A Delicate Finish

by Jeanette Baker

  Fighting back tears, Francesca shook her head.

  Jake gathered them both against his chest and spoke soothingly into her ear so that only she could hear. “You’re upset and looking for somebody to blame. Let’s go home and talk to Nick before you say something you’ll regret.”

  His words penetrated the fear clouding her brain. She swallowed and nodded. Then she looked at Drew. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the house. Mitch followed him.

  “I’ll collect our things,” Jake said, “while you get him into the car.”

  Francesca, still clutching her son in a suffocating embrace, stumbled toward the car. His skin was cold. She left him curled up on the front seat to pull a blanket from the back and wrap it around him. Soon, his tremors stopped and he slept.

  Mitch caught up with his son on the stairs. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” The boy threw back his head defiantly. “Don’t worry about me.”

  His father reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Look at me, Drew.”

  The boy’s eyes, narrow and skeptical, focused on Mitch.

  “I’m proud of you. That child might have died if you hadn’t acted quickly. If you want to tell me about it, I’d sure like to hear what happened. If a condition exists on our property that’s dangerous, I need to fix it. Do you understand?”

  Drew stared at him for a long minute. Finally he nodded. “Can I change first? I’m kind of wet.”

  Mitch laughed. “Be my guest. I’ll wait for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Dad,” the boy said quickly. “People are still here. A few hours won’t make a difference.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be down later.”

  Mitch nodded. His guests were still downstairs, probably wondering what happened. He watched Drew shut his bedroom door behind him. Why was the boy so reticent to trust him? Had he unintentionally harmed him in some way when he was small? Still deep in thought, he walked down the stairs and out into the courtyard. It was nearly dark. The sky was a dark indigo, edging in on the deep blue typical of country nights. Julianne sat on the bottom stoop. When she looked up it was obvious she’d been waiting for him.

  “Hi,” he said softly, and sat down beside her. Even without sunlight her eyes were vivid.

  “How is Drew?”

  “He seems fine. What about Nick?”

  “Francesca and Jake will take care of him. He’s had a scare but I don’t think he’ll come to any harm. It won’t be the first time a child took a dip in a stream.” She tilted her head. “Did you find out what happened?”

  “Not yet.”

  Her gaze was steady, probing.

  “Do you know something I don’t?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “That means something. I can see it in your face.”

  She lifted her chin. “You don’t know me that well.”

  “Your fault, not mine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He took her hand. “I’ve been on my best behavior. How long do you think it’ll be before you agree to see me socially?”

  She laughed. “That was a mouthful. Does seeing you socially mean dating?”

  “If you like.”

  Julianne sighed. “There are complications.”

  “Such as?”

  “My family and your employer.” She smiled at him. “You’re very nice and it’s flattering to know you’re interested. But you may not be here very long and I’m afraid to risk it.”

  “I like you, Julianne, and I admit I’m very attracted to you. What’s wrong with enjoying each other’s company for as long as it lasts?”

  “In other words, no commitment?”

  He stared at her. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Is it what you want?”

  “It’s what I’ve wanted in the past,” he admitted.

  She looked away. “You’ve never cared enough to remarry?”

  He took a minute before answering. “My sojourn in marriage was a disaster. I’m gun-shy. I have Drew and Sarah. The need to remarry and begin again wasn’t necessary. Companionship has never been a problem.”

  “I can imagine,” she said dryly. “But what about love and growing old with someone?”

  “There are no guarantees.”

  She sighed and stood, pulling her hand free. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “You never answered my question.”

  “Which one?”

  “Will you go out with me?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know what your motivation is.”

  “Conversation, good food, companionship.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you, Mitch.”

  He didn’t flinch. “We’re adults, Julianne.”

  “You’re commitment phobic and I’m very much a commitment kind of woman.”

  “In other words, you want to get married again.”

  “I haven’t given it much thought, but I do know that I don’t want to rule it out completely. I’m not about to get emotionally involved with someone who won’t consider it.”

  “Who said anything about emotional involvement?”

  “For me, sex is emotional involvement.”

  He looked surprised. “I see.”

  “Good.”

  “All right. No sex.”

  She laughed. “You look like you’re swallowing something very bitter.”

  “I can’t believe I agreed to that.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “Does that mean I can call you?”

  Her smile faded. She looked pensive, almost sad. “I want you to think about this for a while. I won’t be offended if you decide not to call. We can still be friends.”

  He picked up her hand again. It was small and cool in his. “You’re a very lovely lady, Julianne Harris.”

  She shook her head, embarrassed. “Meanwhile, I think your children need you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged. “Something’s bothering Sarah. She’s very nervous. I don’t know her very well and maybe I’m wrong, but—”

  “Go on.”

  “She can’t take her eyes off Drew. That isn’t normal for siblings. I think she’s worried about him.”

  He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Jake and Francesca did not speak until they reached the house. Jake carried the boy inside and up the stairs to his room. There, he and Francesca removed his damp clothes, dressed him in pajamas and tucked him underneath his comforter. He mumbled, sighed and yawned, but did not awaken.

  Francesca felt his forehead. His breathing was even and his skin felt normal. She drew a deep, shaky breath.

  Jake slipped his hand under her arm and led her out of the room, leaving the door open. He settled her at the large kitchen table and turned on the flame under the teakettle.

  “He’s fine, Francie.”

  “Maybe we should take him to a hospital.”

  “Let’s wait on that. He isn’t injured and he doesn’t have a temperature. More than likely, he’s in shock. A good fright can do that.”

  “What if he hit his head and has a concussion and we don’t know it?”

  “We’ll wake him in an hour or so and keep watch all night.”

  Francesca jumped up and began to pace. “I don’t trust that boy.”

  “Drew?”

  She nodded. “Isn’t it odd that he just happened to be there?”

  “Maybe,” Jake said slowly. “What are you thinking?”

  She rubbed her arms. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense, that’s all. The river isn’t high enough this time of year to fall in completely. It’s no more than a trickle. How could he fall in and completely submerge himself?”

  “I’m not sure about that. Something strange is going on with the water table. The ground is mudd
y and we’ve had no rain. Some parts of the Santa Ynez River may be higher than normal. Besides, you saw the boy. He looked as bedraggled as Nick. He even carried him all the way back to the house. Besides, he has no motive. He doesn’t even know Nick.”

  Francesca bit her lip. “You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “We should be thanking him, Francie. It’s possible that he saved Nick’s life.”

  She sank into a chair and buried her head in her arms. Jake attended to the whistling kettle.

  Drew never did come downstairs. Mitch checked on him later, after the last guest left, knocking softly on his bedroom door.

  “What?” Drew’s voice was barely audible over the sound emanating from the stereo speakers.

  Mitch cracked the door. “May I come in?”

  Drew sat up and threw the covers aside. “I’m kinda tired, Dad.”

  “You said that you would tell me what happened with Nick.”

  Drew sighed. “He fell in the creek.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. He was probably bored. I told him he could play video games in my room, but he didn’t want to. I just happened to see him climb onto a rock in the middle of the creek. The water’s higher than it was a few days ago. He must have heard me because he turned around, lost his balance and fell in. I pulled him out. End of story.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I went for a walk. I’m not much for adult parties.”

  Mitch tried to piece the scene together in his mind. “You just happened to be there?”

  “That’s right.” His voice raised. “Are you done with the third degree? Next time I’ll let the kid drown.”

  Mitch sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Nick was very lucky you were there.” He stood. “Good night, son.”

  Drew pulled the blanket over him and turned to the wall. “Right.”

  Mitch found his daughter at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of milk and poring over the latest edition of Equine magazine.

  He sat down across from her.

  She looked up. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?”

  She frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m worried about your brother. Are you?”

  A red tide washed across her cheeks. She looked away. “I’m always worried about Drew.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s my little brother.”

  “By two minutes. That hardly qualifies as little.”

  “It’s more than that.” She shrugged a bony shoulder. “He seems younger and he has such a hard time getting anything right.”

  Julianne was right about Sarah. Mitch sensed that she was keeping something back. “Let me help you with this, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her smile was too wide, too artificial. “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. You’re imagining things.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “It was a nice party. Mom would have liked it.”

  “You miss her, don’t you?”

  Sarah’s voice choked. She turned to rinse out her glass. “I miss her more than anything. Drew does, too.”

  Once again Mitch was at a loss.

  “Good night, Dad.”

  She was out the door before he could kiss her good-night.

  He stared at the spot where his daughter had last stood. Something had gone amiss and he had no idea what it was.

  Mitch wandered out to the courtyard. A bottle of excellent vintage sat on one of the tables, opened but not finished. He considered drinking another glass but decided against it. It would be too easy to anesthetize his problems with alcohol. A drinker did not make a good vintner and Mitch was resolved to become the latter. He looked up at the second-story windows. All were dark. Drew and Sarah were in bed. He hoped Julianne’s instincts proved wrong. If something really was wrong, he had no idea how to find out.

  Sixteen

  The emergency meeting of the vintners’ association board of directors took place at the local office on Refugio Street. Simon Reilly of Bridgewood Winery officiated. Francesca refrained from tapping her pencil. Outwardly she was the picture of serenity—cool, unruffled, objective. Even her clothing, a pink, boiled-wool suit with a white linen collar and pearl earrings, gave off an innocent touch-me-not aura that set her apart from the others.

  Only one other woman had been elected to the five-person board. Jane Savage, the owner of Cedar Crest Vineyards, a family operation for more than sixty years, sat at the other end of the circle of chairs, deliberately choosing a seat as far away from Francesca as possible. She’d worked hard to acquire her seat on the board and did not want to appear part of a female voting block.

  Reilly called the meeting to order. He came right to the point. “The only item on the agenda for this meeting is the request of Grape Growers Incorporated to tap local well water.”

  “This isn’t really a board matter,” said John Hume, a quiet man with the smallest vineyard in the valley. “GGI can approach any vintner who has a well for permission. We don’t have the authority to speak for individuals.”

  “In the past when matters such as this have come to the table, we’ve advised the vintners of our position,” said Jane. “No one has ever turned maverick.”

  “Only out of consideration for everyone else,” countered Hume. “That doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

  “In the best interests of the vintners, we can still advise a course of action,” said Reilly. “We’re all on the same side.”

  Peter Hartwell, Francesca’s neighbor to the south, nodded. “No one in his right mind would sell water to GGI if we came out against it.”

  Francesca cleared her throat. She was by far the youngest member of the board, but because of her name and her family’s standing in the valley, she’d been elected twice. “Two wineries in the valley are for sale,” she reminded them. “The asking price for both is more than reasonable. Coincidentally, they’re both backed up to land that GGI has already purchased. As you know, Soledad Vineyard has a very large well.” She left the obvious unsaid.

  “Has GGI made an offer on either one?” asked Reilly.

  “No one is saying anything,” replied Francesca.

  Peter Hartwell exploded. “Let’s get Gene in here and put it to him point-blank. He’ll tell us if he’s selling to the conglomerate.”

  “Maybe not,” Francesca said quietly. “Gene Cappiello has tried to sell Soledad for two years. The vineyard is priced below market value. He’s wanted out for a long time and he isn’t going to care who buys it.”

  Jane Savage fixed her protuberant gaze on each of the other board members. “Does anyone know if there are other offers?”

  No one answered in the affirmative.

  “What about us?” she said after a minute. “Is there anyone in the valley who can afford such a purchase?”

  Again there was silence.

  “Well, gentlemen, and Francesca, it looks like GGI will be laying down irrigation pipes in the very near future.”

  “We can still make our position clear,” offered Francesca.

  John Hume shook his head. “I don’t know if we should do that. It might not be a good idea to alienate GGI if we’re going to lose anyway.”

  “GGI is a business, John.” Francesca spoke calmly, but inside she was bristling. “No one will blame us for protecting our rights as business competitors. It makes sense for us to object to GGI establishing a foothold in our backyards. We need to do something.” She looked around. “I’ll talk to Gene Cappiello. The worst that can happen is what we already have, no information.”

  Reilly nodded. “Can we assume you’ll do that and report back to us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we call it a night or is there anything else?” he asked.

  “We could use a strategy for staying in business if GGI
buys up our local vineyards,” said Jane sarcastically.

  Simon Reilly smiled grimly. “First, let’s find out if we have something to worry about.”

  “There is one more thing,” said Francesca. “Has anyone noticed a rise in the water table, unusual flooding, wet ground, anything at all?”

  Peter Hartwell shook his head. “Nothing like that where I am.”

  Hume frowned. “My grapes have been harvested for two weeks now. No one’s been out on my land since then. Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not sure.” Francesca twisted the pencil in her fingers. “I lost some vines to mold in an area where there shouldn’t be any water outside of irrigation. The Santa Ynez River near Mitchell Gillette’s estate is running twice as high as it normally does this time of year. Norman Layton sent someone out to investigate, but he hasn’t found anything yet.”

  Hume scratched his head. “We had that earthquake not too long ago.”

  “That was minor,” said Savage. “Did anyone hear of increased water levels in the spillovers?”

  Her eyes met Francesca’s and widened. “Are you thinking what I am?” she asked.

  Francesca nodded. “The spillovers work if the dam is functioning properly. If there’s a crack somewhere, that could explain the extra water seeping up through the ground.”

  Reilly spoke up. “How do we get to the bottom of this?”

  “I’ll start by suggesting the possibility of a crack in the dam to Norman,” said Francesca. “Meanwhile, everyone check your own vines. If the ground looks too wet, report it immediately or some of us might not have a season next year.”

  “We may all have to retire if GGI gets its way,” muttered Hartwell.

  “You were at the party like everyone else,” Jane reminded him.

  “We all were,” said Hume. “Mitch is a nice enough guy on his own. I wonder if he realizes how hard it’ll be to grow grapes and sell wine if GGI gets a toehold in the valley.”

  Francesca remembered Julianne’s suggestion. “Maybe we’ll have to offer something that GGI doesn’t.”

  “Like what?”

  “Other varietals, premium wines, something that can’t be created from mass-production techniques. There will always be a place for specialty wines, John.”