I had the idea for my first book back when I was working at the City of Los Angeles for the first Latina Councilwoman Gloria Molina. The characters and situations I came across were so interesting, and I’ve always had an active imagination, so making up a story with some of these characters and giving a little life to the bureaucracy seemed like a no-brainer. But then I went on to practice as a Civil Rights attorney and later as a corporate executive. So much more material! Then, of course, there are my friends and family, some of whom I quote directly. For example, in As You Look, Yolanda’s godson Joey says that he wishes he could “rewind life.” Just like Joey, my then five-year-old nephew Matthew said the same thing to me, and for the same reason, to relive fun moments. My friends and family provide great material, but so do the people I’ve come across in my career.

What kind of books do you read and who are your favorite authors?

I have a rather eclectic reading taste. I’ll read anything from literary fiction to non-fiction, biographies, historical novels, and inspirational pieces, but I always come back to mysteries. One that falls into several of these categories is Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s series on The Cemetery of Forgotten Books. It’s a four-book series that my wife and I read out of order. We’d stop frequently and say to each other, “Check out this passage…” He wrote that beautifully.

I’ve become a member of the Golden Crown Literary Society, so I read a lot of my fellow writers there. Katherine V. Forrest, KG MacGregor, Gerri Hill, and Stacy Lynn Miller are among my favorites. I also joined Crime Writers of Color founded by Walter Mosely, Kellye Garrett, and Gigi Pandian, so I’m now reading lots of books by our fellow members. They, along with Tracy Clark, Attica Locke, Rachel Howzell Hall, and Naomi Hirahara are among my favorites. I think Naomi’s Evergreen was the first mystery I read set in Boyle Heights, but her entire body of work is an inspiration. Her non-fiction Life  After Manzanar piqued my interest in telling the story of Japanese Americans who grew up in Boyle  Heights before and after they were forced into concentration camps. Hence, Buried Seeds.

Writers are among the most generous people I know, and I will be forever grateful to those I’ve met and feel honored to know.

You also have another book, something called My Little Black Cocktail Book. Tell us about that.

Well, in addition to writers, bartenders are among the most generous people in the world. My wife and I like making cocktails at home. We have a group of friends we call the Football Lokas because we first gathered to watch football on Sundays. Okay, some of them came only for the cocktails. I got tired of missing the touchdowns while making cocktails in the kitchen, so we put in a home bar. One thing led to another and every time we went to a bar, if it wasn’t busy, we asked about the ingredients and techniques. Another friend kept pushing me to write my first book and gave me lots of tips on self- publishing. As a test, I published a journal to gather my cocktail research. So much better than writing on the back of a napkin! Now I give My Little Black Cocktail Book to bartenders we like. They love it.

We also host fundraisers for Los Angeles non-profits that we call Mixology on A Mission. It’s a great way for small organizations to grow their donor base. We provide the food, drink, and experience of a mixology lesson; they collect the contributions. And everyone has fun. You can find more on the website we created for it:

Do your cocktails make it into your books?

Absolutely! You’ll have to read them to find the recipes

BURIED SEEDS

A Yolanda Avila Mystery
By Verónica Gutiérrez

Excerpt

Darkness enveloped the dimly lit streets in San Gabriel. Here it was an aesthetic choice, not the result of copper theft taking out streetlights. Oscar Garcia had the same build as his father, but about thirty pounds lighter. He was several years older than his brother and sister, maybe in his mid-forties. Yolanda thought he must be the son from a first marriage. She recalled that Christine had said Mrs. Garcia had died recently and had been a bookkeeper with the firm. Yolanda wondered if she’d been the second wife—an employee no less. Her catty senses told her that the second Mrs. Garcia had stayed close to the office, perhaps with good reason, but what did she know?

“Focus,” Yolanda thought to herself. She followed Oscar to an overstuffed chair in the living room off a small foyer. Beyond the formal living room, divided by French doors, was a larger family room that looked like an addition. Unlike the well-appointed Architectural Digest living room with its antique end tables and tasteful home décor sconces and vases, the family room was full of children’s toys around an antique chest that served as a coffee table.

“My wife is putting the kids to sleep,” Oscar said. “Would you like a drink? I was just about to make myself a Boulevardier.”

“Ooh, that sounds lovely,” Yolanda said, wondering if the house made her use the word “lovely,” not something in her regular vocabulary. But she loved a good Boulevardier. “If you have mezcal, I’ll have it with that instead of bourbon.”

Oscar Garcia, who’d started to walk through the foyer, stopped in his tracks and turned around with a smile—not as charming as his brother’s but more genuine.

“Mezcal? I’ve never tried it that way. I’ll give it a shot. Come on over we’ll make it how you like it.”

Yolanda joined him and walked into a formal dining room with a built-in wet bar. They talked about their favorite sweet vermouths and Yolanda’s preference for just a little Campari. She explained that the recipe was one of her friend Mel’s secrets and that she was always trying to guess the proportions at home. She suggested he visit Las Adelitas in Highland Park. It probably wasn’t his kind of place, but it didn’t hurt to sound friendly. Back in the living room, they each took an overstuffed chair facing a large sofa and the front windows, their backs to the French doors and the family room. The end table between them conveniently held leather coasters embossed with a fleur-de-lis. Oscar spoke first.

“This is pretty good,” he said, raising his glass to Yolanda. After Yolanda raised her own glass in response, he continued. “My father and my brother say you paid them a visit today.”

Yolanda savored the first sip of her perfectly balanced cocktail before answering. Maybe she’d finally gotten the proportions right: An ounce and a half of mezcal, three-quarters of an ounce of sweet vermouth, and a quarter ounce of Campari.

“I did, indeed, pay them a visit.” What was it with her speech in this house? Indeed? Really? “Did they say what they were concerned about?” It was better to be the one asking the questions than having to answer them.

“They said you are investigating the death of one of Hector’s friends. Is he a suspect?”

“You tell me. Should he be?”

About Author Verónica Gutiérrez…