3 Savor (17 page)

“Sure, but I don’t think it’s a
good idea. If Manny told Hosea to back off from his sister and finds out now
that Hosea was there the night of the murder to pick her up and take her out of
the country,” he spread his hands and shrugged, “who knows what might happen.”

“I see your point.” She perched on
the side of his desk, and kicked her leg back and forth. “What about Frank?”

He laughed. “Even if he agreed to
go in an unofficial capacity, he wouldn’t get past the front door. Hosea
already made it crystal clear that he doesn’t talk to cops.”

“Right.” She sighed and lifted her
brows. “Then I guess it’s just you and me, babe.”

“No way!” He stood up and moved
toward the door. The conversation was over. He would not take Billie into a
dangerous neighborhood. It wasn’t going to happen.

She followed him to the kitchen and
watched as he took out the bread to make a sandwich. “What about Ernesto?”

“What about, Ernesto? He’s a
vineyard manager. As far as I know he doesn’t have secret interrogation
techniques for getting the most juice out of the grapes.” He laughed at his own
joke.

Billie pushed him out of the way
and took over making his sandwich. She found leftover chicken in the fridge and
sliced a big red tomato that was ripening on the windowsill. “Maybe he could go
along as an interpreter, like Tonto did for the Lone Ranger when they went into
Indian territory.”

“I don’t think you’re old enough to
have watched those shows,” he said, sitting at the table.

She set the plate in front of him
and crossed her arms. “Ever hear of cable television? It’s where reruns reign
supreme.”

He took a bite of his sandwich and
watched his perfect wife pour him a glass of milk. “Anticipating my every need.
You’re the best.”

She took the seat across the table
and slid the glass toward him. “Don’t get used to it. As soon as you’re
completely recuperated you’re on your own,” she threatened with a smile.

“You’re a tough nurse, but you do
have a great bedtop manner,” he said smoothly.

She flushed all the way up to her
eyebrows.

Sometimes she surprised him with
how innocent she could be, a fragile little girl in a woman’s body. He reached
out and clasped her hand. She grinned, pulled away and picked up the other half
of his sandwich. Took a big bite.

“Hey! How am I going to get my
strength back if you eat my food?”

“Tough.”

“All right.”

“All right what?” she asked, licking
her lips. She took a drink of his milk too.

“You talk to Ernesto and see if he
knows anyone from that neighborhood.”

“That’s a long shot. They’re not
all related, you know.” She dropped the rest of his uneaten sandwich back on
his plate. “But I’ll see what he says. And it might be a good idea if he drove
his old pickup. ”

Handel finished his sandwich,
watching her wipe off the counter and put away the mayonnaise and pickles. He
had no intention of sticking around in the morning long enough to chat with Ernesto
about coming along. He’d already be long gone.

•••••

It was a quarter past two in the
morning when Billie opened her eyes and looked at the clock. She’d heard
something. She rolled over and saw that Handel was still asleep, snoring
softly. Trying not to disturb him, she struggled out of the blankets and set
her feet on the floor. Bleary-eyed and groggy, she moved to the chair and
pulled Handel’s sweats and t-shirt on.

At the door, she hesitated,
listening. The sounds were coming from the guest room end of the house. Her
mother was home. It might not be the best time to confront her about her choice
in dinner companions, but they were both awake now anyway.

At her mother’s door she knocked
softly. Ten seconds later, the door opened and her mother stood backlit by
blazing white light. Or at least it seemed that way to Billie’s sleep-heavy
eyes. “Can I come in?” she asked, glancing behind her mother at the bed. It was
covered in store bags and open shoeboxes. No wonder she’d woken up. Her mother
must have had to make three trips to carry all that inside.

Sabrina stepped back and waved an
arm. “Be my guest.” She quietly closed the door after her. “I’m sorry if I woke
you. I tried to be as quiet as I could, but when that darn cat of yours shot
through my legs outside the back door, I’m pretty sure I yelped.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“Even more reason to yelp.” She
moved bags off the bed. “Sit. Take a load off. You look exhausted.”

Billie sat down and yawned widely.
“I’m trying to stay half asleep so it won’t be so hard to return to that fine
state when I go back to bed.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” She
started pulling clothing items out and hanging them in the closet. “Early
morning chats have never turned out well for us, honey.”

“That’s because I was a teenager
coming home after curfew and they weren’t chats. They were lectures.”

Her mother released the breath of a
laugh and shook her head. “Now the roles are reversed.” She tipped her head to
the side, hands on her hips. In navy slacks and a bright pink, lacy top, and
despite it being well past most people’s bedtime, she still managed to look ten
years younger than her age. “So get on with the lecture and I can wash my face
and go to bed. I’m exhausted. What a night,” she said, moving to the closet
again. “Edoardo really knows how to show a girl a good time.”

Billie rolled her eyes. “I know you
don’t want to hear this, but…”

“Let me guess,” her mother said,
turning to face her as she closed the closet door. “You don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to say it like
that. It’s not as if I tell you on a regular basis who you can and cannot
date.”

Now it was Sabrina’s turn to roll
her eyes. “Oh really? What about when I was dating Antonio?”

“Mother, I’m sorry he broke your
heart,” she began.

“He didn’t break my heart,” she
said, shaking her head. “We mutually agreed that it would never work out. He
wanted children. That part of my life is over. So he went back to Italy to find
true love with a woman with working ovaries.”

“I’m still sorry,” she said. “I
know you cared about him.” A flimsy wisp of red material stuck out of a bright
pink striped bag sitting beside her on the bed. She pulled it slowly out of
folds of crinkly wrapping paper. It slithered from the bag and lay in a slinky
gossamer pile on the plain blue bedspread like a hooker in a church pew.
“Mother?”

Sabrina snatched it up and stuffed
it back in the bag. “Is nothing private around here?” she asked, stomping to
the dresser and shoving the bag in the top drawer. “I am your mother, you
know.”

“Yeah, that’s what freaks me out,”
she mumbled. “Please tell me it has nothing to do with Edoardo.”

“I’ll have you know that I already
bought all of these things before I met him. So you can wipe that disgusting
look off your face and go to bed.” She pointed to the door like a drill
sergeant. “Good night.”

Billie sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother.
It’s none of my business.”

“Darn right,” her mother said, arms
folded tightly across her chest.

“I don’t want to ruin your visit,
but I thought you should know that Mr. Salvatore is not as wonderful as he
presented himself to you. He already threatened Margaret about getting custody
of Davy. He’s doing the exact same thing his son did before Sean murdered him
last year. I’d prefer it if you stayed away from him. I don’t want something to
happen to you.”

“I hope you’re not insinuating the
same thing is going to happen again. Two murders at one winery might just put
you out of business.” She peered in the dressing table mirror and fluffed the
hair at her temples. “And as for Edoardo’s interest in his grandson… well isn’t
that normal?” She met Billie’s eyes in the mirror. “He told me he regrets the
way he raised Agosto and wants to make things right with his grandson. To be a
part of his life like a normal grandparent should. Does that sound like a
horrible thing to ask?”

“You don’t know him, Mother, or
what he’s capable of.”

“Neither do you. You’re just taking
Margaret’s word for it. Have you thought that perhaps she’s being a bit
over-protective and possessive because up until now she’s been the driving
force in her son’s life, other than Handel of course. Davy is ten-years-old. He
needs strong male leadership.”

“Mother, you don’t know what you’re
saying. Davy’s father was a bastard of the highest order. Edoardo is the strong
male influence that made him that way.” She could see she was getting nowhere
fast. She shook her head and got off the bed. “I can’t do this right now. We’ll
talk in the morning.”

“Do you want me to move into a
hotel?”

“Of course not! Mother,” she
pleaded, “don’t make this about you. This is Margaret and Davy’s lives we’re
talking about.”

“Whatever.”

Billie stopped with her hand on the
knob of the door and stared in wonder at the woman occupying her mother’s body.
Her mother, the epitome of etiquette and manners, proponent of proper English
and derider of slang, had said
whatever
like a valley girl in training. What next?
Snap
?

“Good night.” She went out and
closed the door behind her, too tired to continue any conversation. When she
slipped quietly back into bed, Handel rolled over to face her and mumbled
something that sounded like,
the
defendant’s guilty
. She yawned and tried to fall back to sleep but every
time she’d dose off she dreamt she was fighting some old guy in court while her
mother clung to his arm, swooning whenever he smiled her way. She woke
repeatedly in a cold sweat.

Billie woke to sunlight glinting
through the blinds and birdsong outside the window. She turned bleary eyes
toward the red digital numbers of the alarm. Eight o’clock. Handel was already
out of bed and she could smell frying bacon and eggs floating toward her on a
lovely cloud of fresh brewed coffee fumes.

She let her head fall back against
the pillow in pure contentment. “Beautiful. A husband who cooks. I’ve died and
gone to heaven.”

Ten minutes later she was just
dozing off again when she heard her mother call. “Billie, your breakfast is
getting cold!” She rapped on the bedroom door. “Handel said to let you sleep,
but since he’s run off I figured we could talk. Get dressed and I’ll warm you a
plate.”

Billie reluctantly slid out of bed
and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt. There was no independent living when her
mother was around. She was the child and always would be. She ran a brush through
her hair and pulled it off her neck with a clip, said a little prayer for
patience, and hurried to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said as
cheerfully as she could manage before coffee.

Her mother handed her a steaming
cup of java and waved her into a chair. “Your plate is in the oven. Just a
sec.” She put an oven mitt on and opened the door. The savory smell of bacon
wafted out and made Billie realize she was ravenous.

“Wow, Handel was really busy this
morning,” she said, taking a bite and savoring the salty goodness. She folded
two more strips of crispy bacon between crosscut slices of buttered toast.
“Where did you say he went?”

Sabrina brought her coffee cup to
the table and sat down across from Billie. “He said he needed to run to his
office for something. After all the trouble I went to, he barely ate a thing.”

“You cooked breakfast?”

“Of course. Did you think it
materialized out of thin air?”

“No, I thought Handel made it.”

Her mom gave a short laugh. “A man
that cooks? That’s what married women’s dreams are made of.”

“You got that right,” she said, and
sighed.

“I know I was angry last night, but
let’s put it behind us, honey,” her mother began, reaching out to pat her hand.

“I’d love to.” She smiled and took
a sip of coffee. “So when are you taking that hog back to San Francisco and
flying home?”

“Oh, I’m not leaving quite yet. I
just got here. You haven’t even filled me in on what’s happened around here the
past eight months.” She raised her brows expectantly. “Adam looks happy and
evidently fancies himself in love. Is he still looking for a second job? I hope
he’s not wasting his time in those dive bars singing for loose change, like he
did in college. He has real talent with numbers. He could get a banking job or
work for some big firm.” Her mother paused to take a sip of coffee and Billie
jumped in.

“Adam and Margaret make a great
couple. I’m happy for both of them, and for Davy,” she added. “He really looks
up to Adam and I think that’s a good thing. Adam realizes loving Margaret comes
with a price. Taking on the role of a father. Being responsible for someone
other than himself. I think he’s ready. You should be proud of him.”

“He just turned twenty-four,” her
mother said. “I read an article that said a boy’s brain is not fully formed
until he’s twenty-four. What if he’s slow?”

“He’s not a boy. He’s a man. He’s
old enough to drink, drive, go to war, and vote. He’s old enough to be in
love.” Billie wondered why her mom had pushed her to date and find the right
man from the day she graduated high school, but refused to encourage her son to
do the same.

“I guess you’re right, but he
should at least have a good job before he decides to commit and settle down
with a wife and child.”

“Well, I think you might want to
hold off on planning his future. As far as I know he hasn’t proposed or
anything.” She didn’t think it was her place to tell their mother that Adam had
a job singing in a nightclub and that he was pursuing the music career that she
so eloquently voiced as
wasting his time
.
“But you should ask him.

“I plan to. What time does he come
to work?”

She shrugged. “It varies. Depending
on how much sleep he’s had,” she said, before her brain caught up with her
mouth. “I mean – we don’t need him every day.”

Sabrina’s gaze narrowed, but she
only nodded. “Will he be in today or do I need to stop over at Margaret’s place
to see him?”

“Oh, he doesn’t live with
Margaret,” she said quickly. “He has an apartment in town.”

“Oh.” Sabrina visibly relaxed, and
smiled. “That’s good. Margaret wouldn’t want to set a bad example for Davy.”

“No, she’s pretty conservative that
way.” Billie swallowed a bite of eggs and washed it down with the last of her
coffee. She got up to get a refill. Remembering the red negligee in her
mother’s shopping bag, she couldn’t help asking, “And how do you feel about sex
outside of marriage?”

“Billie! Why would you even ask me
that?”

“After seeing that negligee, I had
to ask. It’s not the kind of thing a woman wears when she’s alone.”

“I bought that for you, silly.”

“For me?” Billie frowned. “Why?”

Sabrina got up and started cleaning
the dishes and putting things away. “Because it’s your birthday next week and I
wanted to buy you something special.”

Billie wondered if special had a
different meaning in her mother’s world. “Wouldn’t that have been a more timely
gift at my bridal shower?”

“Until you have children running
around this winery, I’d say a little romance is always timely.” She flashed a
smile over her shoulder. “I’m sure Handel will love it.”

“I guess you should have bought it
in his size,” she said, setting her dishes on the counter. She kissed her
mother’s cheek. “I need to get ready and run over to the office for a bit. Are
you planning to go out?”

“Mind if I use the car again?” her
mother asked, rinsing a plate under the tap. “My hair gets so frizzy under that
helmet and I thought I’d take Adam out for lunch. A little mother/son time.”

“No. Go ahead.” She assumed Handel
had taken the Mazda to the office. He knew Sabrina preferred the bigger vehicle
when she drove. “See you later then. Thanks for breakfast.”

•••••

Handel swung the hinged cityscape
of San Francisco away from his built-in wall safe and punched in the digital
combination. He pulled open the door and reached to the back where he’d stowed
his gun and holster. He had a conceal carry license, but had never actually
worn the gun anywhere except to the shooting range.

Today he was wearing it. He wasn’t
about to go into a gang neighborhood unarmed and vulnerable. Hosea might not
want him dead, but someone did want to stop him from learning the truth.
Whether it was to keep Sloane Kawasaki behind bars or to protect his own butt,
he wasn’t sure. He would be prepared.

He strapped on the shoulder
harness, checked that the gun was loaded, then flicked on the safety and slid
it into the holster. After pulling his suit coat back on, he went into the
little executive bathroom and stared at his reflection. There was a small bulge
under his coat, but not really obvious. The real test would be if Patty
noticed.

He flipped off the lights and
closed his office door. Patty was typing away at her keyboard. She glanced up
with a smile. “Going home already, Mr. Parker?”

“I’ve got some errands to run
first,” he said, avoiding a direct lie. If Billie called, at least Patty would
have an excuse handy for his extended absence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Outside in the car he settled into
the seat, adjusted the holster now poking him in the ribs, and put Hosea’s
address into his phone’s GPS. In a couple of hours he would be talking to the
one man who could tell him whether or not his client was guilty of murder.

•••••

Billie stopped in the front office.
Sally – or the office coordinator, as her secretary preferred to be
called now – was still going through her morning rituals. She had her
feet up on the extra chair and was drinking coffee, doing her nails in a bright
shade of green, and watching an episode of whatever show she’d missed the night
before, on her computer screen.

“I’m glad the business Internet
account is being put to good use,” she said, stepping around the desk to see
what Sally was watching this morning. A bunch of decade’s past stars were
flaunting aged bodies in skimpy outfits while they danced the rumba. “Have you
seen Ernesto around?” she asked.

Sally didn’t look up from her nail
polish endeavors. She shook her head. “He’s been going out to check the grapes
every morning.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Probably in the north
field about now with that new kid. Trying to teach him all he knows.”

“What new kid?”

“You know, the one he hired to help
build the bandstand. He told him he could stay on and help with harvest too.
He’s been trying to find things for him to do.” She finally glanced up, blowing
on her nails. “He and Carlos can’t do everything,” she said, as though Billie
had argued the point.

“No, I suppose not. That’s why I
gave Ernesto the job of hiring. He knows when and if we need extra help and for
how long. I trust him.” She stepped out into the hall. “You – I’m not so
sure about.”

“You can’t get better help around here
than me!” Sally called out belatedly. “Trust is overrated!”

Billie was already pushing through
the front door. Ernesto had a cell phone with him most of the time, but he had
been known to leave it in the truck. She walked behind the winery and around to
the bandstand, climbed up on stage and looked toward the north fields. The
platform gave her a very good view of the surrounding vineyards and she soon
spotted Ernesto’s pickup parked along the dirt road between fields.

She climbed down and started walking.
It was going to be unusually hot today. According to the thermometer tacked to
the wall of the shed she passed, the temperature was already at eighty-two
degrees and rising. If this kept up, harvest would be here before they were
ready. She was glad she’d put on shorts this morning.

As she drew closer, she saw the two
men standing a little way inside a row of Riesling, heads down examining the
berries. When Ernesto looked up, she waved. “Good morning,” she said, stopping
at the end of the row. “I see you’re busy teaching the new kid on the block.”

Ernesto nodded his head toward the
younger man. “Sí, esto es Javier Hernández.”

“Nice to meet you, Javier,” she
said and smiled. The young man didn’t smile back or respond, he just stood
looking at her, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his baggy jeans. He wore
a long-sleeved plaid shirt, buttoned all the way up and she wondered how he
could stand the heat. She thought maybe he didn’t speak English, but when she
turned back to Ernesto, he was giving Javier a hard look like a father
reprimanding his son for being rude.

She cleared her throat. “Ernesto,
could I speak with you a minute?”

“Sí.” He said something to his
young protégé in Spanish that Billie couldn’t keep up with, but it sounded like
it may have included a reprimand. Apparently, watching soap operas on Spanish
television wasn’t really the best way to learn the language.

Javier started walking back to the
winery, kicking up little puffs of dust with every step. She squinted after
him, trying to see the tattoo climbing the back of his neck. Why did all these
young men want to cover themselves in ink? She was glad Handel had spent his
money on education when he was younger rather than adorning his body with
pictures of leopards or naked ladies. He was much too sexy in his natural skin…

“Miss Fredrickson?” Ernesto jolted
her from her daydream.

“Sorry. Thinking about winery
business,” she lied, even as she felt her face flush with color. “Actually, I
had a question for you. Handel and I were planning to visit a friend in the
city and we heard it’s a bit of a dangerous neighborhood.” She told him the
suburb and street address and he shook his head vigorously.

“You don’t want to go there. It’s a
bad place. I went there once to see my cousin. You couldn’t pay me to go back.”

“Don’t you see your cousin
anymore?”

He lifted his cap and scratched his
head. “He was in a gang. Now he’s in prison for murder.”

“That’s terrible.”

He shrugged. “He crossed the border
to get away from that life, but he couldn’t escape. The gang pulled him back
in.”

“Were you ever tempted to join a
gang, Ernesto?” she asked, her interest peaked by his family admission. “You
seem pretty level-headed now.”

“No. I always loved the vines. My
family had a vineyard when I was a boy.”

“I knew you worked at a vineyard in
Sonoma before you came here, but I didn’t know about your family’s vineyard.
What happened?”

He rubbed a hand over his chin and
looked off across the field toward the Parker place. “The drug cartel wanted my
padre to plant marijuana between the vines. He refused and they set it on fire.
We lost every vine. He died soon after that. It was his life blood.”

Billie didn’t know what to say. She
shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Long time ago. Now I care for
these vines,” he said and moved toward the truck. “Want a ride?”

“Sure.” She didn’t know how to talk
Handel out of going to see Hosea, but after hearing Ernesto’s thoughts on the
matter, she knew she had to try. There must be a way to speak with Hosea that
didn’t involve putting Handel at risk. She certainly couldn’t ask Ernesto to go
along now. He was adamant about never wanting to go there again.

They climbed in the truck and
bumped over the rutted road back to the winery. When he pulled under the shade
of the oaks and shut off the ignition, she thanked him and started to climb
out.