The CEO Came DOA Read online

  I’d learned that lesson when I got stuck taking over my best friend, Mira’s, wedding a couple of years back. Besides, if Mom helped create the same sort of wonderful memories for Gurn and me as Tío keeps locked away, it sounded all right.

  Tío set the casserole down on a trivet in the center of the table. Steam rose from his latest edible work of art; it smelled incredible.

  “Aquí lo tienes,” he said, and stepped back with pride. “I make for you the chorizo con queso.” He looked over at Richard and winked.

  “What happened to my tortas?” I looked from uncle to brother.

  “Oh, I ate them while you were crashed out on the sofa.” I never saw Richard look so content with himself. “I didn’t have any lunch today and they were delicious.”

  “Why you stinker,” I said, half-amused, half-surprised. “I love Tío’s tortas, especially the shrimp ones.”

  “Hey,” said my brother feigning hurt. “Consider it your sacrifice for Tío and me getting your car back from Fremont.” He tossed the keys in my lap. “It’s in the driveway.”

  “You picked up the Chevy while I was sleeping? Well, thank you, gentlemen. Any problems?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “You didn’t run into anybody hanging around nearby?”

  They looked at one another and shook their heads again.

  “Good. But tell me, brother mine, you snagged my tortas but what did Tío get out of your escapade?” I love to tease Richard.

  “The joy of making you your second favorite meal. Is that not right, Ricardo?“ Tío said the words with high drama, before Richard could answer.

  I picked up a large spoon, heaped cheesy casserole onto my plate, and dug in. “Oh my gawd, Tío,” I said after the first bite. “This is just the best. I love the poblanos. What you can do to a pepper. Yummy, yummy.”

  Tío turned to me. “But please to chew with your mouth closed. You attract the mosquitoes.”

  “It’s actually ‘flies’, Tío, but point taken.” Trying to be more ladylike in my mastication, I looked at my uncle again. “It’s your fault. You are just too good a cook.”

  “Gracias, because I make it muy rápido. Just like the short order cook.”

  “Tío,” I said, “you may be very fast, but I’d never call you a short order cook.”

  “Amen to that,” added Richard, looking up at the clock on the wall. “Folks, I have to leave in a minute. Vicki’s still at the doctor’s getting checked out from last night and I need to pick her up soon. Before anyone asks, everything’s fine; it’s only routine. The baby’s just a little late in coming.”

  “You’re sure about all of this? You’re not keeping something from us?” I was concerned and didn’t hide it. “Isn’t ten days overdue a long time?”

  “Bebés, they never listen to anyone, even el doctor,” Tío said.

  “Exactly,” said Richard. “Everybody at Stanford Hospital says this can happen, especially with the first one, but it should be soon. Hopefully, it doesn’t coincide with your wedding.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love to walk down the aisle holding my newborn niece or nephew.” I scrutinized my brother’s face. “You’re sure you don’t know which it will be, boy or girl?”

  Richard shook his head in a decided manner. “Vicki doesn’t want to know and that’s fine with me. Getting back to business, Lee, while you’ve been down, a lot has happened.”

  “Did Jake find the black ring box?”

  Richard shook his head.

  “I thought not.” I let out a sigh. “Too much to hope for.”

  “And he said he tore the truck apart looking for it. Right now Jake’s driving the tester and chips up to Redding for safekeeping. Lila hatched out a plan to keep them there until you get to the bottom of how they were stolen or, at least, until they can be shipped out to customers. Rameen Patel agreed with her.”

  “Redding? Lila didn’t tell Rameen where Jake was going, did she?” I speared a large chunk of chorizo with my fork.

  Richard gave me a look of disbelief. “You jesteth, right? Only a select few know about our storage units in Redding. That’s the whole purpose of the place.”

  “I hate to say it, but hiding them in Redding is a good idea, better than leaving them here. But that’s why Lila’s the head honcho and I’m just a peon.”

  “Along those lines, She Who Must Be Obeyed called you a few minutes ago.”

  “Lila called? I didn’t hear my phone ring.”

  “You leave it here in la cocina, Liana,” Tío said coming into the conversation and pointing to my bag on the counter near the microwave. “We both hear, but do not want to go into your purse.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “So when you didn’t answer, she called me. She said to be sure to tell you that you are to show up at D. I. no later than three o’clock this afternoon. The late Collier’s daughter called and made an appointment to see you – and only you - then.”

  I stopped shoveling food in my mouth, but continued to chew, making sure my mouth was closed. When I opened it, I mumbled, “Skye Collier?”

  Richard nodded.

  “The kid made an appointment to see me the same day her father died?”

  Richard nodded again before saying, “And from what she told Lila, Skye Collier’s convinced her own mother killed her father.”

  I stared at Richard, the heavenly chorizo turning to ashes in my mouth.

  Everyone knows that Silicon Valley is chock full of

  fabulous people who 'do good while doing well.'

  Ron Gutman

  Chapter Ten

  As it was already close to two-thirty, I took a fast shower, threw on my favorite hot-pink suit, heels as high as I could wobble in – why not make Lila happy - and aimed the car for Discretionary Inquiries. In the heart of Palo Alto, D. I. is only six-minutes away, so I arrived with two minutes to spare. I ran up the stairs to the second floor and pulled open one of the ebony colored double doors of the family business. I never lose my sense of pride when reading the brass nameplate.

  Discretionary Inquiries, Inc.

  Data, Information, and Intelligence

  Room 300

  Still trying to catch my breath, I smiled at Stanley sitting behind the reception desk. Clad in a sensible grey business suit, he’d topped the outfit off by yet another one of his outrageous ties. This one was slimy green and neon purple swirls, set off by small orange dots. I tried to keep my attention above his neck. Our office manager and general factotum returned my smile with a large one of his own.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Alvarez,” Stanley said in a very formal manner. Then he jerked his head several times toward the waiting area, moving his eyebrows up and down.

  Stanley and I don’t usually stand on ceremony and rarely does he use my last name. His greetings tend to be more along the lines of ‘Hey you, I see you finally got your duff in here.’

  Without responding, I looked in the direction he’d indicated with his thin, waggling eyebrows. Skye Collier and her nanny were already seated and waiting, but hadn’t noticed me yet.

  D. H. Collier’s daughter, head resting against the wall, eyes closed, long legs and arms thrown out awkwardly, looked about as tired and spent as humanly possible. Certainly, she seemed more exhausted than any fourteen-year old should ever be. She wore the same outfit as she did that morning only the dress was crumpled and limp, as if sharing its owner’s grief.

  Katherine ‘Katie’ Hall sat next to the girl, stroking her charge’s arm with a hand that she neither paid attention to nor seemed aware of using. While Katie Hall was lost in thought, I took a moment to study the woman.

  She was a little older than I previously thought, maybe thirty-seven or -eight. Her medium brown hair was cut in a short, no nonsense style, more for economy of care than attractiveness. Dark, brown eyes wore no makeup, and yet large and almond shaped, they were by far her best feature. Now they seemed to see nothing of the outside world, but rather something inside, so aliv
e and intense, a frown came and went upon the woman’s face.

  She was dressed in an unflattering yellow polo shirt covered by a dark brown jacket of pseudo-suede. A chocolate brown skirt and mid-length boots completed the rest of her wardrobe. By her feet sat a large and clunky black leather satchel. The glint of a small, gold hoop in each earlobe was her only adornment. My hand flew up to my own ears, covered by large silver medallions, garish by comparison.

  Plain was the word that came to mind when viewing Katie Hall. And yet she wasn’t. Something about her said that here was a lady who paid attention to what really mattered, gave more than she got, and made a difference to everyone in her life. It struck me that this was exactly the person Skye Collier needed right now.

  I walked over, cleared my throat, and stuck out my hand to Katie, even though according to Lila, Skye was the one who’d made the appointment. “Hi. I believe you are Katie Hall. I’m Lee Alvarez. You wanted to see me?”

  She snapped to attention, a ready smile coming to her face. She turned in her chair and nudged the girl, who stirred to a sitting position. “Skye, Skye, wake up.”

  “What….who…” said Skye. When she saw me she jumped up, as only youth can do, and crowded in between the seated nanny and the standing me.

  “You’re Lee Alvarez, right? I saw you this morning when…” She stopped talking, tears filling already red and puffy eyes.

  The nanny stood, too, or rather tried to stand, by moving her body around the gangly child. I backed up to prevent bumping the teenager on the forehead. It made me smile. It was as if Skye Collier sprouted up four or five inches only moments before, and didn’t know how much room her body took up. Or maybe she just didn’t pay attention to other people’s personal space.

  Katie gently took the girl by both shoulders and pushed her aside, as if reading my thoughts. “You’re crowding in again, Skye. Be careful.”

  The girl brushed her off with a frenzied gesture. “Whatever, Katie.” Then she thought better of it, and turned to me with an apology.

  “I’m sorry. I keep doing that. Please, Ms. Alvarez, I need your help.

  “Call me Lee.”

  “Lee, I knew when I saw you, you could help me. Then I found out you were a private detective, so see? I was right.”

  Stanley cleared his throat, an indication for us to take our conversation away from the front reception area and any potential clients. I spoke up in what I hoped was my lady-like professional voice.

  “Why don’t we continue this in my office? If you’ll just follow me.”

  I turned to lead the way and saw an expression of marked approval on Stanley’s face. Stanley is the apple of Lila’s eye, not only because he runs D. I. with such efficiency, but because he shares the same 1960’s sense of protocol and manners. He would have made a helluva butler at Downton Abby in another life, but by gawd, we had him and would do pretty much anything to keep him. Even his horrid taste in ties wasn’t too high a price to pay.

  I opened the door to my office, stood aside, and gestured for the two to enter into a space filled with Mexican and Latino art. I stepped in behind them and went around to the other side of my desk feeling rejuvenated not only by the collective talent within the room, but the blues, greens, yellows, reds, and other strong colors.

  My personal taste runs to south-of-the-border, vibrant and pure. D. I.’s color scheme is maroon and grey, chosen by Lila Hamilton Alvarez, who calls the colors wine and slate. I say a rose by any other name is still dull, dull, dull.

  She and I have been in a rumble about my office decorating choices for years. My stand is it’s my space, I’m part owner, and I’ll have what I want. Her stand is that as long as it’s decorated like this, she’ll never step foot inside my office. Olé!

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, Skye?” I sat down behind my desk and looked at the girl somewhat puzzled. “How do you think I can help you?”

  She gulped. I could sense the tightness in her throat as she spoke. “My father didn’t kill himself. He couldn’t have. He was, like, too happy.”

  “Sometimes people aren’t as happy as they project, particularly to their children.” I was the voice of reason. Lila would have been proud.

  “That’s what I said, Lee,” chimed in Katie.

  “No, no,” Skye shouted to both of us. “He went to Switzerland to have a treatment done to remove what he called his turkey neck. I mean, like, that’s not what someone does when they’re going to commit suicide, do they?” She glared at me.

  “Not as a rule, but maybe…”My voice petered out, my mind going to the five secret and unaccounted for days in the Bay Area.

  “There’s no maybe,” Skye interrupted. “He. Didn’t. Do. It.” She emphasized each word, her voice strong and bad-mannered.

  “Now, Skye,” Katie interjected, looking directly at me. She put a soft hand on the girl’s knee to grab her attention. “There’s no need to be rude.”

  Damn, I thought. This woman reads minds.

  In answer, Skye burst into tears, soon convulsed by them. We sat, Katie and I, and let her tears run their course. Skye controlled herself within a minute or two, sniffed loudly, and rubbed fingers over a snotty nose. I pushed a box of Kleenex toward her. The girl grabbed a handful. She wiped hands and nose, balled the tissues up, and dropped them in her lap murmuring, “sorry, sorry, sorry,” several times.

  “You know what I think?” I swiveled around in my chair to the small fridge sitting behind me on the floor. “I think we should have a little something to smooth us out before we go on. Ladies, I’ve got bottles of Coke, regular and diet, lemonade, and sparkling water. I’ve also got some peanuts. Any takers?“

  I didn’t mention the gin, vermouth, and olives I keep for after hours, nor the frozen Milky Way bars. Those are mine, mine, mine.

  “I’d love a sparkling water,” said Katie. “Why don’t you have the lemonade, Skye, and some peanuts? You need to eat something. You haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. Lemonade sounds good.” The kid looked at me and attempted a smile.

  My heart went out to her again, just as it had at Read-Out. As I slid the jar of peanuts across the desk and passed out the drinks, I knew at that moment I would do anything I could to help her. I’m such a schnook that way.

  “If you don’t believe your father committed suicide, what do you think happened?” I grabbed my notepad and pencil, preparing to make notes.

  “She did it. I know she did. I don’t know how, but I know it was her.” Skye’s voice took on a nasty bent.

  “And ‘her’ would be?” Even though I’d been told of the accusation against her own mother, I had to hear it for myself. I looked from Skye to Katie. Katie took a breath to speak, but Skye’s answer shot out immediately.

  “Sharise.” Emotional venom fairly dripped from the walls on that one word.

  “So you believe the rock singer, Sharise, who is your mother, killed your father?” I kept my words unemotional and almost formal. I wanted to offset what I felt was the girl’s near breaking point.

  “She’s not my mother. Oh, she gave birth to me, but then she handed me over to Dad and I haven’t seen her since. I don’t think she even knows what I look like. And Sharise is not her real name. It’s Mary Louise Fitzhugh. Nothing about that bitch is real.”

  “Language, Skye,” Katie muttered, but there was no real force behind it.

  “She is a bitch, Katie,” said Skye. “She never wanted me, and she sold me to daddy for the money to start her career.”

  Katie nodded with a sadness that showed me just how attached she was to Skye. She reached over and took Skye’s hand, squeezed it, and pulled it onto her lap. Skye squeezed back, her lower lip quivering.

  “Katie’s the only mother I’ve ever known.” Skye’s voice was quiet. Filled with a mixture of love, hate, and resignation, it had too many levels for someone so young.

  “Do you think it was Sharise, Katie?” I focused on the nanny.

>   Katie hesitated, looking at Skye for something, I wasn’t sure what. “I think if it were possible for Sharise to kill David, she might have; she hated him so. But I don’t see how. Sharise is still in Germany. Her band has been on a three-month worldwide tour. Their last performance was Saturday night. The band left Sunday, but Sharise isn’t flying into the Bay Area until tomorrow, Tuesday. She’s filming a concert scene in a German movie that involves her lip-syncing to one of her songs. She shoots it tonight. She and her manager, Ty, are still in Frankfurt.”

  “That’s a lot of detailed information. How do you know all that?”

  “Part of the settlement agreement with David was that Sharise had to let him know where she was at all times.”

  “And if she didn’t,” Skye interrupted, “Daddy said he would write her out of his will.”

  Katie nodded. “I saw Sharise’s schedule on the house calendar, which is always posted on the server. All of Skye’s classes, meetings, extra-curricular activities and so forth are on it, even my chiropractic visits.”

  I turned to Skye. “Did you pay attention to where Sharise was?”

  She shook her head. “Not me. I didn’t care, but Daddy always had it up. I know Katie checked it from time to time, too. I’d see it on her laptop.”

  A flush covered Katie’s cheeks. “A lot of David’s moods seemed to be dictated by what Sharise did.”

  “Or didn’t do,” said Skye. “He still had a thing for her. That’s why he made her live in the Bay Area. It was, like, disgusting.” Her lip curled, making her look hard and far too worldly for her age. “I don’t care what the schedule says. She did it.”

  I mused for a moment. “It’s easy enough to check on Sharise’s whereabouts. The woman’s a star. A quick phone call to Germany might resolve it. What hotel is she staying at, anyway? It’s three-fifteen here; that makes it just after midnight there.”

  I looked at Skye then Katie. Skye shrugged with a helpless but angry gesture, but Katie answered.