“He was running the Arizona Road Race and dropped to the ground, dead, right before the finish line. It was in front of hundreds of people. I’ve seen the video. It was a light race, not even a tough one. He does them all the time.” Richard corrected himself. “Did them all the time.” He leaned next to me against the car. I put my head on his shoulder and felt his arm go around me. I glanced over at his profile, set with a tension and strain I rarely see.
“Tell me why you said what you said, Richard. Why do you think it wasn’t natural causes?”
His face took on an analytical look. I could see him mentally and emotionally pulling away into his world of statistics.
“I think you know I’ve been paying attention to anything on the Internet about road races ever since I took up running about six months ago. Last night around midnight, I remembered reading several articles online recently about four runners dying right before crossing the finish line.”
“But that can happen.”
“In less than three months? One was a thirty-seven-year-old woman in Arkansas. Another was a thirty-five-year-old man in upstate New York. Both dropped dead right before the finish line of heart attacks. No previous history of heart problems.”
I fought back. “But it could be a coincidence. Why should anyone want to kill Stephen? He was a corporate lawyer, for God’s sake.” I broke off not knowing what else to say. I stared at Richard, who shook his head.
“There’s more, Lee. I’m on to a gambling cartel. Big. But let’s not get into it now. I shouldn’t have said anything until I was one hundred percent sure.”
“Richard,” I said, with no small part of exasperation.
He merely shook his head. My brother can be the most stubborn person I know. When he puts his figurative ears back and digs his heels in, nothing will change his mind until he’s good and ready. I knew not to press it.
Richard’s words rushed on. “We need to think about Mom. And especially Jenn and the kids.” I thought of Stephen’s wife, Jennifer, and their two pre-teen boys—fine boys, lovable boys.
“How are they doing?”
“From what I understand, she and the kids are coping as best they can. They saw it go down.” His voice was soft but husky.
“Oh, God, they did?”
Something like this could scar children for a lifetime. Hell, I don’t think Richard or I will ever get past our father’s death, and we were grown up when Dad died.
I looked over to the house and saw movement from one of the drapes in the family room. I was sure Lila was watching us, but our mother is the type of person to give her children a moment to be together, to say things only for one another’s ears. “Mom’s flying to Phoenix to help out,” Richard said, updating me. “You know how Our Lady is. She’s been on the phone with the funeral parlor several times already.
She’s trying to get through this by concentrating on the rest of the family.”
“Wait a minute. When did this happen?”
“Jenn called Mom from the hospital around seven-thirty last night, when he was officially declared dead.”
“You’ve known all this time, and you’re just telling me now?”
“What could you have done, Lee? Besides, Mom insisted. We knew you were tied up on the Video Pops case
and wound up being out half the night. I was going to come over around nine this morning to tell you, but then Vicky saw it in the Chronicle, what with Mom’s side of the family being
prominent and from this area. I called you as soon as....” His voice tapered off, sounding apologetic, but pressured and
defensive.
I touched him on the shoulder. “I understand. Sometimes a family can’t share sorrows at the same time. Forget it. Before I go in, how’s Mom doing? What should I know?”
“She’s taking it hard, Lee. Even Tío broke down last night. He was very fond of Stephen. He’d just finished baking his birthday cake yesterday, ready to send off tomorrow.”
“Tío always packs it in dry ice, so the cream cheese frosting stays fresh in shipping,” I added, momentarily happy in the memory. A bird in a nearby tree began to chirp. We both looked in its direction.
Richard brushed at his eyes, shifted his position, and began to ramble, as people often do at times like these.
“Stephen was the one who got me into running. Said I needed to get outside more, build up some muscles, get some color. Gurn was going to join us for the Palace to Palace. It’s a 12K. I’ve never done one of those before. We’d been planning it for months; laughed about bulking up on pizza carbs right before. Of course, Stephen was a legitimate runner. He’d been doing these races pretty seriously for a couple of years now, won more than he lost, too. He loved it.” Richard’s voice petered out, and he stopped talking. An oppressive, lingering silence descended.
That’s when the first rogue wave of emotion assaulted me, and my throat closed up. I leaned my head into my brother’s slim shoulder, refusing to drown but feeling lost in the inevitability.
I heard a window open.
“Are you coming in?” Mom called out. “Liana? Richard? Come on into the family room. You’ve been out there long enough.”
I started to go into the house, but Richard grabbed my arm. I turned and faced him, seeing he had more to say. I shouted out to our mother, “We’ll be right there, Mom.”
“Lee, promise me you won’t say anything to Mom just yet. Right now, it’s only a suspicion but if—” Richard broke off and swiped at a slight five o’clock shadow. “If what I think is true turns out to be, it’s pretty mind boggling.”
“Is something wrong?” I heard Mom question, with growing impatience. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Yes, Mom. We’ll be right there.” But I stood perfectly still, studying my brother’s face. He looked directly into my eyes, unwavering.
So there it was. If Richard found Stephen’s death to be suspicious, it was suspicious. As D.I.’s Director of Information Technology and Research, Richard’s personal raison d’être is the compilation of data. Sometimes on the surface of it, the facts appear to be disjointed or erroneous, but they never are. Nobody can connect the dots better than my brother.
In his early teens, he’d created several innovative programs propelling D.I. to the forefront of investigative services. Between us chickens, I’m not sure all aspects of them are legal. Some dip into confidential information gathered by impressive, initialed agencies, such as the IRS and CIA. But Richard maintains, while it may not be strictly within the
letter of the law, if you don’t use the info for personal gain, it’s not unethical. We don’t question it. Frankly, my brilliant brother runs his part of D.I. any way he wants.
Without uttering another word, Richard and I went around to the back of the house and into the deserted retro ‘30s kitchen, with its inviting whipped yellow and white color
scheme. I paused, reluctant to leave my favorite room in the house, and looked for our Uncle Mateo, called Tío by almost everyone. Nearly every hour of the day, ever since he moved
in, there’s been the delicious aroma of something Mexican cooking. But not today. Not that it mattered. I don’t think any of us had an appetite.
“Where’s Tío?” I asked.
“He’s probably in the basement feeding those two rabbits he’s fostering until the SPCA can place them,” Richard said, forcing a more normal tone to his voice. “By the way, who’s parked at the end of the driveway? Nice looking Land Rover.”
“You’re not going to believe this one. It’s Nick’s wife, Kelli. Seems he’s missing.”
“Hmmmm,” my brother said, not nearly as surprised as I thought he’d be. “Nick again.”
“What do you mean, ‘Nick again’? Until this morning, Nick has been out of my life for some time, even before his
marriage to Kelli.”
Richard shook his head instead of answering. “You’d better get into the family room before Mom gets upset. Tell her I’ve got some work to do; s
omething that can’t wait. She started that thing with her earrings again last night. You know what it means, Sister Mine.” Richard gave me a knowing look. I nodded.
Two years before, between the time our father died and his funeral, Mom took on a temporary, but annoying habit. She’d either clip on and clip off a pair of pearl earrings Dad had given her for their wedding anniversary, or she would roll them over each other again and again in the palm of her hand. They would make this clicking sound, sort of like the steel balls Humphrey Bogart played with as Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny. Except, of course, if Bogey had been worrying pearl earrings instead of steel balls, it would have been a completely different movie.
I started for the family room but turned back. “Aren’t you coming in, Richard?”
“No. I’ll be on the computer in the study, but don’t disturb me. I’ll get back to you when I know something.”
The rubber heels of my running shoes made a squeaking sound on the travertine stone as I entered the silent room. Mom stood in front of the bay window. Backlit by
shards of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover, she turned to face me, her long-sleeve, high-neck black sheath contrasting dramatically with a room of beige, light stone, and golden oak. She’d recently had the wood stripped in this room, lightening it from a dark to light golden oak. It so worked.
Her initial look was one of perfection. Living on the ice princess side of life, the woman who bore me elects to show the world her beautiful and in-control porcelain face, despite what underlying cracks may exist beneath.
The neatly coifed, shoulder length, ash-blonde hair was a little too lacquered. Pale blue eyes were slightly puffy under artfully applied liner, and pink lipstick almost but not quite shielded a mouth pinched from the strain of self-contained grief.
Sure enough, I noticed her playing with the clip-on earrings in her hand. She saw me notice, so with a flourish, Mom put one earring on, covering a slightly swollen right lobe, and then walked over and embraced me.
I held her tight and took in a whiff of Bal A Versailles, her favorite fragrance. “You know, Mom, one of these days you’re going to scratch the pearls if you continue to rub them together like that.”
“Liana, darling,” she said, ignoring my comment, as she is wont to do, “I’m sorry we got you up so early. I know you were working until all hours last night. How are you?” With a jerky movement, she pulled away and scrutinized my face. “You look ghastly.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You know what I mean, dear. You can’t have had more than four hours sleep. I knew Richard shouldn’t have called you just yet. And where is he? I told him to wait a few hours.
What difference would it have made? You need your rest. Otherwise, I know you would have at least put on matching clothes.”
She caught me unawares. I looked down. Sure enough, a green sweatshirt topped a pair of hot pink pants from another set, the first two items I grabbed. Knowing the way she feels about my sweats in general even when they match, I had committed a cardinal sin.
She went on. “Maybe a trip to the day spa. Leonardo does a wonderful mineral wrap.” Mom was stressing more than her usual words in a sentence, which normally drives me crazy. However, I would have forgiven her anything right then.
“I’m fine, Mom. I don’t need a mineral wrap. Richard is…he…needs to do something. He’ll be in directly.”
“He’s such a loving, giving son.”
“I know, Mom.”
“We were together most of last night. I’m sure he does have other things to do.” In an uncharacteristic nervous gesture, she struck at a hair lying perfectly in line with the rest of the coif and turned away.
“How are you doing, Mom?” I said, moving on. I decided not to let Mom’s preference for Richard get to me. After all, I had been Dad’s favorite when he was alive, and Richard was Mom’s. That’s the way it was. Some things never change.
“Maybe you need to lie down soon, Liana, after we…after we…” She paused, reached up and clipped on the remaining earring on the other lobe.
“After we what, Mom?”
“I don’t know,” she mouthed, shook her head, and turned away.
I reached out to her, tried to find words of comfort, anything, when the connecting door to the kitchen swung open. Tío, my father’s surviving older brother, entered the room, obviously having returned from the basement.
Tall and refined, Tío is a retired head chef. You’d think I would have inherited more from his side of the family than just the height but no such luck. In the case of cooking, not
only did the fruit fall far from the tree, it catapulted clean out of the orchard.
Despite the hour, he was dressed more formally than usual, dark gray slacks and a cotton Mexican embroidered shirt, white on white. In his own way, Tío exuded as much class as Mom. He carried a carafe of coffee, as well as a look of sobriety. When he saw me, his eyes lit up for his only niece.
“Buenos dias, sobrina mia,” he said, setting the carafe down next to a tray of mugs, cloth napkins, milk, and sugar on the square golden oak and glass coffee table. I went into his arms for a quick hug. He kissed me on the forehead.
“Such sad news, Liana. Muy triste.”
I nodded and changed the subject, feeling too much weight and unhappiness.
“How are the bunnies, Tío?”
He smiled briefly. “Bien, bien. Tomorrow they go to a farm in Marin to live a happy life. Queries coffee?”
“No, Tío, but thanks. Actually, Tío, I drank some coffee earlier, but it’s not sitting well.” I rubbed my forehead with a careful hand. He stared at me for a moment. I went on. “Last night I had a little too much alcohol on the job and—”
“Ah! Entiendo. The hangover of the head.” He turned around and headed for the kitchen. “Un momento. I have
something the former mayor of San Jose, a good friend of mine, would drink when there was such a need. But this is between ourselves. Shhh!”
He looked over at Mom, who sat down on the sofa. “¿Mi hermana, mas café?”
Even though they are related only through Mom’s marriage to my father, through the years, Tío has become like the older brother my mother never had. To Tío, Lila is the
little sister he always wanted. Their bond became even closer after Dad died. When Tío moved in last year and took over the
kitchen and first floor, Mom went to the upstairs rooms. In a fourteen-room house, that’s easy to do. They keep to
themselves and their own busy lives but usually meet for companionable meals once or twice a week.
Mom looked at Tío with warmth. “Please don’t be concerned about me, Mateo. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” Tío chided gently. Mom started to protest. “I will not hear the ‘no’ from you. You did not eat breakfast. You will at least eat the fruit compote I made. You need the strength.”
Tío takes food and the eating of it very seriously. Until he retired, he ran a stylish Mexican restaurant in San Jose called Las Mañanitas. He’d also been a minor celebrity, one of
Gourmet Magazine’s favorite chefs for new and traditional south-of-the-border recipes. Using a little of this and a little of that, Tío can whip up a culinary masterpiece which has dropped better than me to their knees in supplication. He left for the kitchen just as the phone rang.
Mom picked up the small beige phone from the coffee table and spoke in hushed tones to the person on the other end of the line. I lay my head back and closed my eyes. Thoughts of my last phone conversation with Stephen swirled in my mind. I felt my eyes grow hot under closed lids.
“Liana.”
I opened my eyes at the sound of my mother’s voice. She was no longer speaking on the phone, and I saw her face drained of what little color she’d previously had.
“That was the Maricopa County Medical Examiner in Phoenix. Jennifer had asked me to deal with the coroner’s office for her, as well as the funeral parlor. It’s all she can do to
cope with this tragedy and the boys.”
“What did the coroner want?”
“He says he wants more time and is not releasing the body until at least Friday.”
“Why?” I asked, on the alert. “Do they suspect foul play?”
“Foul play?” Lila repeated. “He didn’t mention foul play. Why on earth should they suspect foul play? Delays in autopsies can be for a hundred different reasons.” Her voice had a forced edge, as if she didn’t want to question the cause of the delay.
“No reason, Mom. Forget it. Too much CSI, I suppose.”
“You watch too much of that type of television, Liana,” she said, standing up in anger. She tossed her ash blonde hair. “With what spare time you have, you should be watching PBS or educational channels. Like the Discovery Channel.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said meekly.
“Not filling your mind with worthless, inaccurate…”
She stopped talking suddenly and shook her head; then rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, which I couldn’t believe. Mom’s big into not touching your face with your hands.
“I’m sorry. I seem to be more short-tempered than usual. Forgive me.” Lila sat down heavily across from me in a large beige leather chair. Feather pillows expelled soft air around her, and the supple leather molded to her body.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mom.”
I don’t think she heard me. She was reaching out to the single rose in a silver bud vase on the coffee table, the last of summer’s offering. We both knew it had come from a bush
Stephen planted ten years ago in our garden. Tapered fingers lovingly touched a petal of the fragrant lavender flower and then drew back almost as if the flower grew hot to the touch.
“Richard doesn’t think Stephen died of natural causes, does he?” Lila asked, her voice echoing throughout the silent room. My mother didn’t look at me but reached up to the
earring on her earlobe, thought better of it, and dropped both hands in her lap.
“Mom, we don’t know anything yet. It’s just Richard being Richard and me with my usual big mouth. Let’s not think about anything like that until after we hear from the coroner.” I took a deep breath. “What time are you flying to see Jenn and the boys?”
Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries) Page 48