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

by Heather Haven

  All’s Well That Ends Well

  Nearly two weeks later, the family finally had the “fiesta” we were promised on the night I was abducted. The party included Frank and Abby Johnson, our sweet Victoria, and John Savarese, as he and I had recently become something of an item, I’m pleased to say.

  Tío had spent days preparing the feast, plus decorating the dining room, which none of us had been allowed to go into, not even for a peek. Behind the doors, gleaming under decades of polish and care, I could envision the Sheridan dining table and twelve chairs, plus matching hutch and credenza that had been in my mother’s family for generations.

  Mom liked to tell the story of how the set came around Cape Horn before the Panama Canal was put in. Anything that was too delicate or valuable often came to the Bay Area by ship rather than overland. It was an onerous trip; one that took many months and sometimes met with nautical disaster, such as my great, great grandmother’s Steinway. Built in New York City, the piano had traveled several thousand miles around the Horn only to sink in the treacherous waters near Big Sur in 1848, the ship and its crew going down with it. But the dining room set I loved so much had made it the year before, without a scratch.

  Finally, as the dining room doors opened wide, the kaleidoscope of colors amazed us. Dozens of small piñatas filled with coins and candy bobbed from the ceiling on multi-colored silk ribbons.

  Hand painted pottery and folk art sat atop furniture, artfully displayed next to sparkling cut crystal. Candles of varying heights flickered brightly in the center of the table and throughout the room, while the scent of fresh cut flowers filled the air. Red, yellow, blue and green crepe paper festooned the Austrian crystal chandelier, while underneath an enormous burrito piñata smiled down benignly on the table below.

  The piece de resistance, however, were the small, papier-mâché Mexican dolls sitting behind each place setting, complete with name card. About eleven inches high and dressed in traditional costumes, some had been crafted in a family member’s likeness and were unbelievably detailed, down to things like Mom’s pearl stud earrings.

  For the others, Tío had hand tooled traditional, peasant dolls in different types of poses, each one unique and beautifully crafted. Abby, who ran a small boutique, later offered to sell as many dolls as Mateo could make. It looked as if Tío would have trouble keeping up with all the projects in his new life. So different from a month before!

  We were already sipping French champagne as we entered the room, served in honor of this special celebration. With our food, we would have the best of Mexican wines from several regions. From as far back as I can remember, only los vinos de Mexico has accompanied meals in our home. Many compare quite favorably to California wines. For instance, L.A. Cetto’s Reserva Privada 1993, an excellent Merlot, is a family favorite.

  Tío and Lila sat down on either end of the rectangular dining table. I was at my uncle’s right, as indicated by the dark-haired, blue eyed doll that held a small orange and white kitten in one of its arms.

  Unlike the doll, I was dressed in an authentic Christian Dior royal blue satin sheath, circa nineteen sixty-one, I had bought at a consignment shop. This was one of my proudest purchases, and it fit as if it had been made for me. I also wore the sapphire earrings my father had given me one Christmas; I was told the glittering blue of the stones set off the color of my eyes. My new hairdo framed my face in glossy curls. I felt beautiful and happy.

  To my right sat John, looking quite yummy in gray wool slacks, yellow shirt and tie, and a navy blue blazer. Across from me, Frank and Abby Johnson, a handsome couple if ever I saw one, sat resplendent in a dark suit and sequined grey dress, respectively.

  Richard was placed to Lila’s left and Victoria to her right. Richard actually wore a tie with his shirt, one I had given him for his fifteenth birthday, and he tugged at it absentmindedly. It clashed with the shirt, but at least it was a tie. I can’t say what Victoria had on below the neck because I couldn’t get my eyes past her hat. It was a large, intensely neon pink, floral thing, jauntily tipped to the side and looking like it had just barely survived an explosion.

  Richard and Victoria had married in Las Vegas on that eventful day two weeks before. And now she was part of the family, Mom was getting much better about Victoria’s garb. A hardly discernible reaction came from Lila who, upon first seeing the hat, merely downed the remainder of her martini and rang for Guadalupe to start pouring the champagne.

  Tío was dressed in the traditional white cotton costume of Vera Cruz, in honor of his father. Tossed over one shoulder was a soft, woolen serape, hand woven in the muted colors of the sea. On his deathbed, my grandfather had presented the serape to Tío, the eldest son. Someday Tío would pass it on to Richard or me or one of our children. Given the history of my love life, I saw Tío glance hopefully toward his nephew’s new wife. I didn’t blame him.

  Lila, of course, stole the show by wearing a deceptively simple, white cut velvet two-piece dress. Her hair was parted on the left with a gold, pearl encrusted clasp holding it to the side. Naturally, she wore her pearl stud earrings. I watched her as she radiated beauty and charm, the Hostess Extraordinaire. My mother was happier than she had been since my father’s death, and it showed.

  After we were seated and more champagne was poured, Lila stood and said, “Before we begin dinner, I would like to make a toast to the newlyweds, Richard and Victoria, even though I do not care for the manner in which they got married.” She raised an eyebrow at her son, who smiled indulgently at his mother before he began his rebuttal.

  “Now, Mom,” began Richard, “we were in Las Vegas; they were offering a half-off coupon at a chapel close by that included a free bottle of wine and...”

  “...And, we couldn’t resist a bargain like that,” Victoria finished for him and kissed her new husband on the cheek.

  “And while we’re talking about not caring for the manner of something,” Richard said, standing up and staring at me. “There I am getting married, and my sister calls me on the phone to tell me she’s going after a killer! Ay, Chihuahua!”

  “Hey, el stupido!” I replied loudly, forgetting I was supposed to be a lady and standing up myself. “I didn’t know you were getting married! You could tell someone! Besides…”

  Suddenly everyone was talking at once. Even Tío was telling Abby about his hand injury the night I was kidnapped, and Frank was waggling his finger across the table toward me saying something I couldn’t hear over the din. Lila picked up a fork and began hitting the side of the champagne flute until I thought it would break. Finally, everyone shut up and looked at her. Richard and I took our seats reluctantly. Mom forced a large smile on her face and stared all of us down.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please! It doesn’t matter where or how these two young people got married,” Lila said, as if she wasn’t the person who started the whole thing in the first place. “What is important is they love each other and are married! We couldn’t be happier.” She lifted her champagne glass high and said in her best CEO voice, “To the newlyweds. We wish you joy, happiness and long life!”

  “Y Bienvenido a la familia, Victoria” added Tío.

  “Sí!,” Mom, Richard, and I repeated in unison to a blushing Victoria. “Bienvenido a la familia, Victoria.”

  “Gracias,” she answered, with a heavy American accent. “Por nada!”

  We all laughed, clinked glasses, and drained them dry. Guadalupe served the food and none too soon, judging by the alcohol consumption of the group. Tío hovered at the kitchen door, making sure every dish was to his satisfaction.

  The night’s menu included a few of Tio’s specialties from when he was head chef at Las Mananita’s. The recipes were often written up in gourmet food magazines, along with pictures of my illustrious uncle, and I have all of them in a scrapbook I started in my early teens. Tío always made the ice cream the old-fashioned way, and the evening’s flavor was mango garnished with fresh spearmint leaves. I must have gained about six po
unds.

  By mutual consent — actually at Lila’s insistence — we didn’t discuss any of the details of the murders during the meal, but enjoyed the wonderful food, wine and each other’s company. After dinner, Lila announced coffee and brandy would be served in the family room, an absolute first. Usually the family room was far too casual for such occasions, according to her. She usually preferred the quiet formality of the living room. Everyone who knew her noticed lately Lila was full of surprises. That’s my mom.

  Only after settling in and drinking our fresh roasted decaf coffee, the only coffee ever served after eight p.m. in the house, did we begin to speak of the incidents that transpired recently.

  “The part I don’t understand,” Frank said, as he turned to me after he settled down with his coffee in one of the barrel chairs, “was how you knew it was her? Mrs. Wyler had checked out. Her housekeeper gave her an ironclad alibi, for which she’ll be spending a lot of time thinking about in jail. Perjury is no small matter. But what made you suspect they were both lying?”

  “It was the shoes,” I remarked taking a sip of the specially blended coffee. “I remembered the night of the murder, when I found Tugger and brought him to my vet for a checkup, Ellen mentioned in passing it had just barely sprinkled in Palo Alto that night. Then a couple of days later, when I went to visit Mrs. Wyler, she offered to replace my boots ruined by the San Francisco storm and mentioned her shoes had been ruined in the same storm, too. Except she claimed she had been in Palo Alto all that evening…where it had only sprinkled.”

  Frank stared at me in complete disbelief. “That was it? You chased your mother all the way up to San Francisco, interrupted Richard’s wedding, nearly gave me a heart attack, on something as flimsy as that? Maybe the lady got her feet wet from an overflowing sink, for God’s sake,” he challenged.

  “She hasn’t been near a sink in years,” I replied and stuck out my tongue. “That’s what she has a housekeeper for, Frank. It was a lot of little things. Why did she demand I go to see her right after her husband was murdered? When I was there, why did she keep asking me again and again what I saw or heard?

  I remember she claimed it was because anything I knew might help the police. But that wasn’t it. It was because she wanted to make sure I hadn’t seen or heard her shoot her husband. She was already heading for a nervous breakdown.”

  During this oration, I noticed I was beginning to use one of my mother’s annoying speech patterns. You know, where one word in nearly every damn sentence is emphasized. I tried not to panic about it but vowed I would seek psychiatric help as soon as possible. Richard interrupted my reverie.

  “She probably would have shot you then and there if you had mentioned you had seen something,” Richard said.

  “Richard!” Lila said, bringing her hand to her breast. “Don’t even say things like that jokingly. We were almost killed.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” he said but winked at me.

  “Another thing,” I continued, not pleased I had lost the focus of the group when I was coming to the climax of my story, “was when Richard mentioned Wyler’s partner, Ernie Butler, went to a Stanford-Cal tailgate party that night. There wouldn’t have been a tailgate party during a downpour. In fact, they probably would have had to cancel the game. It didn’t smack me in the face then, but it nagged at me how different the weather was in San Francisco than here, something Mrs. Wyler didn’t count on.” I noted with relief I had curbed my tendency for the emphasis patter. Maybe I didn’t have to see a shrink, after all.

  “That’s right,” said John in an amazed voice. “I remember listening to a commentator say the same thing as I watched the game. I went to Berkeley, you know.” He smiled at me knowing I came from a Stanford family, Berkeley’s archrival.

  “To sum it all up,” I said loudly, garnering the attention once more, “none of these things meant much to me at the time they were said, but I guess my subconscious paid attention.

  Then Mrs. Wyler sent me the replacement boots, and it all came together. Everything revolved around wet shoes, and I knew Mrs. Wyler was in San Francisco that night killing her husband, not in Palo Alto.”

  “She got rid of those boots, so it’s nice Richard got her confession on tape,” said Lila proudly.

  “Well, yes,” Frank answered, “but she still had the murder weapon, and she did plenty of talking to the police when they took her into custody. And all along everybody thought it was the Wong woman,” he added, shaking his head.

  I smiled but didn’t mention the fact my belief in Grace Wong’s innocence was what had spurred me on. I had a warm spot in my heart for the beautiful dancer who wanted her family to be together and was willing to do practically anything to make it happen. Maybe it was a fatal flaw, but I’ve seen worse.

  Almost as if reading my thoughts, John said, “Grace Wong has a lot to thank you for, Lee.” He stood and poured himself another cup of coffee from the carafe. “You saved her from possibly going to jail, even though one of her brother’s eventually came forward and admitted she had been with him that night. She didn’t want to admit that because he’s an illegal. I think she would have gone to prison, rather than risk sending a member of her family back to China. He came forward, anyway.”

  Victoria, who had been resting her head on Richard’s shoulder, commented, “How sad. Will he be sent back to China?” She sat upright, looking at the INS representative in our midst.

  John remained standing as he spoke. “Once the brother came forward, he had to be detained until a hearing can be set regarding his status. Grace Wong has been arraigned and will have to stand trial as an accomplice in the trafficking of illegal aliens into the United States. Due to extenuating circumstances, she’ll probably serve a light sentence. She’s out on bail at the moment.”

  “By ‘detained,’” I said, “you mean he’s sitting in jail?”

  “But that’s horrible!” Lila exploded with outrage.

  “I read somewhere a person might be in jail for up to two years awaiting a hearing and then still be sent back to the native country,” added Richard.

  “Well, a good lawyer might speed up the process,” John responded. “A sponsor is another way to go. Personally, I wish we could take them all in, but we can’t,” he added.

  “What’s going to happen to Yvette, Frank?” Lila asked. “Do you know?”

  Frank looked down at his coffee cup for a moment. He, too, had known Mrs. Wyler since college and found this difficult. “She’s retained one of Palo Alto’s best attorneys to defend her. She will be pleading temporary insanity for both the murders and the abduction of you two with intent to commit harm. I don’t say she won’t pay for it, but she’ll probably spend more time on a psychiatrist’s couch than in jail.”

  “What he needs is really good legal counsel, Richard,” I said out loud. Everyone but Richard stared at me, puzzled.

  Richard, obviously thinking along the same lines, smiled and said, “You mean Brother Wong.”

  I nodded. “That’s something trust funds are good for, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I’ve always said you had way too many clothes, and as for me, I’ve got a working wife now. I’ve got money to burn,” Richard proclaimed.

  “While we’re at it, I think we ought to see Grace Wong has a good lawyer, too,” Victoria chimed in, her hat bobbing with each word she spoke.

  Lila gazed down at nothing and finally spoke, “John, how long does it take for an illegal alien to become legal if they have a sponsor?”

  John thought for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t say. There are a lot of variables. I know it makes a difference, a very big difference, especially if it’s a qualified sponsor. Why?”

  Lila looked into the somber and earnest faces of her two children, no, make that three children and said, “Because I think Discretionary Inquiries will become a qualified sponsor, that’s why. If Mister Wong can learn a little English, maybe we can finally have a clerical person who will stay for mor
e than a few months. That should make Stanley happy.”

  I leaned over and smothered her in an embrace. “Oh, Mom, what a great idea!”

  “Liana, my hair, dear,” Lila said, pulling away and patting the sides of her coiffeur but smiling. “I’ll speak with the Board tomorrow and put it into Mr. Thompson’s capable hands.”

  “Yes!” I shouted, as the party began speaking animatedly to one another until Frank’s bass voice over road us all.

  “All right, all right. If the rabble rousers wouldn’t mind calming down, I have a question to ask.” He stood and took over the room much as if he was directing traffic on the street.

  “Liana,” he said standing over me. “Do I have your word you will never meddle again in police affairs that do not involve software piracy?”

  Before I could answer, Abby stood up and pointed a finger at the chair beside hers, “Frank, come here and sit down. You are to stop interfering in Liana’s life. She’s a big girl now. She can take care of herself.” She sat down, turned to the rest of us saying, “He does this all the time with Faith, as well. He can’t face the fact you both are grown up.”

  Frank grinned. “Maybe Abby’s right. So, I will leave you alone,” he said and then added, “for tonight.” He sat down comically and everyone laughed.

  The party broke up around eleven p.m. Abby and Frank were the first to leave followed by John, who took me aside in the hallway. We made dinner plans for the following night. Tío, who had cooked all day and had an early morning at the animal shelter, went to bed after quick, but warm, farewells. Richard and Victoria began kissing at the door and continued as they walked to the car. Lila, ever the mother, reminded Richard to keep both hands on the wheel while he drove.

  Guadalupe had gone home hours before with the promise of an extra day off for all her hard work, so it was just Mom and I. We straightened chairs, picked up glasses and, in general, tidied up. Feeling like a real family for the first time since Dad’s death, we sat down on the sofa, kicked off our shoes and snuggled into feather down pillows. We lay our heads on the back of the sofa and stared up at the nothingness of the ceiling. After a few moments, Lila laughed softly.