3 Savor (14 page)

“Sure.” He hopped up from the
picnic table and ran toward the back door.

“Nice. Instant obedience. How do
you do that?” Margaret asked.

Billie shrugged. “Easy. I’m not his
mom. You’ve got a tough job and kids are never truly grateful until they have
to go through parenting themselves.” She tipped her head to the side and made a
face. “At least that’s what my mom tells me.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Handel said. “She
called.”

“When?”

“This afternoon when Margaret and I
were at the coffee hut,” Handel slipped a bite of T-bone steak into his mouth
and chewed around his words. “Said she wanted to check up on me cause you
hadn’t called her back.”

“I hope you didn’t tell her about
the vandals. You know how she is. If she thought I needed her, she’d be out
here in a flash. That’s the last thing we need.” Billie set her fork down.
“She’s been acting odd lately as it is. Bungee jumping, going to stock car
races, Jet-skiing. Do you think it’s a late mid-life crisis or an early second
childhood?”

Davy ran out the back door with the
jar of olives, Adam following on his heels. “Adam’s here!” he shouted
unnecessarily.

A soft blush stole over Margaret’s
cheeks when Adam stopped behind her. She turned her face up for a kiss. “I
didn’t think you’d make it. Thought you had to rehearse or something,” she
said.

Billie moved over to make room for
him on the bench across from Margaret. He slipped his long legs over the seat
and leaned with his elbows on the table, his smile directed at the girl in
blue. “I got hungry,” he said simply.

She blushed deeper.

“Okay then.” Billie handed him a
plate with a grilled steak and baked potato, then pushed salad and pasta bowls
toward him. “Have at it.”

He wolfed down a few bites of steak
as though he hadn’t eaten all day before pausing to ask, “Did you get those
cuttings done that you talked about?”

Margaret nodded, her face pensive.
She glanced toward Davy who was busy trying to juggle walnuts fallen from a
nearby tree. “It’s been a busy day,” she said.

Handel picked up his empty plate
and jars of condiments and moved toward the house. “Davy! Make yourself
useful.”

When they were both in the house
putting things away, Billie told Adam about the fire. “No one was in any
serious danger,” she was quick to point out, seeing the way he reached for
Margaret’s hand. “The back wall of the shed will need to be repaired but other
than that…” she shrugged.

“What did the police say? Are they
doing anything about it? What do they need before they make an arrest – a
dead body?” He sat back, anger quickly replacing worry in his eyes.

Margaret pushed her plate aside.
“We’ve seen this guy. He was at the music festival.” She looked at Billie. “Why
aren’t they arresting him? Didn’t you tell them he was the one?” she asked,
joining forces with Adam. Apparently she’d decided her father was no longer her
top suspect.

Billie stood up and went to the
grill to make sure Handel had shut off the gas. “I don’t know that he is
the one
,” she said, “He didn’t come
right out and admit it and it was too dark to see anyone that night. So unless
he turns himself in and confesses, the police have no case against him.”

“Figures,” Adam huffed and crossed
his arms. “He can shoot at you, destroy seventy-year-old vines, and set fire to
Margaret’s property and no one can touch him. Where’s the justice in that?”

Handel strode out, bearing dessert
on a tray. Strawberry shortcake piled with berries and whipped cream. “Justice
is in a fair and open trial with evidence to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt a
suspect’s guilt. Or would you rather punish the accused first and then find out
later he was the wrong guy?”

“Well if I get my hands on him
while he’s in the middle of another act of
alleged
,”
Adam put his fingers up as quotation marks, “vandalism, I’ll let you know.”

The sun was setting and shadows
were deepening. Margaret kept glancing toward her house in the distance.
“Where’s Davy,” she asked, when they were done with dessert.

“I left him inside. He wanted to
watch some weird reality show about hunting crocodiles or something.”

“We should get going.” She started
cleaning up the rest of the picnic supplies. “Can you drive us over, Adam?”

Billie shook her head. “Go on. I’ve
got this.”

“Thanks.”

When Billie was putting the rest of
the things on the tray and folding the tablecloth, she heard the Corvette hot
rod down the driveway. She smiled, knowing that Adam wasn’t just showing off
for Davy, but for his girl. He was such a big kid.

Handel rounded the corner of the
house. “Need any help, babe?” he offered, taking the tray from her hands and
following her into the kitchen.

He poured them each a glass of wine
while she filled the dishwasher, then stood leaning against the counter beside
her. “Frank thinks I should call Hosea and ask him point blank if he’s involved
in these acts of vandalism or if he knows who is.”

She slanted her eyes at him. “Frank
does, does he? Did he also deputize you in case you need to make a citizen’s
arrest?”

“I didn’t think to ask him. Now I
wish I had.” He stepped behind her and began massaging her neck and shoulders,
his hands moving gently, kneading out the knots and warming her skin. “You
always have the best ideas,” he said. He kissed the side of her neck, right
below her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

She turned into his arms and slid
wet hands up over his chest and around his neck, dampening his shirt. “Seems
like you’re the one with the best idea now,” she murmured as he lowered his
head to kiss her.

His cell phone interrupted the
moment once again. He tried to ignore the ringing in his pocket but she finally
pulled back, pressing her hands against his chest. “Go. Answer it.”

Handel took it out of his pocket
and looked at caller ID. “It’s Frank,” he said, trying not to look eager.

She picked up her wine glass and
poured it down the drain. “I’ll be in bed if you need me,” she said, and left
him with his new best friend.

Handel’s conversation lasted longer
than expected, or he decided to go in his office and work, because by the time
she finished reading a chapter in her book, he was still missing in action and
she was finding it quite impossible to keep her eyes open. She finally gave up,
clicked off the lamp and went to sleep.

Margaret stood on the front step
and waved as Davy drove off with Adam the next morning on his way to soccer
camp. Her son had a knack for getting his own way. She was a little jealous of
the buddy friendship the two of them had built up in such a short time, but
only because sometimes it seemed like he was pulling away from her.

She shook her head and went back
inside. Of course Davy was pulling away from her. He was growing up. A
ten-year-old didn’t need his mother hovering all the time. She was glad he and
Adam had formed a bond of mutual respect. A boy needed the right kind of male
mentors. She couldn’t ask for better examples than her brother and Adam.

She cleaned up their few breakfast
dishes and then remembered to throw Davy’s new favorite shirt in a load of
laundry before changing into loose khaki pants and an old faded tank top to
work outside. The burned wall of the shed needed to be torn off and replaced
with new wood. First she had to move everything inside the shed, out.

She pulled her long braid through
the hole in the back of her cap, slipped her cell phone into her pocket and
went out through the garage. Adam had recently installed a keypad entry, so she
punched in the numbers and closed the door behind her. After the last two days,
she certainly didn’t want vandals sneaking into the house or wine cellar while
she was out of sight.

Halfway down the hill to the shed,
she heard a car approach. She turned around, her hand up to the bill of her cap
to block the glare of sun shooting through the branches of the elms. The same
black Jaguar that had been parked outside Antonio’s back door the other day was
now parked in her driveway.

“Damn.” She should have known she
couldn’t escape this man so easily. His son thought he ran the world. The
father probably thought he ran the universe. Hands on her hips, she waited.

Edoardo stepped out of the car and
turned slowly, looking around at the house and fields. His gaze swept over her
and then came back to rest. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Buon giorno,
Margaret!” he called.

Grudgingly, she started back up the
hill pulling off her gloves as she went. She stuffed them in the utility pocket
of her khakis and stopped a few feet away. “Hello, Mr. Salvatore,” she said,
her voice clipped and formal. “What can I do for you?”

She was glad Davy was not at home
so she could deal with this man without further emotional complications. Agosto
had put Davy in the middle, trying to use his innate longing for a father as a
ploy to force her hand. Davy was not a bargaining chip in a board meeting. He
was flesh and blood and soul, and he had already been hurt enough by the Salvatores.

Edoardo gave a low chuckle, his
mouth slanted in a rueful smile as his eyes caught and held hers. She could see
where Agosto had gotten his hard-to-resist charm. The father wasn’t as
devilishly handsome as the son had been, but like an aging Bruce Willis, he was
no slouch to look at. He’d come in more casual attire – black slacks and
an open collared violet colored shirt – but still gave off that aura of
self-made millionaire.

“Perhaps there is something I can
do for you,” he said, tipping his head slightly as he regarded her. “I heard
about the recent trouble you have had with vandals.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Where did
you hear that?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The police had not
been dispatched for the fire because Loren had told them it was just a shed
fire, away from the house and no one was injured.

“At my hotel. The woman at the desk
was speaking with the postman. He said there was a fire and damage to your
vineyard. Carl mentioned the other night that someone had shot through the
front window of your sister-in-law’s house as well.” He shrugged. “A tight
community. People talk.”

It was true, her mail carrier had
noticed the broken vines yesterday and asked her about them. Apparently he was
good at distributing more than mail. And Carl was probably just making
conversation, but she wished he’d make it with someone else. She didn’t want
this man knowing anything about her personal business.

“What is it that you think you can
help with?” she asked.

“The idea that you and my grandson
live way out here without proper protection is appalling to me. I will pay for
a home alarm system and a security guard to patrol your property for a few days
in case the vandal returns.”

She was shaking her head before he
finished his over-reaching pompous speech. “We don’t need your money, Mr.
Salvatore. And it doesn’t really matter whether you like that we live out here.
This is our home. If I feel that we need more security, then I’ll take care of
the matter. Thank you very much,” she said, her voice firm and strong despite
the fearful quiver in her gut at his commandeering manner. She reminded herself
that she was no longer the insecure young girl that Agosto once ruled in that
same arrogant fashion, but she was a talented, strong woman who had found her
niche in life and excelled at what she did. She didn’t need this man to approve
of how she lived.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he
said. “Frankly, I find it quite disturbing that you would turn my offer down. A
single mother like yourself,” he said lifting a hand toward her, “should be
eager to prove to the courts that she is able to keep her son safe.”

“I am his mother,” she said, trying
to appear unmoved by the subtle threat. She shoved shaking hands in the front
pockets of her khakis. “I have raised and protected him for the past ten years
and I will continue to do it to the best of my ability until he’s an adult. I
have no need to prove anything to anyone!”

“When people find out he is my
grandson, he will no longer be a nobody. He will be high profile, like one of
your American celebrities. With that in mind, security must be high as well,
for his continued well-being.”

“In that case,” she said, letting a
tinge of anger color her voice, “the wise thing to do is make sure no one ever
knows he’s your grandson.”

His mouth pulled tight and he
glared his disapproval. “You don’t know who you are dealing with, young lady.”

“I think it’s time for you to
leave.”

But he wasn’t finished yet. He
stepped closer and pointed a finger in her face. “I will not be so easy to
dispose of as my son proved to be. I’ve read all of the police reports that
said your father murdered Agosto.” He paused, breathing heavily through his
nostrils like an angry stallion about to rear and trample whoever got in his
way. For a moment she thought he might strike her and she took a step back.
When he continued his eyes were still hard, but he’d lost the crazy look. “But
I know who is really responsible for my son’s death.”

Margaret didn’t respond. The
implied accusation was too much to register. She stared after him as he turned
abruptly and got back into his fancy sports car. He didn’t even glance her way
when he backed out and drove off. Gravel dust settled around her and she
breathed a huge sigh of relief that he was gone. Watching the black car
disappear down the highway, relief soon turned to dread. Could this be the
beginning of a power struggle for Davy’s custody? The man did not look like a
quitter. He would absolutely make her life miserable to the end.

How far was he willing to go? He
was already accumulating info to use against her in family court, trying to
prove that her home was unsafe for a minor. What else had he learned? Did he
have someone spying on her? She turned around, pulling her gloves back on. She
could only deal with one demolition at a time. Salvatore would have to wait.

•••••

Handel typed Hosea’s number into
his phone and stared at it on the screen for long seconds before pressing send.
He’d waited until Billie was at the winery working; he wanted to be able to
concentrate on every nuance of the conversation. Sometimes when his wife was
around he had a hard time keeping a clear head. Logic was often overridden by
emotion, especially since his accident. He didn’t know if the head trauma had
damaged some emotional cortex or something, but he just didn’t feel like
himself.

It rang once. Twice. Someone picked
up but there was only silence.

“Hello? Hosea?”

“Who is this?” a low voice asked,
giving nothing away but his Mexican heritage.

“Handel Parker. You called me a few
weeks ago. Remember? Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances we were unable
to finish our conversation.”

“I got nothin’ to say.”

“Wait!” Handel said, afraid he’d
hang up before he had time to ask his questions. “You said you know who killed
Jimena. Were you there?”

The man muttered a string of swear
words in Spanish. “You lawyers are all the same. You don’t want the truth, you
just want to win. When your own family is threatened, then you get all uptight
and want justice right now. Where’s the justice for Jimena? Huh?” he broke out
into swearing again.

“Hosea,” he interrupted, speaking
calmly, despite his desire to reach through the connection and grab the man by
the throat. “I understand you cared about Jimena. I admit I didn’t know her,
but I do care about justice. That’s why I’m asking you for the facts.”

“So you can twist them in court?
Nah! I don’t think so. I’m already walkin’ a thin line. If he finds out I
–” he swore loudly.

“If who finds out? Jimena’s killer?
Don’t you want to see him pay for what he did?”

Handel heard him sniff. “She was
going off on him when she heard he was knee deep in aqua for Las Boyz. I just
wanted my money before we left for Mexico. That’s all I wanted. Now she’s dead
and he’ll never pay. You’ll make sure of that.”

“There can be no justice if good
people won’t come forward with the truth,” Handel said, trying to eek out the
little bit of humanity that might still be hidden behind the man’s angry
defenses.

Hosea was silent for a few seconds
and Handel wondered if the line had been disconnected, but the time counter was
still ticking down on his call. “There is no justice for people like us,” he
finally said, his voice hollow with regret. “Only vengeance.”

“Taking the law into your own hands
is a dangerous occupation, Hosea.”

“This world is a dangerous place. You
want some free advice, Mr. Lawyer? I’d get a gun if I were you. A big gun.”

“Is that a threat? Because I don’t
like threats. Especially against my family.”

These gang members killed with no
scruples. Hosea might have loved Jimena Kawasaki, but that didn’t mean he was
completely innocent of her death. He’d already admitted he’d been there at the
time. So to him shooting a stranger would be like smashing a bug on the
sidewalk.

The man’s high-pitched laughter
reminded Handel of a nervous hyena. He wondered if he was doing drugs again.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about. I warned your chica. Look closer to
home. And don’t call me again.” He hung up.

Handel disconnected the device he’d
used to record the call and sat back in his desk chair with a sigh. The
recording may not be admissible in a court of law but he planned to have
Officer Torn listen to it anyway. Frank had some experience with gangs in his
early days of walking a beat in San Francisco. Maybe he’d pick up on something
in Hosea’s words that he was missing.

He replayed the conversation
through once more and then stopped to rewind the last part again.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about. I
warned your chica. Look closer to home.”

Handel leaned with his elbows on
the desk and stared at the framed wedding photo of Billie on the shelf across
the room. How close to home was the man referring? Someone connected to the
trial? Someone Billie and Margaret worked with at the winery? He shook his
head. None of this made sense. Were they targeting his family to keep him
distracted because they thought he was too close to identifying the real killer
or because they didn’t like the idea that he might get Kawasaki off?
Now she’s dead and he’ll never pay. You’ll
make sure of that.
The trial was set to resume on Monday and he was
starting to wonder if his client was innocent after all.

•••••

Sally stepped into Billie’s office,
a huge grin on her face. “I think you might want to see this,” she said,
hooking a thumb behind her. She snorted a laugh as though unable to keep it in
and led the way down the hall.

Billie squinted, stepping out the
door into the full sun. Loren was ogling somebody’s new Harley. He walked
around it, his fingers lightly brushing the leather saddle. “This is a hot
ride, Mamma,” he said appreciatively.

The woman stood with her back to
the door. In jeans, boots, and a bright pink and black leather jacket, she was
most definitely hot, whether or not she was a mamma. The temperature had to be
eighty degrees out. Billie thought Loren was just using his slang a little too
liberally until the woman pulled off a matching helmet and fluffed
shoulder-length dark brown hair with a shake of her head.

“Mom?” Her mouth dropped open when
Sabrina twirled around.

“Wilhemina!” She handed Loren her
helmet and pulled Billie into a leather-clad hug. “I missed you!” She slowly
drew back and looked at her daughter as though she hadn’t seen her for years.
Her eyes were red and moist. Probably from buffeting the wind with her face. “I
just had a feeling that I needed to be here,” she said, as dramatic as ever.

“A feeling, huh? Does it come and
go like hot flashes, Mom?” she waved an arm at the bike. “Cause riding a
motorcycle all the way from Minnesota seems like more than a feeling. Have you
lost your freaking mind?”

Sabrina looked confused, a line of
worry between her brows. “Are you all right, honey? You don’t look so good.
Maybe we should go inside where it’s cool and discuss this.” She took Billie’s
arm and tugged her gently toward the door.