3 Savor Read online

  “I arrest them. You release them.” Frank shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we’re not both serving justice.”

  “Yeah, well now I’m wondering if my keeping innocent people out of jail is actually stretching the truth.”

  Frank frowned, his forehead rippled like waves on a lake. “People lie, counselor. I’ve heard confessions from men who had nothing to do with a crime and I’ve heard elaborate stories of innocence from men who had committed heinous acts of violence. People will lie to protect themselves, their friends, to get a warm room for the night, or to cover up something worse.” He waved a hand. “Just about anything. You seem like a pretty astute judge of character. If you believed your client when you took him on, then you have nothing to beat yourself up about. If he does have something to do with,” he lowered his voice, “aqua, it doesn’t mean he’s guilty of the crime he’s being tried for.”

  “Maybe, but I hate the thought of…” he broke off. “Sorry. I don’t mean to throw my problems in your lap. I really do appreciate your help.”

  “What goes around comes around.”

  Handel chuckled. “Is that a subtle reminder of your sister’s court case?”

  “Maybe a little one.”

  “Don’t worry. Billie agreed to handle it. I told you she would. She sees a woman or children in trouble and she’s compelled to come to the rescue.”

  “I don’t think my sister needs to be rescued exactly,” Frank said, running a hand over his blonde buzz cut. “I taught her self-defense after all. She wanted to be a cop too, but that husband of hers talked her out of it. Maybe once this crap gets settled she’ll revisit the idea. She’d make a good one.”

  “She does have a great head-bashing technique,” Handel said, holding back a grin.

  “That she does.”

  Frank purchased a box of caramel rolls and another coffee before he left, saying he was buying his wife’s forgiveness for another week. Handel slipped into Billie’s little Mazda and turned the key. He’d found a parking spot directly in front of the shop and someone was already waiting for him to move so she could occupy it. He pulled away from the curb and moved into traffic. His hand automatically slipped down to shift gears, but came up empty. He really missed his Porsche. After the trial, he needed to go car shopping.

  His cell phone rang in his pocket. He’d forgotten to sync it with the Bluetooth in Billie’s car earlier. He slipped it out and glanced at the screen. Sloane Kawasaki was calling. He’d let his answering service pick up. Before he spoke with his client again, he needed to get some facts straight. He dropped the phone into the cup holder and pushed his foot down on the gas.

  •••••

  Handel pulled into the garage and shut off the engine. The BMW was gone. Maybe Billie had decided to take her mom shopping or something. He climbed out of the car, grabbed his briefcase and went around to the back door. He was just about to put the key in the lock when the door was yanked open and Billie stood there wild-eyed, looking as though someone just told her the world would end at 6:30. He glanced at his watch. Luckily, they had a good twenty minutes to spare.

  She backed up and let him in, then took his briefcase and set it on the table. “You’re not going to believe what is going on,” she began, following him to the refrigerator for a beer.

  He pulled open the door and selected a bottle, twisted the cap and took a long drink before saying, “What now? Your mom decide to join the circus?”

  Billie crossed her arms tightly over her chest and bit at her lip. Never a good sign. She shook her head, clearly agitated. “Margaret just got done telling me about her run-in with Salvatore yesterday and today Mom stops to see Carl and ends up accepting an invitation to the symphony with his evil uncle. She didn’t even bother to ask me what I thought.” She threw her hands up in the air. “What is wrong with that woman?”

  He took another pull on his beer and leaned against the counter. “Settle down, babe. I’m sure... What did you say about Margaret?”

  “Salvatore stopped by her place yesterday. They apparently did not see eye-to-eye on anything. He told her that living out here was unsafe for his grandson.”

  He muttered a curse.

  “Yep. That about says it all.”

  “And what does your mother have to do with any of this?” he asked, rubbing a knot in the base of his neck.

  Billie moved behind him and massaged the muscles, talking over his shoulder. “She wanted to stop and see Carl while she was in town. His uncle happened to be there at the time. According to Margaret he’s a real ladies’ man. Or at least he imagines himself to be. He probably threw a bucket-load of flattery at her and she swooned at his feet.”

  “Swooned?” he said with a grin, turning to face her.

  She slid her arms up around his neck and smiled back. “What can I say? I’ve been reading a book set during the Civil War.”

  “Sounds like we may have a civil war around here pretty soon. What is your mother thinking?”

  “Thinking?” She pulled away again and stalked to the door and back. “I don’t believe thinking is one of her many action-packed activities these days. Although,” she said with a twist of her lips, “I can’t really blame her for accepting a date with the man. It’s not as if she knew the circumstances. As usual, she blindly jumped in with both feet then called to tell me why she wouldn’t be home till late. I’m a little ashamed to say that I blew a gasket.”

  “Naw. You?”

  “I tried to tell her it was a bad idea and she wouldn’t listen. Then she hung up on me. Can you believe it? My own mother cut me off in the middle of a tirade.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “When will I learn?”

  He reached out and pulled her back into his arms, resting his chin atop her head. “I think you’ve learned a lot. Think of the change in your relationship from when you first came here. You and your mom are practically on the same wave-length these days,” he teased. “A little more togetherness and you won’t even have to speak. You’ll just know what the other one is going to say.”

  She raised her face to his. “You’re so not getting any tonight.”

  “How about right now?” He kissed her until she melted against him and then took her hand and tugged her toward the bedroom.

  •••••

  Later, with Billie lounging in his office easy chair reading her Civil War novel, Handel worked at the desk preparing for the trial. Whether Sloane was a drug dealer or not, he was on trial for murder and it was his job to focus on that. Handel hoped he wasn’t wrong about the man’s innocence in the death of his wife. He sighed and rested his eyes a moment, rubbing his temples.

  “Are you all right?” Billie asked, closing her book with her finger marking the page. “I didn’t even give you a chance to tell me about your day when you came home. Seems like our pact to share the messy junk drawer of our lives has been put on the back burner.”

  “Sorry.” He offered a tight-lipped smile. “It’s coming down to the wire and I’m not sure I’m ready.”

  “That’s hard to believe. You were ready and eager before the accident. What happened?”

  He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked with his weight. “I met with Frank today. Unofficially.”

  “Oh? About the vandalism?”

  “Not exactly.” He told her about recording the call and what Frank had told him.

  Billie set the book down and pulled her legs up under her in the chair, getting comfortable. “So, Kawasaki is working with a rival gang to distribute meth on MS-13’s turf and someone kills his wife as payback?” she said.

  “That’s one theory.”

  “You have a better one?”

  “What if Jimena found out Sloane was producing meth in one of his warehouses? Maybe down by the wharf, right in the middle of MS-13 turf. She hates the gangs because of what it did to her family when Manny joined. She confronts Sloane and tells him to stop or she’ll let the Maras know who their competition is. He can’t l
et that happen, so he picks up whatever is handy and smashes her skull in.”

  She frowned. “I don’t see that happening.”

  “Why not?”

  “If Jimena was having an affair with Hosea and planned to leave with him anyway, why would she care what her husband did? She was going to be gone soon. If Hosea is to be believed, they were leaving that night.”

  “Maybe he killed her to stop her from leaving and it had nothing to do with drugs.” He picked up his pen and tapped a soft beat on the edge of his desk, thinking. “Or, it did have to do with drugs and she was angry, because she thought he was pulling her brother back into the business of illegal activities. Manny did say that he did some work for Sloane on occasion.”

  “That sounds more plausible.” She leaned her head back, eyes narrowed. “I imagine a fiery, Hispanic woman being protective of the only family she has left, maybe throwing objects at her husband until he gets angry enough to pick up something and hit her with it.”

  “Really? That’s what you imagine? Or have you been watching the Spanish channel again?”

  She laughed. “You got me. Sometimes I have it on at the office. It’s helping me to learn Spanish, so I can communicate more easily with Ernesto and the temps he hires for harvest. I can’t help that all the women in their soap operas have fiery tempers and throw things when they get angry.”

  He dropped the pen and crossed his arms, leaning back with a sigh of resignation. “I don’t want to believe this of Sloane but it’s looking worse all the time. The more I think about it, the more I doubt my initial gut feeling.”

  “You took on a murder suspect as a client with nothing more than a gut feeling that he was innocent?” She snickered. “Sounds like an episode of every corny cop show on television.”

  “Hey, I happen to like corny cop shows. The bad guys always get caught in the end, because the good guy has a gut feeling. Don’t knock what works.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  He didn’t want to tell her that Frank had also looked up Hosea’s address for him and he planned to drive to San Francisco in the morning and speak with him directly. His gut feeling told him Hosea wasn’t the enemy, so he wasn’t too worried about showing up unannounced, but taking Billie along was out of the question. The neighborhood he was going into was not known for backyard barbecues or friendly neighbor chats over the fence. There were shootings and fights breaking out on a daily basis. People stayed off the street unless they were looking for trouble.

  He must have hesitated a moment too long. She stood up and approached his desk, holding his gaze like a laser beam lie detector. “You are not going alone to speak with Hosea. It’s too dangerous.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she glared daggers. “I mean it. I almost lost you in that accident. I won’t lose you because you’re out playing Private Investigator. You have one of those. Remember? Have you thought about calling Manny?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. If Manny told Hosea to back off from his sister and finds out now that Hosea was there the night of the murder to pick her up and take her out of the country,” he spread his hands and shrugged, “who knows what might happen.”

  “I see your point.” She perched on the side of his desk, and kicked her leg back and forth. “What about Frank?”

  He laughed. “Even if he agreed to go in an unofficial capacity, he wouldn’t get past the front door. Hosea already made it crystal clear that he doesn’t talk to cops.”

  “Right.” She sighed and lifted her brows. “Then I guess it’s just you and me, babe.”

  “No way!” He stood up and moved toward the door. The conversation was over. He would not take Billie into a dangerous neighborhood. It wasn’t going to happen.

  She followed him to the kitchen and watched as he took out the bread to make a sandwich. “What about Ernesto?”

  “What about, Ernesto? He’s a vineyard manager. As far as I know he doesn’t have secret interrogation techniques for getting the most juice out of the grapes.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Billie pushed him out of the way and took over making his sandwich. She found leftover chicken in the fridge and sliced a big red tomato that was ripening on the windowsill. “Maybe he could go along as an interpreter, like Tonto did for the Lone Ranger when they went into Indian territory.”

  “I don’t think you’re old enough to have watched those shows,” he said, sitting at the table.

  She set the plate in front of him and crossed her arms. “Ever hear of cable television? It’s where reruns reign supreme.”

  He took a bite of his sandwich and watched his perfect wife pour him a glass of milk. “Anticipating my every need. You’re the best.”

  She took the seat across the table and slid the glass toward him. “Don’t get used to it. As soon as you’re completely recuperated you’re on your own,” she threatened with a smile.

  “You’re a tough nurse, but you do have a great bedtop manner,” he said smoothly.

  She flushed all the way up to her eyebrows.

  Sometimes she surprised him with how innocent she could be, a fragile little girl in a woman’s body. He reached out and clasped her hand. She grinned, pulled away and picked up the other half of his sandwich. Took a big bite.

  “Hey! How am I going to get my strength back if you eat my food?”

  “Tough.”

  “All right.”

  “All right what?” she asked, licking her lips. She took a drink of his milk too.

  “You talk to Ernesto and see if he knows anyone from that neighborhood.”

  “That’s a long shot. They’re not all related, you know.” She dropped the rest of his uneaten sandwich back on his plate. “But I’ll see what he says. And it might be a good idea if he drove his old pickup. ”

  Handel finished his sandwich, watching her wipe off the counter and put away the mayonnaise and pickles. He had no intention of sticking around in the morning long enough to chat with Ernesto about coming along. He’d already be long gone.

  •••••

  It was a quarter past two in the morning when Billie opened her eyes and looked at the clock. She’d heard something. She rolled over and saw that Handel was still asleep, snoring softly. Trying not to disturb him, she struggled out of the blankets and set her feet on the floor. Bleary-eyed and groggy, she moved to the chair and pulled Handel’s sweats and t-shirt on.

  At the door, she hesitated, listening. The sounds were coming from the guest room end of the house. Her mother was home. It might not be the best time to confront her about her choice in dinner companions, but they were both awake now anyway.

  At her mother’s door she knocked softly. Ten seconds later, the door opened and her mother stood backlit by blazing white light. Or at least it seemed that way to Billie’s sleep-heavy eyes. “Can I come in?” she asked, glancing behind her mother at the bed. It was covered in store bags and open shoeboxes. No wonder she’d woken up. Her mother must have had to make three trips to carry all that inside.

  Sabrina stepped back and waved an arm. “Be my guest.” She quietly closed the door after her. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I tried to be as quiet as I could, but when that darn cat of yours shot through my legs outside the back door, I’m pretty sure I yelped.”

  “We don’t have a cat.”

  “Even more reason to yelp.” She moved bags off the bed. “Sit. Take a load off. You look exhausted.”

  Billie sat down and yawned widely. “I’m trying to stay half asleep so it won’t be so hard to return to that fine state when I go back to bed.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you.” She started pulling clothing items out and hanging them in the closet. “Early morning chats have never turned out well for us, honey.”

  “That’s because I was a teenager coming home after curfew and they weren’t chats. They were lectures.”

  Her mother released the breath of a laugh and shook her head. “Now the roles are reversed.” She tippe
d her head to the side, hands on her hips. In navy slacks and a bright pink, lacy top, and despite it being well past most people’s bedtime, she still managed to look ten years younger than her age. “So get on with the lecture and I can wash my face and go to bed. I’m exhausted. What a night,” she said, moving to the closet again. “Edoardo really knows how to show a girl a good time.”

  Billie rolled her eyes. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but…”

  “Let me guess,” her mother said, turning to face her as she closed the closet door. “You don’t like him.”

  “You don’t have to say it like that. It’s not as if I tell you on a regular basis who you can and cannot date.”

  Now it was Sabrina’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh really? What about when I was dating Antonio?”

  “Mother, I’m sorry he broke your heart,” she began.

  “He didn’t break my heart,” she said, shaking her head. “We mutually agreed that it would never work out. He wanted children. That part of my life is over. So he went back to Italy to find true love with a woman with working ovaries.”

  “I’m still sorry,” she said. “I know you cared about him.” A flimsy wisp of red material stuck out of a bright pink striped bag sitting beside her on the bed. She pulled it slowly out of folds of crinkly wrapping paper. It slithered from the bag and lay in a slinky gossamer pile on the plain blue bedspread like a hooker in a church pew. “Mother?”

  Sabrina snatched it up and stuffed it back in the bag. “Is nothing private around here?” she asked, stomping to the dresser and shoving the bag in the top drawer. “I am your mother, you know.”

  “Yeah, that’s what freaks me out,” she mumbled. “Please tell me it has nothing to do with Edoardo.”

  “I’ll have you know that I already bought all of these things before I met him. So you can wipe that disgusting look off your face and go to bed.” She pointed to the door like a drill sergeant. “Good night.”

  Billie sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother. It’s none of my business.”