Death Runs in the Family (3 page)

“Looking into what?” I demanded. But the other end of the line went stony silent again. “Richard, are you still there?”

“I’m here,” he said. His voice was filled with grief, but there was something else besides the sorrow—something that reached out and clamped down on me as if it were a steel vise. For a moment, all I could hear was my brother’s staccato breathing and the sound of my own heart thudding in my ears.

“Oh, God, Richard, you don’t think his death was accidental or from natural causes.”

“No.”
“You think Stephen was murdered.”

“Yes.”

Chapter Two

Grief Knocks at the Door

After a hasty, vague explanation to a wide-eyed Kelli, I left her to sort out Lady Gaga, while I threw on some clean sweats, and dashed out of the apartment. I took the stairs two at a time and ran along the circular asphalt driveway separating my garage apartment from the white colonial, two-story house, its pool and hot tub. I sprinted to where the driveway meets the street. Richard’s new green Prius was pulling in, his salute to the environment.

Richard flung open the car door and jumped out, his slim frame sheathed in the worn, faded T-shirt and jeans of the classic computer nerd. Barely half an inch taller than me, he seemed even more slight than usual, more vulnerable, as if this tragedy had taken something primal out of him. He looked at me. All the grief and shock I was feeling was mirrored in my brother’s light blue eyes, a color garnered from our mother. Yet unlike Mom, Richard’s were lit from behind with the same burning intensity as our Latino father.

From somewhere within I summoned up the strength to be the strong one. I tried to keep my stance tall and unyielding.

“We’ll get through this, Richard. I don’t know how, but we will.”

Shaking his head, my kid brother walked into my arms. “I can’t believe it. We were going to run a 12K next week. I can’t believe it.” His stifled sobs shook both our bodies.

“I know,” I whispered. “I talked to him just the other day about getting together for his birthday.”

I broke free and searched his strained face. “What happened, Richard? Tell me what you know.” I leaned against the car, feeling the warmth of the metal against my hip.

Richard looked away and into a sky still shrouded in its nightly gray cloud cover. Soon the sun would break through, and we would have another sunny California day, cool and delicious. But Stephen would still be dead.

“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; something 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 s
houldn’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.