3 Savor (3 page)

Margaret and Davy obediently
trooped in and stood at Handel’s bedside. Billie saw tears shimmer in his
sister’s eyes before she reached for his hand and held it gently.

“Hello, big brother. Davy and I
drove all the way here to talk to you and you’re still sleeping. You promised
to help coach Davy’s little league team this summer. We know you hate baseball
but isn’t this a little over the top just to get out of it?”

There were a few moments of awkward
silence. Billie waited, knowing it took a while to feel comfortable having a one-sided
conversation with a man.

“Hey, Uncle Handel,” Davy finally
said, his voice boyishly gruff. “I helped at the winery today. Mostly I just
ran errands for Sally, but it was fun. Hey, Adam got a gig at some place called
The Screech Owl. He said they were gonna pay him and everything.”

The fingers of Handel’s left hand
twitched. Billie was sure of it. For long seconds she stared, wishing for a
miracle that never seemed to come. She stepped to the other side of the bed and
nodded, urging Davy to keep talking.

He kept up a constant patter of
one-sided conversation seemingly oblivious to the turmoil her heart was in. She
finally pulled the chair close to the bed and sat down, stroking her palm
lightly over Handel’s whisker rough cheek and across his forehead pushing the
hair off his temple. He had some cuts and scratches on his face from flying
glass, but nothing that would leave a permanent scar. She was careful not to
put pressure on the bruise over his left eyebrow.

Margaret sat in the chair on the
other side and listened as Davy told Handel about all the boxes he’d carried
and stacked behind the winery and how he’d even gone with Levi to pick up
supplies in town. “Levi said while he was gone on vacation for the next two
weeks, that I could be in charge of the goats and moving them around the
vineyard to keep the weeds down.” His gaze shifted upward from Handel’s closed
and bruised eyelids. “Is that all right with you, Billie?”

“Of course. I trust Levi’s opinion.
If he left you in charge, then I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.” Levi was a
twenty-year-old farm boy from Wisconsin who showed up at the winery a year ago
looking for work. He was a natural with animals, so the care of Jack and Jill,
their weed eating goat couple, was in his capable hands. She’d forgotten that
he was flying out to visit his family this week.

Davy’s face lit up for a second at
the simple acknowledgment, and then he seemed to remember why he was there. He
leaned closer to Handel, his fingers curled around the metal bar of the
guardrail, and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry if you can’t coach this time,
Uncle Handel. Really. Just get better. Okay?”

Handel lay as quiet as before. They
watched him, hoping for a response. Any response. Billie was sure he would
react to his nephew’s presence. They were always so close. He would do anything
for the boy. Without a word, Margaret stood and wrapped her arms around her
young son from behind and together they listened to the steady beep of the
monitor fill the quiet of the room.

Finally, Billie couldn’t take
anymore. “I need to make a call,” she said, and barely escaped before tears
fell. What was wrong with her? She was falling apart. She was always the strong
one in her family, the one who forged ahead and made the best of a situation.
But there was no best in this situation. Handel was the buoy in her life now,
the lifeline. Without him she felt lost at sea.

She dashed at the tears on her
cheeks and started walking down the hall without a clear destination in mind. A
breath of fresh air would be nice. Maybe she could think straight without all
the recycled oxygen clouding her brain and turning her emotions inside out.

“Ms. Parker?” A short muscular
Hispanic man in dark brown slacks and a black t-shirt stood near the elevators
as though unsure where to go from there. He raised a hand in greeting. One
corner of his mouth lifted in a tight smile, stretching a pale scar that ran
from his left cheek to just under his chin.

Billie hesitated, unsure what the
man wanted. She didn’t recognize him, but he seemed to know her. She was pretty
sure she’d remember him if they met at the winery. He had a sleeve tattoo
covering his left arm from the wrist up, another tattoo on the side of his neck
and the familiar barbed wire tattoo around the bicep of his right arm. This guy
was a walking ink well.

He reached in his pocket and pulled
out a wallet, flipped it open. “You don’t know me. I work for your husband. I’m
a private investigator,” he said, showing her his business card and photo I.D.
“Better?”

“What?” she asked, flustered by his
directness.

“You seemed wary. I want to set
your mind at rest about speaking with me.”

“I was on my way out. Are you here
to visit Handel?” she glanced back at the nurse’s station. “They’re not
allowing anyone but family in ICU at this time. Sorry.”

“I didn’t think they would. How is
he doing?”

“His prognosis hasn’t changed. He’s
still comatose.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your
husband is a good man. I’ll light a candle for him Sunday at mass,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Alvarez.” She
wasn’t sure what else to say. If a lit candle meant more prayer for Handel,
then she was all for it. He could use all the prayers and good thoughts
available. She’d done plenty of praying herself this past week, especially in
the middle of the night when sleep wouldn’t come and hopelessness tried to
squirm its way into her heart and soul. “Thank you for stopping by,” she added.

“Actually,” he said putting a hand
on her arm when she began to turn away, “I wanted to speak with you.”

“Me? About what?”

“Handel had me working on something
before his accident. We were looking into a spate of rival gang activity during
the week before Mr. Kawasaki’s wife was murdered. He believed it was somehow
connected.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know
much about the case other than what’s been on the news. Handel was very careful
about client confidentiality. We rarely discussed our work.” She stared at the
flashing floor number above the elevator doors, avoiding his eyes. She had
shied away from discussing Handel’s case for purely selfish reasons. Not
because she was worried about client confidentiality, but because she was
worried Handel would expect her to reciprocate and share her work with him. So
rather than feel guilty, she shut him down time after time. Now when she had
the opportunity to help him… she couldn’t.

“I understand. But you must have
his notes. The police gave you his briefcase they recovered at the accident,
didn’t they? Maybe there’s a lead in there for me to follow while he’s
incapacitated. That way when he wakes up everything will be ready for him to
jump right back into court without asking for another continuance.”

Billie pressed her lips together
and tried to clamp down her feelings. Would Handel ever be able to jump right
back into court? Even if he did wake up soon, he had a long way to go to full
recovery. They had no way of knowing how much damage was done until he…

“Are you all right?”

She cleared her throat and glanced
back at the room where Margaret and Davy still sat with Handel, their eyes full
of hope. “Honestly, no. Mind if we take a walk outside while we talk?”

“Not at all.”

They took the elevator to ground
level and made their way out to the street. The hospital had a quiet park area
nearby and Billie headed that way wanting to avoid as much street noise as
possible. A young man on a bicycle zipped in front of them without glancing
their way and Mr. Alvarez pulled her back just in time to avoid a collision.

“Damn cyclists,” he muttered,
before releasing her arm.

She grimaced. “Don’t care for them
myself. I think I’ve had about a dozen near collisions since I’ve been here.
They’re whipping around all over the place.”

“Pedestrians need helmets in San
Francisco.” He chuckled.

They found an empty bench by a
fountain where a giant concrete fish spewed a continuous arc of water from his
mouth. Two little boys bent over the pool on the other side of the fountain,
splashing in the water and giggling while their father watched from a nearby
bench, a stroller at his side.

Billie sat down, wondering at the
source of the children’s laughter. They wouldn’t be here unless someone they
loved was sick or injured. She imagined their mother, like Handel, lying
unresponsive in a cold, sterile room, behind stonewalls. How did children
continue to find joy in the bleakest of times? Did God give them an innate
sense of hope in their naiveté? She longed for some of that.

The fading sun streaked pink above
distant buildings. It reminded her of evenings at home with Handel when he’d
take her hand after dinner and lead her toward the vineyard. They’d walk
between rows of vines; closed off from the clamoring outside world, and watch
the last rays of the sun paint the horizon ahead of them. The vineyard was
their sanctuary; common ground where they were able to relax away from family
and responsibilities.

Mr. Alvarez dug in the pocket of
his slacks and pulled out a penny. He closed his eyes and flipped it into the
pond. “For luck,” he said, taking a seat beside her.

“I thought you were a praying man,”
she teased. “Where does luck come in?”

He shrugged. “God works in
mysterious ways, or so my priest tells me.”

“I wish he’d work a little less
mysteriously,” she said, pushing hair behind her ear. “I could use a blatant
miracle right about now.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Billie lifted her hair off her
neck, feeling a trickle of sweat slip between her shoulder blades. “It’s warmer
out here than I thought.”

“Si,” he said. Sliding an arm along
the back of the bench he turned to face her better. “Handel said you’re from
Minnesota. Is the temperature cooler there this time of year?”

“Not really. I’ve gotten kind of
spoiled by the weather in the valley though. The city is always hotter.”

She began to wonder if the man just
wanted to make small talk, when he finally took out his wallet and produced a
small photograph. “This is Jimena Kawasaki, taken about a year ago.”

Billie took the photo and looked
closely at the face of the woman whom the media and prosecuting attorneys said
had been murdered by her own husband. She looked about thirty, with model
perfect skin, long, silky black hair, and a dazzling smile. She seemed happy.
Content. Billie wondered what happened to turn this stunning beauty into a
victim. “She was Latino?”

“You didn’t know?” Mr. Alvarez
slipped the photo back into his wallet. A rather personal place to carry the
photo of a murder victim. “That’s the reason Handel had me investigating gang
activity. Jimena’s brother is a former member of MS-13, the
Maras
. They have a heavy presence in the
Bay area. They’re into smuggling people over the border, white slavery, drugs…
the list goes on. Since Kawasaki has been accused of having connections to Las
Boyz, we can’t rule anything out.”

“Las Boyz? I don’t think I’ve heard
of that one.”

“They’re fairly new to this area,
but have already sunk their claws into a good chunk of illegal activity,
especially down at the wharf. The Maras have drawn a line in the sand, so to
speak, and will not tolerate any more Las Boyz’ infringing on their turf.”

“You think her brother had
something to do with killing her?”

“Of course not,” he said, shaking
his head. His eyes sparked with anger before he turned away. When he spoke
again his voice was quiet but laced with steel. “You have to understand,
leaving that way of life is extremely dangerous. Old gang members harbor
animosity for a long time. Revenge is a given. If Kawasaki truly has ties to
Las Boyz, then the Maras may have used this opportunity to beat their opponents
back further. And killing Jim would be a bonus for them.”

The nickname for the murder victim
was not lost on Billie. She studied the man’s profile. His jaw clamped tight,
his eyes riveted on the pond. Why was he lying to her? “Are you Jimena’s
brother?” she asked.

He blew an angry breath through his
nose. “Sí! And I’ll do anything to find her killer.”

“Does Handel know how strongly you
feel about revenge?”

“He knows what he wants to know
– that I have ties to the Maras and could get information. Lawyers tend
to turn a blind eye to things that have potential to harm their case.”

Billie bristled at that. She knew
Handel. He would never do anything to intentionally hide the truth. He believed
Mr. Kawasaki to be innocent or he wouldn’t be defending him. She knew it with
her whole heart.

“Look,” he slapped his palms down
on the legs of his slacks. “I know Handel used you as a sounding board. He told
me you’re a lawyer too...”

“Yes,” she said, “but I’m not a
criminal attorney. I specialize in family law.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh.
“The most criminal type of lawyer.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry.” He put up a hand. “Ancient
history. Lawyers and I don’t really see eye to eye. Until I met your husband, I
swore I’d never trust one again, and I definitely wouldn’t have taken a job
from one. Handel managed to change my mind. About him. About a lot of things.”

“That’s all well and good, but I
still don’t know what you want from me.”

“Just think back. Maybe Handel told
you something important and you don’t even realize it. Something that could...”

“I told you, we don’t talk about
work that much.”

“Something worth getting him killed
to delay the trial.”

“What are you saying? That it
wasn’t an accident?” She was finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Her
chest contracted with dread. The excited squeals of the children splashing
faded into the background as her heartbeat filled her ears.