3 Savor Page 18

  Davy nodded.

  Adam pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to him. “Get me whatever you’re having,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  He watched Davy run to the truck and get in line behind three other kids. His cell phone rang and he picked up. “Hey,” he said, seeing it was Billie calling. “What’s up?”

  “Are you with Mom?” she asked, without preamble.

  “Nope. I just picked Davy up from soccer practice. She left hours ago. Probably two, two fifteen.”

  “Really?” She sounded worried.

  “What’s wrong, Billie?” He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Keeping an eye on Davy, he walked over to stand in the shade of a group of walnut trees bordering the lot. “You know she likes to shop. Maybe she stopped somewhere and lost track of time. She’s definitely been acting weird lately.”

  “You told her you’re playing the club, right?”

  “Yeah. She was disappointed, but I think she took it well.”

  She was quiet for a moment.

  “What else is wrong?” he asked. It was Davy’s turn to order so he would be running back in a minute. “It’s not just Mom, is it?”

  “Handel went to San Francisco without me.” Billie’s voice sounded husky like maybe she’d been crying.

  He didn’t want to sound unsympathetic, but that was the lamest reason to be upset he’d ever heard. Handel practically lived in San Francisco during a trial, and that was starting up again on Monday. His accident had apparently brought out her anxious, paranoid side. “He’s always done that. Why’s this time different?”

  “Because he could get himself killed,” she said, choking on the last word. She hated crying in front of anyone. Always had to be the strongest, the bravest, the one with airtight tear ducts. His sister had been a tough act to follow.

  “Hold on. Where exactly did he go?”

  Davy was walking toward him, an ice cream bar in each hand.

  “He went to see that guy who was at the concert the other day. You know, the one covered in tats? He’s a member of the MS-13 gang and says he knows who killed Sloane Kawasaki’s wife.”

  “What? Shouldn’t he send his private investigator or something?”

  Davy handed him an ice cream bar covered in chocolate and crispy things. He took a bite and nodded his thanks. Davy apparently recognized one of the other kids cause he took off again and stood near the car eating his ice cream, talking to a big kid with freckles and long red hair pushed behind his ears.

  Billie sighed, exasperation seeping through the line. “That’s what I told him but he wouldn’t listen. I thought he was going to wait and have someone else go with him, but he took off and isn’t answering his phone. He intentionally left this morning while I was sleeping.” She sniffed again.

  “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe his battery went dead,” he suggested, feeling the need to stick up for Handel. The man was only trying to keep Billie out of danger. That was his job after all, to protect his wife. Not that she would see it that way. Come to think of it, Margaret probably wouldn’t think of it that way either. A real man didn’t stand a chance these days.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “If you hear from Mom let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  He slid the phone in his pocket and returned to the car. Davy was done with his ice cream and was taking turns kicking a hacky sack with the other kid. He waved goodbye and climbed in the Corvette beside Adam.

  “Is that a friend of yours?” He asked as he pulled out of the lot back onto the street, moving slow to keep from bottoming out his shocks on a big dip in the entrance.

  Davy nodded. “He’s in my class at school. He’s eleven but he got held back by his mom,” he said as though that were a badge of honor. “He didn’t have to go to school till he was seven.”

  “Cool,” Adam said and rolled up his window to turn the air on again.

  “Who was ya talking to?”

  “Billie. She was looking for Sabrina.”

  Adam was eager to get back to the winery, drop off Davy and drop in on his sister. He accelerated and passed a red Honda on highway 29 going five under the speed limit. Davy slipped down in his seat as though he was afraid of being seen. Adam shifted gears and pulled back into the right side. “Someone you know?” he asked.

  Davy nodded.

  “I thought you loved this car. Why are you acting ashamed to be seen in it?”

  Davy straightened up but kept his face turned away. “I’m not.”

  “Looked that way to me. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the cuts and scraps all over you today, would it?” He glanced in the rearview and passed another car.

  Davy shrugged.

  “Was that a yes?” He tapped a beat on the steering wheel. “You know your mom isn’t going to accept a shrug as explanation. She’ll want to know exactly what happened.”

  “Can’t you tell her I got hurt playing soccer?”

  “Did you?”

  “No,” he said, barely loud enough to hear.

  Adam shook his head. “I won’t lie to your mom and neither should you. What ever happened, she’ll understand.”

  He was quiet. They passed vineyard after vineyard, the heady sweet scent of ripe grapes heavy in the air. Even with the air conditioner on it filled the car. Finally, they passed the sign for Fredrickson’s. Davy stirred beside him, grabbing the handle of his sport bag in readiness as though he were going to jump out while the car was still in motion.

  Adam slowed for the turn and glanced across the fields. Black smoke rose hazy on the still air. “What the…?”

  Davy turned to look in the same direction. “It’s the wood working shed! It’s on fire!” he said unnecessarily.

  Adam pulled into the end of the driveway and churned up gravel as he skidded in a U-turn facing back the way they’d come. He hit the gas and peeled out, tires squealing against blacktop as they gained traction. In seconds they were turning in at the Fredrickson corner. He handed the phone to Davy. “Call 911 and tell them there’s a fire at the winery.”

  Adam parked back by the house and honked the horn, hoping to alert anyone still around and bring them out to help. He ran toward the hose reel attached to the garden shed and started yanking it out. There was a sprayer end on it that Billie used to wash the car. He twisted the faucet on all the way, grabbed the end of the hose and ran, stretching the coil as far as it would go.

  The north side of the shed was already ablaze with flames shooting toward the afternoon sky. A garden hose would probably do little to slow the progress of the fire on the building, but maybe he could put down enough water to keep sparks from spreading to the vines. The hose stopped and he looked back. He was at the end. Still not close enough to do much good. He sprayed the ground around the base of the shed, but couldn’t reach the entire side of the building. “Davy! See if Billie has another hose to add on!” he yelled.

  Ernesto was beside him in seconds, with another hose. This one stretched from the back of the winery. One they used for cleaning the cement floors. His sprayed farther, reaching the vines closest to the building. He kept it raining over them, a shield of protection against flying sparks.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed before the wail of a siren cut the air and he glanced toward the road. A bright red fire engine raced down the drive. The team of firemen jumped out and quickly attached their hose to the fire hydrant outside the winery. Working together they advanced on the flames, sending a gush of water up and over the entire wall of flame.

  Adam stepped out of the way, making room for the professionals. Smoke bellowed out and he moved back some more, coughing into the crook of his arm. Billie appeared at his side. She grabbed his arm, her face filled with fear.

  She saw Ernesto and ran toward him. It looked like they were arguing about something, but the vineyard manager just kept shaking his head. Adam went and pulled her away from the action. She’d told Davy to stay back by the house and he wa
s still there, leaning against the Corvette taking a video of the whole thing with Adam’s phone.

  “I think I’m going to be a fireman when I grow up,” he said, eyes wide with interest as he watched the men at work putting the fire out.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Adam took the phone from him and pressed the red button to stop the recording. He glanced up and saw Margaret pulling around the fire truck in her little pickup. She parked on the other side of the Corvette and jumped out.

  “What happened?” she asked, joining them.

  Billie shook her head, her mouth tight with anger. “That’s what I’d like to know. Someone is trying to sabotage this winery and I’ve had about enough of it.”

  Adam met Margaret’s confused gaze. He took her arm and walked away a few yards to speak privately. Billie didn’t seem to notice. She stood with arms crossed, staring toward the burning building.

  “I’m not sure what started it. Apparently, Billie thinks it has something to do with the other acts of vandalism, but she went off on Ernesto a little while ago for some reason, like she thinks he has something to do with it.” He shrugged.

  Margaret looked around. “Where’s Handel?”

  “That’s the other thing. Billie called me earlier. Said Handel went to San Francisco to speak with a witness. It just so happens to be that creepy guy who threatened Billie the other day.”

  “What?” She spun around, eyes wide. “That guy had gang tats all over his body.”

  He nodded. “She’s really worried.”

  “So am I now. I’ll kill him when he gets home.”

  “Get in line.” He slanted his eyes toward Billie.

  The firemen had the flames contained within fifteen minutes. They’d all once again managed to keep the fire from damaging any of the vines, but the large outbuilding was a complete loss. The fire had gutted it, destroyed the south and west wall and whatever contents and tools weren’t burned in the flames were damaged beyond redemption by smoke and water.

  By the time they’d poked through the charred rubble and ascertained that it was safe to leave it for the night, the sun had slipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of cotton candy pink behind. Ernesto and Sally were the only employees still hanging around and they left once the firemen had packed up and led the way.

  Margaret finally managed to get Davy in the pickup. She kissed Adam and sighed. “He needs dinner and I want to check on things at my place. This stuff is really freaking me out. What next?” She shook her head. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  He waved as they headed home. When he turned around, Billie was sitting on the front steps of the house, head in her hands. He went over and sat beside her on the step. “What a day, huh?”

  She didn’t respond.

  He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out. It was a text from Sabrina. Flew to Honolulu for a luau. Be back tomorrow night. The car is parked at Harvest House Hotel. If you need it, ask at the desk. Love, Mom.

  Billie had pulled her phone out at the same time. She was staring at the small screen, her mouth open in a look of pure shock.

  He tilted his phone for her to see. “She sent it to both of us.”

  His sister made a moaning sound like a wounded animal. “Will this hellish day never end?” she demanded.

  The sound of tires on gravel interrupted their misery. Billie stood up and watched her Mazda slowly approach. Adam intuitively knew that fireworks were about to commence and decided to make himself scarce. He kissed her cheek and hurried to his car.

  Before Handel had parked in the garage, Adam was already flying down the highway toward his apartment. He cranked up the radio and sang along to America, Ventura highway in the sunshine, where the days are longer, the nights are stronger than moonshine…

  •••••

  Handel knew before he stepped out of the car and approached his wife – who stood on the front porch, arms crossed tightly, lips drawn into a thin line – that he was not necessarily so lucky to be alive. He glanced back at the burned out shed and knew that no matter how pressing the question was to ask, now was not the time to worry about fire insurance either.

  “Hey babe,” he said, moving closer. “I’m sorry–” The word was barely out of his mouth and she was in his arms crying. This was so not what he expected. So not like Billie.

  “How could you do that to me?” she demanded, pressing her cheek against his chest, arms wrapped securely around his neck as though she’d never let him go. “I’ve been sitting around here thinking you were shot or worse.”

  “Worse than shot,” he teased, still trying to get his mind around this new version of his wife. He half expected she’d shoot him for not taking her along. Instead, she was clinging to him like Velcro. He patted her back. “It’s all right. I’m fine.”

  She drew slowly away and pulled his suit coat open, eyes wide with fury. “What are you doing wearing a gun?” she asked, her words a harsh whisper.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “It’s exactly what I think! You expected violence and you went anyway, without backup and without a lick of sense.”

  “Now you’re just being mean,” he said, trying to get a smile out of her. It didn’t work. He put his hands gently on her arms. “Look, I couldn’t take you. I did think it would be dangerous and honestly, I didn’t think it would be wise to bring a woman into that situation.”

  “But it was perfectly safe for a man, right?” She twisted out of his grip, now going straight from worry to righteous anger. “That’s why you have a gun strapped to your side. What, did you imagine you were the Terminator or something? You think being male makes you invincible?”

  “Billie,” he said, trying to interrupt her diatribe so he could explain.

  “You made me sit here all day long sick with worry, going over and over in my head every horrible thing that could have happened…”

  “Billie!” He cupped her face with his hands, bringing her eyes to his. “Hosea was already dead when I got there. Someone shot him. The police showed up and I was put into the back of a cruiser. I had to go down to the station and give my statement before I could leave.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank God you got there too late,” she said and pressed her lips to his, kissing him hard, salty tears and all.

  Handel remembered the traffic jamb that had held him up on the highway for an extra half an hour, causing him to arrive on Bourbon Street within minutes of the murder. He added his own silent prayer of thanks and held her tight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a soak in the Jacuzzi, Handel and Billie sat cuddled together on the couch reading. He was rereading an old law journal article while she lay with her head in his lap staring at the same page of the novel she’d started twenty minutes ago. She finally put in a marker and set it aside.

  “I can’t concentrate,” she said and sighed heavily. She scooted up to a sitting position, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking down at his magazine. “When are you going to ask?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The fire? You didn’t notice one of the sheds was missing and the air smelled like burnt toast when you got home?” She ran her fingers down his arm. “You told me all about your experience in the barrio. While you were gone the barrio came to the winery.” Neighborhood was one word she’d actually picked up from Spanish television.

  “What are you talking about?” He laid the magazine on the coffee table.

  Billie told him about her conversation with Ernesto and how his cousin’s son just happened to be living in the shed for the past few weeks unbeknownst to anyone. “He’s also a member of the Maras. You think that’s a coincidence?”

  He frowned down at her. “What did Ernesto say?”

  “When I accused him of harboring the kid who shot at me? He refused to believe it, of course.”

  “But you don’t know for sure that this kid shot at you, or that he started the fire. Where was he when all of this h
appened, anyway? I thought you said he’s been shadowing Ernesto.”

  Billie shrugged. She was not proud of herself for the way she accused her vineyard manager of knowingly harboring a criminal. He didn’t deserve that. He was a good man, just trying to help a lost boy. But there was something in his eyes when she spoke to him that looked a lot like fear. So he must have suspicions of his own. “He was with him earlier, but I didn’t see him when the fire broke out.”

  “That is curious, and it does fit with what Hosea told me on the phone.”

  “He told you about Javier?”

  He put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned his head back. “No, not exactly. When I all but accused him of shooting at you, he said we didn’t need to worry about him, but to look closer to home for the culprit.”

  “Closer to home. Well, the wood working shed is pretty darn close.”

  Handel glanced at his watch. “Where’s your mother? Shouldn’t she be here cooking something elaborate for us?” he asked, probably only half teasing. They hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

  “I can’t believe I forgot,” she said, shaking her head. “She had the gall to send a text message to tell Adam and me that she was on her way to Honolulu.”

  “An impromptu vacation?”

  “You know what this means. Salvatore is wining and dining my mother to get to Margaret, and she doesn’t even have enough sense to see it.” She stood up and paced to the window and back, feeling the tension tighten her chest again. “She’s not acting herself. There is definitely something going on with her. I think she needs an intervention.”

  Handel sat forward on the couch, forearms braced on thighs. His brow was creased in thought. “How do you know he’s using her to get to Margaret? Maybe he wants to get to your mom. She is an attractive woman.”