3 Savor Page 16

  “Darn right,” her mother said, arms folded tightly across her chest.

  “I don’t want to ruin your visit, but I thought you should know that Mr. Salvatore is not as wonderful as he presented himself to you. He already threatened Margaret about getting custody of Davy. He’s doing the exact same thing his son did before Sean murdered him last year. I’d prefer it if you stayed away from him. I don’t want something to happen to you.”

  “I hope you’re not insinuating the same thing is going to happen again. Two murders at one winery might just put you out of business.” She peered in the dressing table mirror and fluffed the hair at her temples. “And as for Edoardo’s interest in his grandson… well isn’t that normal?” She met Billie’s eyes in the mirror. “He told me he regrets the way he raised Agosto and wants to make things right with his grandson. To be a part of his life like a normal grandparent should. Does that sound like a horrible thing to ask?”

  “You don’t know him, Mother, or what he’s capable of.”

  “Neither do you. You’re just taking Margaret’s word for it. Have you thought that perhaps she’s being a bit over-protective and possessive because up until now she’s been the driving force in her son’s life, other than Handel of course. Davy is ten-years-old. He needs strong male leadership.”

  “Mother, you don’t know what you’re saying. Davy’s father was a bastard of the highest order. Edoardo is the strong male influence that made him that way.” She could see she was getting nowhere fast. She shook her head and got off the bed. “I can’t do this right now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “Do you want me to move into a hotel?”

  “Of course not! Mother,” she pleaded, “don’t make this about you. This is Margaret and Davy’s lives we’re talking about.”

  “Whatever.”

  Billie stopped with her hand on the knob of the door and stared in wonder at the woman occupying her mother’s body. Her mother, the epitome of etiquette and manners, proponent of proper English and derider of slang, had said whatever like a valley girl in training. What next? Snap?

  “Good night.” She went out and closed the door behind her, too tired to continue any conversation. When she slipped quietly back into bed, Handel rolled over to face her and mumbled something that sounded like, the defendant’s guilty. She yawned and tried to fall back to sleep but every time she’d dose off she dreamt she was fighting some old guy in court while her mother clung to his arm, swooning whenever he smiled her way. She woke repeatedly in a cold sweat.

  Chapter Eleven

  Billie woke to sunlight glinting through the blinds and birdsong outside the window. She turned bleary eyes toward the red digital numbers of the alarm. Eight o’clock. Handel was already out of bed and she could smell frying bacon and eggs floating toward her on a lovely cloud of fresh brewed coffee fumes.

  She let her head fall back against the pillow in pure contentment. “Beautiful. A husband who cooks. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Ten minutes later she was just dozing off again when she heard her mother call. “Billie, your breakfast is getting cold!” She rapped on the bedroom door. “Handel said to let you sleep, but since he’s run off I figured we could talk. Get dressed and I’ll warm you a plate.”

  Billie reluctantly slid out of bed and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt. There was no independent living when her mother was around. She was the child and always would be. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled it off her neck with a clip, said a little prayer for patience, and hurried to the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage before coffee.

  Her mother handed her a steaming cup of java and waved her into a chair. “Your plate is in the oven. Just a sec.” She put an oven mitt on and opened the door. The savory smell of bacon wafted out and made Billie realize she was ravenous.

  “Wow, Handel was really busy this morning,” she said, taking a bite and savoring the salty goodness. She folded two more strips of crispy bacon between crosscut slices of buttered toast. “Where did you say he went?”

  Sabrina brought her coffee cup to the table and sat down across from Billie. “He said he needed to run to his office for something. After all the trouble I went to, he barely ate a thing.”

  “You cooked breakfast?”

  “Of course. Did you think it materialized out of thin air?”

  “No, I thought Handel made it.”

  Her mom gave a short laugh. “A man that cooks? That’s what married women’s dreams are made of.”

  “You got that right,” she said, and sighed.

  “I know I was angry last night, but let’s put it behind us, honey,” her mother began, reaching out to pat her hand.

  “I’d love to.” She smiled and took a sip of coffee. “So when are you taking that hog back to San Francisco and flying home?”

  “Oh, I’m not leaving quite yet. I just got here. You haven’t even filled me in on what’s happened around here the past eight months.” She raised her brows expectantly. “Adam looks happy and evidently fancies himself in love. Is he still looking for a second job? I hope he’s not wasting his time in those dive bars singing for loose change, like he did in college. He has real talent with numbers. He could get a banking job or work for some big firm.” Her mother paused to take a sip of coffee and Billie jumped in.

  “Adam and Margaret make a great couple. I’m happy for both of them, and for Davy,” she added. “He really looks up to Adam and I think that’s a good thing. Adam realizes loving Margaret comes with a price. Taking on the role of a father. Being responsible for someone other than himself. I think he’s ready. You should be proud of him.”

  “He just turned twenty-four,” her mother said. “I read an article that said a boy’s brain is not fully formed until he’s twenty-four. What if he’s slow?”

  “He’s not a boy. He’s a man. He’s old enough to drink, drive, go to war, and vote. He’s old enough to be in love.” Billie wondered why her mom had pushed her to date and find the right man from the day she graduated high school, but refused to encourage her son to do the same.

  “I guess you’re right, but he should at least have a good job before he decides to commit and settle down with a wife and child.”

  “Well, I think you might want to hold off on planning his future. As far as I know he hasn’t proposed or anything.” She didn’t think it was her place to tell their mother that Adam had a job singing in a nightclub and that he was pursuing the music career that she so eloquently voiced as wasting his time. “But you should ask him.

  “I plan to. What time does he come to work?”

  She shrugged. “It varies. Depending on how much sleep he’s had,” she said, before her brain caught up with her mouth. “I mean – we don’t need him every day.”

  Sabrina’s gaze narrowed, but she only nodded. “Will he be in today or do I need to stop over at Margaret’s place to see him?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t live with Margaret,” she said quickly. “He has an apartment in town.”

  “Oh.” Sabrina visibly relaxed, and smiled. “That’s good. Margaret wouldn’t want to set a bad example for Davy.”

  “No, she’s pretty conservative that way.” Billie swallowed a bite of eggs and washed it down with the last of her coffee. She got up to get a refill. Remembering the red negligee in her mother’s shopping bag, she couldn’t help asking, “And how do you feel about sex outside of marriage?”

  “Billie! Why would you even ask me that?”

  “After seeing that negligee, I had to ask. It’s not the kind of thing a woman wears when she’s alone.”

  “I bought that for you, silly.”

  “For me?” Billie frowned. “Why?”

  Sabrina got up and started cleaning the dishes and putting things away. “Because it’s your birthday next week and I wanted to buy you something special.”

  Billie wondered if special had a different meaning in her mother’s world. “Wouldn’t th
at have been a more timely gift at my bridal shower?”

  “Until you have children running around this winery, I’d say a little romance is always timely.” She flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I’m sure Handel will love it.”

  “I guess you should have bought it in his size,” she said, setting her dishes on the counter. She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I need to get ready and run over to the office for a bit. Are you planning to go out?”

  “Mind if I use the car again?” her mother asked, rinsing a plate under the tap. “My hair gets so frizzy under that helmet and I thought I’d take Adam out for lunch. A little mother/son time.”

  “No. Go ahead.” She assumed Handel had taken the Mazda to the office. He knew Sabrina preferred the bigger vehicle when she drove. “See you later then. Thanks for breakfast.”

  •••••

  Handel swung the hinged cityscape of San Francisco away from his built-in wall safe and punched in the digital combination. He pulled open the door and reached to the back where he’d stowed his gun and holster. He had a conceal carry license, but had never actually worn the gun anywhere except to the shooting range.

  Today he was wearing it. He wasn’t about to go into a gang neighborhood unarmed and vulnerable. Hosea might not want him dead, but someone did want to stop him from learning the truth. Whether it was to keep Sloane Kawasaki behind bars or to protect his own butt, he wasn’t sure. He would be prepared.

  He strapped on the shoulder harness, checked that the gun was loaded, then flicked on the safety and slid it into the holster. After pulling his suit coat back on, he went into the little executive bathroom and stared at his reflection. There was a small bulge under his coat, but not really obvious. The real test would be if Patty noticed.

  He flipped off the lights and closed his office door. Patty was typing away at her keyboard. She glanced up with a smile. “Going home already, Mr. Parker?”

  “I’ve got some errands to run first,” he said, avoiding a direct lie. If Billie called, at least Patty would have an excuse handy for his extended absence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Outside in the car he settled into the seat, adjusted the holster now poking him in the ribs, and put Hosea’s address into his phone’s GPS. In a couple of hours he would be talking to the one man who could tell him whether or not his client was guilty of murder.

  •••••

  Billie stopped in the front office. Sally – or the office coordinator, as her secretary preferred to be called now – was still going through her morning rituals. She had her feet up on the extra chair and was drinking coffee, doing her nails in a bright shade of green, and watching an episode of whatever show she’d missed the night before, on her computer screen.

  “I’m glad the business Internet account is being put to good use,” she said, stepping around the desk to see what Sally was watching this morning. A bunch of decade’s past stars were flaunting aged bodies in skimpy outfits while they danced the rumba. “Have you seen Ernesto around?” she asked.

  Sally didn’t look up from her nail polish endeavors. She shook her head. “He’s been going out to check the grapes every morning.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Probably in the north field about now with that new kid. Trying to teach him all he knows.”

  “What new kid?”

  “You know, the one he hired to help build the bandstand. He told him he could stay on and help with harvest too. He’s been trying to find things for him to do.” She finally glanced up, blowing on her nails. “He and Carlos can’t do everything,” she said, as though Billie had argued the point.

  “No, I suppose not. That’s why I gave Ernesto the job of hiring. He knows when and if we need extra help and for how long. I trust him.” She stepped out into the hall. “You – I’m not so sure about.”

  “You can’t get better help around here than me!” Sally called out belatedly. “Trust is overrated!”

  Billie was already pushing through the front door. Ernesto had a cell phone with him most of the time, but he had been known to leave it in the truck. She walked behind the winery and around to the bandstand, climbed up on stage and looked toward the north fields. The platform gave her a very good view of the surrounding vineyards and she soon spotted Ernesto’s pickup parked along the dirt road between fields.

  She climbed down and started walking. It was going to be unusually hot today. According to the thermometer tacked to the wall of the shed she passed, the temperature was already at eighty-two degrees and rising. If this kept up, harvest would be here before they were ready. She was glad she’d put on shorts this morning.

  As she drew closer, she saw the two men standing a little way inside a row of Riesling, heads down examining the berries. When Ernesto looked up, she waved. “Good morning,” she said, stopping at the end of the row. “I see you’re busy teaching the new kid on the block.”

  Ernesto nodded his head toward the younger man. “Sí, esto es Javier Hernández.”

  “Nice to meet you, Javier,” she said and smiled. The young man didn’t smile back or respond, he just stood looking at her, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his baggy jeans. He wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt, buttoned all the way up and she wondered how he could stand the heat. She thought maybe he didn’t speak English, but when she turned back to Ernesto, he was giving Javier a hard look like a father reprimanding his son for being rude.

  She cleared her throat. “Ernesto, could I speak with you a minute?”

  “Sí.” He said something to his young protégé in Spanish that Billie couldn’t keep up with, but it sounded like it may have included a reprimand. Apparently, watching soap operas on Spanish television wasn’t really the best way to learn the language.

  Javier started walking back to the winery, kicking up little puffs of dust with every step. She squinted after him, trying to see the tattoo climbing the back of his neck. Why did all these young men want to cover themselves in ink? She was glad Handel had spent his money on education when he was younger rather than adorning his body with pictures of leopards or naked ladies. He was much too sexy in his natural skin…

  “Miss Fredrickson?” Ernesto jolted her from her daydream.

  “Sorry. Thinking about winery business,” she lied, even as she felt her face flush with color. “Actually, I had a question for you. Handel and I were planning to visit a friend in the city and we heard it’s a bit of a dangerous neighborhood.” She told him the suburb and street address and he shook his head vigorously.

  “You don’t want to go there. It’s a bad place. I went there once to see my cousin. You couldn’t pay me to go back.”

  “Don’t you see your cousin anymore?”

  He lifted his cap and scratched his head. “He was in a gang. Now he’s in prison for murder.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  He shrugged. “He crossed the border to get away from that life, but he couldn’t escape. The gang pulled him back in.”

  “Were you ever tempted to join a gang, Ernesto?” she asked, her interest peaked by his family admission. “You seem pretty level-headed now.”

  “No. I always loved the vines. My family had a vineyard when I was a boy.”

  “I knew you worked at a vineyard in Sonoma before you came here, but I didn’t know about your family’s vineyard. What happened?”

  He rubbed a hand over his chin and looked off across the field toward the Parker place. “The drug cartel wanted my padre to plant marijuana between the vines. He refused and they set it on fire. We lost every vine. He died soon after that. It was his life blood.”

  Billie didn’t know what to say. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Long time ago. Now I care for these vines,” he said and moved toward the truck. “Want a ride?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t know how to talk Handel out of going to see Hosea, but after hearing Ernesto’s thoughts on the matter, she knew she had to try. There must be a way to speak with Hosea that didn’t involve p
utting Handel at risk. She certainly couldn’t ask Ernesto to go along now. He was adamant about never wanting to go there again.

  They climbed in the truck and bumped over the rutted road back to the winery. When he pulled under the shade of the oaks and shut off the ignition, she thanked him and started to climb out.

  The driver’s side door creaked loudly when he pushed it open. “Javier is from that neighborhood,” he said, moving around the back of the truck.

  She stopped and waited for him.

  He looked down, hands stuck in the back pockets of his cotton workpants. “I hope you won’t be upset but I’ve been letting him stay in the woodworking shed until he gets a place.”

  “Ernesto, the winery could get in trouble for that. It’s against regulations to have people live in those buildings. You know that.”

  He met her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll find him someplace else.”

  The sadness in his eyes was curious. “Is Javier more than an employee to you?” she asked.

  He hesitated before nodding. “He’s my cousin’s son. I promised his father I would look out for him, but when Vega went to prison, Javier fell in with the same gang. He was only fifteen, but there was nothing I could do. That was three years ago. He showed up a few weeks back and said he was done with that life. He wanted a fresh start.” Ernesto reached in his pocket for his wallet and opened it. “I can pay you for rent,” he offered.

  She put out a hand, urging him to put his money away. “No. That’s not the problem. It’s city regulations. If it were up to me I wouldn’t mind him staying here temporarily, but I can’t afford to be fined or shut down because of it. You understand?”

  “Sí. I will move him out.”

  “Can’t he stay with you?”

  “We don’t have an extra room. My mother-in-law lives with us now,” he said. “But I will talk to Mona. She will let him sleep on the couch until we find another place.”

  Billie took that to mean his wife was not too keen on the idea or Javier would have been there already. She probably didn’t want an ex-gangbanger hanging around her two little boys.