Authors: Barbara Ellen Brink
He asked the question casually but
she could tell he was concerned. After her track record with Davy’s father, he
probably thought she wasn’t qualified to make romantic decisions without help.
She picked up some vines and followed behind him as he carried his load toward
the pile behind the shed. “We have been taking it slow. I know you’ve been busy
with your new wife and this big murder case of yours, but the rest of us do
carry on with our lives even when you’re not paying attention,” she said, and
then was immediately ashamed. Handel had been in a coma for a week and she didn’t
know if he would make it. She would have given her right arm to guarantee her
brother’s recovery and yet now she was irritated with him because he was
worried about her.
She threw the armload of vines on
the pile and put a hand on his arm to stop him from hurrying off for another
load. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. This whole thing has me on edge.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to
answer to me. You’re not a kid anymore and I should stop thinking of you that
way. You’re a smart business woman, a great mom, and a passable sister. I just
want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” She grinned. “I’m
happy being Davy’s mom. I’m happy being your sister. I’m happy being chief
winemaker at Fredrickson’s.” She paused and cleared her throat for emphasis.
“And I’m really happy to tell you that I’m in love with your brother-in-law.”
He was quiet for a moment as he
digested the news. Then he pulled her into his arms and patted her awkwardly on
the back. “That’s great, Meg. I’m happy for you too.” He pulled back
momentarily and held her at arms length, smiling into her eyes. “Really, I am.
But that won’t stop me from telling Adam that if he does anything to hurt you,
he will answer to me.”
“I’m sure he’ll take your threats
very seriously,” she said, trying not to grin.
“Come on. Let’s finish cleaning
this up and I’ll take you out for a celebratory iced mocha.”
“You’re on.”
•••••
Billie sat at her desk in her
winery office and stared at the closed door. Sally had called on the intercom
and asked if she wanted to eat pizza with everybody in the conference room, but
she really wasn’t hungry after the late breakfast she had with Handel. There
was mail she needed to go through and bills to pay, but she couldn’t stop
replaying Handel’s phone conversation with Hosea Garcia over and over in her
head.
At the winery music festival on
Saturday, Garcia had seemed very intimidating, almost threatening. But Handel
said that on the phone he was quite the opposite. Was it possible that the
voice on the phone and the man she’d spoken with were actually two different
people? Could someone have used Garcia’s phone to make the call so that he
wouldn’t be identified? Or was Garcia playing both sides of the fence, wanting
to have revenge on whoever killed his lover but not wanting to get himself fingered
in the process?
Loud voices in the hallway outside
her office alerted her to trouble two seconds before Sally threw open the door,
her eyes wide with excitement. “Billie, there’s a fire at Margaret’s place.
Looks like her potting shed. I already called the fire department, but I sent
the boys over to see if they could help,” she said, obviously referring to
Ernesto, Sammie, and Loren. “They took the pickup.”
Billie was out of her chair and
running down the hall before Sally had finished. She flew out the front door,
and ran across the parking lot, staring toward the south vineyards and the
Parker house. Smoke billowed up from the back end of the shed, thick and black.
She opened the side door of the garage and pushed the button. The garage door
went up and she stood there staring at the empty space where her Mazda usually
sat. Handel must have gone out somewhere.
She opened the door of the BMW, but
remembered she didn’t have the key. It was hanging in the house on the key
holder beside the refrigerator. Sirens wailed from about a mile away. Good. The
fire truck was nearly here.
Sally caught up with her, panting
like a middle-aged woman carrying fifty extra pounds, although she was only
twenty-nine and skinny as a rail. “Billie!” she stopped to catch her breath.
“Loren called on his cell. The fire’s not as bad as it looks. It was lucky the
wood behind the shed was still green and Margaret has an extra large hose
hooked up down there. He said there’s a lot more smoke than fire.”
“Thank God.” Billie breathed a sigh
of relief. “I don’t think Margaret can handle any more damage to her vines. She
was pretty upset last night.”
“Why, what happened?” Sally
suddenly perked up, eager to know the latest. “I had to hear secondhand about
the vandals shooting through your window. Come on, what gives? If I don’t know
what’s going on around here, how am I supposed to spread juicy rumors?”
Billie shared the latest vandal
action with her overeager secretary as she headed for the back door of the
house. Sally followed, not wanting to miss a thing. When she had the key to the
car in hand, they both got in and she drove to Margaret’s, not far behind the
fire truck just turning in the driveway.
“Holy moly,” Sally said, using her
favorite corny phrase for anytime something was out of the ordinary. “This just
keeps getting more and more bizarre.”
Smoke was still billowing up from
the back of the shed but the fire truck was completely unnecessary, because by
the time they had their boots on the ground, Sammie and Ernesto had taken out the
fire with the garden hose. After making sure everything was thoroughly doused,
the firefighters climbed back in their truck and backed away.
Loren ran up to where Sally and
Billie were watching from a distance, trying to stay out of the way of the firefighters,
but mostly trying to avoid the smoke. “The men in yellow said it was a good
thing we got here so quick. The back wall of Margaret’s shed is damaged but it
could have been much worse. Luckily, it didn’t spread to the vineyard.”
“That is good news.” Billie shot
Loren a thankful smile. “You guys were great.” She glanced around and up at the
house. “Has anyone seen Margaret? It’s strange she wasn’t outside working in
the vineyard.” A niggling worry inched its way up her spine. With all the
strange things that had been happening, it wouldn’t be surprising to find that
the fire was not an accident.
Loren hooked a thumb over his
shoulder. “She was out here earlier cause she’s been planting new clippings in
pots down there. Looks like she took out some of the old vines for some
reason.” He frowned. “With hanging fruit on them.”
“She didn’t take them out,” Billie
said, her voice grim.
“What do you mean?”
She glanced at Sally. “Cue the
information secretary. I’m gonna go down and talk to Ernesto and Sammie.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll fill him in,”
Sally promised.
Billie glanced at the dozens of
pots Margaret had filled and set in a row. A couple of them had been tipped
over in the rush to put out the fire. She bent down and scooped dirt back in
before arranging the cuttings upright once again.
“Miss Fredrickson,” Ernesto called
from the corner of the potting shed, waving a hand for her join them. He was
always so formal, refusing to call her by her first name, but seemed to forget
that Parker was her married name now.
When she hurried over, he pointed
at a lump of melted red plastic in a pile of charred and still smoking vine
stumps. She squinted as acrid smoke bellowed up in her eyes and pulled the
neckline of her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose. “What is it?” she asked
against the thin material.
He coughed and poked at it with a
stick, turning it over. “A gas container. See. The nozzle is melted flat.”
Sammie was still spraying water
here and there, making sure no spark rekindled the flames. He nodded toward the
burned back wall of the shed. Fire had burned through in spots, but the
structural damage was minute. “I doubt Margaret left that container down here.
There’s no tools in there powered by gas. So, whoever did this brought his own
fuel.”
“Are you sure?” Billie hated to
think the winery was being targeted but that’s what it looked like. At least
when it was supposedly connected to the murder trial, it made more sense. Now,
she didn’t know what to think.
Sammie pointed up the hill. Handel
and Margaret were just climbing out of the Mazda. “Ask her yourself,” he said.
Margaret didn’t wait for Loren’s
retelling of the story, but ran down the hill toward the scene of the crime,
blonde ponytail swinging behind her. “What happened?” she yelled, zoning in on
the newly potted cuttings, eyes flashing over her vineyard and back to the
shed.
Billie stepped forward, dipping her
chin toward the pots. “It’s okay. None of your vines were damaged. The guys
knocked over a couple pots getting back here is all. The fire started in your
rubbish pile and climbed the back wall of the shed.”
“Started how?” Margaret rounded the
shed and stopped, staring at the smoldering, damp mess. She put her hands on
her hips and shook her head. “Handel and I just pulled those dead vines back
here before we left to get coffee. We weren’t gone that long.” She pointed at
the melted, red container. “And I don’t own a gas can like that.”
Ernesto poked at it with his stick
again.
“If I get my hands on them,” Sammie
muttered under his breath.
When Handel joined them the guys
repeated their earlier assessment of the situation, then he walked carefully
around the scene and took pictures of the damage with his cell phone. “I’ll
call Officer Torn. He’s already working on this vandal problem and knows what we’ve
been dealing with.” He put a hand on Margaret’s back. “Come on. There’s nothing
to do here now. The guys have it under control.”
They trudged back up to the house.
“When is Davy coming home?” Billie asked.
Margaret pushed a wisp of stray
hair behind her ear. “Joan said she’d get all the boys back home by four,” she
said. “It was his first sleepover. He was pretty excited. They were going to
the county fair today.”
“Well, when he gets home why don’t
you two come over for dinner?” She glanced at Handel and he nodded. Not that it
would keep the vandals from more destruction but she knew Handel would feel
better about having his family nearby.
“I don’t know. They showed up both
times when I was gone. Someone needs to be home to keep an eye out.” Her voice
turned droll. “Maybe I should trade Rambo in for a guard dog.”
“If you change your mind you know
where we are.”
Sally rode back to the winery with
them, but Loren stayed behind to drive Ernesto and Sammie. She was unusually
quiet in the back seat until they pulled up to the winery’s front door to let
her out. “You two be careful now. I don’t know what’s going on around here but
someone clearly has it in for your family.”
“We will. Thanks, Sally.” Handel
waved and drove the short distance to the garage, pulled in and shut off the
ignition. They both just sat there as though unsure what to do next.
In the lengthening silence he
reached out and clasped her hand.
•••••
In spite of the early impromptu
barbecue at Margaret’s place that afternoon, Handel decided to cook outside on
the grill for dinner. Like his sister, he excelled at the perfect steak, so
Billie was happy to let him take care of business.
It was a beautiful evening. The air
was warm and heady with the scent of ripe grapes and a gentle breeze played
over leaves on nearby vines and trees. A blur of bright red caught Billie’s
attention as a cardinal flitted from branch to branch calling his mate.
She heard voices and looked across
the field. Margaret had called earlier to say she’d changed her mind about
joining them for dinner. She and Davy came bearing gifts; Davy carried a bottle
of Dr. Pepper and Margaret a bottle of her wine. She wore a blue and white
sundress with white flip flops, her hair tied loosely back with a ribbon, and
looked more like a Disney princess than a mom.
Davy was eager to share all his
adventures from the fair and kept on talking until it was time to eat. He
proudly wore his 4-H t-shirt and was upset when he accidentally dropped a blob
of mustard in the middle of it. “Aww, shoot! I was going to wear this tomorrow
too,” he said, pulling his shirt up to lick at the spot.
Margaret rolled her eyes. “I think
you’ll survive one day while it’s in the wash. Besides, you have soccer again
tomorrow and you’ll be wearing your jersey.”
He stuffed the rest of his hotdog
into his mouth and tried to talk while chewing. “Can Adam drive me tomorrow
too? He said he’d drive me everyday if you gave the okay.”
Billie laughed at the ironic
picture they made. Margaret was simply beautiful without trying. Her son, his
mouth stuffed full and mustard staining his shirt, was a mess without trying.
Adam fit into that mix perfectly. A beautiful mess.
“We’ll talk about this later.
Corvette or no Corvette, you can’t just ask Adam to drive you around like he’s
your chauffeur.” She handed him a napkin.
Davy sighed heavily before taking
the napkin from her hand as though using it would offend his sensibilities.
Instead of cleaning the catsup and mustard on the corner of his mouth he used
it to wipe at the spot on his shirt again, leaving traces of white paper
behind. “He said he didn’t mind,” he said, continuing the argument. “I told
Heidi that he might let her have a ride.”
“Davy!” She shook her head. “You
can’t make promises over something in which you have no say. Even if Adam were
to agree to that, Heidi’s mom would probably not. And I wouldn’t blame her.”
Billie intervened. “Davy, could you
go inside and get the black olives? I completely forgot them. They’re in the
side door of the refrigerator.”