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

by Heather Haven

“Hi! You’ve reached the home of Douglas and Estaban. We’re not here right now, having decided to spend a few days in Napa, drinking great wine and eating good food. We’d like to say we wish you were here, but we don’t!” Douglas’ voice

  droned on, dripping with happiness. “So leave a message for either Estaban or me and one of us will get back to you sometime on Monday. Bye!”

  While I sat reeling, the loudspeaker announced the beginning of boarding and called for first class. Fortunately, I don’t fly first class unless forced to by Lila, so I sat trying to work this out with what was left of my mind.

  Estaban must have left for Mexico after Douglas recorded the message on the home phone and Douglas simply forgot to change it. A cold blast of fear went through me. Or maybe he didn’t forget. Maybe he wasn’t able to change it.

  Never before had I been so sorry I was so far away from home. Dare I try Douglas on his cellphone and warn him if it wasn’t already too late? If I reached him, would he believe me, anyway? No one was blinder than someone in love; I’d stayed in a marriage for eight years where I was the only one who thought it was working. Also, could my phone call alert Estaban I was on to him? I had already lost the ‘booty’ as El Jefe called it, I sure didn’t need to lose my main suspect as well.

  Before I could think this through, they gave the final boarding call. It was like people had been running to get to their seats. Apparently, the only time people hurry to get on a plane is when I have to go to the bathroom or could use some extra time inside the terminal. I put the laptop away and boarded the plane for the last leg of the flight.

  The plane ride was tedious but swift. I spent most of the flight gnawing on my fingernails, sighing and being restless, to the point where the woman next to me moved to another seat. We landed forty-five minutes early, and I rushed into a cab.

  While waiting for the elevator in the lobby of Douglas’ condo, I found I was almost afraid to go upstairs. My initial purpose had been to see if any of the ceramic knives were gone, but knowing what I now knew about Estaban, coupled

  with more dead bodies, what else was waiting for me upstairs?

  The elevator climbed to the top floor and with shaking hands, I searched for the spare keys over the third wall sconce in the hallway, just as Douglas had instructed me. Once at his front door, I rang the bell repeatedly, listening for any inside noise. Nada. Glancing around to make sure I wasn’t observed, I unlocked the door and went in.

  “Douglas!” I called out once I’d closed the door. “Douglas, it’s me, Lee. Are you here?” Silence.

  Not too sure of what I’d find, I tiptoed to the master bedroom. Nothing, thank God. Same with the two other bedrooms, three bathrooms, and the myriad of closets. The living room/dining room was also clear, even behind the couch. Once that was settled and I could breathe again, I was drawn to the black marble counter, holding the framed eight by ten of Estaban.

  Yup, same guy I saw in San Miguel, I thought, as I got closer. I studied it for a moment, focusing on the ear that showed a diamond stud just below his stylish, European haircut. Did I now possess that damaged earring in my change purse?

  I looked past the photo into the gleaming, modern kitchen and had to lean against the counter for a moment. Suspended in air by the sleek black and steel holder, from smallest to largest, hung five out of six ceramic knives. The second to the largest slot, the one I suspected should be holding a butchering knife, was empty.

  Frantic, I dialed Douglas’ cellphone and hoped I still had enough juice in the batteries of the laptop to complete the call. I felt like I had been using it non-stop all day. I would have used his landline, but most phones display the incoming number, and he would have recognized his home phone right away.

  While I prayed for him to answer, I poured a glass of water from the tap and drank it down. Now and then I felt a little woozy from the whack on the head I got the previous night, and this was one of those times.

  “Hello?” said Douglas on the fifth ring.

  “Douglas, it’s Lee,” I said, relieved at hearing his voice.

  “Darling Girl!” he yelped. “I was just talking about you to Estaban. We’re heading into dinner in a moment. What a day we’ve had. We must have bought six cases of wine. And listen, my pet, he feels so bad about asking for that—”

  “You mean Estaban is with you?”

  “Of course. We’re at the Schramsberg Winery sampling some deliciously wicked champagne and toasting you, dear heart. Right at this moment. This must be mental telepathy. I was just telling Estaban—”

  “Let me get this straight,” I demanded, interrupting again. “You are saying Estaban is with you right now at a winery in Napa and has been all day?”

  “It sounds like you’ve had too much to drink, darling, and not me. I’ve said it a couple of times. And why do you sound so strange? Are you all right, Lee?”

  I heard another man’s voice become dominant in the background, a man with a Spanish accent, who was having an intense conversation with Douglas.

  “Douglas,” I said, trying to get his attention back. “Douglas, never mind. I’ve got something wrong. I’ve got to hang up, Douglas. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “But I…” I heard him say before I disconnected.

  I slumped down on one of the counter stools and looked up again at the empty knife slot. I was right about some things but wrong about others. None of the pieces were fitting together the way I’d thought they would. I was riding a runaway locomotive but had no idea where we were headed.

  Rinsing the glass, I put it away, looking around me for anything else I might have touched or altered. There was no point in letting Douglas or Estaban know someone was in the apartment. I went to the door, locked it, and returned the keys over the sconce. I knew two things for sure. One, I would have to tell Frank my suspicions about the ceramic knife, and two, the man in San Miguel was not Estaban. Back to the drawing board, big time.

  Getting back into the cab that had been waiting for me, I gave him my home address and leaned back in the seat. I thought about Mom, opened up the laptop, noticed I had another forty minutes of battery power, and looked for a message from her. Strange, I thought, she said she was going to let me know when she boarded the plane. I looked at my watch. It was nearly nine o’clock. That would be eleven, Mexico time. Surely, she’d got a flight out of Mexico City by now. I punched in Richard’s number, and he answered on the third ring. I could hear Richard’s favorite mariachi cd and chatter in the background as he said hello.

  “Richard, have you heard from Mom?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve been leaving her messages, too, for about the last three or four hours.”

  “I don’t like this, Richard.”

  “Maybe she’s on a plane right now and was so rushed she couldn’t take the time to call us,” he said.

  “Can you track her?”

  “Not unless she puts the signal on.”

  “I thought you had a way of getting into someone’s cellphone and finding out where they are. You’ve done it to me. Can’t you do that with the sat phone?”

  “Not this model, Lee. I’ve built a resistor into it, so if you don’t want to be located, you can’t be. Just a minute,” he called out to his wife. “I’ll be right there, honey. Lee, I’ve got to go. Victoria is throwing her yearly bash for her employees from the Obsessive Chapeau, and I’m the bartender.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I guess it isn’t time to panic yet.”

  “Let’s see what another hour brings, okay? I’ll talk to you then.” He hung up, as we pulled up to the curb in front of the family house. I paid the cab, dragged myself up the walkway, and rang the bell. I was exhausted but wanted Tío to know I was home. He answered the door and hugged me.

  “Where is your mama?” he said, breaking from the embrace and looking behind me.

  “Oh, she’s flying in on another plane from Mexico City,” I said, not wanting to worry my uncle.

  “Lila’s in de Efe? Por Que
?”

  “Why? She went to visit someone to extract a little information. She should be back soon,” I said and then changed the subject. “Is Mira up?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She is sleeping. Today she went out for a walk and then insisted in helping with dinner.”

  “So she overdid it a little?”

  “Si but that is a good thing. She is becoming normal again.”

  “That’s good,” I agreed, secretly glad I didn’t have to see the look in her eyes when I told her any hope of finding the dog statue just blew up in my face. Time enough for the bad news tomorrow.

  “Okay, Tio, I think I’ll go home now…” I began.

  “What is wrong, mi sobrina?” he said, pulling me inside and shutting the door. “Something is wrong. Que paso?” he demanded.

  “I don’t have the strength to go into it now. I need to do some tall thinking. Plus, when Mom gets back, we should know more. Maybe.” He pulled me into another big bear hug, saying nothing.

  “Thanks, Tio,” I said, leaning into his shoulder. “I sure needed that.”

  “Trying to make things right can be a burden,” he said, breaking free and looking at me.

  “And heavy is the head that wears the tiara,” I quipped. He smiled at me with worried eyes. “I need to go home. I’ll let you know when I hear from Mom. It should be any minute.” I turned to leave.

  “Are you not forgetting something?” he asked. I looked at him questioningly. Su gato?” he said.

  “My cat?” I answered. “Tugger! Dios mio. Where is my head? And where is my cat?” I went further into the foyer and looked around.

  “In the family room. He lies sleeping on the sofa. Wait, I will get his halter and leash,” Tío offered, heading for the closet while I went into the family room. I stroked Tugger whose nose began to twitch and upon opening his eyes, he licked my hand, purring. Who says a girl’s best friend isn’t her cat? When Tío returned with his halter and leash, I put them on the sleepy feline. Gathering up a puddle of purr in my arms, I went out the back door, across the lawn, and toward the garage.

  I was deep in thought nearing the front steps of the apartment when I heard a voice call, “Pssssst!” from somewhere in the darkness. I wheeled around, nearly dropping Tugger.

  “Who said that?” I asked, setting the cat on the ground. “Who said that?” I said louder, wrapping Tugger’s leash around the railing at the bottom of the stairs. “Show yourself,” I demanded.

  Something moved in the shadows, coming within range of the garage nightlights. I went into the classic, karate defense position and waited.

  “All right, I’m coming. Please don’t hurt me,” the voice whined.

  “Robby Weinblatt! What the hell are you doing here again?”

  “I…I…” he stuttered and then froze, gaping at me. I grabbed him by the front of yet another oversized T-shirt and pulled him toward me. “Don’t rip my shirt off of me,” he begged. “It’s the only one I got left. And please don’t hit me.”

  I put my face into his. “You’ve got two seconds to tell me why you’re here, and then I’m going to take all the frustrations of the past few days out on your sorry butt.” I was in a Raymond Chandler mood.

  “I came to apologize. I came to apologize,” he cried out. “My mom said I had to apologize for the way I treated you, or I couldn’t come home. I told her that Lenny was going to throw me in jail, and I’ve been hiding ever since he found out, but she’s a Born-Again Christian. She says I have to make atonement first!” He ran out of breath and began to sob.

  Okay, I was thrown. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but he was getting loud, and I didn’t want his voice to bring Tío out into the backyard. “Okay, okay,” I said releasing him. “Lower your voice and come upstairs.” I bent down and picked up Tugger who had been standing perfectly still and staring wide-eyed up at the kid.

  I started up the stairs, followed by Robby, who sniveled, “I like your cat.”

  I stopped climbing the stairs, turned around, scrutinizing his face under the porch lights. He stumbled up the next stair and stared up at me, a look of terror returning to his features.

  “Easy, boy,” I said. “You don’t have any scratches on your face or your shoulders, do you?” I stated more than asked him.

  “Scratches?” he answered, puzzled.

  I wheeled around and continued up the stairs. “Never mind. Just one more thing I got wrong.” I unlocked the door, put the cat down, and turned off the alarm.

  “Come on in, Robby, and let’s sort this out.” He followed me across the living room and into the kitchen, both of us trailed by a cat dragging a leash.

  “Wow. Nice digs,” Robby said, looking around and wiping his nose with the bottom of his T-shirt. “I don’t have anything nearly this nice.”

  “But you would have,” I said, putting water to heat in the microwave, “once you got all that money from Silo Junction.”

  “Oh, that,” he said, looking down and shuffling his feet. “That wasn’t for me.”

  “Sit down,” I said, studying his face. He looked even younger than I remembered. “You want some coffee or milk? How old are you, anyway?”

  “I’m nineteen. Last month.” He retorted, regaining a little spirit. He sagged again. “I’ll take some milk. I’m kind of hungry.”

  Scooping coffee into a cone and placing it atop a carafe, I said, “There’s some peanut butter on the shelf over the counter. Silverware’s in the drawer below. Milk, bread and jam are in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you, Miss Alvarez,” he murmured, getting up and opening the refrigerator door.

  “You’re awfully polite now for someone who was a former scumbag,” I remarked, hearing the beep of the micro and pouring the boiling water over the ground coffee.

  “I had to! I had to try to make you go away,” he said, having the grace to hang his head, as he came back to the kitchen table with milk and the supplies for a sandwich. “I’m really not much of a scumbag.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Thanks, but it’s just an act.” A small smile flashed across a face filled with heaviness and fatigue. “I’ve watched reruns of The Sopranos.”

  I hid my laughter. “Make one for me, would you?” I said, setting a clean glass in front of him. I sat down at the other end of the table and watched him slather peanut butter

  on another slice of bread. “So who was the money for, if not you?”

  He gulped and looked up at me with wet eyes. “It was for Mom. I swear. It wasn’t right that Lenny cut her out like that. She needed the money and I—”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “What has your mother got to do with Leonard Fogel?”

  He stared up at me, an incredulous look on his face. “Well, she’s our mom! Why shouldn’t he help out? Why should she have to pay all the bills by herself? With Lily being sick, she can’t work. He never even sent her—”

  “Hold the phone. Time out,” I interrupted. “Leonard Fogel is your brother? And who’s this Lily?”

  “You didn’t know that? He’s my half brother, actually. I thought you knew everything,” he said, shaking his head.

  “How come you two have different last names?”

  “Well, duh,” he said, taking a big bite out of his sandwich. “Different fathers.”

  I slapped my forehead just as Tugger jumped into my lap. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story,” I said, removing Tugger’s halter and throwing it into a corner.

  Robby chewed for a moment, swallowed milk and began to talk. “Lenny’s dad was Mom’s first husband and—”

  “First?” I interrupted again. “How many did she have?”

  “Three. That’s before she got saved. Now she doesn’t have any. She and Bruce Fogel got divorced when Lenny was three. Now Lenny’s dad lives in San Diego with his second wife and four kids. Mom married my dad, Aaron Weinblatt, about two years after their divorce.”

  “
Where does your dad live?”

  “My dad died in the Gulf War. He was a marine.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, taken up short.

  “Thank you. Mom says he was the love of her life. That used to piss Lenny off when she’d say things like that. That’s why five years ago, when his dad said Lenny could live with him in San Diego and go to school there, Lenny did. He never came back to see Mom, not once. That really hurt her.” By now, he’d finished his peanut butter sandwich and was eyeing mine.

  “Help yourself,” I said, pushing my plate over to him. “I really just want coffee.” I pushed Tugger off my lap, got up, and went to the counter. Removing the cone from the pot, I poured myself a large cup of black coffee. I suspected I would be needing it. Tugger, meanwhile, sauntered over to Robby and hopped onto his lap. The kid held his second sandwich with one hand and stroked the cat with the other. Purring, Tugger made himself comfortable on what must have been a pretty scrawny lap.

  “That still doesn’t explain the money,” I said, sitting down again.

  Robby stopped eating and put the sandwich down. “When Lenny started his new business, he said I could come up and work for him. It wasn’t until I got here that I saw all the money he was making. Like a gazillion dollars or more. He wasn’t sending any back home to help out. Mom was on food stamps and Lily’s doctor bills—”

  “Again, who’s this Lily?”

  “Our little sister. She’s seven. She’s got cerebral palsy and even with social services, Mom can’t do it. It’s bad enough that when her dad found out about the palsy he took off but--”

  “That’s husband number three?”

  “Jake,” he spat out, much as I used to do when I said Robby’s name. “And Mom can’t work because she’s got to take care of Lily, and I send back all the money I can, but Lenny won’t give her a dime.” He broke off and covered his face, crying into his hands. Tugger looked up at him, I swear, with sympathetic eyes. “Oh, God, I’m so tired.”

  “So you decided to take matters into your own hands and sell out your brother in order to have some money for Lily and your mom?” He snuffled into his hands, nodding his agreement. “Okay. But how did I fit into this? Why were you so mean to the hired help?”