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  Billie stood up and went to the grill to make sure Handel had shut off the gas. “I don’t know that he is the one,” she said, “He didn’t come right out and admit it and it was too dark to see anyone that night. So unless he turns himself in and confesses, the police have no case against him.”

  “Figures,” Adam huffed and crossed his arms. “He can shoot at you, destroy seventy-year-old vines, and set fire to Margaret’s property and no one can touch him. Where’s the justice in that?”

  Handel strode out, bearing dessert on a tray. Strawberry shortcake piled with berries and whipped cream. “Justice is in a fair and open trial with evidence to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt a suspect’s guilt. Or would you rather punish the accused first and then find out later he was the wrong guy?”

  “Well if I get my hands on him while he’s in the middle of another act of alleged,” Adam put his fingers up as quotation marks, “vandalism, I’ll let you know.”

  The sun was setting and shadows were deepening. Margaret kept glancing toward her house in the distance. “Where’s Davy,” she asked, when they were done with dessert.

  “I left him inside. He wanted to watch some weird reality show about hunting crocodiles or something.”

  “We should get going.” She started cleaning up the rest of the picnic supplies. “Can you drive us over, Adam?”

  Billie shook her head. “Go on. I’ve got this.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Billie was putting the rest of the things on the tray and folding the tablecloth, she heard the Corvette hot rod down the driveway. She smiled, knowing that Adam wasn’t just showing off for Davy, but for his girl. He was such a big kid.

  Handel rounded the corner of the house. “Need any help, babe?” he offered, taking the tray from her hands and following her into the kitchen.

  He poured them each a glass of wine while she filled the dishwasher, then stood leaning against the counter beside her. “Frank thinks I should call Hosea and ask him point blank if he’s involved in these acts of vandalism or if he knows who is.”

  She slanted her eyes at him. “Frank does, does he? Did he also deputize you in case you need to make a citizen’s arrest?”

  “I didn’t think to ask him. Now I wish I had.” He stepped behind her and began massaging her neck and shoulders, his hands moving gently, kneading out the knots and warming her skin. “You always have the best ideas,” he said. He kissed the side of her neck, right below her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

  She turned into his arms and slid wet hands up over his chest and around his neck, dampening his shirt. “Seems like you’re the one with the best idea now,” she murmured as he lowered his head to kiss her.

  His cell phone interrupted the moment once again. He tried to ignore the ringing in his pocket but she finally pulled back, pressing her hands against his chest. “Go. Answer it.”

  Handel took it out of his pocket and looked at caller ID. “It’s Frank,” he said, trying not to look eager.

  She picked up her wine glass and poured it down the drain. “I’ll be in bed if you need me,” she said, and left him with his new best friend.

  Handel’s conversation lasted longer than expected, or he decided to go in his office and work, because by the time she finished reading a chapter in her book, he was still missing in action and she was finding it quite impossible to keep her eyes open. She finally gave up, clicked off the lamp and went to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Margaret stood on the front step and waved as Davy drove off with Adam the next morning on his way to soccer camp. Her son had a knack for getting his own way. She was a little jealous of the buddy friendship the two of them had built up in such a short time, but only because sometimes it seemed like he was pulling away from her.

  She shook her head and went back inside. Of course Davy was pulling away from her. He was growing up. A ten-year-old didn’t need his mother hovering all the time. She was glad he and Adam had formed a bond of mutual respect. A boy needed the right kind of male mentors. She couldn’t ask for better examples than her brother and Adam.

  She cleaned up their few breakfast dishes and then remembered to throw Davy’s new favorite shirt in a load of laundry before changing into loose khaki pants and an old faded tank top to work outside. The burned wall of the shed needed to be torn off and replaced with new wood. First she had to move everything inside the shed, out.

  She pulled her long braid through the hole in the back of her cap, slipped her cell phone into her pocket and went out through the garage. Adam had recently installed a keypad entry, so she punched in the numbers and closed the door behind her. After the last two days, she certainly didn’t want vandals sneaking into the house or wine cellar while she was out of sight.

  Halfway down the hill to the shed, she heard a car approach. She turned around, her hand up to the bill of her cap to block the glare of sun shooting through the branches of the elms. The same black Jaguar that had been parked outside Antonio’s back door the other day was now parked in her driveway.

  “Damn.” She should have known she couldn’t escape this man so easily. His son thought he ran the world. The father probably thought he ran the universe. Hands on her hips, she waited.

  Edoardo stepped out of the car and turned slowly, looking around at the house and fields. His gaze swept over her and then came back to rest. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Buon giorno, Margaret!” he called.

  Grudgingly, she started back up the hill pulling off her gloves as she went. She stuffed them in the utility pocket of her khakis and stopped a few feet away. “Hello, Mr. Salvatore,” she said, her voice clipped and formal. “What can I do for you?”

  She was glad Davy was not at home so she could deal with this man without further emotional complications. Agosto had put Davy in the middle, trying to use his innate longing for a father as a ploy to force her hand. Davy was not a bargaining chip in a board meeting. He was flesh and blood and soul, and he had already been hurt enough by the Salvatores.

  Edoardo gave a low chuckle, his mouth slanted in a rueful smile as his eyes caught and held hers. She could see where Agosto had gotten his hard-to-resist charm. The father wasn’t as devilishly handsome as the son had been, but like an aging Bruce Willis, he was no slouch to look at. He’d come in more casual attire – black slacks and an open collared violet colored shirt – but still gave off that aura of self-made millionaire.

  “Perhaps there is something I can do for you,” he said, tipping his head slightly as he regarded her. “I heard about the recent trouble you have had with vandals.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Where did you hear that?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The police had not been dispatched for the fire because Loren had told them it was just a shed fire, away from the house and no one was injured.

  “At my hotel. The woman at the desk was speaking with the postman. He said there was a fire and damage to your vineyard. Carl mentioned the other night that someone had shot through the front window of your sister-in-law’s house as well.” He shrugged. “A tight community. People talk.”

  It was true, her mail carrier had noticed the broken vines yesterday and asked her about them. Apparently he was good at distributing more than mail. And Carl was probably just making conversation, but she wished he’d make it with someone else. She didn’t want this man knowing anything about her personal business.

  “What is it that you think you can help with?” she asked.

  “The idea that you and my grandson live way out here without proper protection is appalling to me. I will pay for a home alarm system and a security guard to patrol your property for a few days in case the vandal returns.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished his over-reaching pompous speech. “We don’t need your money, Mr. Salvatore. And it doesn’t really matter whether you like that we live out here. This is our home. If I feel that we need more security, then I’ll take care of the matter. Thank you very much,”
she said, her voice firm and strong despite the fearful quiver in her gut at his commandeering manner. She reminded herself that she was no longer the insecure young girl that Agosto once ruled in that same arrogant fashion, but she was a talented, strong woman who had found her niche in life and excelled at what she did. She didn’t need this man to approve of how she lived.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “Frankly, I find it quite disturbing that you would turn my offer down. A single mother like yourself,” he said lifting a hand toward her, “should be eager to prove to the courts that she is able to keep her son safe.”

  “I am his mother,” she said, trying to appear unmoved by the subtle threat. She shoved shaking hands in the front pockets of her khakis. “I have raised and protected him for the past ten years and I will continue to do it to the best of my ability until he’s an adult. I have no need to prove anything to anyone!”

  “When people find out he is my grandson, he will no longer be a nobody. He will be high profile, like one of your American celebrities. With that in mind, security must be high as well, for his continued well-being.”

  “In that case,” she said, letting a tinge of anger color her voice, “the wise thing to do is make sure no one ever knows he’s your grandson.”

  His mouth pulled tight and he glared his disapproval. “You don’t know who you are dealing with, young lady.”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  But he wasn’t finished yet. He stepped closer and pointed a finger in her face. “I will not be so easy to dispose of as my son proved to be. I’ve read all of the police reports that said your father murdered Agosto.” He paused, breathing heavily through his nostrils like an angry stallion about to rear and trample whoever got in his way. For a moment she thought he might strike her and she took a step back. When he continued his eyes were still hard, but he’d lost the crazy look. “But I know who is really responsible for my son’s death.”

  Margaret didn’t respond. The implied accusation was too much to register. She stared after him as he turned abruptly and got back into his fancy sports car. He didn’t even glance her way when he backed out and drove off. Gravel dust settled around her and she breathed a huge sigh of relief that he was gone. Watching the black car disappear down the highway, relief soon turned to dread. Could this be the beginning of a power struggle for Davy’s custody? The man did not look like a quitter. He would absolutely make her life miserable to the end.

  How far was he willing to go? He was already accumulating info to use against her in family court, trying to prove that her home was unsafe for a minor. What else had he learned? Did he have someone spying on her? She turned around, pulling her gloves back on. She could only deal with one demolition at a time. Salvatore would have to wait.

  •••••

  Handel typed Hosea’s number into his phone and stared at it on the screen for long seconds before pressing send. He’d waited until Billie was at the winery working; he wanted to be able to concentrate on every nuance of the conversation. Sometimes when his wife was around he had a hard time keeping a clear head. Logic was often overridden by emotion, especially since his accident. He didn’t know if the head trauma had damaged some emotional cortex or something, but he just didn’t feel like himself.

  It rang once. Twice. Someone picked up but there was only silence.

  “Hello? Hosea?”

  “Who is this?” a low voice asked, giving nothing away but his Mexican heritage.

  “Handel Parker. You called me a few weeks ago. Remember? Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances we were unable to finish our conversation.”

  “I got nothin’ to say.”

  “Wait!” Handel said, afraid he’d hang up before he had time to ask his questions. “You said you know who killed Jimena. Were you there?”

  The man muttered a string of swear words in Spanish. “You lawyers are all the same. You don’t want the truth, you just want to win. When your own family is threatened, then you get all uptight and want justice right now. Where’s the justice for Jimena? Huh?” he broke out into swearing again.

  “Hosea,” he interrupted, speaking calmly, despite his desire to reach through the connection and grab the man by the throat. “I understand you cared about Jimena. I admit I didn’t know her, but I do care about justice. That’s why I’m asking you for the facts.”

  “So you can twist them in court? Nah! I don’t think so. I’m already walkin’ a thin line. If he finds out I –” he swore loudly.

  “If who finds out? Jimena’s killer? Don’t you want to see him pay for what he did?”

  Handel heard him sniff. “She was going off on him when she heard he was knee deep in aqua for Las Boyz. I just wanted my money before we left for Mexico. That’s all I wanted. Now she’s dead and he’ll never pay. You’ll make sure of that.”

  “There can be no justice if good people won’t come forward with the truth,” Handel said, trying to eek out the little bit of humanity that might still be hidden behind the man’s angry defenses.

  Hosea was silent for a few seconds and Handel wondered if the line had been disconnected, but the time counter was still ticking down on his call. “There is no justice for people like us,” he finally said, his voice hollow with regret. “Only vengeance.”

  “Taking the law into your own hands is a dangerous occupation, Hosea.”

  “This world is a dangerous place. You want some free advice, Mr. Lawyer? I’d get a gun if I were you. A big gun.”

  “Is that a threat? Because I don’t like threats. Especially against my family.”

  These gang members killed with no scruples. Hosea might have loved Jimena Kawasaki, but that didn’t mean he was completely innocent of her death. He’d already admitted he’d been there at the time. So to him shooting a stranger would be like smashing a bug on the sidewalk.

  The man’s high-pitched laughter reminded Handel of a nervous hyena. He wondered if he was doing drugs again. “I’m not the one you need to worry about. I warned your chica. Look closer to home. And don’t call me again.” He hung up.

  Handel disconnected the device he’d used to record the call and sat back in his desk chair with a sigh. The recording may not be admissible in a court of law but he planned to have Officer Torn listen to it anyway. Frank had some experience with gangs in his early days of walking a beat in San Francisco. Maybe he’d pick up on something in Hosea’s words that he was missing.

  He replayed the conversation through once more and then stopped to rewind the last part again. “I’m not the one you need to worry about. I warned your chica. Look closer to home.”

  Handel leaned with his elbows on the desk and stared at the framed wedding photo of Billie on the shelf across the room. How close to home was the man referring? Someone connected to the trial? Someone Billie and Margaret worked with at the winery? He shook his head. None of this made sense. Were they targeting his family to keep him distracted because they thought he was too close to identifying the real killer or because they didn’t like the idea that he might get Kawasaki off? Now she’s dead and he’ll never pay. You’ll make sure of that. The trial was set to resume on Monday and he was starting to wonder if his client was innocent after all.

  •••••

  Sally stepped into Billie’s office, a huge grin on her face. “I think you might want to see this,” she said, hooking a thumb behind her. She snorted a laugh as though unable to keep it in and led the way down the hall.

  Billie squinted, stepping out the door into the full sun. Loren was ogling somebody’s new Harley. He walked around it, his fingers lightly brushing the leather saddle. “This is a hot ride, Mamma,” he said appreciatively.

  The woman stood with her back to the door. In jeans, boots, and a bright pink and black leather jacket, she was most definitely hot, whether or not she was a mamma. The temperature had to be eighty degrees out. Billie thought Loren was just using his slang a little too liberally until the woman pulled off
a matching helmet and fluffed shoulder-length dark brown hair with a shake of her head.

  “Mom?” Her mouth dropped open when Sabrina twirled around.

  “Wilhemina!” She handed Loren her helmet and pulled Billie into a leather-clad hug. “I missed you!” She slowly drew back and looked at her daughter as though she hadn’t seen her for years. Her eyes were red and moist. Probably from buffeting the wind with her face. “I just had a feeling that I needed to be here,” she said, as dramatic as ever.

  “A feeling, huh? Does it come and go like hot flashes, Mom?” she waved an arm at the bike. “Cause riding a motorcycle all the way from Minnesota seems like more than a feeling. Have you lost your freaking mind?”

  Sabrina looked confused, a line of worry between her brows. “Are you all right, honey? You don’t look so good. Maybe we should go inside where it’s cool and discuss this.” She took Billie’s arm and tugged her gently toward the door.

  Sally was biting her lip to keep from laughing, but her eyes were nearly popping out of her head from the pressure. Billie glared her way, but as soon as the door closed behind them she heard Sally and Loren explode into gales of laughter.

  Sabrina followed her down the hall to her office and tugged her jacket off. She hung it on the coat hook behind the door. “Your office looks so professional, Billie. Like a real business owner,” she said, smiling brightly.

  “I am a real business owner, Mother,” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk and crossing her arms. “Now are you going to tell me what in the world is going on with you?”

  Her mom cocked her head to the side and rubbed the side of her neck. “I’m a little stiff after that ride,” she said, “and I could use a drink.”

  “A drink? What? Are you a beer guzzling biker chick now?”

  “No, silly. I need some water. It’s hot out there.”