3 Savor Page 10

  Carl’s restaurant business wouldn’t have gotten off the ground if it weren’t for Uncle Salvatore. He owed him much. When he couldn’t afford to pay for his last year of college, when he’d needed a loan for the restaurant, when he’d needed help getting specialty foods and wine brought in from Italy…Uncle Salvatore had been there paying the bills, loaning the funds, smoothing the way. That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to discount everything he said about Margaret and Handel the evening before when they’d met again for dinner.

  “I know you consider this Avvocato, to be family. Like a brother.” Edoardo set down his forkful of linguini and shook his head. “Family is blood. You have a brother. Antonio. I’m telling you this because I think you are trusting the wrong people. Your mother tells me that last year when Antonio wanted to buy out of the business and dissolve the partnership that you asked this Mr. Parker to help you and he turned you down. What kind of brother turns his back on family when they need help? Eh?” He lifted his wine glass and drained it in one gulp.

  “He didn’t turn me down exactly,” Carl argued halfheartedly. He’d been a little miffed when Handel pushed him off onto a firm that specialized in partnership law. Sure, he was a criminal attorney, but he could have taken care of it if he’d wanted to. “He was friends with both of us, so filing the paperwork would have pushed the envelope of good ethics. He didn’t want to be accused of favoritism,” he said, repeating the gist of what Handel had explained to them.

  Edoardo poured his glass full again and tipped the bottle toward Carl.

  He covered the rim of his glass and shook his head.

  “Favoritism,” his uncle scoffed. “Sounds like a weak excuse to me.”

  “He’s a good man, Uncle,” he said, feeling as though he should take up Handel’s side of things. “It takes a lot of time to get a law practice up and running as he has. He’s a hard worker. I think you would like him.”

  “Is that so?” Edoardo raised his brows, clearly amused.

  “Yes, that’s so. In fact, he was in a terrible car accident recently and just got out of the hospital. Did that stop him? No. According to Margaret, he’s already busy working on the murder trial again.” He threw up his hands. “It’s a huge media spectacle. On the news every night. And someone is so upset about Handel defending this Kawasaki guy that they actually shot at Billie through their front window the other night.”

  “Really,” his uncle said, his brow now knit with concern. “I certainly hope they find the culprits.”

  “Me too.” Carl nodded, getting back on track. “We do see less of one another since he got married, which is only natural. But Handel would do anything for me, as I would for him.”

  “And what of his sister? This Margaret. She is, after all, the reason Agosto was murdered. He came here to meet his son and she obstructed him at every turn. Those two come from bad genes. I read the news stories about their father. A pervertire on the run from the law. They still have not located him. Can you really say with assurance that my grandson is safe in that family?

  “Uncle…” he said, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was flowing.

  Edoardo waved off his unspoken words. “That kind of sickness is often repeated in the next generation. I’ve seen it before. I won’t allow my grandson to suffer needlessly when I could keep him from it.”

  “What are you saying?” Carl asked, his mouth going dry. His uncle had the power and means to pull off a court-approved custody reversal or a child abduction if he so wished. Edoardo’s plan – if he indeed had one – to take Davy out of the country, would not be thwarted as easily as Agosto’s had been.

  “I’m saying that there may be a time when you need to choose.”

  Edoardo sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, his gaze piercing Carl’s heart like a laser. He knew his uncle grieved the loss of his only son, and was desperate to be a part of his grandson’s life now, but could he really be asking him to choose between his friends and his family?

  Loyalty to family meant everything to men like his uncle. His ancestors had fought and died generation after generation for nothing more than a crumbling castle and a family crest. Edoardo would fight for much more. Flesh and blood. An heir to continue the family line and take up the reins of his empire when the time came that he could no longer control things.

  Carl often thought that if he’d just given Agosto the benefit of the doubt, showed him that he was on his side, that he understood and supported his longing to know his son, everything would have turned out differently. Maybe all he needed was family to come alongside and turn him away from the bad choices he made. Margaret may have listened if he’d stepped forward and pleaded Agosto’s case. Instead, she and Handel refused to consider Agosto’s side at all, and he’d stayed out of it, not wanting to anger his friends.

  He hadn’t said it in so many words last night, but Carl was afraid that his uncle expected him to prove his loyalty by helping him wrest Davy from his own mother. In all good conscience, how could he do such a thing?

  Carl released a pent-up breath and rose from the table. Davy was a good kid, smart and athletic for his age. He was definitely a Salvatore. But he was also as much a part of the winery and vineyard as one of those seventy-year-old vines his mom made her best wine from. He opened the cupboard and took out the bottle of DiSaronno he kept there, plunked in ice and poured himself a shot. The sweet, almond flavored liqueur blazed a trail of warmth to his belly. He didn’t normally drink hard liquor but the situation was making him decidedly uncomfortable.

  He heard a car pull up outside, a radio blaring country music. Dirk was here. Time to pull himself together. He placed the bottle in the cupboard and sat down at the table to finish going over his inventory. Thoughts of family ties and friendships on the brink would have to wait until after restaurant hours.

  Chapter Seven

  The moon was no more than a sliver, but it glowed bright against a midnight blue sky. The air was cool and dry with the sweet, seductive scent of ripening wine berries. Handel laced his fingers with Billie’s and pulled her close where they stood in the middle of the south vineyard listening to the neighbor’s Great Dane bark in the distance.

  “I’ll never tire of this,” he said, slipping his hands up her arms and over her shoulders, “or forget that this is where I fell in love with you.”

  Billie pressed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt and relaxed into his embrace. She murmured a wordless agreement and breathed him in, still unable to believe that he was alive and whole after seeing his wrecked Porsche that afternoon.

  The familiar car so crushed and twisted, shattered glass sprinkled liberally over leather seats, had made her heart pound with dread just thinking of what he must have gone through. Handel insisted on emptying the glove box and prying open the trunk to look for personal items. After that he took pictures with his cell phone before he signed off on the insurance papers. The Porsche was the first big item he’d purchased when he started making money as an attorney and it obviously held sentimental value. She was just glad it was made from solid German engineering. If he’d been driving her little Mazda, as the insurance agent pointed out, Handel probably would have been crushed to death.

  She pulled back and peered up into his shadowed face. “Do you think you were spared for a reason… other than the fact that God was probably tired of my constant pleading?”

  He brushed his fingers lightly over her hair, his voice low and thoughtful. “My mom used to say, ‘God allows everything for a reason. Being God, he doesn’t necessarily have to let us in on it.’ In spite of what she put up with – my father’s drinking, abuse, and then her cancer – she wasn’t bitter. Just matter-of-fact. Like she knew the end of the story would change everything.”

  “I believe there’s a master plan too,” she agreed. “One we can’t see or comprehend from our viewpoint, but I have to believe God is working behind the scenes turning the pain and suffering of this world into
something beautiful.”

  “I hope so. But let’s not waste a minute of the second chance he’s given us now.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him. His lips soon moved from her mouth to her neck, his whiskers rough and scratchy on sensitive skin, quickening the anticipation. She pulled him closer still.

  He suddenly lifted his head, kissed her lightly on the lips and turned her firmly toward home. “Come on. That’s quite enough moonlight for one night. I want you in bed, wife.”

  “Your wish is my command,” she said, eager to please and be pleased.

  Together they hurried down the rutted trail, stepping over rocks and uneven ground, their gaze fixed on the porch light glowing like a beacon in the night. The neighbor’s dog had decided to rest his bark and save it for another day. The only sound was the scuffing of their shoes and the distant drone of a small plane flying overhead.

  Light flashed from across the field, headlights bouncing crazily in Margaret’s yard. They both stopped and looked. The high whine of an engine reached them as someone accelerated and then slammed their brakes. Were the same vandals at work in Margaret’s yard now?

  “What the –” Handel took off at a run, sprinting down the field.

  “Handel!” Billie yelled after him, but he didn’t slow. He kept right on going to the end of the row, then turned and ran toward the Parker field. His ribs were barely healed and he was going directly into danger. She whipped around and ran in the opposite direction, toward the garage and her car.

  If those vandals were as blatant as last time, they would be tearing around for a few more minutes. The fact that they might have a gun and that Handel was unarmed, gave her an extra burst of speed. Panting and winded, she opened the garage, yanked open the door of her car and jumped in. Thank God her key was still above the visor and she hadn’t listened to Handel when he warned her that one of these days someone was going to walk right in and drive away with her car.

  She backed out and whipped around in the driveway sending a spray of gravel dust flying out from under her tires. The motion sensors caused all the lights on the house and garage to come on as she shot up the driveway to the road. There was no traffic at this time of night and she hit the gas, sending the speedometer up to eighty miles per hour within seconds. The half-mile distance to Margaret’s turnoff was covered so fast she had to slam her brakes on to make the turn, no doubt leaving a nice skid mark behind on the asphalt as she whipped into the driveway and turned her car sideways to block the vandals from getting away. Gravel crunched and flew, pinging the underbody of her vehicle as she skidded to a stop. She shut off the ignition, threw open the door, and jumped out.

  She heard Handel shout, and the sound of a vehicle roaring toward her. Headlights bounced over the bump in Margaret’s driveway and blinded her as she stood in the middle of the road, caught and held in the beam.

  The truck ground to a halt within a few feet of her position. She couldn’t see who was driving or even the make and model of the vehicle. She just knew it was a truck or SUV by the sound of the engine. Frozen in place as though her tennis shoes had taken up roots, she stared into the blinding glare while dust settled around her and waited helplessly for whatever was going to happen next.

  “Billie!” she heard Handel yell from somewhere back by the house and then the driver of the truck hit the gas again, swerved around her and the car, bounced down into the shallow ditch and came up on the other side. As quick as they had come, they roared away into the night.

  Handel pounded toward her, breathing hard and heavy. He grabbed her and pulled her against him, regardless of the pain to his ribs. Huffing and panting into her ear, his heart beating raggedly against her breasts, he gasped out a warning, “Don’t ever…do…anything…like that…again.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said against his shirt, now damp with sweat. She felt him tense as another car slowed at the driveway and turned in, stopping behind her Mazda.

  They pulled apart and stared into the glare of headlights, lower than the truck’s and partially blocked by her taller vehicle. The door of the mystery car opened and a shadowed form stepped out.

  “Billie? Handel? What are you doing here?”

  “Adam?” She ran toward her brother. “Are Margaret and Davy with you?” she asked, worried that they hadn’t heard anything from them since the commotion began.

  “Margaret is, but what…”

  Handel hurried to the other side of the car and yanked the door open. “Margaret. You’re all right,” he said, relief flooding his voice.

  “Of course I’m all right,” she said. “But now you’re scaring me. What is going on?”

  “Where’s Davy?”

  “He’s staying with a friend tonight.”

  Still breathing hard, he bent over holding his side. “Thank God.”

  Billie circled the vehicle, her attention diverted. “What’s this?”

  “What do you think it is? It’s my new ride,” her brother said proudly.

  Margaret climbed out of the Corvette and pulled Handel toward the house. “You two get these cars out of my driveway. I’m taking Handel inside. He doesn’t sound very good.”

  •••••

  “I’m fine,” Handel reassured them for the third time. “The doctor said I’m healthy as a horse. A little running is not going to kill me. I was just out of breath.”

  “Healthy as a horse and stubborn as a mule,” Margaret muttered, waiting for him to drink the glass of water she’d handed him.

  He obediently slugged it down and grinned as he held out the empty glass. “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  “So what’s going on?” Adam asked, dropping onto the couch and looking from Handel to Billie and back again. “You raced over here after midnight and blocked off Meg’s driveway just to catch us coming home from the club?”

  Handel explained what had happened and they both looked plenty concerned. He glanced at Billie. “We thought someone was targeting us because of the trial, but now –” he shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on. Since there’s nothing the police can do tonight, except keep us up later than we already are, I’ll call Officer Torn in the morning and fill him in on tonight’s adventures.”

  “Maybe it’s someone with a grudge against Fredrickson’s,” said Adam, “and not any one in particular. After all, everyone around here knows that Margaret works for you as chief winemaker, and now you’ve both been harassed.”

  “That’s true.” Billie yawned widely. “Babe, let’s go home and get some rest.

  They said goodnight and went out to the car. Billie backed up and turned the car around. “I hope the police catch these creeps soon. I think I’ve had about enough of their…” her words trailed off as the car’s headlights swept the field below Margaret’s shed. A dirt trail led to the vineyard beyond and in the light she saw that the truck had obviously taken the trail at some point, plowing down a section of vines like so much kindling. She hit the brakes and stared. “Oh no.”

  “What?”

  She reached across the console and grasped his arm. “They ran right over Margaret’s vines. The ones your grandfather planted in the Forties.”

  •••••

  No one managed to get to bed after they went back in to inform Margaret about the vines. She ran right out, ordering everyone to find flashlights and follow. Handel parked the car closer and left the headlights on so they could better inspect the damage.

  Billie gazed around at the broken vines, crushed grapes, and deep grooves in the field made by truck tires. It was so senseless. Why would anyone destroy something so beautiful and productive, something that had stood the test of time, survived decades of weather and disease?

  Margaret knelt over a knarled, thick uprooted vine and shook her head, tears of misery glistening in her eyes. Adam leaned in, rubbing circles over her back, and murmuring comforting words that Billie couldn’t hear from where she stood.
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  “At least they didn’t uproot them all,” Handel confirmed, raising his flashlight to the end of the row. “We can take cuttings from the toppled vines and start a new vineyard. That way we’ll always have Grandfather’s Tocai Friulano if something should happen to the others.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to the others, because I won’t let it.” Margaret’s voice was fiery. She raised her eyes to her brother. “Has anyone else thought that perhaps this kind of harassment is right up our father’s alley?”

  “No.” Billie said immediately, unwilling to even contemplate such a thought. “Sean Parker is dead. The Mexican cartel killed him. Mario would not have let him live after what he did to his sister. He sent me the pictures back as proof. You know that.”

  “Sure,” Margaret said. She turned and stalked back to the house, Adam following in her wake. He turned and cast Billie a worried look, but left Handel to smooth things over.

  Handel released a heavy sigh and put an arm around her as they trudged back to the car. “She’s just upset. Don’t mind what she says. We’re all overtired and looking for answers. There’s no way my father could survive the cartel. And if he did… someone else would kill him. He made a lot of enemies in his life.”

  “I know.” She paused and looked up at the night sky, shot full of stars. “In my head I know it’s not possible. In my heart… even the thought makes me feel ill.”

  They climbed in the car and drove home. Outside lights blinked on again as they pulled into the garage. The hoot of an owl in the trees behind the house was a reminder that predators did manage to survive best in the shadows. The thought came unbidden to her mind that if Sean Parker were alive he would do well to remain hidden. She’d been taught that God would judge evil one day, but if that man were in her sights she wouldn’t hesitate to send him to kingdom come, by whatever means she had available. A pocket of sadness filled her heart, knowing he had changed her, made her less trusting, more vengeful. Would that she could go back to the girl she once was and start over. But that was impossible.