2 Crushed (12 page)

He looked up. Handel was right
behind him. He set the tool upright in the corner and searched for a light.
Margaret called from the head of the stairs, “Is it Davy?”

Handel reached out and found the
light switch. The barrels, machines, and table were as they were before.
Margaret hurried down the steps, unable to wait any longer for an answer.
Another moan. This time they knew it came from the direction of the wine
storage cellar. Handel went in first.

“It’s Pablo!” he called out seconds
later.

They followed him through the
narrow doorway. The boy was propped in the corner, beside the wine storage
racks, his hands tied behind his back and a gag stuffed into his mouth, held in
place with a piece of duct tape. His eyes were open, wild with terror. He
flinched back when Handel bent over him.

“It’s all right, Pablo. No one is
going to hurt you. You’re safe now.” Handel gripped his arms and helped him
struggle to his feet. “This might hurt though,” he warned before he ripped off
the tape.

The boy spit out the cloth,
coughing and gulping air. “He took Davy!” he said finally when he caught his
breath. “He said to tell you…” he stopped and gritted his teeth.

“It’s okay, Pablo. Take it easy.
Take a deep breath and start over.” Handel spoke calmly, his hands on Pablo’s
shoulders, making eye contact. “Now, what did he say?”

The boy gulped and his Adam’s apple
bobbed in his skinny throat. “I think he said, I mailed a letter to the birds
in the old olive tree!”

Margaret bit her bottom lip and
swayed like a reed in the wind. Adam caught her and wrapped his arms around
her. He held her tight, stroking her hair. “We’ll find him, Meg. We will.”

Pablo’s lower lip trembled as
though he was about to cry, failure to remember the exact words weighing him
down. Handel untied the boy’s hands and patted his head. “You did great. It’s
all right.”

Pablo looked around wildly then and
pointed to the far corner of the cellar. “He gave Davy and me drugs. Something
bad!” he said, clearly panicked by the memory. “I spit mine out!”

Adam looked behind the barrels and
boxes. One half of a large tablet was wedged between two crates. He pushed them
apart and picked it up. It was a huge pill, too large for any small boy to
swallow hole. “Did you bite this in half?” he asked, worried that the boy might
have harmful drugs in his system.

Pablo shook his head. “He gave part
to Davy.”

“We better get this to the police
so they can send it to the lab. Find out what it is.”

Silent tears coursed down
Margaret’s cheeks, and Handel appeared less than his usual confident self. He
helped Pablo walk up the steps to the garage. The boy’s legs were stiff and
numb from sitting in the cold for so long.

Adam and Margaret slowly followed.
He could see she was losing hope; the spark that drove her had been
extinguished by the thought of her son drugged and possibly dying. He stopped
and turned her around at the bottom of the steps. “Meg—look at me. We
will
find him. Don’t stop believing.”

She nodded, a small sob escaping
before she straightened her shoulders and hurried up the steps.

*****

Handel dealt with the police, as
only a lawyer could, shielding Margaret as much as possible from the brunt of
interrogation. They had all been questioned over and again. Why hadn’t anyone
seen or heard the boys being taken? Why were the boys here working instead of
in school where they belonged? Why was Davy with the other crew instead of with
his mother?

Anyone who had worked in a vineyard
during harvest knew it wouldn’t be hard to take the boys. Under the cover of
darkness, with the noise of the tractor coming and going, workers calling and
chatting back and forth, it would be quite simple. According to Pablo, Sean
Parker threatened to kill Mario if they didn’t go with him. He took their
headlights and smashed them under his boot, then while the other men were at
the trailer dumping their bins, he led the boys through the vineyard, staying
to the shadows, until they crossed the road and headed toward the Parker house.
Margaret’s vineyard was last to be harvested and no one was at work there yet.
He’d obviously stolen the garage remote from her car to set the stage for
drama.

Margaret felt helpless. She didn’t
know what to do. The police had issued an Amber alert. They had a canine team
scouring the fields. They told her to stay close in case her father called.
Pablo never mentioned the olive tree when he spoke with the police. She didn’t
know if Handel had sworn him to silence or Sean Parker had threatened him
earlier. She doubted it mattered. The police had less of a chance of
understanding her father’s gibberish than she did. She was more worried about
the pill that had been found. They said they would call when they knew what
Davy had been given. Maybe that would give them a clue as to where Sean Parker
had taken him.

She sat in the kitchen staring
blindly at the clock on the wall. She didn’t know how long she’d been there
until Billie drove up and walked in the front door unannounced. Handel and Adam
had returned to the winery to aid the police in their questioning of the crew.
But she sat alone waiting for a call that never came.

“Margaret, you’ve been sitting here
in the dark for at least an hour. It’s not doing anybody any good, especially
Davy.” Billie pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “The police will find him.
You need to stay busy until they do. Handel said to forward the home number to
your cell. That way you can come with me and you won’t miss a call.”

“All I can think about is how
scared he must be. He’s only nine.” She shifted her eyes to Billie. “You know
what that’s like…being a small child in the clutches of a monster.”

“You can’t think like that,” Billie
said, her voice soft but firm. “Sean Parker is a monster, but he’s also Davy’s
grandfather. I think in his twisted mind he actually cares about him. I don’t
believe he intends to hurt him.”

She expelled a harsh sound,
somewhere between laughter and tears, and shook her head. “No, he doesn’t
intend to hurt him, just drug and kidnap him, use him for extortion.”

“Margaret.” Billie leaned close and
clasped Margaret’s hand, forcing her to look up. “I know what it’s like to be
the victim and I know what it’s like to wait for justice and closure. The only
thing that kept me sane was staying busy.”

Billie knew something about staying
busy in a horrible situation. She’d dealt with so much and managed to come out
the other side whole with just a few scars. Margaret knew Billie didn’t like to
talk about the past, to dwell on what she’d gone through, but she was a
survivor and knew what she spoke of. So she got up, changed the phone, and
followed her outside.

Billie dropped her off in the yard
to supervise the crush and finally, in the business of working with the grapes,
she found temporary solace. The pungently ripe smell of fruit mingled with the
musky odor of Leo’s sweat as he pushed the grapes into the de-stemmer with a
long-handled fork. She lifted a cluster before it was pushed in. The skins were
soft and not too dry—she bit one in half—the seeds nice and brown.
They had picked at just the right time. Mario and Ernesto knew wine grapes even
better than Jack Fredrickson or Charlie Simpson had. They were terrific
vineyard managers. This crop would probably yield some of the best wine
Fredrickson’s had ever produced. Ironic really. On the worst day of her life,
the best crop ever came in.

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes
surreptitiously. Everyone was waiting for her to fall apart. But she wouldn’t.
Davy needed her to stay strong. He was proud that she was Fredrickson’s new
chief winemaker and she wouldn’t let him down.

“Miss Parker.” Mario stood at her
elbow. He’d tied his yellow bandana around his neck now and wore a red baseball
cap on his head. He pulled it off when she turned around.

“Yes?”

“Gracias. You find Pablo. My
seester’s son.” He couldn’t meet her eye but kept looking down at the ground as
though ashamed that his nephew was found and her son still missing.

“I’m so sorry he got caught up in this.
My father…Sean Parker is a monster.” She couldn’t go on. She drew a shaky
breath. “I’m truly sorry. Take him home to his mother so she can hug him
tight.”

He nodded, but still hesitated. He
had something more to say. “No se preocupe.
El hombre malo va a pagar,” he said. He slapped the cap back on his head
and hurried to his pickup where Pablo sat inside waiting, his head leaning
against the door, already fast asleep.

Margaret stared after him, her eyes narrowed against the noon sun. She
had no idea what he said. Something about a bad man. Maybe. She watched him
drive away and hoped Pablo didn’t incur nightmares from his experience.

Leo climbed down from the machine with the fork in the crook of his arm.
“That was weird,” he said, with a shake of his head.

“What?”

“Mario.” He inclined his head in the direction the pickup had
disappeared. “He told you not to worry cause the evil man would pay.”

“The evil man?”

“That’s what he said. My grandfather speaks Spanish at home all the
time. Believe me, I’ve heard the word
evil
more than once. He hates my music, my books, my girlfriends. To him
everything’s evil if it wasn’t born or invented before 1950.”

She and Leo had gone to the same schools, growing up. He dropped out
about the same time she got pregnant, causing a lot of innuendo and gossip at
the time. Leo had always been a player, but he had a soft heart and she could
tell he was trying to lighten up the situation.

She smiled. “Thanks. I needed a laugh.”

He shrugged. “No problemo.”

Adam was bearing the next bin of grapes their way on his forklift. She
pointed up to the top of the sorter. “Back to work, Leo.”

*****

“Where’s my money?”

The gravelly voice set Agosto’s
teeth on edge. This man was a pox on society. He tried to hide his disgust.
“You’ve managed to stir up the media. I thought we agreed to keep this off
their radar.”

Sean Parker laughed into the phone.
“A secret kidnapping? There were a dozen people around and he happened to be
hanging out with some other kid. Unless you wanted to turn it into murder, I
couldn’t very well keep it secret.”

Agosto rolled his eyes at the
stupidity of the man’s statement. Since when did murder make things less worthy
of media attention? He stared at the muted flatscreen on the wall of his hotel
room. A picture of Davy and a prison photo of Sean Parker had been flashed on
the screen at least forty times since he’d turned it on this morning. Parker
would probably have a swat team on him before the end of the day. And Agosto
couldn’t afford to be in the country when it happened.

“Where is he?” He flicked off the
television with the remote and strode to the window to look out at the city
below. It wasn’t nearly as calming as the view he’d had in San Francisco. And
his nerves were already frayed from speaking with this imbecile. “We had an
agreement. You wouldn’t hurt him, just drug him so he doesn’t remember
anything.”

“Did we?” The old man coughed, the
phlemy wheezing sounded like he was on his deathbed. “I remember money being
mentioned and I haven’t received any. My grandson means a lot to me. A lot.”

Agosto took a calming breath and
released it. “You’ll get your money when I get my son, but now I have to act
the part of a distraught father. The whole production could take days. I wanted
to be out of the country by tomorrow. I don’t see that happening.”

“Sorry. Sometimes kidnappings don’t
stick to the scrip.”

Anger welled in him, but he kept
his voice soft. “Take the boy to the place we agreed upon. I have someone to
care for him. He will give you the money and you will disappear.” He paused.
“Mexico would be a good lifestyle for you. A nice hot, dry climate for your
failing health, and lots of other kidnappers to sit around and swap stories
with.”

“I don’t know what Maggie ever saw
in you Salvatore, but you make me laugh,” he said, dryly. “Don’t cross me
though, or you’ll be laughing out the other side of your face.”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Adam spotted the blue convertible
rolling up the gravel drive and cursed under his breath. Just what Margaret
needed. He scanned the parking lot and saw that Handel’s Porsche was still
parked in the shade of the spreading oaks. He hurried inside the winery to look
for him.

Sally sat at her desk, speaking to
someone on the telephone. She lifted her gaze and covered the mouthpiece.
“What?”

“Where’s Handel?” he asked,
obviously transmitting his need for speed, because she jerked her head in the
direction of Billie’s office. “He’s with Billie.”

“Thanks.”

He strode down the hallway and
didn’t bother to knock, but thrust open the door to his sister’s office. Handel
sat on the edge of Billie’s desk and she stood beside him with her head on his
shoulder and his arm around her. She pulled quickly away when Adam entered.

“Sorry,” Adam said, “Handel, we’ve
got a situation.”

Handel’s gaze narrowed and he stood
up. “What is it? Is Margaret…”

“She’s fine right now, but maybe
not for long. I think you better come. That Salvatore guy just showed up.”

“Damn!” Handel was out the front
door before Adam and Billie. He strode down the walk and met Salvatore head on,
his voice raised. “What are you doing here? You’re not welcome!”

Salvatore stopped and looked at him
as though he’d asked what color grass was. “I came as soon as I heard. What did
you expect? My son has been kidnapped.”

“He’s your son when the situation
calls for one. Carl told me how your father is pressuring you for an heir. It
must be quite inconvenient to suddenly become a father when you’ve been living
this terrific playboy lifestyle.”

“How is Margaret doing?” Salvatore
asked tightly, ignoring Handel’s diatribe.

Adam glanced toward the yard where
he’d just left Margaret going through a final inspection before sending a batch
of grapes through the press. The Italian followed his gaze.

“I guess I’ll ask her myself,” he
said and headed that way.

Handel grabbed his arm. “You’re not
going anywhere. This is private property.”

“Handel! Stop it!” Billie stepped
up and put her hand on his arm. “Let him go. He’s Davy’s father. He has a right
to know what’s going on.”

“Stay out of this! You don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

His words cut Billie to the quick.
She dropped her hand and stepped away. “Adam, go get Margaret,” she said. When
he hesitated she turned and locked eyes with him. “Get Margaret now. Neither
one of you are helping by shielding her from reality. She needs to know what’s
going on. She’s Davy’s mother and he is Davy’s father.” She glared at each of
them in turn. “Not you. And not you. Whether you like it or not.”

Adam didn’t have to fetch Margaret.
She’d apparently heard the commotion and was already headed in their direction.
A blue scarf held her hair away from her face and made her eyes appear large
and luminous. Her mouth was set in a thin line, hiding the emotion fighting to
get out.

Handel released his grip on
Salvatore’s arm and stepped back.

“Agosto,” she said, holding out her
hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. You should have heard this from me.”

He took her hand and held it
briefly, his thumb caressing her skin. “It’s quite all right. I understand. I
imagine the police have kept you busy with questions.”

“Yes, there have been a lot of
questions and very few answers. My father…” she broke off and wiped at her eyes
with the pads of her fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“I can only imagine. I wish I would
have known sooner, so I could be here for you,” he said, his voice dropping to
an intimate, husky whisper. “Is there something I could do now?”

Adam wanted to toss him back in his
fancy car and send him over a cliff but Margaret had a different idea. She took
him to her office and closed the door. When they emerged thirty minutes later,
her eyes were red from crying. She walked the man back out to his car, ignoring
their hallway hovering and curious stares. Salvatore hugged her intimately,
then got in his car and drove away. It was more than Adam could take. He strode
down the hall, took the stairs two at a time to the cellar and waited to cool
off.

*****

The sun had long set and almost
everyone had already gone home to get a few hours of sleep before they would
rise to do it all again. The machines sat motionless, sleeping hulks of metal
fading into the shadows of the yard. A neighbor’s dog barked in the distance
and then grew quiet as night settled down like an antsy child.

Margaret walked in the vineyard,
down one row and up another, searching, hoping, enduring. The flashlight she
carried lit up one side and then the other as she swung it back and forth in a
rhythmic motion over the ground. Her eyes burned with strain, but she kept
going, not knowing what else to do, unable to rest with Davy still missing.
Maybe she could find something, a clue dropped by her bright son.

She heard a car start and glanced
back toward the winery. Headlights cut a quick path toward her and then away as
someone turned around and headed home. Probably Sally. She’d remained inside
manning the phone in case word came about Davy. Even after Billie told her to
go home, she stayed, adamant that they needed her.

“Margaret!” Handel called. “Wait
up!”

She paused long enough for him to
catch up—he was panting with the effort—then continued on. He
matched her pace, not saying a word, and walked quickly along beside her as
though they actually had somewhere to go.

“What are you doing?” he finally
asked. “The police already had the dogs cover this whole area. You’re not going
to find anything. You should go home and get some rest.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she
said, swinging the light back to the left when she caught the glint of
something shiny. She bent down closer. A foil gum wrapper. She straightened and
continued on.

“Margaret,” he pleaded, his hand on
her arm, tugging for her to stop. “Please, don’t do this.

“Do what? Search for Davy? I don’t
see anyone else doing it!” She jerked her arm away and glared at him in the
dark.

“There’s nothing anyone can do
right now. We just have to wait.”

“That’s why I’m doing this,” she
whispered. “I don’t know how to wait.”

He fell into step with her again as
she moved on. The cluster of old olive trees was just ahead, marking the end of
the field. She flashed her light up into the branches for a second and then
back at the ground, turning down the next row.

“Wait,” Handel said, touching her
arm.

“What?”

“The trees.”

“So?” Even as she said the word a
tiny spark of comprehension tore up her spine. She turned and pointed the light
at the grove. “What’s in the trees, Handel?” She should have known he’d
understand the hidden meaning behind their father’s message. His face had been
too blank, his reaction too bland.

He took the flashlight from her hand
and walked toward them until he stood right below the largest tree. Weathered
and twisted by time and age, it stood sentinel over the vineyard. He shined the
light up at the thickest branch and held it there. “See that?”

“I don’t see anything.” She cocked
her head over his shoulder, gazing up into the dark branches, seeing only the
face of the moon peeking through small crinkled leaves. “What am I looking
for?”

“A birdhouse. The only thing he
ever made with me. He was always in that woodworking shed of his, drinking, and
doing God knows what else. I guess in spite of the way he treated me I wanted
to please him. So I begged him to show me how to use the tools and make
something. I built that little birdhouse. It wasn’t much. He said I stunk at
carpentry and should find another vocation.” He dropped his arm to his side,
and flicked the light off.

“Why did you put it clear out
here?” she asked. A birdhouse was hung or placed where people could enjoy the
activity, watch wild birds flit about looking for food and raising families.

“Because I was angry. He made fun
of my work, so I told him I was going to smash it and throw it away. But I
couldn’t. Instead, I brought it out here and nailed it in this tree. A small
refuge he couldn’t take away. Or so I thought.” He sighed. “I used to come here
at night when everyone was asleep. This was my hiding place. I wrote letters
and mailed them in the birdhouse.”

“Who did you write them to?” she
asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. To God
I guess. Spilled my guts on paper. Of course, he never wrote me back. But just
putting the words down, acknowledging the way I felt—my anger,
confusion—was a form of therapy. I managed to survive until he
disappeared.”

“So you never told anyone about
this?” she asked, wondering why he was sharing it now. What did this boyhood
refuge have to do with Davy’s disappearance?

He didn’t answer, busy testing the
strength of a low hung branch. He dropped the flashlight, grabbed hold of the
branch and swung himself up. Squatting low to avoid hitting his head, he braced
his hand against the trunk and looked down. “I’ll be right back,” he said and
started climbing upward.

It wasn’t much of a climb for a
grown man, but it did take him a few moments to maneuver between the tight
branches, twisted with age. She watched him lose footing once and slide, nearly
falling, but he caught hold of another branch in time. She bent down and picked
up the flashlight he’d dropped in the process.

“You need some light?” she asked.

He must have reached the birdhouse.
He was tugging on something. She pointed the light upward and caught his face
in the beam for a second. His jaw was set with determination. “Not in my eyes!”

“Sorry.” She moved the beam to the
left and spotlighted the little wooden contraption he was yanking on. “Maybe
you should just leave it there and take whatever’s in it,” she suggested. “It’s
been a long time. The tree has probably grown around it.”

“I think you’re right.” He reached
inside and pulled something out, stuffed it in his pocket without looking at
it. He put his hand in again and felt around, but came up empty-handed this
time. “That’s strange.”

He climbed back down and dropped to
the ground. “My letters are gone. Not that they’d be in terrific shape, out in
the weather for years, but I expected to find something left of them.” He
pulled from his pocket the one piece of paper he’d found and spread it open
against the trunk of the tree.

Margaret peered over his shoulder,
pointing the flashlight beam so they could both read it clearly. Printed in
dark block letters on a piece of motel stationary, it read:

How
does it feel to be the cause of so much pain? To know that you could have
stopped all this if you’d just given me what I asked for? You’re hurting your
sister. You know that. You always wanted to cut corners and skip steps. Davy
can come home when you follow directions and bring the items I requested. I’ll
be waiting. Don’t let me down.

Your
father, SP

Handel started to crumple it into a
ball and then thought better of it. He smoothed it out and folded it carefully
into fourths. “I’m sorry,” he said, sticking it back in his pocket. “I should
have given him the money. Maybe he would have gone away and left us alone.”

“What are you talking about? He
showed up the other night when you were with Billie. I didn’t even tell you.”

“He called me at the office.
Demanded his share. Said that he heard about my engagement and knew I’d be
coming into some money.” He shook his head. “As if my marriage to Billie was
about taking back the winery or something.”

She flicked off the light and gazed
up. The full moon was the color of butter tonight, a creamy orb against the
night sky. Stars appeared one by one as her eyes adjusted. “Is it?” she asked,
hating herself for the question, but needing to ask it. He’d always taken care
of her and Davy. He knew she loved the winery and that she’d been extremely
disappointed when Jack died and left it to Billie. The engagement seemed so
sudden, without a hint of his intentions. Sure they’d been dating but…

“How can you even ask that? Did
your relationship with Salvatore really scar you that much?” He took a step
away, turned his back on her, and stared off into the vineyard for a moment.

“I’m sorry. It was a stupid
question.”

He slowly turned back around, hands
pushed in his jeans pockets. “I love Billie. I intend to spend the rest of my
life with her. That’s what marriage is about. That’s what
this
marriage is about. I don’t care that she owns the winery, or
even if she lost it tomorrow.” He paused. “Sean Parker may have supplied half
of our DNA, Margaret, but he’s not our father. He is a crazy man with twisted
perceptions. Don’t buy into them.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, but was
relieved by his answer.

“Can we go home now? I can’t leave
you out here alone.”

His cell phone rang before she
could ask what other item besides money had their father requested.

“This is Handel Parker,” he said,
in his take-charge lawyer voice. “What? Where would he get something like
that?”

“Who is it?” she asked, moving
closer. “Is it the police? Did they find Davy?”

His expression changed from concern
to anger, his mouth pulled tight at the corners. “I understand. No, I have no
idea. Certainly. Thank you.” He slipped the phone back in his pocket.

“Well?” She stared at his shadowed
features, trying to read his thoughts. He rubbed a hand over his face and
released a heavy sigh.