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

by Heather Haven

  “You had been kidnapped and were being held aboard the Feng Shen. Mom rented a boat with the ten thousand dollars she keeps in the trunk of her car.” Richard fairly hollered with pride.

  I stared at him with eyes, as they say, as big as saucers.

  “I don’t like that talked about, Richard,” Mom reprimanded him. “Even among ourselves. You know better.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Richard said but winked at me. “I won’t mention it again.”

  “Well, certainly don’t shout it out again,” Lila said in a softer tone, as she turned to me. “It’s just your father and I have always kept money in the trunk of our cars for just such an emergency, but I don’t want it broadcast.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?” I mouthed, stupefied.

  “Anyway,” Richard went on, “after Tío broke into your car with a tire iron, and we listened to everything that happened to you on the receiver…”

  “We had to do the break in, mi sobrina,” Tío interrupted. “There was no other way.”

  “No other way, Lee,” Richard agreed and continued. “So, after we learned where you were, Mom chased down Captain Chen’s boat — he’s the guy who kidnapped you — by hiring a charter boat. When we finally caught up with Chen, Mom kicked off her shoes and shinnied up the side of that boat in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of the night, and got you back,” he finished with a flourish.

  I gaped. No other way to say it. Color me stunned.

  Richard went on, oblivious to my reaction. “You should have heard Fred Anderson.” A “whoop” went up from all three upon hearing this name.

  I did more of my gaping routine. The crowd ignored me.

  “Oh, yes, Captain Anderson. A rare person,” Mom said, rolling her eyes.

  “Sí,” agreed Tio. “Un hombre unico.”

  “He was really impressed with you, Mom,” Richard teased and turned back to me.

  “Captain Anderson owns the Molly Belle and took us out to the Coast Guard cutter after Mom paid him the money. I heard him say ‘I’d like to have her nerve in my teeth’ as he watched Mom go right up the side of that boat!” Richard laughed at the recollection. “What a cool guy he is.”

  Mom rolled her eyes again. I managed to glean the verdict wasn’t in yet as to whether or not this Anderson was really a cool guy.

  “It was a ship, Ricardo,” Tío said firmly, as if this was an everyday conversation.

  At a loss, I clutched my face with my hands.

  Tío went on, emphasizing his words, “We were on a boat called the Molly Belle, chasing a ship, the Feng Shen, which was being pursued by the Coast Guard, yet another ship. Remember? Capitan Anderson was very definite about his craft being a boat and the Coast Guard cutter and the Feng Shen both being ships, mi sobrino.”

  “Oh, right,” Richard said. “I have to do some research to see what the difference is between a boat and a ship. I don’t think it’s just the footage.”

  I looked up at my mother and managed to ask in a faltering voice, “You shimmied up a Coast Guard cutter named the Feng Shen?”

  “No, no, no, not the ship from the Coast Guard,” said Tío impatiently, before Mom could reply. “She went up the other ship — the Feng Shen.” He looked at my mother and my brother with uncertainty in his eyes. “Did it have a name, this cutter ship?”

  “I think it had numbers on the side, not a name, Mateo,” Lila answered.

  “She didn’t shimmy. She shinnied. There’s a difference, Lee,” Richard corrected me.

  I would have laughed, but I could see everyone was serious. I re-clutched my face.

  “I didn’t shimmy or shinny up the side of anything,” Lila said primly. “I used the rope ladder Lieutenant Commander Carter so very kindly provided. You know, Liana, he’s Lincoln Carter’s son. That’s why he even let me come aboard. Lincoln was a great friend of your father’s, but that’s another story. I’ll tell you that one when you’re feeling a little better.”

  She smiled benevolently at me. I looked at Richard and Tío and they, too, were smiling benevolently at me. I was just deciding I was in a world gone mad when Richard’s girlfriend, Victoria, walked in wearing — I swear — a Mad

  Hatter’s hat in blue velvet with a yellow band. I froze with fear.

  To top it all off, my mother, the woman who snorted just the other day — “What does Richard see in that child? Victoria hasn’t even finished college. Victoria’s skirts are too short. Victoria wears horrifying hats in horrifying colors,” and so on and so on — this woman stood up and embraced the aforesaid miscreant! I found that the most unbelievable thing I had witnessed so far.

  That’s when I knew. It was the concussion. I had read about delusions stemming from a bump on the head. I was hallucinating. That was it. No one was really there. This drivel I thought my family was saying wasn’t really being said at all. No. Ha ha. They weren’t even there!

  Of course, it could also be dehydration. I remembered in the movie, Gunga Din, a whole squad of legionnaires became delusional during a desert drill from a lack of water, too much heat and excessive camel dung. I slurped more water, thinking.

  Maybe I’m on too many drugs. Yes, I’m drugged. It must be a very strong hallucinogenic, though, because this whole thing feels very real. Yet, if this is real, that means I’m Alice in Wonderland at the tea party, and my entire family has been invited along by the Mad Hatter, who seems to be Victoria. Hell, maybe they’re all Mad Hatters.

  “I take mine with lemon,” I said, as I closed my eyes and rolled over, covering my face with a blanket.

  ****

  That evening I was sitting up in bed eating what the hospital loosely called dinner. Everyone except Mom had left hours ago. Lila sat in a chair, reading work-related papers and answering my questions as they came to mind.

  Right then, I was deciding what to eat first. Should it be tepid chicken broth, red Jell-O, or watered down tea? Decisions, decisions. I chose the Jell-O and wished I’d had some Haagen Dazs ice cream to drown it in.

  “But Mom,” I asked, as I munched on a gelatin cube, “how did you know I was missing so fast? You found me after only a few hours.”

  She put her work aside. “When you didn’t show up at five-thirty, Mateo was in a panic. He knew from the beginning something was wrong. You are very reliable about showing up when you say you will.”

  “Especially when food’s involved,” I acknowledged.

  “Then Richard and Victoria came, and Richard said he thought you might still be in Princeton-by-the-Sea. Just when I was in a quandary as to how to find you there, Victoria offered a solution.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She said she has a cousin, Bryan Brown, who is with the Half Moon Bay Police Department. She called Officer Brown, and within minutes, he located your car in the parking lot of the diner. We drove there immediately, leaving Victoria to stay by the phone at home, in case someone called with more information about you.”

  “Wow! No wonder you suddenly like her.”

  “I have never not liked Victoria,” Lila sniffed. “It’s just that due to this experience, I’ve had an opportunity to see her true character. She is a loving and thoughtful young woman.”

  “Weird hats, though,” I remarked, drinking some lukewarm tea.

  Lila took a breath and closed her eyes. “Putting her hats aside…”

  “If only one could.”

  “Liana!” My mother sharply rebuked me.

  I started and spilled tea down the front of my hospital gown. I found a paper napkin and dried myself off as best I could.

  “Let’s stick to the germane issues, shall we?” Mom asked.

  “Okay, Mom. Go on. So you located the car.”

  “Yes. I met Maggie…”

  “Is she great or what?” I interrupted.

  “She was very helpful. You seem to have made a favorable impression on her, too. She likes you very much. She told me about seeing your camcorder on the counter. That’s when I knew we had to get
into the trunk of your car to listen to everything that had taken place. You’re always so good about recording everything.” She allowed herself to smile at me.

  “Hey, I’ve been trained by the best,” I said.

  “Once we located the receiver, we knew right away what had happened and where you were. I notified the various police agencies, including the Coast Guard, and asked Officer Brown if he knew anyone with a speedboat or the like, so I could help find you myself.”

  “And, that’s where Captain Fred Anderson and the Molly Belle comes into the story.”

  “Yes, once he agreed to let us use his charter boat, which has been altered into something of a speedboat, we caught up with the two ships. By that time, the Coast Guard had boarded and done its initial search of the Feng Shen. They didn’t find you the first go-round.” Mom’s voice caught suddenly, and I looked up from my Jell-O.

  “The only reason the Commander let me come aboard was because of your father, but once there, I was able to implore the crew to let me know where you were. I don’t think anyone else could have gotten through to them.

  “Even with an interpreter, I could tell they were a hardened lot, surly and unyielding. All except this one small man, the man who had helped to bring you onboard and hide you…” She stopped talking and put her hand to her throat.

  My eyes filled and the Jell-O felt hot in my throat. “You don’t have to go on, Mom. Really,” I whispered.

  She brushed at her eyes quickly, got up, and came to me. “Of course, I’ll go on. You have a right to know. When I begged the men to help me, he was the only one who said he would, despite his fear of that horrid man, Captain Chen. Then he took us — some officers, a medic and me — down below to the engine room. It was a squalid, filthy place, and there you were, hidden under the floorboards, all drawn up in a fetal position. So pale and still…” she broke off speaking.

  I grabbed her arm. “Mom, it’s okay. You found me, and I’m okay. It’s all over now.”

  “Yes, it is. It is.” She embraced me, and I clung to her like never before.

  Then Lila Hamilton Alvarez started to cry, and I started to cry, and we both were having a good one, when all of a sudden my head began to throb. I must have moaned a little because she released me and scrutinized my face.

  “You look terrible. All puffy and red.”

  “Well, some of us don’t cry like you,” I retorted. You just glisten when you cry. I get all puffy and red. Besides, I’m getting a headache.”

  Within seconds, Lila grabbed a towel from the bathroom, took some ice out of the water carafe, wrapped the ice in the towel, and applied it to my forehead.

  “Ahhh! That feels so good,” I said, as I closed my eyes.

  “You lie still and get some rest,” she said, as she kissed my cheek. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I muttered. “Thanks for making me feel like your little girl again.”

  “You’ll always be my little girl,” I heard her say, as she wafted out of the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  UnGeneral Hospital

  Two days later, I lay in my bed staring at the white smock of my doctor and the clipboard he held directly in front of his face. This was not the first time the doc had been in on his rounds, but I didn’t think he would actually know who I was if he fell over me. Interns, nurses and orderlies chatted with me throughout the day, but whenever the man who saved my life dropped by, he spent his time reading my chart or talking to everybody else. I couldn’t remember him actually saying one direct word to me, and I was feeling a tad left out because of it.

  Dr. Vernon Parsley was well named, as he did have a slight greenish hue. He was a tall, ageless man with faded, thin blond hair and a weak chin but supposedly a dynamo in the operating room. He was quite methodical in his movements and seemed to enjoy saying “hmmmmmm” a lot.

  “Hmmmmmmm, Miss Alvarez,” he said now into the chart, so his words were slightly masked. “I see here that you are making excellent progress.”

  During the past two days, I had begun to feel more myself. The headaches had subsided, and I took short walks around the room. My family was visiting so often and watching my every move so intently I began to understand what it must be like to be a celebrity haunted by the paparazzi. That afternoon was going to be the first time I was allowed regular visitors.

  What would that be like? I mean, what does a star say after she’s survived an exotic disease? Does she say to the masses ‘I’m feeling much better, thanks? Let’s move on?’ Or do you give a blow-by-blow description of each excruciating minute because inquiring minds want to know?

  Whoops. I was having one of those mental wanderings again. I needed to work on that. I focused my attention on the doctor again or, rather, the back of his clipboard.

  “Have I made excellent progress?” I repeated politely. “How so?”

  “Oh, yes,” he replied, dropping the chart for a nano-second before covering his face with it again. “I was quite alarmed when they brought you in several days ago.” Doctor Parsley reflected for a moment. “This has been an interesting case. I originally thought, at the very least, we might have to put a shunt in your head to drain the fluid from the swelling of your brain. Possibly for the rest of your life, but no.”

  He sighed. I wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. He then proceeded to give me a very detailed rundown on his initial findings and the appropriate measures that followed, all of which were said in unfathomable medical terms. I felt my eyes glaze over. At the end of the lecture, I was more than relieved when he began to write on his chart again. He carefully read back to himself what he wrote, before speaking again.

  “To put this in layman’s terms…”

  “Oh, thank you. I have no idea what you said before.”

  “No?” His tone of voice indicated he thought I probably had the mental processes of a blade of grass. “Well, plainly put, we were fortunate you were placed in an inch or so of cold water because that helped to keep your brain from swelling more than it did. The low temperature of the water retarded your entire circulatory system, which was quite a good thing. I was pleased about that.”

  He dropped the chart for the moment and, for the first time, I saw he had hazel eyes. He stared out in reverie. “I have never before encountered that specific situation, although it has been written up in journals. Most gratifying.” He didn’t exactly break into a jig over this, but I could tell he was very close to it.

  “Of course,” he continued, frowning somewhat, “the hypothermia was not good for the rest of your body, sent it into shock, but we didn’t care about that. We managed to get it under control after awhile. It’s the brain that interests us, is it not? What did you say?” He queried, finally looking at me, as I made slight sucking sounds with my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Dr. Parsley. Got the hiccups.” I smiled my Miss America smile and only wished I’d had my chart to throw at him.

  “Right,” he responded. “In any event, we sewed up all the cuts once we removed the glass slivers from your scalp. I believe there were seventeen of them. Cuts, not slivers,” he clarified. “There were hundreds of those,” he remembered, with an odd fondness. “And, of course, the wound from the blunt instrument was amazingly long. It required nearly forty-five stitches.” He chuckled and then sobered for a moment. “Sorry about your hair. We had to get it off as quickly as possible, and I’m afraid it’s a little short. Actually, it’s very short.”

  “My hair?” I echoed, biting my lower lip. I had been afraid to ask about it but knew the bandage was not as bulky as it would have been if it had been added to a full head of hair.

  “Yes, your mother was upset at how much we had to remove, but after all, we’re not a beauty salon, are we?”

  “No, indeedie,” I managed to say.

  “Anyway,” he added sagely, “it will grow back, and the important thing was to get those wounds sewed up as quickly as po
ssible.” I had little response to this logic and merely touched the top of my bandaged head with my hand.

  “Day after tomorrow, we’ll remove the bandages permanently,” he continued. “I think you’ll see there will be a minimum of scarring, and your hair, which I remember as quite thick, will hide any remaining scars. What a mess you were when they first brought you in.” He returned the chart to the foot of my bed and stared at me. “I didn’t know if you would ever come out of the coma. If there had been any further delay in getting you in here...” He stopped speaking and shook his head, once again, in fond remembrance. “But there’s no brain damage, no seizures, not even a grand mal. The MRIs have confirmed that. We are very lucky because it could have been so much worse. As I said, I’ve never quite encountered this particular situation before, but aren’t we glad it turned out the way it did?”

  “You betcha!” I responded with true enthusiasm.

  “The way things are going, you’ll be able to go home in a couple of days.” He returned the pen to the lapel pocket of his crisp, white smock. “See you tomorrow.” He grinned as he left the room in a whirl, possibly eager to visit his next chart.

  I took a moment to compose myself, focusing on my private room. It was light and airy, painted a pale blue with white trim. The walls held copies of seascape paintings, unfortunately. One I found particularly nauseating was a palate work of a harbor with small, white boats basking in the sun. I never wanted to see a boat, a harbor, or a body of water again in my life. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if I could face a bathtub full of H2O.

  Flowers and get-well cards filled the table and the sill of the window, which faced a parking lot but let in a great deal of sun.

  A large vase of flowers, complete with an enormous, handmade card, came from Maggie and Hank. This was my favorite even though it was filled with names I didn’t recognize. It would be so like Maggie to make everyone leaving the diner sign the card, whether they knew me or not. I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of Princeton-by-the-Sea as a “backwater” town.