3 Savor (6 page)

When Billie woke up early the next
morning, Handel was already missing from his side of the bed. She lay there
drowsy, listening to the sound of birds calling outside the window. Not far away
she could hear the tap tap tap of a woodpecker searching for bugs in the bark
of an old tree. And from somewhere – probably in the woodworker’s shed
she had allowed Ernesto for personal use on weekends – a radio played
Mexican pop music.

She reached out and pulled Handel’s
pillow against her chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. After they’d
made love the night before, he’d fallen almost immediately into an exhausted
sleep. Still wide awake, she’d stared at his profile in the dark, one hand lightly
resting on his chest, and felt the reassuring rise and fall of his lungs
sending oxygen to his brain. And she finally told herself he would be all
right.

It wasn’t hard to imagine losing
him. In fact, it was all too easy. Imagining that he would still be here ten
years from now, that their lives would be happy and carefree, and that their
love would survive whatever life threw at them, was much more difficult.

She’d had her innocence ripped from
her at the age of eight, lost her father at the age of fifteen. She knew about
loss. What she wanted to experience was joy. The kind of joy that didn’t depend
on circumstance, because circumstances change. People leave. Hearts are broken.

Joy? She’d thought about it a lot
in the past week. Joy must be an internal position, completely unaffected by
the external. An inner sanctum where car crashes and cancer and divorce and
failing businesses and broken dreams, can’t penetrate to destroy.

She threw her legs over the side of
the bed and sat up. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee wafted into the room and
she knew exactly where her husband had disappeared to so early. She pulled on a
t-shirt and panties and padded down the hall.

Handel had turned the smaller of
the guest bedrooms into an office for himself soon after they were married.
He’d furnished it with an oak desk and hutch, an easy chair and a tall reading
lamp. A carpenter had been hired to install bookshelves along one wall, leaving
room for a 32-inch flat screen television in the center. Most of his reference
books were at his law office downtown, so there was room for Billie’s books as
well, with shelf room to spare for framed photos and memorabilia.

She paused in the open doorway and
watched Handel rifling through papers on his desk. He was so intent on what he
was looking for that he didn’t hear her come in. She cleared her throat to get
his attention. “Is this what you call rest and recuperation? I don’t think
Doctor Chao would have signed that release form yesterday if he thought you’d
go right back to it.”

He let his eyes slide over her
curves, a boyish grin on his face. “Good morning, sexy,” he said. He picked up
his coffee cup and took a sip, watching her over the rim. His hair stuck up at
the back and his eyes still looked sleepy, but in faded jeans and an old
t-shirt that said,
My book club reads
between the wines
, he looked like a cool glass of sangria.

She went and stood in front of him,
hands on her hips. “You could have at least stayed in bed past seven,” she
reprimanded. “I woke up all alone.”

He set the cup down and reached out
for her. She went willingly, curled into his lap and let him tell her good
morning the old fashioned way – with slow, thorough kisses that deepened
until she felt hollow and needy all over again.

Just when they were getting to the
point of no return, Handel’s cell phone rang. He pulled away with a ragged
breath. “Sorry, babe.”

She stood up licking her lips.
“It’s all right. I need some coffee anyway.”

He answered the phone and she
picked up his cup and went to sit comfortably in his easy chair to finish it.
His gaze narrowed at her thievery, but his attention was quickly diverted by
whatever the caller was telling him. “What did the judge say?” he asked.

Billie cradled the mug in her hands
and sipped, listening to the one-sided conversation.

“That’s fine. We’ll make it work.
I’ll be in the city on Monday. We can talk then.” He ended the call and set the
phone down, his gaze riveted on the dark flat screen behind her head. He looked
a million miles away.

“Is everything all right?” she
asked. It went against all of her separation of work and home beliefs to ask
the question, but she didn’t want this wall between them anymore. She was
beginning to think that Adam was right. Marriage meant sharing everything and
their work was a big part of who they each were.

He blinked and met her gaze. “Just
some loose ends with the case.”

The way he said it made her worry
antenna come up. What wasn’t he saying? Maybe it was time to talk about his
accident and what Alvarez suspected. She wanted him to heal and not worry about
the case, but realistically that was not going to happen. He refused to even
discuss letting another attorney take over. He was lead and he had no intention
of letting that position go to another. This was a big case with lots of
publicity, which meant if he won a not guilty verdict, high profile cases would
come flooding in. He could pick and choose.

“Handel, before you came out of
your coma,” she began, “someone came to see me. He said he was working for you.
A private investigator by the name of…”

“Manny Alvarez,” he supplied, and
lifted an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged. “There wasn’t really
a chance until now. The last couple days have been sort of busy.” She ticked
them off on her fingers. “You woke up. The doctors took over. We came home.
There was a party. I was shot at. We made love. Now I’m telling you.”

“Right. Well, what did he want to
talk to you about?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“He wanted to know if you had any
leads for him to investigate.” She got up, holding his now empty mug. “I told
him we don’t usually discuss business, but…” She sat on the edge of his desk
and took his hand in hers. “I want to change all that. I want you to be a part
of everything in my life, and that includes Fredrickson’s. I don’t want to keep
my life all compartmentalized anymore. At least not from you.” She smiled.
“From now on, our lives will be one big, old, messy, junk drawer. How’s that
sound?”

He laughed and squeezed her
fingers. “The messier the better, I say. But what brought this on?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Alvarez told me
that your accident might have been deliberate.”

“I see.”

“So he’s talked to you about it
already?”

“That’s what got me out of bed so
early. He called as soon as he heard I was released from the hospital. Said he
wanted to warn me.”

“That’s what he told me too, but
there was something not right…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. How did you
happen to hire the brother of the victim to investigate for the defense? Are
you sure you can trust him?”

“Kawasaki thinks I can. He trusts
him.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled out his day planner. He still kept a
record of his appointments there as well as in his phone. Old habits died hard.
He flipped it open and ran his finger down the page.

“Did you know he was once a member
of the notorious MS-13’s?”

“Of course.” He looked up. “What
are you getting at?”

Billie walked to the window and
pulled the blinds open, using the moments to get her thoughts together. “He
suggested we might be in danger out here. That members of the gang put a hit
out on you because they think you know something.”

“I believe Kawasaki is innocent,
but I don’t know who really murdered his wife. All I need to do is prove
reasonable doubt. I have no intention of pulling a Matlock and pointing out the
real killer in court.” He blew out a laugh. “I’ll let the police take care of
all that.”

“So, you don’t think maybe our
drive-by shooting was more than a coincidence?”

He pushed a hand through his hair
and sighed. “I hope not. It’s one thing to target me, but they shot at you last
night. Why would they do that?”

“Intimidation?”

He stared across the room, rubbing
thoughtfully at his chin.

“So, how long did the judge give
you to recuperate and get your case together before the trial begins?” she
asked.

“Two weeks.”

She took his hand and pulled him
toward the door. “Come on. You can’t think clearly on an empty stomach. I’ll
scramble some eggs.”

•••••

The outdoor bandstand and
vine-covered arbor area were fairly new to Fredrickson’s. So new that the vines
weren’t much of a cover yet, but in another year or two would make great shade
for those who wanted to get out of the sun. Live entertainment had been one of
Margaret’s ideas and so far was attracting busy weekend crowds. They had to
tear down a couple of old dilapidated sheds, build the bandstand, plant sod,
and add some fun sculptures to the mix, but this investment seemed to be well
worth it.

The weekend had sort of snuck up on
Billie since she’d been spending so much time with Handel the last few days.
But when cars began rolling in late Saturday morning, he pushed her out the
door and told her to go and supervise the winery so he could have a break. He
said it with a smile but she knew she was getting on his nerves.

People were already spreading
blankets on the grass and settling down to listen to jazz with a bottle of
Fredrickson’s in hand when Billie skirted the parking lot. Seeing a familiar
neighbor she’d rather avoid, she made a detour of the front entrance of the
winery and snuck through the trees to a side door that opened onto the pressing
floor.

Digging in the pocket of her khaki
shorts for the keys, she glanced back and saw the same neighbor following.
Obviously, she’d been spotted. She released a sigh and pasted on a bright
smile. “Good morning, Hazel. What can I do for you?” she asked, knowing she’d
regret the question but feeling compelled to make it.

Hazel Thompson had lived next door
to Fredrickson’s since the 1960s. She and her husband owned eighteen acres of
land, planted with Cabernet Sauvignon. These grapes made some of the finest red
Bordeaux in the area. Last year they’d decided to retire from winemaking and
sell their grapes to the highest bidder. In spite of Billie’s best offer, their
crop went to some retired Hollywood director turned entrepreneur. He’d bought a
small Napa winery and was pouring millions into turning it into the next
Disneyland – only with wine instead of rides. More competition for
Fredrickson’s.

The woman wore bright pink capris
and a lacy, cream-colored tank top. Her long hair, dyed to the shade of a
raven’s wing, was twisted into a chignon at the back of her head. She was a
thin woman, to the point of emaciation, obviously believing the fable,
you can never be too rich or too thin
.
Reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck and swung back and forth
against unnaturally perky aged breasts as she hurried along.

“For starters, you can tell me what
is going on around here!” She planted her stiletto heels in the soft ground,
long-nailed claws on bony hips. “This was a gun-free zone before you showed up
and took over for Jack, but Monday night was the second time I’ve heard gunfire
coming from your place. The first time resulted in death. What pray tell was
the result this time?”

Billie tried to keep from smiling,
but she had to look away when she noticed the brand new hummingbird tattoo on
the old lady’s ankle. She pretended to be interested in a stack of crates
beside the door. “I’m sorry if it worried you, Hazel, but thankfully no one was
killed,” she said, straightening the stack. She wondered what took the woman so
long to come and complain.

“When I saw police lights flashing
across the vineyard I said to Herbie, ‘I wonder if she’s been shot? That
husband of hers is the son of that horrible Sean Peterson after all.’ He didn’t
try to kill you, did he?” she asked, with just a touch of gleeful hope in her
eyes.

“No, Hazel. You do know my husband
just got out of the hospital Monday. He was in a coma for a week. I don’t think
he’s quite up to murder yet. Maybe after he’s recuperated a bit.” She turned
and put the key in the lock.

Hazel wasn’t going away. She
followed her through the door, heels clicking on the concrete floor. “Who was
shooting then? That sort of thing might be perfectly normal out there in the
Midwest where they hunt and kill innocent animals, but here in the valley it’s
just not done.”

Billie turned and blocked the way,
arms crossed. “They might kill innocent animals in Minnesota, but in California
they shoot people.”

The woman gasped and put a hand to
her throat.

Billie decided to take pity on her.
“It might interest you to know that we had a bullet go through our front
window. The police think it was vandals, so you might want to keep your outside
lights on at night.”

“My word! What is the valley coming
to?” Hazel shook her head.

“Hell in a hand basket,” Billie
muttered and slowly eased the woman out the door, closing it soundly.

•••••

Billie hurried through the
distillery, and into the barrel room. She glanced down a row of oak barrels and
saw Margaret busy taking samples of the Cabernet Franc. She tasted the wine
then took notes in her little wine journal.

She turned around and saw Billie
watching. “Hey. Another week or so these barrels should be ready for bottling.”

“That’s good news. It’s been our
best seller recently and we’re running low.”

Margaret dropped her tools in a
bucket to be cleaned and sanitized. “How’s my brother doing? Driving you crazy
yet?”