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

by Heather Haven

  I’d just logged off when we made our approach to San Miguel de Allende from the higher mountain road. A thousand feet below, nestled in a valley, San Miguel lay glittering like a dusty jewel in the sun. A timeless, sixteenth century colonial city, it is a cultural masterpiece, attracting artisans from every corner of the earth and aspect of art.

  Starting our descent, I could see the spirals of La Parroquia, built in the early 1800s. The exquisite pale pink terracotta cathedral is not only a work of genius but has been an elegant shrine to the indigenous people of Mexico for generations.

  Commissioned by the Catholic Church, the Archbishop chose to use a native architect to construct it, going against the wishes of the Pope. The architect, a brilliant local, had never seen a European building but managed to faithfully replicate the front of an ornate church merely by using a hand drawn postcard given him by the Archbishop. Not having any pictures or instructions for the remaining walls, the architect built what he knew best, the simpler, adobe style of Mexico. Everyone was satisfied.

  Each time I stand in front of this cathedral, with its intricately carved, resplendent façade and high, gothic spires, I cannot help but envision the other three sides. For me, it is more than the story of a humble architect who could create a glorious cathedral and the visionary Archbishop who would give him the chance to do so. La Parroquia represents the part of the human spirit able to honor and embrace other cultures, while remaining true to one’s own.

  Entering the ciudad, we followed the policia through narrow, uneven cobblestone streets, hard on a car but easy on the eye. Single and two-story stucco buildings, centuries old, swept by in earthen hues and muted shades of ocher, celadon, azure, and mauve. Often decorated with handcrafted wrought iron, fountains or statuary, some were private residences, others were restaurants, mom and pop stores or upscale shops. An occasional discreet sign in a window or overhanging the stone sidewalk announced wares within a particular tienda. A few structures wore cracked or peeling facades, but there was no air of neglect or decay but, rather, one of character and endless duration.

  This wondrous city, unchanged since the 1500s, was declared a Mexican national monument in 1926. Once inside the city limits, no one is allowed to add to, subtract from or change one iota of its exterior. “Chain” stores are unwelcome. You’ll never find a Burger King, Staples or Blockbuster here. Unfortunately, not even a Starbucks. But I need to let that one go.

  Waiting for us in the doorway of the Estacion de Policia, was the Chief, dressed in starched and ironed finery, his arms open wide.

  “Ah, Señora Garcia, my heartfelt apologies for this disturbance. If I had only known my subordinate was going to inconvenience you like this…” He paused, caressing his lush mustache and bowing slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he

  shot Sergeant Serpico a conspiratorial look. Serpico shrugged, handed him our passports, sauntered over to a desk near an open window and lit a smelly cigar.

  “Miguel, no problem. No problem at all,” Tex said, brushing it off with a smile.

  “And about Carlos, Señora, you have our heartfelt sympathy. I’m sure,” he added, waving his arms around like a conductor of a symphonic orchestra, “it will all be straightened out very soon.”

  “You bet,” Tex replied with false bravado. “It’s all a mistake. How are Maria and the children? Fit as a fiddle, I hope?”

  “Si, si. Although little Louis has the influenza but he is getting better.”

  “You be sure to give them my best.” She smiled her contessa smile and turned to me. “You remember Liana Alvarez, don’t you?”

  “How could one forget so beautiful a señorita as you?”

  He fawned, taking a deep bow. As it was getting a little deep in here, and I didn’t have my boots on, I decided to skip to the chase.

  “Gracias. Now why don’t we get down to business? You have some questions for us, don’t you?”

  “No, no, no,” he said with a flourish and then added, “but now that you are here, why don’t we go to my office and discuss a few things?” He gestured for us to follow him, where he dropped our passports on the desk. Then he closed the door and the blinds.

  “What is the saying, ‘Little pitchers have big ears’?” he said by way of explanation.

  “That’s the saying, but I’ve never gotten it, myself,” Tex muttered.

  “Please sit,” he said. I did so, but Tex stood by the door, ignoring his request. “Perhaps some coffee? I have an excellent source from Columbia,” he offered. “Delicioso.”

  “No, gracias,” Tex said, crossing her arms over her ample chest.

  “Listen, Chief,” I said, leaning forward, “I’ve got a plane to catch back to the Bay Area, so if we’re not under arrest—”

  “Por supuesto que no!” He interrupted, again waving his hands in the air. “Of course not,” he repeated in English. “But a question or two, por favor.”

  “Okay,” I said and sat back.

  “Are you certain?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee. I shook my head, and he poured himself some coffee from a white porcelain beaker kept warm on a hotplate. Smiling, he switched to Spanish and asked, “How did you come to find these alleged artifacts that are now missing but of which we have so many digital pictures?”

  So they had copies of the pictures already. Richard must have been a busy boy this morning.

  “It was just an accident, Señor. I was out taking a walk, I saw this entrance to a cave, and there they were,” I said, returning his smile.

  “That is it?” he asked in English. “You didn’t come down here with the idea of searching for them? Something has not gone on in Los Estados Unidos that has brought you here? Not something to do with Señor Carlos?”

  “Naw. Just an accident,” I said, still smiling.

  “Who is the joven in the last photograph? Do you know him?”

  “The youth? Know him? Naw. I thought maybe you might, as he’s probably a local boy. In fact, I have no idea what’s going on with any of it. All I know is, I stumbled upon a cave full of pottery, took a bunch of pictures, got hit on the head, and when I came to, everything was gone. I don’t even know if it’s connected with the death of the foreman and his wife,” I added.

  He took a sip of his coffee, wiped his mouth with a napkin and caressed his mustache before he asked, “And that is all you will say?”

  “That is all I will say.”

  “So, if there’s nothing else,” Tex said, resting her hand on the doorknob.

  Miguel ignored Tex and leaned forward, chuckling. “Putting the deaths aside, it is too bad all that treasure is gone.”

  “Yeah, I bet that won’t look too good on your resume,” I murmured. “Well, I’ve gotta go,” I said, rising. I stood looking down at him. He sat looking up at me.

  “That is too bad, too bad,” he said, picking up the passports and smiling up at me. I watched him rotate and tap them, end over end, on the top of his desk. “I was hoping we could work together on this, you and I. It would be very good for my career to apprehend the culprits and to find the stolen antiquities. There is a promotion in this for me, I know, should I be able to do this.” His English was suddenly flawless.

  I returned his smile. “No doubt,” I said. “But you don’t have anything but two murdered people. The stolen artifacts are gone, and I haven’t a clue as to where.”

  “Ah! But you will find out.” He looked at me. “And it is possible I could be of immense service in solving this heinous crime and restoring the relics to my country, at least, to Mexico’s satisfaction. Especially if you would like to go home any time soon.” His voice hardened. “I think you should sit down, señorita. You have much paper work to fill out. I think you will be here in Mexico a very long time. After all, two people are dead.”

  “I’ll take some of that coffee now,” I said, sinking back down in the chair.

  He broke out into a smile, as he poured me a cup. “Ah! Then possibly we have an agreement? You will continue to se
arch for the stolen booty, as you say in English, and I will, shall we say, deal with the foreman and his wife.”

  “What do you mean, ‘deal with them’?” came Tex’s startled reply. “They’re dead.”

  “Oh, si. But once the señorita finds the antiquities, it will become evident who has murdered the couple, and then I will arrest all who are involved. You see,” he grinned at me, “your reputation precedes you. Carlos and my eldest son are friends since boyhood. Carlos has spoken to him of your exploits muchos veces, Señorita Alvarez. He is very fond of you, the big sister he never had.” He smiled and sipped his coffee, an extended pinky waggling in the air. I took a gulp myself and the brew was excellent. It helped to make his blackmail a little more palatable.

  He went on, “I want your word that we will work together on this in exchange for me cutting through, shall we say, the red tape and allowing you to go back to this Palo Alto today instead of many weeks from now. Many.” He set down his coffee cup, stood up, and put out his hand. “Do we have an understanding?”

  I stood up saying, “We get our passports back, and I get to leave today?”

  “Si. And in exchange, you will keep me informed, shall we say, every step of the way?”

  “We shall say it.” I took his hand. “I’ll keep you informed every step of the way.”

  Tex, who said nothing but stood fuming by the door, now came forward. “You know, we shoot rattlesnakes like you on the rancho.”

  I took her by the shoulders and moved her to the door. “Never mind her, Señor. She’s just kidding. A little American humor. Ha ha. Come on, Tex,” I said to my indignant older friend. Let’s go.” I turned back to the chief. “Now when do we get our passports back?”

  “In a couple of hours. Take the lovely señora for a walk in El Jardin or for something to eat. Come back then. Everything will be ready.” He bowed slightly, as I ushered an outraged Tex through the door.

  “Did you hear that man?” she demanded, as we left the station. “Why, he’s blackmailing you.”

  “Yes, he is, Tex, but unless you and I want to spend the next few months in a Mexican hoosegow, I’m going along with it.”

  I dragged her down the narrow, serpentine sidewalk and stopped in front of one of San Miguel’s more popular street fountains. Painted a bright blue, the design was the inside of a six- to seven-foot high clamshell. The shell was set into an ecru colored cement wall, a wall that typically separates private homes and gardens from the streets of the city. Beneath the shell, a large, silver statue of a fish stood balancing on its tail fin in a bowl. Water spouted from its mouth and down into a small pool. The basin floor was covered with Mexican coins of various denominations. These coins would soon be collected, as they were from fountains throughout the city, and given to local charities.

  “Give me some change. I want to throw money in the fountain for good luck.” I held out my hand to her.

  Tex looked at me for a moment. “Oh, all right, hon. I’ll drop it,” she said, digging in her pockets. “I hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all.” She handed me a centavo.

  “I never know what I’m doing, but in the larger scheme of things,” I said, turning around, “I need to get back to Palo Alto today.” I tossed the coin over my shoulder and heard a wet ‘kerplop.’ “Another life may depend on it.”

  Tex’s face blanched.

  “Let’s find some food, okay? I’m starting to get a headache,” I said.

  “Sure, hon,” she replied. “Where do you want to go?”

  “How about Café Parroquia? They do a great Belgian waffle.”

  “The best,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulder. We began to stroll the six or seven blocks toward the well-known restaurant.

  A Bustamonte sculpture caught my eye, and I paused in front of the shop for a moment. Tex continued and began to cross a cobblestone street chatting and looking back at me. A late model Volvo station wagon rounded the corner at a high speed. Neither the car nor Tex was aware of the other. A warning cry escaped my lips just as I saw the back of a man run forward and grab her, hauling her back onto the sidewalk. Both barely escaped being hit. The Volvo filled with teenagers drove on, oblivious.

  “Dios mio! Tex, are you all right?” I ran to her side, looking her up and down.

  “I think so. I’m not even sure what happened,” she said, shaken. She raised her hands to her head. “My hat! Where’s my hat?”

  “I’ve got it right here,” said a masculine voice from behind. We turned around to see Mr. Gorgeous Gin Guy staring at us, green-grey eyes and all. He held out a crushed lavender Stetson trimmed with amethyst stones. “I’m afraid it’s ruined.”

  Okay, this was too much of a coincidence for me. First Mr. GGG sits four rows behind me on two planes to Mexico, sends me a fabulous martini, and now he winds up in San Miguel, saving my friend’s life? What are the odds? Whatever, I should have them in Vegas.

  While I was running through all this in my mind, Tex took the hat and said, “Maybe not. I’ll try having it cleaned and reblocked. If you hadn’t pulled me back, I might have looked like this. How can I thank you?”

  “No need. I’m just glad I was around.”

  “Hello,” I said, half smiling back. “We seem destined to meet again and again.”

  “Hello, yourself.” He smiled back, staring at me with those incredible eyes.

  Tex stepped between us, tilting her head at a flirtatious angle. “Well, isn’t anybody going to introduce me?” she said. “My champion’s name would be?”

  “Gurn Hanson, ma’am,” he said extending his hand to Tex. “Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” he asked.

  I focused my attention back on Tex, too. “Yes, are you all right?”

  She took his hand. “I’m fine, just fine. Tex Garcia. I see you know my friend,” she added, gesturing to me.

  “No, not really,” I said. I felt shy, suspicious, and grateful, all at the same time. Not good.

  “We saw each other on the plane, but I never got the pleasure of a formal introduction,” he said and waited.

  “Liana Alvarez.” I put my hand out, and he took it. His was warm, strong, and shot a jolt of electricity through me. ‘Danger, Will Robinson, Danger,’ my brain shouted. I pulled my hand free. “You can call me Lee. Everyone does. Thank you for saving Tex. I know that sounds trite, but thank you. And thank you for the martini the other night.”

  “A martini! The other night,” Tex interrupted. “Oooooo.”

  “On the plane,” I explained. I grabbed Tex’s hand and dragging her behind me, started to walk down the sidewalk. “Well, goodbye, Ger, and thank you again.”

  “Gurn,” he said, matching my stride.

  “What?”

  “It’s not Grrrr, like a dog does over a bone. It’s Gurn as in…” he paused for a moment.

  “Like Gurn as in gurney?”

  I stopped and stared at him. Even though I was attracted as hell, something was not quite right. I decided to go on the offensive.

  “If you like.” He smiled good-naturedly. “Gurn as in gurney.”

  Tex stepped in front of me, saying, “Gurn, we were about to go and get something to eat. The least you can let me do is stake you to a good meal after saving my life. How about it?”

  “I’d love it, Tex. Where are we going?” he said. and the two marched ahead, linked arm in arm, ignoring me. I trailed behind like a long-lost stepchild.

  Café Parroquia is one of San Miguel’s institutions. Behind closed doors, as is much of Mexico, it’s an indoor-outdoor restaurant in a lush courtyard setting. It serves three meals a day in an arty, yet colonial environment, where each diner has a view of the spires of La Parroquia, while enjoying the tended gardens and tropical clime.

  If I haven’t mentioned the food, let me do so now. Dishes like chilies en nogada and pollo mole have sent me in search of the chef to throw myself at his feet in supplication.

  By the time I caught up with Tex and her new pal, they w
ere already seated at a table next to a climbing vine laden with dozens of fragrant, apricot-colored trumpet flowers. A birdcage hung from one of its tendrils and a yellow canary was singing its little lungs out. It’s hard to be tense in this place, so I relaxed, sat down, and picked up the menu. It was almost twelve-thirty. No wonder I was hungry.

  “Gurn was telling me that he’s a CPA back in San Francisco,” Tex said, beaming at me.

  “Oh?” I flashed him my best Miss America smile. The one that said As I Walk Down the Runway of Life, Please Know I Am Not Interested in You. “For which firm do you work?”

  “Actually, I have my own. Maybe you’ve heard of it, Gurn Hanson and Company, Certified Public Accountants?” He smiled, and those damned eyes twinkled again in a most distracting way.

  “Hmmm,” I said. “Maybe I have, but I can’t remember.” I forced my attention back to the menu. “Now that it’s lunch time, maybe I’ll get something a little more filling than waffles. What are you going to have, Tex?”

  “May I suggest the camarones in chipotle sauce?” Gurn grinned. “I had that here last night, and it was pretty amazing. You could start with their ceviche as an appetizer. It’s a killer.”

  “Why that sounds wonderful, Gurn,” Tex said, putting down her menu. “That’s just what I’ll have.” They both looked at me.

  “Well, I was thinking of the red snapper,” I began but was stopped by the owner of the place, a Swiss ex-patriot, coming to my side with her order pad. I turned and greeted her. “Hi, Ingrid.”