers. I was actually beginning to get into this whole puzzle. It could turn out to be quite interesting, especially considering there might be hidden treasure still to be found.

  “Take your time.” Stanley settled into my chair and gazed at the computer screen with something akin to adoration on his face. It didn’t surprise me for an instant that he might be a computer nerd. I could probably become a computer nerd, too, without much encouragement. There was so much to find and do on this amazing piece of equipment.

  “If Pete comes back with my mother and her friend, will you tell him I won’t be gone long?”

  “Sure.” He sounded distracted. He’d already lost himself to the world of the Internet, and I didn’t think he’d even miss me.

  I drove over to the library and talked to a woman at the Reference Desk. She explained the procedure, and I requested some old newspapers from the late 1800s. She said what I wanted would be on microfiche and she’d have it for me in a few days. I thanked her and left.

  As I was leaving the library, I checked my rearview mirror to make sure it was safe to pull out. In the distance I saw a black car, but I couldn’t tell if it was the one that had been following me or not. I pulled out and drove slowly, hoping it would catch up and I could get a better look at it. The driver turned off after about a block, so I didn’t think it was the car in question.

  What am I going to do next? I thought. I wasn’t actually sure what to do. I guess I’d better read more of those old letters. I hope I can find some references to both the murder and the treasure. I was so involved in my thoughts that I was surprised when I found myself back at the office.

  I walked in just in time to hear Pete, Mom, and a man who was apparently Frank, laughing at something. I glanced at Stanley, but he was either so involved in his research that he wasn’t paying attention, or he was trying to be invisible.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, smiling.

  “I was showing them your so-called lobby,” Pete explained.

  “And what’s so funny about that?” My hackles were up in an instant.

  “Sandi, give it a rest,” Pete said. “You need to quit being so sensitive about things.”

  The office was actually just one big room with a small restroom in the corner. I’d turned the closet into a supply space, placed our desks in the center with the filing cabinets behind them, and arranged some chairs and an old coffee table at the front of the place. I called that area The Lobby. Pete called it, well, never mind what he called it. He thought I was being silly and it had always been a bone of contention between us. He teased me, and I ignored him.

  “Honey,” my mother said gently, “you call this section of the office anything you want to. I think this is a very nice lobby.” She was humoring me and I knew it, but at least she was trying to smooth things over.

  “You must be Frank,” I said, extending my hand.

  “Yes, and you’re obviously Sandi,” he said, accepting my hand and shaking it. He had a firm grip, but not too hard. I liked that. “We shouldn’t have been laughing, and I apologize. This is a nice office, and lobby.”

  “Thank you,” I said, accepting the apology and giving Pete a triumphant glance.

  “Frank and I have decided to stay in a room at a motel, dear. You won’t be offended if I don’t stay at your apartment, will you?” My mother was apparently trying to be tactful about staying at a motel with her boyfriend.

  “Not at all, Mom.”

  “Frank is going to rent a car, so we’ll be on our own and we won’t have to bother you for rides.”

  “That’s fine.” I glanced at Frank and hoped I didn’t sound too relieved. Frank towered over my mother at about six feet. He was in pretty good shape for a man his age, which I guessed to be about fifty-seven or fifty-eight. His hair was a sandy color and it wasn’t thinning yet. He and Mother made an attractive couple.

  I turned to my mother, who was gazing at Frank, and I was delighted to see how happy she looked.

  “By the way
, Mom, I called and made hair appointments for both of us. Trish will be able to see us at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s wonderful, dear, but how can she see us on such short notice? How good is she?” Mother sounded concerned about the stylist who was going to turn her into a new woman.

  “We lucked out. She had a cancellation. And you don’t have to worry, because she gives a great haircut. Trust me.”

  “I see.” She tried to study my hair without being obvious. “Can we go in ahead of time so I can look at some books to get ideas for a new style?”

  “Of course.”

  “Frank can drop me off at your apartment, or would you rather pick me up?”

  “I’ll drop you off,” Frank said. “I want to do some shopping tomorrow morning while you girls are having your hair done.”

  “Have you made any progress with your research?” Pete asked, changing the subject.

  “I’ve been to the library and ordered some microfilm, or I guess it’s called microfiche. It’ll have old newspapers on it. I’m beginning to learn more about that era, but I haven’t found anything pertinent yet.”

  “I have,” Stanley said, joining us.

  Chapter Twelve

  1898

  The old man smiled. His greedy brother wouldn’t become wealthy any time soon. It never dawned on Vincente that he was every bit as greedy as Miguel, or maybe even more so. He couldn’t see himself the way others did.

  Sighing, he remembered the delight of the officers when they escorted him to the police station. They’d questioned him, badgering him until he felt almost ill. He wasn’t young anymore. The police couldn’t break him, as hard as they tried. He repeatedly said he didn’t know what had happened.

  The Chief had finally shown up, and after the Chief berated and stormed at the officers, Vincente was released. At least the Chief knew which side his bread was buttered on. Vincente had made a point of telling him to fire the officer who’d dared to order him around. He knew it would be done.