The CEO Came DOA (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Book 5)

by Heather Haven

  “He’s done with the Stringer Games job, right? I mean, he’s free, if I need him?”

  “You need him? What’s going on?”

  I told Richard about my run-in with the motorcycle babes. I asked him to bring Jake up to speed then have him meet me at the Alvarez humble abode. I just might need some packing backup.

  Then I turned the key, little yellow truckie roared to life, and we continued our journey to Palo Alto.

  Silicon Valley has been a technology capital

  like New York is a financial capital.

  Bill Maris

  Chapter Eight

  Forty-five minutes later after driving in circles to lose anyone who might be following me, I pulled into the driveway of the Alvarez family home. Edging the truck under the porte-cochère next to the family room, I drove behind the house. Jake was waiting for me.

  Several pickups and vans were parked haphazardly next to the garage and near the pool. In between the vehicles were mounds of gravel, bags of cement, and stacks of lumber. Four or five men were either carrying supplies or measuring, drilling, and banging away on something having to do with the new office being built inside one of the car stalls.

  Naturally, once the workmen started ripping down walls they discovered in order of appearance: dry rot, termites, and substandard electrical wiring. What was supposed to have been a four-week job had turned into eight. And counting.

  I maneuvered the yellow truck in between a rusting red pickup and a tarp covered mound of gravel. Jake showed up at the driver’s door and leaned in the rolled-down window.

  He was a tall man, running a little to fat, but maintaining a square jaw line and devilish blue eyes. I remember when I was a teenager thinking here was a living, breathing James Bond. He still carried a lot of that suave as he flashed me a smile.

  “Hello, Luv. I hear you got a truckload of something everybody wants.”

  “So it would seem,” I said, opening the door a little. Jake backed up and I got out, dragging my tote bag with me.

  “Well, if I understand correctly, Luv,” Jake said in his clipped accent, “you want me to sit in the cab and make sure no one gets rambunctious with the cargo.”

  “That’s not all. There’s a small, black ring box we need to find. Might be mixed in with this load.”

  “You want me to search the truck and its contents for it?”

  “It would be appreciated, Jake. But if it’s not here, don’t be surprised.”

  “But if it is, I’ll find it.”

  It was his self-assuredness plus delivery that pushed Jake to the head of the pack. Opening the door with a strong hand, he jumped onto the running board with a lightness belying his years.

  “It all sounds right easy enough.”

  “Possibly,” I said, wanting to give full disclosure. “I made the mistake of underestimating two kids on the way over here.”

  “Not to worry.” Grinning, he swung himself behind the steering wheel. “The last time I underestimated someone was in 1984.”

  “Was that when you were stationed in Grenada?”

  “No, that’s when I married my first wife. She took me for everything I had.”

  I laughed dutifully as my cell rang. The image of the love of my life flashed on the screen. Moving away for privacy, I waved goodbye to Jake, who closed the truck door and settled himself within. Excited, I hit the answer button.

  “Hi, darling! I wondered why I hadn’t heard from you yet. I must have called two or three -- ”

  “Honey, sweetheart, listen to me.”

  Just those words alone were enough to stop my heart. Gurn never says ‘listen to me’ unless he has something to say I don’t want to hear. He took a breath then hesitated.

  “I’m listening.” I put my finger in the other ear to block out carpentry sounds, retreating nearer the pool so I could hear him better. “I’m listening,” I repeated.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t have a lot of time. Something’s come up. I won’t be back for two more days.”

  “What’s happened?” The world closed in on me, as I hovered by the gate to the pool.

  “It’s not…I can’t talk about it. But I’ll be back in two days’ time, three at most.”

  “We’re getting married in five.”

  “I’ll be back. I swear.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Yellow Pages listed Gurn Hanson as a Certified Public Accountant. As a Lt. Commander in the Naval Reserves and former SEAL, the Pentagon listed him in a whole other category. Whatever he did, it was so secret I couldn’t even know about it until after we were married. And even then my knowledge would be limited. When I spoke, my voice was low and unemotional.

  “Where are you going this time? Iraq? Afghanistan? Syria?”

  “I…I…”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I know you can’t say.”

  “I love you, Lee. More than you can imagine.”

  He choked on the last word and was silent. Wherever he was going, I didn’t want him going like this. I tried to lighten the mood.

  “Well, I can imagine how much I love you. I’m opening my arms as wide as I can. You can’t see me, but that’s what I’m doing, just like we used to do as kids.” I spoke in a little girl’s voice. “I love you this much. Thiiiiiiis much.”

  He laughed and so did I. I went on in my normal tone, now that we were back in sync.

  “Stay safe, groom, and hurry home. We have a wedding to star in.”

  “I will, bride.” There was the roar of a jet engine and voices in the distance. “I have to go, sweetheart. Kiss Baba for me.”

  Baba Ganesh was the young female cat he was bringing into the marriage. I was adding Tugger to the mix, better known as my son the cat, so ours was a feline-enriched union.

  There was dead air. Gurn was gone. I leaned against the pool gate for several minutes until I heard Tío calling me.

  “Liana. Liana! ¿Qué pasa?”

  My uncle - or Tío - is the only person I don’t mind calling me by my given name. I even hate it when my mother calls me Liana, although I can’t do much about it. Lila Hamilton Alvarez doesn’t believe in nicknames and try bucking her. But luckily to the rest of the world, I’m Lee. I turned to face the only person who gives me unconditional love. I was shooting for Gurn being the second.

  I forced a smile, waved, and went around the fenced-in pool toward the back of the house I grew up in. Here was the Alvarez version of the Great American Dream.

  “Good morning, Tío.” I went into his arms for a quick embrace. He hugged me back and held on.

  “¿Consada, sobrina?”

  “I am a little tired.”

  Tío often spoke to his family in Spanish, even though his English was good, despite the heavy accent. As for me, I loved it when he addressed me as sobrina or his niece. It always made me feel loved and special. I leaned into him.

  “It’s already been a long day. What time is it, anyway? I’ve sort of lost track.” I looked up into his face.

  “After eleven. Maybe the eleven-thirty. Ricardo, he calls to say you are on your way. I make the torta for lunch. Your favorite.” He studied my face. “Something is wrong. ¿Qué pasa?”

  “No, no, nothing. I’m just a little tired, like I said.”

  Even though I usually keep nothing back from Tío, I didn’t feel like talking about Gurn’s latest mission quite yet. I needed for it to settle within me more.

  “Where are the cats, Tío?”

  “I see them last in the sunroom.”

  What with the banging, drilling, and buzz-sawing, we didn’t want to leave the cats inside the garage apartment all day listening to the chaos. There’s nothing worse than a feline with frayed nerves. Cats like continuity, with a lot of peace and quiet thrown in. There was none of that inside the garage apartment between the hours of eight and five. So during construction we shuttled our furry companions back and forth daily to the Alvarez McMansion or the Big House, as Richard likes to call it.

  When my p
arents married, Mom’s family gave them the three-bedroom, two-bath home as a wedding present. With each ensuing year, Dad built a new addition, including the third floor, until it became one of the larger homes in the area. For one of their anniversaries, he finished the house off with two mammoth thirty-foot high white columns built by Mexican artisans. These landmark columns stand on either side of the front door.

  Arm in arm, Tío and I went through the back door and into the creamy yellow kitchen still dressed up like the thirties, with the exception of the latest appliances. The spacious, eat-in kitchen always felt warm and inviting, mostly because this was where Tío spent the bulk of his time.

  As a retired executive chef from San Jose’s famous Las Mañanitas Restaurant, Tío lived to cook. If he wasn’t cooking for family, friends or needy, less fortunate people, he was making special dietary meals for animals at the shelter where he volunteered.

  Since moving in a couple of years ago, he occupied the first floor of the house with the kitchen. Mom occupied the second floor with the office and study. Mom’s idea of cooking was ordering in from Baume, with its Michelin star and ‘Menu Découverte’ or food discovery. The in-laws met a few times a week for a shared meal at the dining room table; Tío’s fare, of course.

  The smells emanating from the kitchen made my mouth water. But I needed to find the cats, particularly Tugger, who could soothe my savage breast like nobody else, unless it was of the Gurn variety.

  I pushed the swinging door open separating the kitchen from the rest of the house and hurried into the family room. The first thing I clapped eyes on was the beautiful if not somewhat overwhelming sixteen-foot high Christmas tree sparkling in the bay window. I inhaled the fragrance of pine. Heavenly.

  The fat but well-formed blue spruce held at least two-hundred ornaments from the Hamilton Alvarez past Christmases. Mom adds new ones each year to the ever-growing collection. Each treasured ornament has a memory and a spot. Even the Play Dough pretzel I made for her in the 2nd grade resides on a limb, looking suspiciously like dried out doggy-do.

  Between stringing dozens of lights and tying each ornaments on the tree so batting paws don’t send them flying, this Christmas chore takes a full three days for the family to accomplish. Ho, ho, ho.

  I didn’t see the cats right off, so I called out. “Tugger, Baba! Where are you? Come to mommy!”

  I heard Tugger’s loud, Siamese-like yowl followed by Baba’s soft, high-pitched meow. Both sounds came from the window ledge of the bay window on the other side of the resplendent tree. The scurrying sounds of eight paws on the light oak floor told me they were on their way.

  I leaned over and extended my arms. Tugger jumped into them and I made room for Baba, hot on his trail. I snatched the longhaired grey and white cat with my free hand and held her particularly close for a moment. Then I looked into her emerald green eyes.

  “Your daddy sends his love,” I whispered. She closed her eyes and began to purr. I looked at my orange and white guy, his amber eyes half closed in contentment. I already felt better.

  “Mira. There is something wrong, sobrina.”

  I hadn’t heard Tío come up behind me. He looked at me with concern written all over his face.

  “I’m sorry, Tío. I guess I can’t keep anything from you. Right before I saw you, Gurn called and told me he’s on another mission. He won’t be back for two or three days. I just took it hard, that’s all.”

  “Como no. Of course,” he repeated in English. “But it is his job and, therefore, your job to accept what he does.”

  “Making peace with it is tougher than I thought, Tío.”

  “Debes intendar, sobrina.”

  I smiled at my uncle. “Yes, I must try. And I will. Gracias.”

  “And now it is time to eat.”

  With his salt and pepper hair, Tío was a tall and elegantly appointed man. One would never know by his appearance there was a reverence for food bordering on the religious.

  “Give me the ten minutes to warm and serve.” With that he went into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

  Hugging two purring cats, I wandered over to the down-filled, beige leather sofa in front of a crackling fire and lay down. Big mistake.

  If valleys are the dimples on the face of the earth,

  as Steven King once said, then Silicon Valley is

  the deepest, most sparkling dimple of them all.

  Betty Dravis

  Chapter Nine

  Feeling something heavy on my chest, I awoke with a start and stared nose-to-nose into slightly crossed amber eyes. A pink, rough tongue licked my nose in a greeting.

  “Thank you, Tugger.” Reaching up, I wiped kitty saliva from my nose as surreptitiously as possible. Tugger is a sensitive soul and I didn’t want to offend.

  I struggled to a sitting position, throwing Tugger off in the doing. Without a backward glance, he sauntered down to my feet where Baba lay curled up sleeping. He snuggled next to her. She cuddled into him. Their friendship made me smile.

  Then I noticed shadows cast by the incoming sun were at a completely different angle than when I lay down. Just how much time had gone by? I looked at the clock on the stone mantle and saw a full two hours had passed.

  I would like to say I leapt up, but as so often happens when one has had too long a nap, I felt as if I were moving underwater. I managed to stand and stretch before hearing laughter coming from the kitchen.

  Followed by the cats, I swung the kitchen door open, and saw Richard and Tío sitting around the table chatting. They both looked at me with smiles on their faces.

  “She lives!” Richard burst out then sobered. “Tío told me about Huckster, Lee.” Richard often calls Gurn by his nickname from their NROTC days. “Sorry it’s coming so close to the wedding, but you know everything on the groom’s part has been done, down to the boutonnieres. He is so ready. And anything that comes up, as his best man I’ll take care of it. Don’t you worry.”

  Richard stood up midway in his speech, searching my face to see if I was flipped out or not. I wasn’t. The cats and sleep helped stabilize my feelings. But at the moment he seemed like the older brother and I the kid sister. He wanted to do whatever he could to make me feel better. It was unbelievably sweet.

  “I’ll be fine, Richard. The wedding will be fine.” I smiled and touched him on the shoulder with a quick hand. Pulling out a chair before a table setting, I sat down.

  The cats ran to their cereal bowls, often containing one or more of their favorite treats if not an outright meal. Finding nothing, Tugger gave out with a yowl, followed by Baba’s small plaintive squeak. Then they both sat in front of their respective bowls and stared at my uncle, expectantly.

  “They like to pretend I starve them,” said Tío, rising and turning to the stove. “But nearly every hour they practice how to walk side by side on a leash, and I give them treats each time. Soon they will be dos gatos gordos.”

  “Two fat cats?” I looked at my long, lean Tugger and the smaller, but svelte Baba. Wrinkling my nose, I said, “I can’t see it. But is Mom still pushing for them to carry our wedding rings down the aisle tied in bows around their necks? I don’t know, Tío. It sounds very iffy to me.”

  “It sounds a little P.T. Barnum to me,” said Richard.

  “I do not offer the opinion,” Tío said with a shrug. “But promise to try to teach them for your mama. She is very good at planning the fiesta grande.”

  “If anyone can teach Tugger and Baba to deliver rings when and where they’re needed, you’re the man, Tío.” I said.

  Thinking of rings caused my mind to dart back to the missing black ring box housing a multi-million dollar prototype chip. Where was it? I almost asked Richard for an update, but having ‘family talk’ for just a few minutes cast a normalcy over the day I needed. I smiled at my uncle.

  “I hate to say it, but Mom might be going a little overboard.”

  “Gee, you think?” Richard’s voice carried laughter and non-comprehensio
n. “You’ve got enough bridesmaids to fill Levi Stadium.”

  “And Mom might not be done yet,” I said.

  Tío snatched up a potholder and opened the oven to reveal a casserole dish topped with bubbling cheese. “When she do your Tía’s and my thirty-fifth anniversary, it was planned down to the…the…” He searched for a word then turned to us. “What is the word for the little wooden thing you use to puncture the olives?”

  “Toothpicks,” Richard and I said in unison then looked at each other, and smiled.

  “Si, the toothpicks topped with the hearts piquitito.”

  The image of those toothpicks flooded back to me. “That’s right, the toothpicks with tiny little hearts on top of each one. I never saw anything like that before.”

  “Or since, I’ll bet,” said Richard. “Mom had them made special.”

  Tío smiled, too, but it wasn’t at us. His face took on a far-away, long ago look. “That party, it makes your Tía so happy. She was the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “I remember,” I said softly.

  “So do I,” Richard said.

  My brother and I glanced at one another. I could tell he, too, was thinking of a beloved aunt who died too suddenly and too young, just as our father had.

  “Soon I lose her,” Tío continued, “but that night, Lila, she do everything to make for us the memories. All we do is to relax and enjoy. My Maria, she was never so happy.” He looked at me. “And you will be happy, too, when she does for you your wedding, sobrina.”

  I thought about what Tío was saying, weighing it against Frank’s advice of slowing Mom down. Nope, not happening. Planning special events made my mother happy. She was really good at them, like everything else she put her mind to.