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

by Heather Haven

  Tugger was sitting on the sill intently watching the customers at the bird feeder. I called his name, and he jumped down, talking as he ran over to me. I picked him up and examined him for any repercussions from the night before, even though he appeared completely normal. Satisfied, I set him down. He followed me into the kitchen, chatty and hungry.

  The kitchen was still a mess, a sober reminder of what happened the night before. I fed Tugger, made an afternoon appointment with the vet, and then phoned Frank. The morning was spent with police reports, clean up and windowpane replacements. The afternoon was spent organizing my thoughts, making lists, packing for Mexico, and checking out My Son the Cat’s health, which was just fine. Robby Weinblatt’s health, on the other hand, was going to be a lot worse once I came back from Los Posos and got my hands on him.

  Throughout the day, though, slivers of doubt would pop into my mind. Stuff like why would Robby Weinblatt break into my apartment? What did I have that he could possibly want? But then, what was he doing in my driveway hours before? And if it wasn’t him in my kitchen last night getting ripped to shreds by my cat, who the hell was it? Could it be the person who left the nasty little note on my car? Or was that Robby Weinblatt, too?

  Unable to stand the random thoughts anymore, I took my mind off everything by going shopping and sprang for a new Kate Spade handbag, topping it off with a mocha frappaccino with double whipped cream from my favorite coffee shop. Stress can be expensive and fattening.

  Chapter Nine

  Down Mexico Way

  The entire time Richard drove us to the airport, I spent being pissed. Lila has this thing that when you fly first class you have an obligation to dress for it. She always wears her finest. As for me, I feel that when you fly, you should be as comfy as possible. I don’t care if you’re going first class, tourist, or tied to the wing.

  My plan was to wear sweats, but here I was in full makeup, dressed in a red silk blouse, matching wool gabardine slacks, and the red leather sling backs Mom gave me for Christmas. Completing the ensemble was the stone leopard necklace.

  I am a woman who has been known to carry a gun, chase people over rooftops and occasionally, send them to jail. If necessary, I can be one pretty tough cookie. When it comes to my mother, however, half the time I roll over with all fours in the air. This was one of those times. I’m sure Sam Spade would have been mortified by my behavior, but I’ll leave Sam to handle his own mother. I’ve got enough to deal with.

  Seated on the plane and clicking my seatbelt together, Mom noticed my necklace. “What’s this?” She took the charm in her hand.

  “Douglas gave it to me.” I answered in a cool tone, since it was her fault I would be uncomfortable all night and look like last week’s laundry in the morning. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t completely her fault. I am nothing if not fair, so I tried to move past it and smiled. “It’s very unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Why, it looks a little like Tugger.”

  “I know! It’s actually a model of an Aztec leopard.” I said, warming up a little. Deciding to show off, I added, “You know, a model is—.”

  “I know what a model is, dear,” Mom interrupted with a smile. “While one prefers the genuine article, it is often a question of availability and finances.”

  Just then, the stewardess leaned over and asked us for drink orders. As it had already been a trying flight, and we hadn’t even left the ground yet, the prospect of a gin martini straight up, briskly shaken with three olives set my mouth to drooling. Mom decided to have the same thing but with a twist and without the drool.

  While we waited for our drinks, Lila started a running diatribe on Mira’s father—or rather, the lack of him. “I don’t know why that man isn’t here for his daughter, Liana. When Mira phoned him about Carlos, all he said was for her to break off the engagement, which, of course, our Mira would never do.”

  “Not ever,” I chimed in, secretly glad it wasn’t me who was getting dumped on.

  “Putting aside that Carlos is innocent,” Mom continued on a roll, “Mira is not the sort of person who….”

  “Cuts and runs,” I finished for her.

  “I was going to say deserts a friend in need.”

  “And well said, Mom.”

  I thought about Mira. She was the first person I called when things went right, when things went wrong, and when things just went. I know I couldn’t have gotten through my divorce without her. If the situation were reversed, she would have boarded this plane on my behalf in a heartbeat.

  “Never once did Warren offer to be by her side.” I heard Mom sniff. True, Warren McFadden was the kind of man who gave the word ‘shallow’ new meaning. But he was still her father.

  “Not to change the subject, but wait ‘til you see what he did to the bridesmaid’s gowns.” I gossiped, finding I was enjoying myself. “Holy chamole. If one of us isn’t mistaken for a tropical bird on steroids during the trip down the aisle and captured by Jungle Jim, I will be surprised.”

  “And who is this Jungle Jim?” Mom asked, with a frozen smile on her face.

  “That’s the movie series that Johnny Weissmuller did in the late forties after he was too old to play Tarzan. Jungle Jim was this great white hunter in Africa who—”

  “This obsession you have with old black and white movies eludes me,” my mother interrupted with a sigh. “We should have thrown the television set out the day you were born.”

  “Dad liked them too, you know. That’s how I got hooked.” Silence.

  The stewardess brought our drinks and small bowls of mixed nuts. I was happily sipping and munching, mentally recalling my favorite episodes of Jungle Jim, when out of the blue, my mother leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

  “What’s that for?”

  “That’s for being a good friend. You’re doing the right thing, going down and trying to help Mira Louise and Carlos. I’m very proud of you.”

  “Well, you too. You’re a good friend. You’re going down because of Tex.”

  “Like mother, like daughter,” Mom replied.

  Mulling that one over, I took a healthy swig of my eighty-six proof alcohol before chomping down on an olive.

  “So here’s to the next few days,” she continued, clinking my glass with hers. Finding my drink nearly finished, I was about to ring for another, when the ever vigilant and smiling stewardess delivered one.

  “This is from the gentleman four rows back,” she said, white teeth sparkling. “He had me make it with the private stock he sends onboard every time he flies.”

  Both Mom and I craned our necks to look around and down four rows. There, holding a frosty martini glass, sat a gorgeous, tanned specimen of a man, with blond streaked hair, green-grey eyes, and a lopsided grin.

  “Now aren’t you glad you’re dressed for the occasion?” Mom whispered.

  When he saw me staring at him, he jerked his glass up in a toast, causing some of the martini to slop over the sides and spill onto one leg of his grey tweed slacks. His grin was replaced by a look of surprise and then embarrassment. His free hand mopped at his pants with one of those small, useless square paper napkins they give you on planes. Meanwhile, the forgotten drink began to list to the side. The remaining liquid flowed out of the tipped glass, drenching his lap. Suddenly all arms and legs, he undid his seat belt and stood up, banging his head on the overhead bin.

  I turned my head back around. “Oh, yeah. I am soooo glad, mother.”

  Looking up at the stewardess, who was not even bothering to control her laughter, I said, “Please thank the gentleman for me and give him the name of a good dry cleaner.”

  “Don’t worry, Liana,” sighed my mother, who seems to do a lot of that when I was around. “I’m sure Mr. Right is out there somewhere.”

  “But with a little luck he won’t find me.”

  “And you look so pretty, too. Red suits you. Not many women can own the color red the way you can,” Mom offered graciously. Thanks to a good snort, she was now is
a very mellow mood.

  I threw a quick eye back to my Gorgeous Gin Guy, but he had disappeared. I tasted the gin concoction he’d sent up and had to admit it was delicious. I don’t know much about booze, but I know a good juniper berry when I taste one, and this was first rate.

  Turning my attention back to Lila, I’d hoped she hadn’t said anything important while I was zoned out. “I found out something interesting today, Liana. Leonard has no idea where Robby Weinblatt is. He seems to have disappeared.”

  “Check our backyard,” I said, half-jokingly.

  “In a way, it makes little difference.” She sipped her cocktail. “Leonard has decided not to press charges.”

  “He’s not? I thought Leonard was going to have the culprit drawn and quartered, once we found out who it was.”

  Mom shrugged. I shrugged. “Well, we did our job,” we said in unison and laughed. We finished our drinks in companionable silence, falling asleep shortly after.

  I woke up five hours later, about fifteen minutes before the plane was due to land in Houston. I took two aspirin for my hangover and was dying to brush teeth that tasted like I had been eating dirty socks. Mom was still sleeping, as was the Gorgeous Gin Guy four rows back in the now dry grey slacks. I grabbed my toothbrush, undid the seatbelt and ran to the restroom, only exiting when the captain told us to prepare for landing. GG Guy was still asleep.

  We arrived late and had to scurry through the airport for our connecting flight to Leon. My head was pounding by the time we got seated. I looked around and found myself, once again, four rows in front of Mr. GGG. What the hell was that all about? Was he also heading to San Miguel? Just as I was debating about getting up and chatting with him, he waved at me and put on an eyeshade, settling in for a snooze.

  It was a smooth landing in Leon, and my head was grateful. After picking up Mom’s two suitcases and a brief stint at customs, I looked for Mr. GGG again but never saw him. Covering my disappointment, we headed outside to meet Tex.

  I knew Tex would have her bright yellow Hummer, and as we exited the glass doors, there she was, pacing back and forth in front of it. I think you can see that hulking car from space. While Tex greeted us with her usual warmth and enthusiasm, her face looked pale and drawn. There were lines around her eyes and mouth, something I’d never seen before on the eternally youthful and bubbly Tex Garcia. But then, it’s not every day your only son is arrested for murder.

  “How’s my boy doing? Is he all right?”

  Mom embraced her. “Liana saw him yesterday—well, the day before—and he’s fine. Didn’t you speak with him last night?”

  “Yes, yes, of course I did.” She leaned into Lila, more crushed than I’ve seen her. “I can’t believe it, Lila, I just can’t. I should go to him right now.”

  “Let’s talk about it over some breakfast,” Mom said. “Isn’t there a restaurant close by? I seem to remember—”

  “Oh, forgive me, hon,” Tex drawled, hustling the luggage and us into the car. “You two must be starving. I don’t think about food anymore, since this whole thing happened.”

  “We’re going to remedy that right now, Virginia. It doesn’t do anyone any good if you become ill from all of this. You’ll have a nice bowl of oatmeal,” Mom added, her cure-all for anything and everything.

  Tex smiled, and I felt her spirits momentarily lighten. She pulled out from the curb, and I compared her profile to my mother’s. Both women were knockouts, Mom in that understated Grace Kelly sort of way, straight out of High Society, and Tex in that Rita Hayworth Lady from Shanghai way, only with a Stetson.

  Tex was born Virginia Mae Madden in Carrabassett Valley, Maine, population four hundred and fifty, if you count the dogs. She ran away from home at fifteen, when, after her father died, her mother remarried, and the man started sexually abusing her. Tex’s mother didn’t believe her, an all-too common story, and she wound up in Las Vegas. Being tall, good looking, and well-developed for her age, she went to the Flamingo Hotel and applied for a job as a show girl. In them thar days, all you needed was a doctored up driver’s license to prove you were of drinking age. Today it wouldn’t even fool a nine-year old.

  Three months later, she met and married Bart Garcia, a Mexican-American who’d struck it rich by inventing a little thingy-hooky that sits at the base of an oil rig and pulls up an additional five percent of oil. When Bart was alive, they lived six-months in Texas and six-months in Mexico.

  She dabbed at her eyes with Kleenex as she drove. “I should be with my son,” Tex said again. “What am I doing here?”

  “We need you here, Tex, to help us,” I said. “Besides, Carlos said there was a jumping competition—”

  “Screw the competition,” came Tex’s sharp reply. “Paco can take care of the horses for me while I’m gone. I won’t stay here in Mexico if my son needs me just because of a jumping competition!”

  Mom shot me a look. “Of course not,” she said soothingly. “But Carlos is…” she hesitated a moment, “in confinement right now and Mateo is looking after Mira. Before you decide to go to the Bay Area, we could use your help here. Let’s see what the next few days bring.”

  Tex nodded, but I could see her lips quiver.

  “Right,” I mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything when I said that about the competition, Tex. I...”

  “No, you didn’t, little darling,” she said, reaching over the back of her seat and grabbing my hand. She squeezed hard. “Forgive me, hon, for jumping all over you. I’m not myself right now. You’re just a doll to be here, a doll.” She turned to Mom. “My sweet Carlos would never hurt a living thing. You know that, Lila.”

  “Of course we do, Virginia,” Mom answered. “That’s why we’re here. We’ll talk about it more over breakfast. And you’re going to eat all your oatmeal,” Mom ordered.

  Forty-five minutes later and all three of us fortified with the aforementioned oatmeal, we were heading toward Los Posos, about an hour and a half drive. Mom sat next to Tex again, and I stretched out in the back. Just as I was wondering if Carlos had let his mom know he’d told me his big secret, Tex brought it up.

  “Lee, Carlos told me he’s spilled the beans about how his birth mother died,” she said looking at me in the rearview mirror. “Have you told your mother yet?”

  “No, I haven’t.” It wasn’t just that I thought either Carlos or Tex should be the ones, I hadn’t had the time. True, I could have told Mom on the plane, but two martinis took care of that.

  “I knew there was something after Liana returned from seeing Carlos,” said Mom.

  “Lila, Carlos and I have never talked about this, not once, until last night. We probably should have, but we didn’t. It’s like the elephant in the room, you know?”

  While Tex let ‘er rip, I looked out the window to a sky that was endlessly blue, dotted with an occasional cloud drifting above flowering trees and lush, vibrant foliage. A flock of chattering, wild green parrots flew overhead and settled in a nearby Jacaranda tree.

  I love this area of Mexico, high in the mountains but still very tropical. The same plant and animal life flourish here as do seven thousand feet below, but the air is dryer and cooler, especially in the summer. With only a twenty-degree temperature variance year round, this part of Mexico is known for having one of the best climates in the world.

  Up ahead on the side of the road, I spotted a middle-aged, sinewy man and his burro tilling a field with an ancient-looking plow. Small and wooden, the plow had a curved blade that scooped out the dirt and threw it to the side, creating a narrow ditch. Bronzed by the sun, the man pushed as much as the burro pulled, but neither seemed overly burdened by the process or in any great hurry. A colorfully dressed woman with long salt and pepper braids trailed them. Rhythmically, she reached into a burlap bag tied around her waist and threw seeds into the newly created trench. All three, seemingly content with their lot in life, cast a serene and distinctly Mexican glow on the moment. As I watched them, I forgot why I was in Mexico.

/>   About to drift off to sleep, I regarded Tex’s white and silver Stetson scraping the inside roof of the car, and wondered how many dozens she owned before I mentally pinched myself on the butt and decided to get on with why we were there. I leaned forward and stuck my face between the two of them.

  “Tex, Carlos says there have been some odd things going on at the rancho. What exactly?”

  “Well, hon, aside from a few of the ranch hands acting peculiar, now and then at night, we see lights coming over the ridge out by the old mine. Each time we ride out the next morning, we never find anything out of place. Everything looks the same.”

  “No tire tracks or anything like that?” I asked.

  “Well, the road we’re talking about is used to bring feed to the cattle out in the lower valley. And the foreman and his wife live off it to the south about three miles down. There’s somebody riding or driving on that dusty old road almost every day. It’s hard to tell if somebody’s using it who shouldn’t ought to. I never thought about it until now.”

  “How often do you see these lights?” asked Lila.

  “Sometimes months will go by with nothing, and then we’ll see them three, four days in a row.”

  “Where exactly did Carlos find the dog statue?” I asked.

  “Close to the mine, near the spot with the creek going by it. You know it, don’t you?” Tex pronounced the word “creek” like “crick” and “don’t you” like “doncha.”

  “I think I should go to the mine as soon as we get there,” I said looking out the window again. It was around ten in the morning, allowing for the time change, and we were almost at the rancho. I knew I had nearly the whole day before me.

  “You don’t let any grass grow under your feet, do you, hon?”

  “Carlos found that statue nearly ten days ago,” I said. “Too much time has gone by, as it is.”

  “We could ride out there, too, Lila,” Tex said reaching for her cellphone. “Let me call Paco and tell him to get three of the horses ready.”