Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries)

by Heather Haven

  “By the way,” Lila continued, “what made you go up to San Francisco yesterday? I thought you were resting.”

  My body gave a jerk, and I knocked over the glass of water in front of me. I grabbed the napkin from my lap and began mopping up the liquid not absorbed by the tablecloth. At just that moment the waiter appeared, much to my relief, with extra cloth napkins. He deftly covered the water stain with several, put a fresh napkin in my lap, and stood by awaiting our order. Lila ordered a pasta dish made with fresh spinach and pine nuts and a glass of Chianti. The waiter turned to me.

  “The usual, Miss?” he smiled radiantly, as he took the menu from my hands.

  “Oh, ah...yes,” I said and returned his smile weakly. The next time I vowed to order something different. I asked for more water and looked around the room. It was a pretty room, pleasant and warm on this rainy, dark day.

  “Well?” Mom asked with raised eyebrows, waiting. Fat chance Lila would lose the thread of a conversation. I searched my mother’s face. There was no ill will or annoyance there, just plain curiosity.

  “I just wanted to know where it happened. It was impulsive.”

  “You and your impulses, Liana.” My mother sighed. “Well, I got a call from Detective John Savarese....”

  “You did?” I interrupted. “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know, just the man in charge of the case, I suppose.”

  “But he said he knew Dad. He said Dad did him a large favor once. What was it?”

  “Your father never said.”

  “He must have said something, Mom,” I pushed.

  “Roberto had a lot of friends, and some he didn’t tell me about. That was ten or fifteen years ago, anyway. Don’t interrupt,” she ordered in a slightly louder voice, as she saw that I was about to do so again.

  “Detective Savarese told me he found you inside that warehouse looking around. He further stated that this is a potentially dangerous situation, and he doesn’t want to see you there again. Neither do I.” Her voice softened and her smile returned. “I know how you must feel, dear, truly I do. In

  fact, Yvette wants to personally thank you and to apologize for endangering you in any way.”

  Oh, great! Lila knew about Mrs. Wyler’s invitation to tea, too. Now I’ll have to go. “I was only in danger of catching a bad cold,” I retorted.

  “I'm sorry I involved you in this in the first place.”

  “Well, you should be,” I answered, dipping a chunk of Italian bread in the extra virgin olive oil. “You couldn’t ask one of the other agents to trail a wandering husband. That’s not what we’re contracted to do. You took advantage of our relationship, Mom.”

  “That’s true,” Lila conceded. “Yvette was adamant about not having any outsiders know about this and begged me to ‘keep it in the family’. You can imagine how she felt when I told her the day before yesterday about Portor and the warehouse.”

  The waiter brought Lila's wine and she took a healthy swallow. “In any event, Liana, I feel guilty enough about involving you in his murder. Please don’t compound it any more...and stop making jokes about it. Now promise me that you will stay out of this murder investigation.”

  I thought for a moment. “All right,” I said, wording my answer carefully. “I promise to stay away from the warehouse in San Francisco.”

  At that moment, the waiter brought our food and fussed over us for a couple of minutes. Did we want fresh ground pepper? Did I want something else to drink? Did we need anything else? The subject of the murder and the warehouse got dropped, much to my delight. I was feeling pretty smug. After all, I only promised to avoid the warehouse. Everything else was up for grabs. As we ate the delicious food, we felt ourselves mellow and relax. It wasn’t until we were halfway through the meal I remembered about Uncle Mateo.

  “Oh, Mom,” I began, “that’s so great that you asked Tío to stay permanently with you. He seemed so happy this morning.”

  “Really? Good, although I hope I haven’t made a mistake.” Lila said, wiping her mouth with her linen napkin. “I might not have thought this through. After all, I’m used to privacy as of late.”

  “Privacy?” My hand froze with a spoonful of soup midway to my mouth. “Mom, the house is enormous. Even when we all lived there, it was a rare weekend we didn’t have two or three friends staying over, as well.” I put down the spoon. “You live in a goddamn mausoleum, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I simply mean there might be some period of adjustment for both of us, even though he’s like the older brother I never had. Take meals for example. I’m used to eating when I want and in the sunroom.

  “I don’t know that I want to continue eating again in the dining room, as we’re doing now. And please watch your language,” Lila added sharply, taking a sip of the wine.

  “I don’t see why the two of you don’t eat in the sunroom right now,” I said, retrieving a chunk of bread from the breadbasket and ripping it into pieces. “It’s silly for two people to sit at that huge table, and the dining room has an echo if there are less than twelve people in it. I’m sure Tio’s doing it because you insist.”

  “I was just using that as an example of how little things add up. You get used to a routine, to doing things in a certain way.”

  I looked down at my bowl filled with the shredded bread. “Well, if you don’t want to do it, you don’t want to do it. It’s too bad you brought it up in the first place,” I muttered more to myself than to my mother.

  “I didn’t say I don’t want to do it, Liana. My goodness, can’t I express a little concern over something as drastic as inviting another human being into my life without you getting all…?” She didn’t finish the sentence and looked at me.

  “Tío said this was something you both were going to try out for awhile, so I’m sure you’ve conveyed your doubts to him,” I realized the uncertainties expressed this morning by Tío came more from my mother than from him.

  I sat thinking. I could always ask Tío to live with me in the second bedroom. I could move the office into the bedroom I occupied now and the mirror and bar into the living room.

  I forced my attention back to the sound of my mother’s voice.

  “I didn’t convey any doubts to him at all,” Mom said. “In fact, he was the one who started me thinking. He lived for fifty years with Eva. I lived for thirty-six with your father. Maybe we both can’t do this,” she said, draining the last of the wine. “But I want to try.”

  “I guess you’ll see.” I forced a smile. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “Of course I will. Do you want some dessert?” Lila asked, signaling for the waiter.

  “I don’t think so.” I glanced at my watch. It was twelve forty-five. I had just enough time to finish reading Old Possum and meet Richard at one-thirty if I left now. I opened my purse and pulled out my wallet and laid a ten and a five on the table. “This should cover my share. Would you mind very much if I ran back to the office? I have some reading to do.”

  “Reading? Right now? Why, I guess not.” She picked up the two bills from the table and handed them back to me. “This is on me. I have a stop to make before I go back, myself. I’m meeting Yvette at the mortuary to settle a few things. Will you tell Patti that I'll return around four?”

  “Of course. Mom, I’m sorry I got a little sharp with you about Tío. It's really wonderful of you to offer, and I think you’re to be commended for it,” I added, trying to mend fences. “And thanks for lunch. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, you hardly ate anything,” Lila replied, searching in her purse for her charge card. “Go ahead and go. I'll take care of this.” She didn’t look up. I hesitated for a moment, and at a loss for what more to do or say, I left.

  I knew I’d hurt her feelings, and was sorry about that. I retrieved my umbrella and started off toward the office. The air felt good on my flushed face, and I knew I was more upset by our conversation than I wanted to admit.

  I thought of going back and apologiz
ing again but for what, exactly? I hurried through the drizzle back to the office, looking forward to the refuge of my book. Like so many books before, it would take me into another world. I needed that.

  Chapter Eight

  The Inner Sanctum

  Shortly before one-thirty, I approached the Information Technology Wing and home of Richard’s office. There were no burgundy colored rugs or any opulent furnishings. Linoleum flooring and empty walls echoed my knock. This area is at the back of the office complex and off limits to nearly everyone, certainly to the public. Here is the lifeblood of D.I. Millions of dollars worth of various computerized equipment live here, most containing highly confidential materials. There’s an IT staff of eighteen, which includes Richard and his two assistants. They protect this section not only with coded doors and computers but also with their very bodies.

  I once tried to get by Andy, Richard’s newest assistant, on his first day of employment. Nothing I said or did would make him get out of my way. It wasn’t until Richard came out, introduced us, and verbally okayed me that I was allowed to pass without winning a wrestling match. As Andy was only five foot two and I towered over him by some six inches, I was impressed with his rat terrier approach to the job. Soon after that, Richard decided to electronically lock the entrance and have a monitor, where one of his two assistants can screen people safely from inside. I waved into the camera to Andy or Erica, whichever, and heard the buzzing that allowed me to pass into the “forbidden zone,” as this area has now been dubbed.

  I walked down a narrow hallway until I came to Richard’s unmarked door. I rapped loudly to make sure he heard me and turned the knob. There was no point in waiting for a response from inside his office. He never gave one and anybody who got this far knew they could barge right in without awaiting consent.

  As I opened the door, I could hear the strains of one of his favorite mariachi songs, “Alma, Corazon Y Vida” playing on the stereo. A flashback of when he first learned to play it himself came into my mind. He was barely eleven years old and almost too small for the guitar he held so lovingly in his hands. But he never gave up and practiced until he and the instrument were one; until together, they were magic. To this day, I can tell what mood Richard’s in by what’s playing on his stereo or by his own hand on his ever-present guitar. With mariachi music playing, I knew that Richard had good news for me.

  I pushed the door open, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The room was about thirty feet square with thick, curtained windows on the outside wall. In various stages of cannibalization, computers, monitors, keyboards, and little wiry things sat in piles on the floor, their importance known only to Richard.

  I focused on a computer station in the center of the room where Richard sat staring into a mammoth screen. The monitor alone, called something like Blue Jean C, had cost D.I. over forty thousand dollars. I knew because the Board had a big debate about the expense. Richard usually gets anything he wants, and he had his heart set on this prototype monitor once he found out NASA had ordered three. We were lucky he only wanted one.

  My brother stared intently at the screen, currently divided into six sections, with a different visual in each section. He worked his keyboard, froze several of the sections, and called out to me even though I hadn’t been sure he knew I was in the room.

  He lowered the music and swiveled around. “I’ve got her, Lee. Found her about an hour ago.” He chuckled with glee.

  I was confused. “Who?”

  “Your China Doll. She’s right here.” He swiveled in his chair to face me and leaned back with satisfaction awaiting my approval.

  “You’re kidding!” I exclaimed and turned my attention to the screen. Sure enough, a frozen frame of the Asian woman I saw yesterday matched five others on the screen. Out of the six, two of them were grainy and one was only a side shot of her neck and ear with lots of flowing black hair. “Who is she?”

  “You know, at first, Lee, I only wanted to know who she was because she’s such a babe. Then, as I got into it, I had this nagging feeling I’d seen this gal before.” I could tell by the way Richard talked this story was going to take awhile. I leaned on the edge of his desk and folded my arms. He noticed and began clearing off the closest of several chairs littered with parts of equipment and manuals, while never stopping his excited dissertation. “You know me, I never forget a face and what a face she has! And that body! I’m surprised you didn’t know who she was right off, Lee, ‘cause she’s a pretty well-known Bay Area dancer!”

  “A dancer!” I echoed, surprised despite my original assessment of the woman. I sat down on the edge of a now cleared chair, my body tense with excitement.

  “She did the Snowflake Queen in the Nutcracker Suite Christmas before last at the Civic Auditorium in San Francisco. We saw it together, remember?” he teased, beaming proudly at me.

  Of course! Once he told me who she was, I knew her immediately. It was one of those cases of somebody being where you didn’t expect them to be, so you didn’t recognize them. I’d seen her in two or three productions. She’d danced the second female lead, shining in whatever part she undertook.

  “Not only that, and this is where it gets good, guess where else we’ve seen her?” I could tell my brother was enjoying this game immensely. He waited patiently for a response.

  “Entertainment Tonight?” I queried, opening my eyes wide and feigning seriousness.

  “No! Guess again.” His eyes twinkled and he offered a bright smile.

  “Richard,” I said, “can we play Twenty Questions some other time? Just tell me who she is.”

  “Oh, all right,” he relented, his face clouding over. “She was front page news about a year ago when she was arrested for protesting against restricting the number of Chinese immigrants coming into the States. Seems she’s got nine sisters and brothers and most of them are still waiting in China to get to the States. She assaulted one of the lower city officials...what’s his name...”

  He got up and looked intently at some writing below one of the frozen segments on his screen. “Oh, yeah. A Leonardo Falariccia….”

  “Well, who wouldn’t slug somebody with that name?” I interrupted, but I did remember the incident and how it shocked the artistic community. I remember thinking at the time she had an unusual temperament for a ballet dancer, hot and fiery. More like a rock star.

  “…but he decided not to press charges,” Richard continued, ignoring my interruption. Richard remained standing, his slender frame stretching out the kinks that came from sitting in one position too long.

  I shifted in the chair and forced my mind back to the Christmas before last. Now I knew who the woman was, I reflected on the beautiful Snowflake Queen, graceful and trim, with such perfectly precise and yet passionate movements. She hadn’t worked her way up to performing the Sugar Plum Fairy but it was only a matter of time; she had the talent. I remembered the awe I’d felt as I watched her; the way I always feel when a dancer can accomplish the impossible. That ephemeral ability of a dancer to make complicated and highly rehearsed steps look natural and easy, as she glides effortlessly across the stage. It was something I had never and would never be able to do.

  “What’s her name?” I finally asked, coming out of my reverie.

  “Grace Wong. And believe me, there are about forty of them in San Francisco alone. After I matched her face from newspaper microfilms, it took me nearly two hours to track down which Grace Wong she was. God bless the online library service. I not only have her address and phone number, I know she reads only non-fiction, just like me. She lives in San Francisco, typical single life, but there are a couple of things that are kind of odd,” Richard reflected, sitting back down.

  “The first thing I did was to check her DMV record and credit card charges. Now, she has the job with the San Francisco Ballet Company, which is evenings, right? But she’s driving down to Princeton-by-the-Sea, hereafter known as PBS, at least two or three times a month, and always at night, which is one
heck of a commute.

  For the past four or five months she’s been gassing up at the same service station down there, almost a full tank each time.

  “Might have a boyfriend or something, but what’s strange is, I don’t think she spends more than an hour there, and then she’s back up to the City. Got two tickets for speeding in San Francisco around one o’clock in the morning on two of those nights. Let’s see…” he said, as he closed his eyes and searched his memory. "One on Nineteenth Avenue and Noriega in the Sunset district and one on Geary.”

  Richard continued, doing what he does best, expounding knowledge. “Then she got a parking ticket a couple of weeks ago in PBS shortly before midnight, even though she had a special dress rehearsal the next morning starting at eight a.m. My God, this girl gets around. Everything’s on the printout.”

  He pointed to a stack of 8 x 11½ inch paper piled on his desk. Taking a stick of gum out of his shirt pocket, he unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth with a great sense of accomplishment.

  I vaguely knew the area he was talking about. Some twenty or twenty-five miles south of San Francisco, Princeton-by-the-Sea, or PBS as Richard called it, is a small port town of less than four hundred people. Thousands of tourists visit each year to check out the “New England” type harbor and eat at one of the great seafood restaurants that litter the coastline, but that’s pretty much it. I’d driven by it several times on Highway One, as I was heading to Half Moon Bay, Monterey, or Carmel, but never stopped.

  As far as I was concerned, it was probably a pleasant enough little town but just how much charm could a harbor or a fishing boat hold in the middle of the night for a ballet dancer with a six-day a week job in San Francisco?

  Maybe Grace Wong did have a boyfriend in Princeton-by-the-Sea, but it somehow seemed a little off, like a lot of things lately. I decided to think about it later. At that moment, I was worried about D.I.’s involvement with the police.