3 Savor (16 page)

“That can’t be helped.” Billie
picked up a pen and wrote something on a sheet of notepaper. “If Salvatore
plans to fight for visitation rights he will first have to prove that he has
rights. Davy’s paternity was never recorded on a legal document. Am I right?”

She nodded. “Handel said it would
be best to just put
unknown
. I know
that sounds creepy, but now I’m beginning to see the wisdom in it.”

“It will definitely give us more
time to prepare, if and when he files with the court.” She tilted her head to
the side, her eyes slanted. “Have you told Davy his grandfather is in town?”

“No. After everything that happened
last year, I don’t think he’s ready to handle another crazy relative.”

They ate their salads and chatted
about the harvest, what preparations they needed to make and how many seasonal
workers to hire. Margaret discussed the progress of the barreled wine and
Billie suggested a by-invitation-only barrel tasting party to ratchet up
interest in the Fredrickson brand.

Margaret nodded. “Sounds like a
plan. I think if we send out invites to about fifty of our best customers, the
word will spread. The Chardonnay is very promising this year.”

“I’m sure it won’t be as popular as
Margaret’s Wine but I hope it will come in a close second,” Billie said. She
picked up her phone and smiled. “It’s Handel. He sent a text asking if my mother
is back yet.”

“Where’s she off to now?” Margaret
still couldn’t believe the woman rented a Harley and rode in from San
Francisco. She would never forget the look of shock on Adam’s face. It was
priceless.

“She borrowed the BMW. Said she
wanted to do some shopping and she was going to stop by and say hello to Carl.”
Billie frowned. “I hope she doesn’t expect Antonio to be back from Italy. Carl
said he was seeing someone over there and it was serious. She doesn’t show her
true feelings much, so I’m not sure if this mid-life crisis is a direct result
of a broken heart or a hormone mix-up.”

“Maybe it’s just your mom’s wild
side coming out after all these years,” Margaret teased. “You should have heard
Adam last night after he took me home. He’s really worried about her. Thinks
she might need a psychiatric evaluation.”

Billie waved a hand. “My mother?
Not on your life. The rest of us may need one though by the time she flies back
home to Minnesota.”

Handel was meeting Frank at
Charley’s Coffee House. There were a few empty tables this time of the
afternoon, so he chose one away from other customers. He took a sip of espresso
and looked around. The black, cream and turquoise décor was retro enough to bring
in the baby boomers, yet avant-garde enough to attract the young artsy crowd
that populated the area.

Handel had known Charley since high
school. She was always outgoing and loved connecting with people. He watched
her leaning over the coffee bar, talking with a customer, her hands moving as
quickly as her lips. She reminded him of Carl. They’d make a great pair. She
glanced his way and called across the room. “Hey, Handel. Need a refill on that
espresso yet?”

He shook his head with a smile.
“Not yet, Charley.”

“Let me know when you do.” She
turned back to her customer, handing her a pastry from beneath the counter.

Frank came in the front door,
looked around, and caught his eye. He nodded in acknowledgment then ordered a
coffee before joining Handel at the table. “Hey, counselor. How’s it going?”

“Good.” Handel shook his hand.
“You’re not in uniform. Day off?”

“Yep, I’m supposed to be out
running errands for my wife.” He grinned. “Thought she’d probably like me to
pick her up some of Charley’s sticky rolls.”

“Good call.” He pulled the tiny
recorder out of his suit coat pocket and slid it across the table. “That’s the
conversation I told you about. I’m not up on my gangbanger jargon,” he said,
picking up his espresso. “With your background maybe you can interpret for me.”

Frank slipped the buds into his
ears and pressed play. Handel sipped espresso and watched customers come and go
while Frank listened to the recording, his eyes closed in concentration. He
pressed rewind and listened again before shutting it off and pulling out the
buds.

“Interesting,” he said, picking up
his coffee cup. He took a sip and licked his lips. “I won’t bother to tell you
that it’s illegal to record a phone call in California without getting the
permission of the other party involved. Because of course, being a lawyer and
all, you already know that.”

Handel nodded. “I do indeed. But
hypothetically… if I were to record a phone call and that individual said
something about aqua – which I know is Spanish for water – what
would that mean in gangspeak?”

“Knee-deep in aqua means someone is
producing meth in large quantities.”

“Terrific.” He closed his eyes for
a second and blew out a breath. “I like to think what I do is more than just
keeping innocent people out of jail. It’s about being a part of justice in
action. That means something, you know?” He rubbed a hand over his chin and
shook his head. “Sure you do. You’re in the justice game too.”

“I arrest them. You release them.”
Frank shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we’re not both serving justice.”

“Yeah, well now I’m wondering if my
keeping innocent people out of jail is actually stretching the truth.”

Frank frowned, his forehead rippled
like waves on a lake. “People lie, counselor. I’ve heard confessions from men
who had nothing to do with a crime and I’ve heard elaborate stories of
innocence from men who had committed heinous acts of violence. People will lie
to protect themselves, their friends, to get a warm room for the night, or to
cover up something worse.” He waved a hand. “Just about anything. You seem like
a pretty astute judge of character. If you believed your client when you took
him on, then you have nothing to beat yourself up about. If he does have
something to do with,” he lowered his voice, “aqua, it doesn’t mean he’s guilty
of the crime he’s being tried for.”

“Maybe, but I hate the thought of…”
he broke off. “Sorry. I don’t mean to throw my problems in your lap. I really
do appreciate your help.”

“What goes around comes around.”

Handel chuckled. “Is that a subtle
reminder of your sister’s court case?”

“Maybe a little one.”

“Don’t worry. Billie agreed to
handle it. I told you she would. She sees a woman or children in trouble and
she’s compelled to come to the rescue.”

“I don’t think my sister needs to
be rescued exactly,” Frank said, running a hand over his blonde buzz cut. “I
taught her self-defense after all. She wanted to be a cop too, but that husband
of hers talked her out of it. Maybe once this crap gets settled she’ll revisit
the idea. She’d make a good one.”

“She does have a great head-bashing
technique,” Handel said, holding back a grin.

“That she does.”

Frank purchased a box of caramel
rolls and another coffee before he left, saying he was buying his wife’s
forgiveness for another week. Handel slipped into Billie’s little Mazda and
turned the key. He’d found a parking spot directly in front of the shop and
someone was already waiting for him to move so she could occupy it. He pulled
away from the curb and moved into traffic. His hand automatically slipped down
to shift gears, but came up empty. He really missed his Porsche. After the
trial, he needed to go car shopping.

His cell phone rang in his pocket.
He’d forgotten to sync it with the Bluetooth in Billie’s car earlier. He
slipped it out and glanced at the screen. Sloane Kawasaki was calling. He’d let
his answering service pick up. Before he spoke with his client again, he needed
to get some facts straight. He dropped the phone into the cup holder and pushed
his foot down on the gas.

•••••

Handel pulled into the garage and
shut off the engine. The BMW was gone. Maybe Billie had decided to take her mom
shopping or something. He climbed out of the car, grabbed his briefcase and
went around to the back door. He was just about to put the key in the lock when
the door was yanked open and Billie stood there wild-eyed, looking as though
someone just told her the world would end at 6:30. He glanced at his watch.
Luckily, they had a good twenty minutes to spare.

She backed up and let him in, then
took his briefcase and set it on the table. “You’re not going to believe what
is going on,” she began, following him to the refrigerator for a beer.

He pulled open the door and
selected a bottle, twisted the cap and took a long drink before saying, “What
now? Your mom decide to join the circus?”

Billie crossed her arms tightly
over her chest and bit at her lip. Never a good sign. She shook her head,
clearly agitated. “Margaret just got done telling me about her run-in with
Salvatore yesterday and today Mom stops to see Carl and ends up accepting an
invitation to the symphony with his evil uncle. She didn’t even bother to ask
me what I thought.” She threw her hands up in the air. “What is wrong with that
woman?”

He took another pull on his beer
and leaned against the counter. “Settle down, babe. I’m sure... What did you
say about Margaret?”

“Salvatore stopped by her place
yesterday. They apparently did not see eye-to-eye on anything. He told her that
living out here was unsafe for his grandson.”

He muttered a curse.

“Yep. That about says it all.”

“And what does your mother have to
do with any of this?” he asked, rubbing a knot in the base of his neck.

Billie moved behind him and
massaged the muscles, talking over his shoulder. “She wanted to stop and see
Carl while she was in town. His uncle happened to be there at the time.
According to Margaret he’s a real ladies’ man. Or at least he imagines himself
to be. He probably threw a bucket-load of flattery at her and she swooned at
his feet.”

“Swooned?” he said with a grin,
turning to face her.

She slid her arms up around his
neck and smiled back. “What can I say? I’ve been reading a book set during the
Civil War.”

“Sounds like we may have a civil
war around here pretty soon. What is your mother thinking?”

“Thinking?” She pulled away again
and stalked to the door and back. “I don’t believe thinking is one of her many
action-packed activities these days. Although,” she said with a twist of her
lips, “I can’t really blame her for accepting a date with the man. It’s not as
if she knew the circumstances. As usual, she blindly jumped in with both feet
then called to tell me why she wouldn’t be home till late. I’m a little ashamed
to say that I blew a gasket.”

“Naw. You?”

“I tried to tell her it was a bad
idea and she wouldn’t listen. Then she hung up on me. Can you believe it? My
own mother cut me off in the middle of a tirade.” She gave a self-deprecating
laugh. “When will I learn?”

He reached out and pulled her back
into his arms, resting his chin atop her head. “I think you’ve learned a lot.
Think of the change in your relationship from when you first came here. You and
your mom are practically on the same wave-length these days,” he teased. “A
little more togetherness and you won’t even have to speak. You’ll just know
what the other one is going to say.”

She raised her face to his. “You’re
so not getting any tonight.”

“How about right now?” He kissed
her until she melted against him and then took her hand and tugged her toward
the bedroom.

•••••

Later, with Billie lounging in his
office easy chair reading her Civil War novel, Handel worked at the desk
preparing for the trial. Whether Sloane was a drug dealer or not, he was on
trial for murder and it was his job to focus on that. Handel hoped he wasn’t
wrong about the man’s innocence in the death of his wife. He sighed and rested
his eyes a moment, rubbing his temples.

“Are you all right?” Billie asked,
closing her book with her finger marking the page. “I didn’t even give you a
chance to tell me about your day when you came home. Seems like our pact to
share the messy junk drawer of our lives has been put on the back burner.”

“Sorry.” He offered a tight-lipped
smile. “It’s coming down to the wire and I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“That’s hard to believe. You were
ready and eager before the accident. What happened?”

He cleared his throat and leaned
back in his chair. The wood creaked with his weight. “I met with Frank today.
Unofficially.”

“Oh? About the vandalism?”

“Not exactly.” He told her about
recording the call and what Frank had told him.

Billie set the book down and pulled
her legs up under her in the chair, getting comfortable. “So, Kawasaki is
working with a rival gang to distribute meth on MS-13’s turf and someone kills
his wife as payback?” she said.

“That’s one theory.”

“You have a better one?”

“What if Jimena found out Sloane
was producing meth in one of his warehouses? Maybe down by the wharf, right in
the middle of MS-13 turf. She hates the gangs because of what it did to her
family when Manny joined. She confronts Sloane and tells him to stop or she’ll
let the Maras know who their competition is. He can’t let that happen, so he
picks up whatever is handy and smashes her skull in.”

She frowned. “I don’t see that
happening.”

“Why not?”

“If Jimena was having an affair
with Hosea and planned to leave with him anyway, why would she care what her
husband did? She was going to be gone soon. If Hosea is to be believed, they
were leaving that night.”

“Maybe he killed her to stop her
from leaving and it had nothing to do with drugs.” He picked up his pen and
tapped a soft beat on the edge of his desk, thinking. “Or, it did have to do
with drugs and she was angry, because she thought he was pulling her brother
back into the business of illegal activities. Manny did say that he did some
work for Sloane on occasion.”

“That sounds more plausible.” She
leaned her head back, eyes narrowed. “I imagine a fiery, Hispanic woman being
protective of the only family she has left, maybe throwing objects at her
husband until he gets angry enough to pick up something and hit her with it.”

“Really? That’s what you imagine?
Or have you been watching the Spanish channel again?”

She laughed. “You got me. Sometimes
I have it on at the office. It’s helping me to learn Spanish, so I can
communicate more easily with Ernesto and the temps he hires for harvest. I
can’t help that all the women in their soap operas have fiery tempers and throw
things when they get angry.”

He dropped the pen and crossed his
arms, leaning back with a sigh of resignation. “I don’t want to believe this of
Sloane but it’s looking worse all the time. The more I think about it, the more
I doubt my initial gut feeling.”

“You took on a murder suspect as a
client with nothing more than a gut feeling that he was innocent?” She
snickered. “Sounds like an episode of every corny cop show on television.”

“Hey, I happen to like corny cop
shows. The bad guys always get caught in the end, because the good guy has a
gut feeling. Don’t knock what works.”

“So, what’s next?”

He didn’t want to tell her that
Frank had also looked up Hosea’s address for him and he planned to drive to San
Francisco in the morning and speak with him directly. His gut feeling told him
Hosea wasn’t the enemy, so he wasn’t too worried about showing up unannounced,
but taking Billie along was out of the question. The neighborhood he was going
into was not known for backyard barbecues or friendly neighbor chats over the
fence. There were shootings and fights breaking out on a daily basis. People
stayed off the street unless they were looking for trouble.

He must have hesitated a moment too
long. She stood up and approached his desk, holding his gaze like a laser beam
lie detector. “You are not going alone to speak with Hosea. It’s too
dangerous.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but
she glared daggers. “I mean it. I almost lost you in that accident. I won’t
lose you because you’re out playing Private Investigator. You have one of
those. Remember? Have you thought about calling Manny?”