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

by Heather Haven

  “This doesn’t put us any closer to the killer of the thief back in Palo Alto, though,” I said. “Or does it?”

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked, refolding the crocheted afghan I had kicked off in my haste to turn on the light.

  I ran fingers through my hair in frustration. “Oh, I can’t figure out what I mean. My head is aching too much to think about it. But I know I have to get back home right away. Something’s been lurking in the back of my mind, but it won’t come forward. Besides, there’s no point in sticking around here any longer. Everything’s gone, thanks to me.”

  “Not necessarily thanks to you, but I do agree that at this juncture the policia are better equipped to take it from here. Don’t chew on your lower lip, dear. It’s unladylike.”

  “Well, this lady can’t believe she got snuck up on like that,” I said, no longer chewing but rubbing the back of my head.

  “Richard feels very badly about that. He said when you tried to convince him you weren’t being followed he let it go. He feels he should have tried harder.”

  “Oh, it’s not his fault. I never listen to him, anyway. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself on this one,” I said, as I yawned and leaned my head back. It felt like it weighed in at about two hundred pounds.

  “Why don’t you go to your room and try to sleep now? You’ve been awake for a couple of hours, your color has returned, and there’s nothing more any of us can do until morning.” We both listened to the pounding of the rain on the rooftop. “Let’s hope it stops raining by then,” she added.

  I nodded, dragging myself off to bed where I slept like someone who’d been drugged. When I woke up the following morning, every part of my body was stiff, and my head felt like it was in a vise. More to the point, I’d had one of those strange dreams I often have during a case. This one was about

  a broken cooking pot that couldn’t bark that turned into a stone dog that could and then into a knife that spoke Spanish.

  Once I was awake, what had been lurking in the back of my mind came forward with a wallop. I knew where I had seen a ceramic knife, in fact, six of them. Douglas’ very kitschy kitchen. A set of ceramic knives dangled from an ornate black and steel thingamabob screwed into the wall, each knife looking very chic, very expensive and very deadly. I didn’t like to think about one of them being the knife that had broken off in the thief, but I had to know for sure. I didn’t want another one winding up in Douglas’ back.

  Looking out the window, the sun was shining brightly. The ground still looked wet but would soon dry on such a day. I thought about the chances of tire tracks surviving last night’s rainstorm and felt a crack in my armor.

  The cave and its contents had something to do with Carlos’ dilemma but exactly what, I had yet to put together. Now it might be too late. I had managed to lose everything in less than twenty-four hours. That was a record, even for me.

  I decided to call Douglas back and headed for the phone in the living room to place the call. I knew her phone number was blocked, an added bonus to this call. I would pretend to be at the Stanford Shopping Center rather than in Mexico. No point in alerting Estaban as to where I was through my trusting friend. Fortunately, Douglas wasn’t in, so I left a message for him and phrased it so Estaban wouldn’t be suspicious, in case he was monitoring the calls. This time, telephone tag was going to work.

  After placing the phone call, I thought about the ceramic knife. The only way to be sure about it was to go to Douglas’ apartment and see for myself. Would Estaban have had time to replace it if it was missing? In that case, if all six pieces were there, I’d have to ask Douglas whether or not one had been missing for a time or recently replaced. I checked the calendar on my watch. It was Thursday. He had two standing tickets to the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra every Thursday night from late May through the end of June. Friday nights were given over year-round to the opera. Through the years, I’ve been dragged at one time or another to these productions, just like his other friends, but when he’s involved with someone, the honor goes to that person. I was sure that tonight he and Estaban would be humming along with Rachmaninoff, fifth row center, while I was playing hardboiled detective.

  While making plans, possible scenarios ran through my head. I should be able to fly back and get into his apartment tonight. I knew where he kept his spare keys. He had told me as one of those “just in case” measures, because he didn’t have any family in the Bay Area.

  I listened to the sound of my bare feet padding thought the quiet house. The stillness was eerie. It felt like everyone had disappeared from the face of the earth along with that truck. There were two notes on the coffee maker for me, plus some fresh brew. One note was from Mom. She’d had the limousine pick her up at the crack of dawn, so she could make the four-hour trip to Mexico City in time for lunch. She told me to call her anytime on the sat phone. I was grateful to be able to reach her so readily. Richard may be an old mother hen about all the equipment he foists upon us, but I have to admit, most of the time it comes in handy. Mom even took her luggage, planning on flying back home from there. She wrote she’d meet me in Palo Alto tonight.

  Tex left about an hour before with the policia. Her hurriedly scribbled message read she couldn’t wait to see what the walls of the cave looked like in the daylight. She planned on being back around ten a.m. Good, I thought, she can drive me to the Leon Airport, so I can catch the first plane back to the Bay Area.

  I poured myself some coffee with thoughts of a shower when there was a knock at the front door. I slowly moved across the living room, feeling like I had spent the night in a cement mixer. When I opened the door, I saw four very somber looking Mexican policemen staring at me. One of them proffered my muddy, wet sweater.

  “Senorita Alvarez? This is yours?”

  “Si. Gracias.” I took the ruined sweater and tossed it in a trashcan behind one of the wicker chairs on the porch. “Did it help keep the tire tracks from being totally destroyed from the rain?” I asked in Spanish.

  In English, the police sergeant and leader replied, “Enough to be able to tell there is a similar imprint of a tire under a large tree that shielded a section of ground from much of the rain.” He studied my face, this small angular man with long, straight hair pulled back in a rubber band. “The matching tracks we found at the foreman’s house. Do you know where that is?”

  “Sure. That’s about four or five miles on the other side of the property.

  “Si,” he nodded slowly. “The truck, it is missing but when we go inside the house we find the bodies of both the foreman, Eduardo Rodriguez, and his wife, Eva. Did you know that?”

  While he watched me, I’m sure my reaction gave him an eyeful. I was so startled that I spilled hot coffee all over my robe. “Dios mio!” I said.

  This was the point that Tex arrived. While I ran for a kitchen towel, he repeated his story to her. Eduardo and Eva had worked for her ever since her previous foreman retired, and she was astounded by the news.

  “Both of them? Dead? How?” I heard her say, as I was returning.

  “They were both shot, Señora, in the head. Execution style,” he said, pulling himself up to his full five foot four inch height. “That is why I must ask all of you to accompany me to the Police Station in San Miguel. Where is the other lady?” he asked looking past me and into the living room. I stepped aside, and he entered the house. The three other men remained outside.

  “My mother left for Mexico City. I can reach her if you like, but why do you need to see us?” I demanded. “We had nothing to do with the killings.”

  “That’s right,” Tex interjected. “Two of your men sat shotgun outside on the porch all night. Why don’t you ask them where we were?”

  “All three of you may be involved in other ways with the events of last night. Besides, we do not know for sure how long they are dead, although one of the vaqueros saw them last night around ten-thirty. Then there is the assault on you,” he said to me. “I must insist that you h
and over your passports and that you come with me.” He rested his hand on the revolver at his hip and stared at both of us with an unyielding look.

  Frankly, I was impressed by his vocabulary, his dedication to his job and, in all honesty, his cojones. This wasn’t the usual behavior of the Mexican Police, especially regarding one of the most influential gringo families in the area. We had a Mexican Serpico here. I liked this guy.

  “Whatever you say, Sergeant.” I acquiesced with a smile before Tex could reply. He visibly relaxed, removing his hand from his gun.

  “Okay, Toots,” Tex said to him, following my lead. She added, “But I don’t think the police chief is going to like this one bit.” She crossed over to a desk, removed her passport from the top drawer, and handed it over to him.

  “Listen, I need to shower and dress,” I said, hoping to buy enough time to call Richard and Lila and apprise them of what was going on. “Can you give me twenty minutes? I promise to return with my passport, too.”

  “Si, si,” he said amiably, as he saw he wasn’t going to have any trouble with us. “We will wait outside.” He turned around and left, shutting the door behind him.

  I ran over to the phone in the hallway and began to dial out to the states. “Tex, I’ve been using this phone, and now I need to call Richard in the States. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, hon,” she said absentmindedly, pacing the room. “Eduardo and Eva dead! I didn’t like the couple. Even after three years, they weren’t working out. I wanted to get rid of them, but this! Murdered! I just thought of something. When it rains, it pours. I’m going to have to find a replacement for both of them. She did the housekeeping and gardening, you know. I’ll have to let Carlos know, too.”

  “Wait a bit on that part, Tex, can’t you?” I said from the hallway, as I listened to a ringing phone. “Let’s reconnoiter first.”

  She nodded, shrugged and went into the kitchen. I heard pots and pans banging around. Obviously, she was taking her frustration out on them.

  Fortunately, Richard answered after about a dozen rings. “This is Richard,” he said.

  “Richard, we’ve got a situation down here,” I said.

  “Go.”

  “Remember the ranch foreman and his wife? They were murdered last night, shot execution style. The police think the truck was at their house last night, too, but now it’s gone. No stolen loot anywhere.” I heard him give a low whistle. “The police are here waiting outside, and they’re insisting on taking us in for questioning about the shootings. I had hoped to get back to Palo Alto today, but that may not be possible.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Well, I may be finished, but I’m not through talking. After we hang up, I’m going to call Mom and alert her.”

  “When you do, use the laptop connection instead of the landline, Lee. I’ve been uploading tons of information on the pictures you sent me plus expert analysis, too. Did you know that Mira is a quasi-expert in Mesoamerican artifacts?”

  ”No, I didn’t,” I answered in surprise, although I shouldn’t have been. Not only did she minor in archeology at school, she’s been on several amateur digs in Central America in the past.

  “She’s been a big help in directing us to the right sources. We’ve been working around the clock on this back here, Lee. I’ve been up all night. You’ve really opened a Pandora’s Box. If that cache is real, it’s all museum quality artifacts and could be worth between forty to sixty million dollars on the black market. Just thought you’d like to know.”

  I felt the room spinning and sat down on the stool next to the phone. Then I looked over to the front door. “Did you say I can get all of this information on the laptop?”

  “Sure. Just log on to the uplink and click on the icon marked DISAT. That’ll automatically connect you with the supercomputer. I’ve created a folder there named Toltec. You can’t miss it. By the way, that’s an eight-hour battery inside, so you can use it anywhere, anytime, but not on a plane. Safety reasons, you know.”

  “What about a car traveling from the ranch to San Miguel?”

  “Liana,” he said, as if he was talking to a child who did not believe in air because she could not see it. “I thought I told you we’ve negotiated with the Mexican Government to have access to one of their satellites continually stationed over the country twenty-four hours a day until further notice. Do you have any idea what it’s costing us to do this? Never mind, you don’t want to know. When Our Lady sees the price tag, she’ll have a fit,” he said, the last remark referring to our mother and none too kindly. “Help justify the cost. Use it, please.”

  “And you’re saying I can communicate with Mom even though I am using a laptop and she’s using a cellphone?”

  “Yes. There are two icons on your desktop called Sat1 and Sat2. Each one has an automatic feed to a sat phone. Just think of the laptop as a larger phone. It even has a built-in camera that can send your image to whomever you call, just as it sends your voice. Or you can type on the keyboard and send only text, whichever. When Lila wants to answer you verbally, she’ll press a toggle switch called “conversion.”

  “You and your toggle switches,” I interrupted.

  “I try to anticipate every need, Sister Mine, and when you’re around, it’s a good thing I do,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Go on.”

  “Anyway, while I’m thinking about it, ignore Sat2, as that phone’s dead,” he said pointedly.

  “Right. Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry. They only cost about three thousand dollars each. Easy come, easy go,” he continued.

  “Let’s go back to the toggle switch, shall we?” I pleaded. “We can talk about this other stuff later.” Which I hoped would be never.

  “Okay,” he laughed, giving in. “Mom will probably answer you verbally, because that’s easier. Her answer will either be sent back to you as speech or translated into text, whichever she’s decided on her end. All in a matter of seconds,” he added proudly. Never challenge a man’s computer buttons, I discovered, especially if that man is Richard.

  “Richard, how’s Carlos doing?” I asked.

  “He’s hanging in there. Mr. Talbot’s thinking of bringing in another lawyer, more for research, than anything else. A man named Mike Penn. Do you remember him?”

  “Short guy? Looks like a barracuda?”

  “That’s the one. He’s pretty sharp, though.”

  “With a little luck, we won’t need him. Richard, there’s another angle I’m working on.” I told him about the necklace and Douglas’ new love, Estaban Ramírez de Arroyo.

  “Hmmmm. Maybe I should do some checking on him. Meanwhile, don’t destroy any more equipment, if you can help it. Ha ha.”

  “You know, you could have gone all day without saying that. Ha ha.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Pardon my Enchilada

  The trip into San Miguel de Allende was uneventful, if you can call following one police car and being tailed by another uneventful. Tex drove while I contacted Mom using the laptop. While bumping along the back roads of San Miguel, I was “chatting” with my mother who was dealing with commuter traffic on the outskirts of Mexico City. I still can’t get used to wireless computers. They don’t strike me as feasible; I don’t care what Richard says.

  When I told Mom about Estaban’s request for the return of the necklace, she promised to let me know what Señor Lopez’s take on it was. I decided, for the moment, to keep my fears about the ceramic knife to myself. I needed to work out a few things first. We left off that we’d touch base in a few hours. I checked the battery. Not bad. I had seven hours and forty-one minutes left.

  Once I broke off connection with Mom, I began to search the desktop for an icon named Aztec, when I realized it wasn’t the word Richard had given me. After a cursory look, I saw the word Toltec in the upper right hand of the screen, and the summer of my Latin American studies came rushing back to me.

  The Toltecs were
precursors to the Aztecs by about one thousand years. We don’t have much of their art, save their language, because the Aztecs systematically decimated the people and their culture in their quest to take over Mexico back in the 1200s. I knew Mira couldn’t get enough of this part of Mexican history. She devoured every book she could get on the subject.

  I clicked on the icon and got an eyeful. Richard had been thorough. He’d attached pictures of the scant amount of Toltec artifacts scattered through museums across the world and coupled them with similar artifacts from the cave.

  He also included a couple of scientific articles, focusing on two thinly glazed, three-foot high black panther statues mentioned throughout Toltec literature. The thrust of both articles was on whether or not the pieces actually existed. Well, they did, boys and girls, ‘cause I seen ‘em.

  Once it was known about the panthers and the rest of the stash, shock waves would pound the world of anthropology. How would even the hint of these findings strike the Curator at the Museo de Antropologia in Mexico City, a place to which Mom was now blithely on her way?

  I felt a knot in my stomach and hoped Lila wasn’t making a mistake by showing him the necklace. Curators are known to be highly competitive and sometimes unscrupulous when it comes to obtaining works for their museum. The scandal the Getty Museum in Los Angeles had undergone regarding antiquities flashed into my mind. What if the necklace was genuine, as we suspected? Would Mom be forced to turn it over to Señor Lopez then and there? That wouldn’t be right unless true ownership was established first. I reconnected with the sat phone and sent a fast warning to Mom to be careful. She sent back a text message almost immediately.

  “Liana, I’ve already thought of that possibility and have a plan. I am not going to the museum but meeting Manuel across the street at a restaurant. It is more of a social setting. After looking at the necklace, if he determines it’s genuine, I intend to use it as a bargaining chip for information about previous activities, rumors, innuendos, etcetera, involving the museum and other museums in Mexico. Possibly, he’ll share names of people who have been selling artifacts to them for the past ten to twenty years, people we can contact or follow up on. Through your father, I have known Manuel for a long time. I have always found him to be a kind, principled man. I do not believe he would force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Remember, dear, if the missing pieces are genuine Toltec artifacts, they ultimately should be returned to the Mexican people. Unless there is proper documentation for this necklace that is exactly what should happen with it, too. What better place to start with all of this than with an old and trusted friend? Let me know what happens at the police station.” Her answer calmed me down a little but made me think a lot.