“I’ve always sworn by cucumbers, Liana,” Mom said, interrupting my reverie. “Use those, and you’ll be fine.”
Frankly, I had no idea what she was talking about, having lost myself earlier in my mental wanderings. I fought to remember what I’d said a good five minutes before. Was it
something about me looking like cat scat, and my mother looking like something out of Vogue magazine? No, no. I was just thinking that; I hadn’t said it. Then the thread came back. Pooped, tired, and exhausted. That was me.
“Okay, I’ll do that. Cucumbers,” I echoed and changed the subject. “Mom, the gowns arrive this afternoon by special delivery. I hope I make it back from the florist’s in time to sign for them.”
“Why don’t we have Mateo keep an eye out for the delivery truck?”
That’s the upside of living on the family property in an apartment over the garage. The downside is you live on the family property in an apartment over the garage. Tugger and I share a two-bedroom, one-bath abode originally used by the live-in chauffeur back in the days when people in Palo Alto had such things. Four years ago, Mom and Dad renovated it as an inducement to my coming home after my marriage broke up.
“Good idea. I’ll give him a call later.” Just thinking about my uncle brightened my mood. “Speaking of Tio, the bridesmaids’ fittings are at four o’clock. We’re going to have a small party afterward, sans Mira, and Tío made the food.” Apart from being wonderful, Tío is a retired chef. Recently, he’s been trying to teach me how to cook. So far, what I have mastered is eating. “Try to stop by for it,” I added.
“If I can. What’s on the agenda for next week, Liana?” she asked, stacking envelopes alphabetically.
“Mainly, I’ll be at my exciting job, delivering mail, emptying trash cans, refilling supplies, and being a General Factotum.”
I was distracted by a slight smile on Lila’s face and one of the flaps of an envelope sliced my finger. Sticking it in my mouth I muttered, “Shit!”
“Liana!”
“Sorry.”
“Regarding the job, are you making any headway?”
“Not really.”
“That’s too bad,” Mom said. “And please stop making those sucking noises.”
“Sorry.” I pulled the offending digit out of my mouth.
“One hundred forty-three. If we can get these out in this morning’s mail, the guests will have almost two weeks to respond in writing. The caterers will like that.”
“The caterers told me yesterday that with this short notice, we were going to get one-hundred fifty Chicken Supremes and fifty Beef Wellingtons and like it.”
Mom smiled, saying, “That was before I spoke with them. They understand now that for the type of guests we are expecting, Saumon Braconne, Canard á l'Orange, et de l’aubergine francais seront plus convenables,” she rattled off in flawless French, “is more appropriate.”
“Okay, Mom, you’re saying poached salmon, orange duck and boiled eggplant are preferable to the chicken and beef? Just making sure I’m still up on my French.”
“The eggplant has a few more ingredients than just boiling water,” she said, “but essentially, that’s what I’m saying.”
My finger hurt from the effort, so I stopped stuffing the envelopes.
“Keep working,” Mom said, nodding at the cellophane tape nearby on the table. “I think you can wrap some tape around your finger as a makeshift bandage.”
She continued sealing the envelopes and adding postage, while I did as she told me and pressed on, like a good little soldier.
“Are you finished with that stack yet?” Lila said and brushed at the sleeves of the soft silk of her lemon yellow jacket. No one wears lemon yellow like my mom. Absolutely radiates in it. When I wear anything in the citrus family, I look like I’ve got a bad case of jaundice. That’s the difference between my mother’s Nordic, cool beauty and my Latina coloring.
“Just about. By the way, were you going to meet me at the church at eleven-thirty for the conference with the florist?”
“I don’t think so. I need to get back to the office and finish up a few things. Then I’m meeting a client for lunch.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Necessary, my dear. As for the flowers,” Mom said, “keep it simple but elegant. For the church pews and altar, try white roses, open and budding, a little Baby’s Breath, with a touch of Lily-of-the-Valley, for interest. For Mira’s bouquet, eight or ten cascading gardenias wrapped in white ribbons. And the attendants might have white rosebuds with colored ribbons that match each dress. Rosebud boutonnières for the men, as well, with Carlos’ rose in a sterling silver holder. Virginia is wearing a Givenchy lavender suede and beaded gown. A single purple orchid might do nicely.”
Everyone else in the world, except mom, knew Virginia Garcia as “Tex,” due to her love and devotion to the state. The two women had met outside Saks Fifth Avenue in Manhattan when Mom was six months pregnant with me. Tex had been pregnant, too, so a bond was formed faster than usual. Tex lost the baby—hence, adopting Carlos from a Mexican orphanage a few years later. The two women’s friendship has endured over three decades, even though they are as different as a bottle of Dom Perignon and a tall-necked Lone Star. Whatever void lives inside each of them, the other seems to fill. It’s a mystery to the rest of us but makes perfect sense to them.
Mom went on, “As you know, Mira Louise has asked me to stand in for her deceased mother, and I have accepted the honor, so I, too, will need an orchid. I will be wearing ice blue, so something in a pale apricot shade should do.”
I was writing furiously as my mother talked and would no doubt follow her suggestions to the letter. Neither Mira nor I had a clue about what flowers to order.
I’m not a wedding kind of person, having eloped at twenty-two with the Biggest Mistake of My Life. After eight years of trying to make a faithless marriage work, I finally had the courage to get out. As for Mira, she’s more interested in boulders than flowers. If she had to, she could combine some pretty nifty rock formations for the occasion, but that might look a little odd, a granite bridal bouquet.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “This is a big help. Hopefully, Mira’s marriage will last longer than mine.” I let out a dry chortle. Mom reached over and patted my hand, saying nothing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up Nick. Casts a pall over everything.”
“You can’t help but think of your own marriage at a time like this, good or bad. I know I’ve been thinking of your father even more the last few weeks.” Mom smiled at me.
“Have you? In your case, Mom, that’s nice.”
“Do you keep in touch with Nicholas?”
“You must be kidding, right?” I said, before remembering I had never told my family the details about the night I left. It wasn’t just the other women, who could hold reunions once a year in Yankee Stadium. It was that when I finally confronted him about them, he hit me. Once to knock me down and then once more to make sure I stayed there. I left him and our marriage as soon as I could get out.
“Nick and I have nothing to do with each other, Mom. I thought you knew he remarried a few months ago in Vegas. That part of my life is over.”
“That’s good.” She smiled and changed the subject. “What more do you have to do? Possibly I can help,” she offered.
“Thanks. Let’s see.” Dragging out a dog-eared, worn sheet of legal- size yellow paper, I read it carefully. “Wow! I don’t think there’s much more.” I giggled with relief. “I signed the contract with the two bands yesterday. One is an eleven-piece mariachi band that our very own Richard plays guitar with now and then. He’s agreed to play a set with them. I thought that was a nice touch. The alternating band is a three-piece jazz combo. Something for everyone.”
“Indeed,” Mom responded.
“Allied Arts is renting us the restaurant for the reception, including the outside patios, from five-thirty to eleven-thirty p.m. Do you think ten cases of champagne, plus five ca
ses each of Chardonnay and a Napa cab are enough?”
“That sounds more than sufficient. What else?”
I started counting off items on my fingers. “Bridal shower, next week. Richard is in charge of the bachelor party. The tuxes are ordered. The gowns arrive this afternoon, and I have two seamstresses set up for the fittings. I haven’t seen a picture or rendering of the designs yet, but I’ll bet they’re incredible. Mr. McFadden designed them himself, something he hasn’t done for years. He said he chose a ‘theme,’ which reminds me, I’ll have to get samples of the fabric to the florist. Don’t you own one or two of Warren McFadden’s dresses?”
“No. I find him a little avant-garde, Liana,” Mom said.
“I think they call it cutting-edge now, Mom,” I corrected.
“If you say so.” She smiled and changed the subject. “Did you find a photographer?”
“Yes, finally. I thought I was going to have to buy a camera and take pictures, myself.”
“Who is it?”
“Did you know the reason the wedding got canceled that was supposed to take place at Mem Chu was because the bride came out of the closet and is now living in San Francisco with her lover, Charlene?”
“Get to the point, dear.”
“I thought you might be interested in hearing the lead-in.”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, this guy was supposed to be their photographer, so he was available. I’ve seen his portfolio. He’s good.”
“That sounds fine,” Lila said, somewhat mollified. “What about the rehearsal dinner? Didn’t John offer to take care of that part of the festivities?”
“Originally, but he had to bow out due to a heavy work schedule.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes,” I said and nothing more. My latest love had been pulling back big-time on a lot of things, but I didn’t want to admit it or deal with it yet. “However, Carlos took over and got us a private room at the new Japanese steakhouse for after we go through our paces.” I looked at the tattered list again with all the checkmarks indicating completion and would have done cartwheels around the room if I hadn’t been so tired.
“Mom, I think I’ve done it. After I order the flowers and take care of the fittings, I’m done,” I said with pride. “This wedding is completely done and Good-to-Go.”
Five hours later, I stood in front of a mirror, enveloped in what felt like eighty yards of a chartreuse moiré taffeta laughingly called “Whipped Lime.” Between the starched crinoline underskirt, ruffled hem of the overskirt, and tufted bodice, all in a hideous yellow-green, I looked like a New Year’s Eve float depicting baby poo.
I ripped open the other boxes to find matching gowns in different odious colors sporting the names of “Pineapple Fizz,” “Mango Madness,” “Orange Frappe,” and “Passion Fruit Frazzle.” Mr. McFadden had created a theme, all right. Jamba Juice Rejects. And in moiré taffeta. When Mom called his work avant-garde, she was being kind.
The phone rang, but I was afraid to move. On top of how I looked, any movement sounded like leaves trapped in a wind tunnel. No wonder no one wore taffeta anymore, I thought. Noise pollution. One of the seamstresses answered the phone and slapped it into my frozen hand.
“Hello?” I said.
“Lee, it’s me. We need your help,” Mira said. Her voice sounded frantic and as if she’d been crying.
“Mira? Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not,” she sobbed. “Carlos is being arrested for murder.”
“What?” I said, sinking straight to the floor, buried in a mound of taffeta. “Carlos is being arrested for murder?”
“Yes, they say he murdered the thief who broke into our apartment last night. They’re taking him away,” she wailed.
“Wait a minute. What thief? What murder? Mira, what’s going on?” She tried to tell me, but between the hysteria, coughing, and wheezing, I couldn’t understand her.
“Never mind,” I interrupted. “Hold tight. I’ll be right there.” I struggled to my feet and thought, with the groom arrested for murder maybe this Good-to-Go wedding just Got Up and Went.
Chapter Two
A Thief, A Dog And A Warrant
I ripped off the gown, threw on some clothes, flew out the door, and took the stairs two at a time down to my car. I’d shouted back to the two astonished seamstresses they needed to let the bridesmaids know upon their arrival that I had an “urgent matter to attend to and would be back as soon as I could.” I was just as glad not to have to see those women’s faces when they got a load of the gowns they’d be wearing at Mira’s wedding. Should there be a wedding.
While backing the car out of the garage, I spied Tío watering the yard. Updating my uncle, I asked him to keep an eye on the four friends who should be arriving shortly.
Carlos and the police were long gone by the time I got there, and Mira was borderline hysterical. Dressed in pajamas and robe and camped out on the sofa, she wheezed between sobs and hiccups. Having pneumonia is bad enough, but when your fiancé is arrested for murder, it could be a killer. Literally.
Scared Mira might have a relapse, I phoned my mother and was relieved when she said she’d be right over. Lila may wear four-and-a-half inch stilettos, but she can move when she has to. She arrived in less than ten minutes, gathered Mira in her arms and rocked her soothingly. Mom’s only five foot four, and Mira towers over her. But in this case, motherhood was in the dominant position, and we knew it.
“Liana, why don’t you make us some tea?” Mom asked after a moment and then turned to Mira. “You’d like some tea, wouldn’t you, dear?” Mira nodded. “Good. And then we can do something about your hair,” she added. Mira’s hand fluttered up to her head, and she began combing at her hair with her fingers.
Mom was brushing Mira’s tawny mane with long, soothing strokes by the time I returned from the kitchen. I knew the power of those brush strokes. They had been used on my own dark curls when I was a frightened or distraught child. Mira was calmer and her flushed face was returning to its normal color. She even gave me a half smile when I set down the tray of tea, cookies, and sliced fruit.
“Excellent idea, Liana,” said Mom, when she saw the food. She put down the brush and asked, “When was the last time you ate, Mira Louise?” Mira shrugged. “You must eat something, but first, take a deep breath and tell us exactly what happened. No histrionics or tears now,” she warned, pouring tea into a cup and thrusting it into Mira’s hand. “There’s time for that later. Right now we need the facts, so Liana can help you.”
I arched an eyebrow at that last bit but sat in the chair across from Mom and Mira on the couch. “Okay,” I said to my friend. “What happened?”
Sucking in air, Mira said, “Last night a man climbed in through the window over there. At least, that’s how I saw him leave.” She pointed in the direction of a series of four tall windows, one of which was next to an antiquated fire escape. “I guess he didn’t think anyone was here. We were asleep in the bedroom, even though it was before seven.”
“Did you report it?”
“Oh, yes. The police were here and everything.”
“Why didn’t you call and tell us, dear?” Mom asked.
Mira looked at me guiltily before turning away with a coughing fit. Finally, she was able to say, “I didn’t want to
bother you. I know how much you’ve been doing for me already. I didn’t think it was necessary. I thought we’d handled it.” Mira gulped at the tea. Then she put the cup down on the tray and covered her face with shaking hands.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I said, patting her knee. “We understand. You don’t have to tell us everything that goes on in your life. That’s just some Mommy Guilt offered up for your amusement,” I joked. Mira smiled. Mom glared. “Go ahead,” I said to my friend.
“I heard him before Carlos did,” Mira said. “I was half asleep, and I heard sounds coming from the living room. I thought it was a bird that flew inside. The windows do
n’t have screens on them, and when it’s warm, Carlos leaves them wide open for ventilation. A few times birds have flown in, like sparrows or pigeons. We leave them alone, and they always find their way back out again. It’s not really a problem. The last time, it was a white dove. I wanted to see if it came back. I like birds.”
“Let’s move past the birds, dear,” Mom suggested. “Tell us about the burglar.”
“Yes. Well, I got up and went to see, not expecting it to be anything but one of them. You know, one of the birds.” She paused, and I could see in her eyes she didn’t want to talk about what happened next. Mom noticed it, too, so we sat and waited. Mira coughed again, unscrewed the cap of a cough medicine bottle, and took a swig. I noticed the label contained a warning about codeine and saw Mom noticed Mira didn’t use a spoon. There was a lot of noticing going on here, but still we were silent, waiting for Mira to go on.
She cleared her throat and said, “It wasn’t even dark out yet. Anyway, I surprised him, the man.” She shuddered. “He had a nasty look on his face, and then he started coming toward me. I was terrified. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I screamed, and I must have stepped backward, because
I tripped and fell into the wall unit. You know how I’m always falling over things. It made a lot of noise.”
“Were you hurt?” Mom asked.
“A little but more frightened than anything else. I screamed again, and by this time, Carlos was running out of the bedroom. It wasn’t me the man was coming for, I realized later. I had been standing in front of the dog. When the man saw Carlos, he grabbed it and went out the window.”
“Dog? You don’t have a dog,” I said, but Mira didn’t hear me.
“Carlos started to go after him, but when he saw me lying there, he came back. I was a little dazed. One of the speakers had fallen on my head. Carlos thought the man hit me. He wouldn’t listen. I kept telling him I fell, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries) Page 24
