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  “I don’t know. Have to ask your mom.”

  “Can’t you?” He wistfully shut the door and followed Adam toward the front porch. “She might not understand.”

  Adam turned around. “Understand what?” he asked, pushing his sunglasses up on top his head.

  Davy shrugged and flashed a guilty looking smile. “I want Heidi to see me pull up in the Vette.”

  “Heidi?” Adam waggled his brows up and down. “So this is about that girl I saw you with. I knew it.” He poked Davy playfully in the chest and then bumped his finger under his chin. “You got a girlfriend!”

  “Sshhh! Not so loud. She might hear,” he warned, looking up at the house.

  “Why don’t you want your mom to know? Is this girl wanted by the FBI or something?”

  “No,” Davy shook his head, serious as a Cadillac salesman. “She doesn’t have a record or nothin’. Mom just gets so worried about me all the time. She says I’m her first love. I don’t want her to feel bad if I like Heidi too.”

  Adam put his arm around Davy’s shoulders. “Come on. Your mom is pretty understanding. I think you can trust her not to get too upset about another woman in your life.” He turned Davy around so they both faced the car. “And once we show her this baby…” he began.

  “Oh my God!” Margaret flew out the front door and down the steps. “You didn’t! A 1981 Shark!” She hesitated the briefest of seconds, kissed Adam on the mouth, patted Davy on the cheek and ran to fondle the blue muscle car.

  Adam watched her slip behind the wheel like she was taking up residence. To think he was worried she wouldn’t like it. Now he worried he might never get her out of it.

  He looked down at Davy. “I think she may want a ride to soccer camp tomorrow too.”

  •••••

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to America?” Carl asked, sitting across from his uncle. After Margaret ran out the back, Edoardo insisted he sit and catch up as though nothing noteworthy had just happened. Carl pushed the bowl of tortellini soup aside and placed his crossed arms on the tabletop. “It would have been nice to be forewarned. I could have prepared something special,” he said, tipping his chin toward the plate of risotto his uncle was picking over.

  Edoardo gulped the rest of the wine in his glass and reached for the bottle. He’d already had two glasses since Carl sat down with him and it didn’t look as though he planned on slowing down. “If I called, it wouldn’t have been a surprise. And this is perfect. I’m just not very hungry.” He lifted his glass. “Di famiglial!”

  “To family,” Carl echoed. “It is good to see you, Uncle. Ever since Antonio went home to Tuscany last year, I admit I’ve been a little lonely for family.”

  “You should marry and have sons. Who is going to run this place when you are old?”

  The question was rhetorical and Carl just shrugged.

  Edoardo set his glass down and sat back in his chair with a contented sigh. “Marriage doesn’t mean you can’t do a little tasting on the side.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen door. “Like with that one. Don’t tell me you haven’t bedded her. Life is too short not to take what you want.”

  “Uncle, please don’t speak about Margaret that way. She is my friend. Nothing more.” Not that he wasn’t attracted to her. He was. So were Dirk, Juan, and his entire kitchen crew. Maybe even Abby. He wasn’t quite sure about her. But nonetheless, Margaret was off limits. She was Handel’s sister and as such, his family.

  “Really? Well then you won’t mind if I –” he broke off and laughed at the look on Carl’s face. “You do want her for yourself.”

  “No. Not like that.” He shook his head in disgust. It was never good when his uncle let the wine speak for him. He’d already drunk one bottle and was starting on another. “What did you say to make her so angry?” he asked, suspicious. He hoped his uncle hadn’t propositioned her like a common call girl. Margaret would probably forgive him in time, but she might just withhold her wine orders in retribution. He couldn’t afford to lose her friendship or her product.

  Edoardo unbuttoned his jacket and laced his fingers over his flat stomach, a look of concern drawing his brows together. “I only asked to meet my grandson. She is a volatile woman. Seems a bit unstable to me. Perhaps she’s bi-polar. Are you sure that the boy is safe living with her?”

  “Of course,” Carl said. “She’s very protective, that’s all. Like a mother lion.” He hesitated, unsure whether he was overstepping his bounds. His uncle, as head of the family, had always insisted on total capitulation to his wishes. Which was the main reason Agosto had come to America all those years ago – to get away from his father. Finally he asked, “Why did you decide to come and meet Davy after all this time?”

  Edoardo threw up his hands in disgust. “Why does everyone ask me why?” he bellowed. “He’s my grandson for god’s sake! Isn’t that self-explanatory? I have every right to know my own flesh and blood!” He jerked out of his chair, threw his napkin over his plate and stalked away toward the restroom.

  Carl leaned back in his chair and groaned. “Mama Mia.”

  Chapter Six

  Billie insisted on driving Handel to San Francisco to meet with Manny. She tried to talk him out of going at all, told him to ask Manny to come to the winery for a conference, but he just laughed.

  “You want me to pay that guy fifty bucks an hour to drive out to the most beautiful vineyard in Napa?” He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She was still standing in her underwear, deciding what to wear and he was already fully dressed. “He should pay us for that enjoyment,” he teased and smacked her butt when he released her.

  “That may be true, but you should be taking it easy. The doctors haven’t even signed off on you driving alone yet.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know I needed their permission.”

  “Well, you aren’t going to be in top form for trial next week if you don’t rest,” she sputtered, unable to think of anything else that would cause him to worry.

  “I’ll rest after the trial. I promise.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  Handel sighed and picked up his wallet where he’d left it on the bedside table the night before. He slid it into his inside suit jacket pocket and crossed the room to get his pain medication from the bathroom. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Until we know more, you should stay inside.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I’ll stay inside if you stay with me, otherwise I’m going.”

  “I never thought I’d marry a woman who brings murder out in people – not once, but twice,” Handel said, his voice droll, “but I’m beginning to see it from their side of things.”

  Billie knew he was trying to make her angry so she would stay home. He had another think coming. She quickly pulled a pink t-shirt over her bra and snatched on a pair of skinny jeans, all while he watched from the other side of the room.

  She stepped past him into the bathroom. “Don’t you dare leave without me,” she warned, pointing her hairbrush. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  “That’s never happened before.”

  “And it may never happen again.”

  The drive to the city was quiet. Handel brought along his laptop and was busy typing notes while she drove. They passed vineyards bearing fruit much farther along than should be in July. With the weird weather they’d had this year – early rains followed by months of warm, dry days – the grapes were ripening at an alarming speed. Harvest would be early this year and they had so much to do at Fredrickson’s before crush.

  Billie glanced at her husband. “I hope this trial is over quickly, so we can get away together,” she said. “How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

  He looked up, a pleased smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “You in a bikini twenty-four hours a day? I’d say I feel pretty good about it.”

  “Who says I’ll be in a bikini?”

&nbs
p; “Even better.”

  The drive took a little over two hours, but they finally pulled into the parking lot of a tacky looking strip mall. A pizza joint, nail salon, and coffee shop took up most of the building, but on the far end was an office with the sign, Alvarez Investigations. A low riding car drove past filled with Hispanic teenagers, blaring music that seemed to consist of thumping bass and nothing more. Sitting on the sidewalk against the building, directly in front of Manny’s office, was a homeless man. Clothed in layers of shirts and pants, despite the warm afternoon temperature, he clutched a bag of belongings to his side and seemed to be dozing in the shade of the overhang.

  Billie looked tentatively around. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Couldn’t we meet him at a restaurant or something?”

  “We’re already here now.” He slipped his laptop in his shoulder bag and opened the door. “It’ll be fine. Come on.”

  She followed, clicking her lock button twice for good measure. The man on the sidewalk didn’t move or acknowledge their presence. He was definitely asleep. She could hear him snoring. Handel held open the door and they entered a tiny reception area with three molded plastic chairs and a low table covered in outdated magazines. A stand in the corner of the room held a coffee pot and cups. The pot was still half full; the contents black as sludge. The stench of burned coffee permeated the air.

  The back office door stood open and they could see Manny sitting at his desk talking on a cell phone. He ended the call, jumped up and hurried out to greet them. “Hola!” He glanced from Handel to Billie, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you, Ms. Parker,” he said. He waved a hand toward the chairs. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

  Billie glanced at the pot and shook her head. “No thanks.”

  Handel set his bag down on the table and took the chair next to Billie. “My wife thinks I’m still a helpless invalid. She insisted on coming along to take care of me,” he explained, flashing her a teasing grin, “even if it puts her own life in jeopardy.”

  “You told her what we discussed,” Manny asked, glancing at Billie.

  “I know someone was paid to kill me, if that’s what you’re referring to,” she said, sitting back in the chair and crossing her legs. “I also know that if they had really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What makes you think so?”

  “They missed, but then one of them came back on Saturday and spoke with me directly.”

  “What?” he looked totally baffled.

  “Exactly. What kind of paid killers want to be identified? These guys may have tried to terrorize me, I’m not so sure they actually tried to kill me,” she said. She’d been trying to come up with a logical scenario, but it made absolutely no sense.

  Through the front window she saw two young men approach her Mazda. She stood up to get a better look. One of them had a crowbar in his hand. She was sure of it. She moved toward the door, but Manny got there first.

  He put up his hand to ward her off. “You should have parked in my two designated spots. They know not to bother my clients.” He opened the door and shouted, “Angel! No es que uno de ellos.”

  Billie glanced at Handel. He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged.

  “Sorry about that,” Manny said, rejoining them. “Young men need an occupation.”

  “Breaking into cars isn’t their occupation?”

  “It has been lately. They both lost their jobs at the cannery. Now they’re a breath away from joining up with the Maras. I try to talk sense to them but they don’t listen so good.” He shook his head. “The gang is seductive to young men. It promises everything they long for. Family. Women. Violence. It’s a hard drug to fight against. Believe me, I know.”

  Billie found her eyes straying to the tattoos on Manny’s neck and arms. His green t-shirt did little to hide the fact that he was covered in ink. Much like the young man at the winery the other day – covered in skulls, barbed wire, and gang signs – he was a walking advertisement for death and violence without saying a word. “Did you get all those while you were in the gang?” she asked.

  He held out his arms. “Sí. Except for this one.” He pointed at a set of numbers. “It used to say, MS-13, but when I left the gang I had it changed.” He rubbed his fingers lightly over the new numbers, 08-18. “My mother’s birthday. She pleaded with God every day that I would leave the Maras.”

  “She must be very proud of how you’ve turned your life around,” Billie said.

  “Sadly, she never saw the answer to her prayers. She died of a stroke ten months too soon.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He pressed his lips firmly together and nodded. “We should get down to business.”

  “So the person who tipped you off about the hit on Billie is a member of the Maras,” Handel began, pulling out his laptop. He’d left it on, so he just started typing.

  Manny put up his hand. “Sorry, that’s off the record. Loyalty is the glue that holds these guys together. They’ll kill to prove it. Without a second thought. I’d rather not be the guy they take out next.”

  “Okay, but how do you know this information is accurate?”

  “Besides the fact that your wife was shot at? I trust him. We’ve exchanged favors before.”

  “What did you give him?” Billie asked, leaning an elbow on the arm of the plastic chair.

  He ignored her question and got up to pour himself a cup of black ooze. He took a sip and cleared his throat. “You have an enemy who wants you dead. Let’s concentrate on that reality.”

  “What can we do?” Handel asked, closing the lid on his computer. “Can you talk to them? Get them to call it off?”

  “It’s not that simple.” Manny set his cup down on the cover of a People magazine and crossed his arms over his chest. “If members of the Maras were paid to take out your wife, then they won’t stop until the job is terminado.”

  “That’s comforting,” Billie murmured. “At least your people have a great work ethic.”

  “My people?”

  “Excuse my wife,” Handel said by way of apology, putting a hand on her arm. “She’s a bit stressed, as you can imagine.”

  “I don’t have to imagine. I’ve had people gunning for me before too. It’s not a pleasant feeling.” He took a slip of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “I wrote his number down before you came in. He comes highly recommended.”

  “Thanks.” Handel took the paper and slipped it into the side pocket of his bag.

  “Whose number?” Billie asked, feeling like she was being left out of something important.

  Handel shot her a quick smile. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just trial stuff.”

  “Let me get copies of the files you wanted.” Manny got up and went into his office. They could hear him opening and shutting drawers.

  There was something not right here, but Billie couldn’t put her finger on it. She watched Manny come back in with a file folder in hand. “I finally talked with the guy who was working at the gas station when Sloane stopped that night. He was out of the country visiting family in Pakistan. His statement is in here with my other reports.”

  “And your extravagant bill, no doubt.” Handel took the file and shook Manny’s hand. “Appreciate your hard work. I’ll look through all this tonight and get back to you.”

  “No problem. Let me know if you need any follow up.”

  Back in the car, Billie turned to face Handel, one arm along the back of the seat. “Are you hiding something from me again?” she asked, trying to read his mind and getting nothing.

  “How could I hide something from you? You’ve been here the whole time.”

  She shook her head. “How do moms do this? I’m coming up empty.”

  “What are you talking about now?” He was clearly confused. At least she could decipher that much.

  She expelled a frustrated breath, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled out o
f the parking lot. “Never mind. I’ll ask my mother next time I speak with her.”

  •••••

  Carl unlocked the back door of the restaurant and entered the unlit kitchen. He flipped the switch and fluorescent bulbs blinked on, reflecting off stainless steel appliances and countertops. He was running a little late this morning. Had nearly missed catching the seafood guy in the parking lot ready to drive off with his order of lobsters. Louie had scowled from the cab of his refrigerated truck before climbing down and pulling out the box from the back.

  “You’re lucky I was still here,” he grouched, and shoved the box at him. “I got other restaurants to deliver to, ya know.”

  Carl set the box of fresh lobsters on the counter now and looked around. He liked arriving before everyone else when the kitchen was still immaculate from a thorough cleaning the night before, and it was so quiet he could hear the tick of the clock and the growl of his own stomach.

  He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plate of leftover spaghetti. Cold pasta was often his breakfast of choice. It was always available and he didn’t have to go out for it. He sat down at the table to eat and look over his inventory books. He still hadn’t put everything on the computer. Writing things out in neat rows with a #2 pencil just felt right.

  He was glad his uncle hadn’t asked to stay with him while he was in town. That would have been a nightmare. They were both comfortable with the lives they’d built. He led a simple life that was not conducive to Edoardo’s natural expectations. Bellhops, maids, and a professional masseuse were not in Carl’s household budget.

  Edoardo Salvatore didn’t go out of his way to flaunt his wealth as his son once had, buying extravagant items just to impress people. He bought them to please himself. He was rich and that was a fact. As with many wealthy individuals, he chose to believe, despite his disdain for anyone beneath them, that it was his magnetic personality that attracted others to him.

  He had booked the largest suite at Harvest House, a small luxury hotel that catered to every whim of the rich and privileged. Carl imagined by this time of day he was soaking in a hot tub and having a manicure while taking care of overseas business online. Even while relaxing, his uncle was always busy working. No wonder he’d become one of the wealthiest men in Italy.