Jake Harris answered the DeAngelo phone line. “I thought so,” he said grimly after Norman had explained the situation. “Who else knows?”
“You’re the first.”
“Who else is involved?”
“Every vintner within twenty miles of Santa Ynez.”
Jake spoke calmly. “Start a fire under those civil engineers. I’ll tell Gene Cappiello and you call Mitchell Gillette. It’s a bad break for Gene, but no one’s going to sell any land until we know more.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then he heard Norman’s voice. “What’s going on here, Jake?”
“Gene Cappiello is selling Soledad to GGI,” Jake said tersely. “Or, at least he was, until this happened.”
“GGI hasn’t planted any vines yet. They don’t even have water rights.”
“Gene’s grapes will be affected,” Jake cut in. “No one can afford to take on a winery that isn’t producing wine.”
“That’s not for you to say.”
“Full disclosure is the law, Norman. I won’t complain when it happens to suit my purpose. If Soledad goes, it’ll be the first cog in the wheel. I don’t want Francesca to be in Gene’s position next year.”
“Gene and Kate are having a rough time. This sale might pull them out of it.”
“No one’s stopping the sale if it comes to that,” argued Jake. “It can still go through as long as everyone is aware of the facts. You aren’t thinking of keeping those from Gillette, are you, Norm? There could be some serious liability in that.”
“You know better.”
Jake was silent.
“There’s one more thing, son.”
“What’s that, Norm?”
“DeAngelo acreage is right in the middle of the wettest area. You’re lucky to have harvested your grapes when you did.”
“They’re Francesca’s grapes,” Jake reminded him. “She’s been granted a reprieve for this season’s harvest, but she’s going to lose a lot of vines for the next one unless we find this right away.”
“I hear you. I’ll have the engineers out here first thing in the morning.”
Jake hung up the phone. He didn’t really think subterranean flooding would alter GGI’s plans to open up a winery in Santa Ynez. They were a long way from planting vines or even constructing an irrigation system. Still, any delay was good news. Maybe it would last long enough for Gene to reconsider the sale of his vineyard. Gene Cappiello didn’t need any more bad luck and he deserved more than a phone call. Jake decided to pay him a visit.
Sarah stood in the doorway of her brother’s room, an artificial smile on her face. “Mrs. Harris called about the job. She wants us to start on Saturday. I have a dressage lesson. Can you help her?”
Drew lay on the bed, his face turned toward the wall.
“Drew? Did you hear me?”
“Go away, Sarah. Stop bugging me.”
Her eyes widened. Why did he always do this to her? All they had of the old days, the time with Mom, was each other. By now she should be used to him and how he went out of his way to hurt her feelings. But each new jab brought a fresh wave of pain. Suddenly she was angry. Crossing the room, she plopped down on the bed and, gripping his arm, pulled him over onto his back. “I bug you because you scare me. Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
He sighed and sat up. “What am I doing?”
“You’re stoned.”
“Actually, I’m not. Not at the moment anyway.”
“Why can’t you just be normal?”
Drew laughed. “Normal? You want me to be normal? What’s your definition of the word?”
“Normal means someone who doesn’t need drugs to go to school, to get up in the morning or to occasionally have a conversation.” Sarah was crying now. She knew he thought she was stupid and dramatic, but she couldn’t help it. She no longer cared what he thought. She wanted her brother back. “Everything happened to me, too, Drew. I lost my mother and I had to move away from my friends. Do you see me drugging myself?”
“Congratulations,” Drew said sarcastically. “Good girl, Sarah.”
She threw up her hands. “All right. Have it your way. I have no choice. I’m telling Dad.”
“What good do you think that’ll do?”
“Anything’s better than this.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Sarah. If you did, you’d think I was a fucking hero.”
“I doubt it. You’ve been at school for a month and you already have a reputation, you and your friend Jason.”
“Right. No one even knows I’m there.”
“You’d be surprised what people know. You’re so out of it you can’t see what’s around you.”
Drew lay back on his pillow and threw his arm across his face. “Go away, Sarah.”
“Gladly.” She stood looking down at him. “I wonder if you’d be like this anyway,” she said slowly. “Maybe it has nothing to do with Mom or the move. Maybe you’re just a loser.”
“Fuck you.”
Filled with resolve, Sarah slammed the door behind her and walked to the landing. Drew wouldn’t listen to her. She needed help, but she wasn’t sure her father was the one to ask. He expected perfection. Sometimes she wondered if he’d ever done anything wrong in his life. Secretly, she understood why her parents had divorced. Her mother had been relaxed, loose and available. Sarah couldn’t remember a time when her mother hadn’t started out trying to scold her only to end up in a fit of giggles. The thing was, she’d been a terrific parent, the kind a kid didn’t want to disappoint. What would she think of Drew if she could see him now? “Can you see him, Mom?” Sarah whispered. “If you can, please help him. I don’t think I could stand to lose anyone else right now.”
Sighing, she turned into her own bedroom. She would think about what to do for a while longer. Meanwhile, Mrs. Harris needed an answer about Saturday. She was a nice lady. If only Sarah knew her better.
The following morning Mitch picked up the phone in his home office on the first ring, expecting to hear Norman Layton corroborate the detailed report he’d received hours earlier from GGI’s own internal engineers. Instead, a no-nonsense voice identifying himself as Greg Rivera, dean of students at Refugio High School, asked to speak to Drew Gillette’s parent or guardian.
“I’m Mitch Gillette. What can I do for you?”
“Your son is in my office, Mr. Gillette. He was caught carrying a bag of marijuana bud in his pocket. We have a zero-tolerance policy. The police have been notified. We need you to come down here right away.”
Mitch’s grip tightened on the phone. A thousand questions passed through his mind. Caution warned him to keep his counsel. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes” was all he said.
Eighteen
Drew wasn’t scared. He wasn’t defiant or emotional either. In fact, all he felt was an absence of feeling as if his nerve endings had been anesthetized and everything around him was happening to someone else. He watched his father walk into the dean’s office and assessed him objectively, noting the lean height of him, the impressive shoulders, the thick head of gray-flecked dark hair, the two lines drawn into both cheeks and the firm mouth, tight now with disapproval. He was scary, but interestingly enough, this time, Drew wasn’t scared. He wondered if Mr. Rivera, a small man by anyone’s standards, was intimidated by the stern, businesslike demeanor of Mitchell Gillette. He noticed the two cops adjust themselves, straightening to their full height.
Just as Drew expected, his father took the offensive. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
The younger police officer stepped forward. “Your son was found carrying a bag of marijuana seeds. The street name is bud. There’s enough here for quite a profit. He’s dealing drugs. That’s a felony, Mr. Gillette. We have no choice but to take him in.”
Mitch’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean he was found carrying a bag of marijuana seeds? How exactly was he found?”
“It was in his pocket.”
“I see.” Mitch chose the older police officer and pinned him with an intense gaze. “Is there a reason you were looking in my son’s pockets?”
The man sighed. “Shouldn’t you be asking other questions, Mr. Gillette? Questions like, how serious is this offense or does my son have a drug problem? None of us would be here if the kid was clean.”
A tick came to life in Mitch’s jaw. “I’d like to be completely sure of my facts, Officer. It’s possible that this is a misunderstanding. It happens.”
Mr. Rivera stood. “With all due respect, Mr. Gillette, it doesn’t happen very often. To answer your question, one of our teachers saw Drew exchanging some of his contraband for money. We called your son in and found this.” He lifted a plastic bag filled with brown, weedy balls. “So far, he refuses to say where he got it. If he doesn’t tell us who supplied him, he may not be released on bail.”
“For selling pot?” Mitch looked incredulous. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? Should I contact my lawyer?”
“Personal consumption is one thing,” said the mature police officer. “But your son is carrying over a thousand dollars’ worth of marijuana bud.” He shook his head. “We’re not the ones you should be arguing with. Drew is under arrest. We won’t release him into your custody tonight. He needs to tell us his partner’s name and, for the record, it doesn’t matter who your lawyer is. The boy will spend the night in juvenile hall. He’ll have to go before the judge.”
“I see.” To everyone in the room, Mitchell Gillette looked to be without expression, but Drew knew his father. He knew what that remote, wintry look meant. The man was furious.
“May I speak to my son alone, please?”
“I’m afraid not,” said the officer. “You can take his belongings with you. He’ll probably be released sometime between 3:00 and 7:00 a.m., the day after tomorrow, if the judge sees him in the morning. That’s usually how it works.”
“That’s a large window. Can’t you do any better than that?”
The young policeman spoke again. “When it comes to the first day of an arrest, we’re all equal under the law, even the relatives of law enforcement officers. No one can do any better than that.”
For the first time, Mitch looked directly at Drew. “I’ll be there to pick you up.”
Drew nodded.
Mitch watched as his son was cuffed and taken away. “What will happen as far as school is concerned?” he asked.
Greg Rivera frowned and shook his head. “As I told you, we have a zero-tolerance policy. Possession means automatic expulsion from the district. You’ll have to enroll him in a private school, if you can find one that will take him, or he can attend one of our continuation schools...” He hesitated.
“Go on.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Why not?”
“He’d be out of his element.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s just leave it at that, Mr. Gillette. Trust me on this one. Enroll Drew in the county’s independent-study program if a private school won’t take him. Obviously, he’ll have to give up his bad habits.”
Mitch balled his hands and thrust them into his pockets. “Do you get many like Drew?”
“Sad to say, we get enough. Drew is an exception in that his grades are outstanding. There’s a great deal of wasted potential in that boy. Has something happened at home to trigger this change from honor student to drug user?”
Mitch’s laugh was humorless. “What hasn’t happened? Their mother, my ex-wife, died recently. They’ve come to live with me. It’s been a difficult transition for both Drew and his twin sister. Sarah is managing better. I’m not sure why.”
Greg Rivera’s hands formed a pyramid on his desk. “I didn’t realize. Maybe, because of Drew’s circumstances, an exception can be made. I’ll look into it. It would help if he’d tell the authorities what they want to know. There’s a drug ring here at the high school, which, so far, has been impossible to crack.”
Mitch sighed. “I’ll do my best to convince him. So far, I haven’t had much influence on either of my children.”
Rivera grinned for the first time that afternoon. “Welcome to parenting teenagers. It’s a thankless job until it’s over.” He hesitated. “If things don’t go as planned, will you be taking the children back to the Bay Area?”
“I’m not sure that I understand what you’re referring to.”
“This is a small town, Mr. Gillette. You can’t sneeze without someone handing you a tissue. I’ve heard that your company doesn’t have permission to build a winery.”
“We will, Mr. Rivera,” Mitch said coolly. “I guarantee it.”
Later, in the bar at the Santa Ynez Inn, Mitch was halfway through a very stiff scotch and soda, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“I thought that was you,” Julianne said. “What are you doing sitting here all alone?”
Mitch looked up and immediately stood, the lie ready on his lips. But he couldn’t utter the words.
A worried vee appeared between Julianne’s eyebrows. She sat down across from him, keeping her hand on his arm. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
He shook his head and reclaimed his seat. “Nothing at all. What brings you here?”
“I have a contract with the inn.” She smiled. “One cake a day. It’s quite a feat.”
She was lovely, and her smile, warm and sweet and beguiling, tugged at him. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Now that we’re beyond that, tell me what’s troubling you.”
“You are persistent, aren’t you?”
“What are friends for?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice low. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had time for friends.”
“That’s a shame.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Now, go on.”
He laughed and something inside him broke free. “Julianne, you have no idea. If you had told me six months ago that I’d be here, confessing this to a woman I’m seriously interested in, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
The blood rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Tell me what’s wrong, Mitch.”
He rubbed his left temple. “It’s Drew. He’s been arrested for drug dealing.”
“Oh, no.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you sure? Have you talked to him?”
“They found him with the evidence at school about two hours ago. He hasn’t been booked yet. I’ve called twice. Until he’s been through the process I can’t speak to him.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded.
Julianne bit her lip. “I know this isn’t much help, but sometimes kids lose their way. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. I’m sure he’s scared to death. He’ll come around.”
“You’re very sweet, but you’ve warned me about my lack of parenting skills on more than one occasion. Obviously you were right.”
“That’s not fair, Mitch,” she protested. “Not to me or you. No one could have predicted something like this. The boy lost his mother. He had to move. He hates it here. That much is obvious, and so is your lack of experience when it comes to children. You’re not the first man who doesn’t relate to teenagers. It’s probably more common than not. Rather than wallow in what you should have done, why not think about how you can improve the situation?”
He looked at her. “The truth is, I don’t know what to do.”
“Family counseling is a good place to start. Your children need an outlet. They need to grieve. After that, I don’t know, other than be available for them. Talking helps. It may not work, but it’s a start. If Drew has an addiction to bring under control, that’s an additional problem. Do you think he needs a rehabilitation program?”
Mitch’s voice came out sharper than he intended. “He’s fifteen years old.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“Sarah and Drew like you.”
“I like them, too.”
His eyes were
very bright. “Will you help me with them?”
“If I can,” she said carefully. “When it’s appropriate. The job is still open. I’ll talk to Drew about it personally when he’s home again.”
“It’s good of you to trust him.”
“For heaven’s sake, Mitch. The boy is in jail for pedaling marijuana, not armed robbery. I know a few adults who in the sixties did the very same thing Drew did, only they wouldn’t admit it now. We tend to forget our own mistakes.”-
All at once he felt better. She always made things better. Right from the beginning he knew he liked her. There was something warm and honest and nonjudgmental about her. She looked at both sides of a problem and came up with something positive. He wanted to sink back into the cushions of the lemony couch she kept in the room off her kitchen, drink copious amounts of hot tea and eat her buttery biscuits dripping with local honey. He wanted to feel her cool fingers on his forehead and listen to her sensible advice, no matter if the topic was wine or food or children. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this comfortable before in his life. He wanted to sleep with her, as in fall asleep, rest his head on the pillow beside hers, bump against her in the night and wake beside her in the morning. She was the kind of restful woman a man could talk to without the awkwardness such revelations invariably brought with them.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said.
Her eyes, impossibly blue, widened. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said bluntly. “You’re in desperate need of a friend and I’m here. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you feel more than you do.”
“I don’t make those kinds of mistakes.”
“Mitch, we aren’t—we haven’t—” She threw up her hands. “I don’t want this.”
“What don’t you want?”
“We’ve discussed this before. Saying you’re in love is easy. It’s the rest that isn’t.”
“What if I told you I’d changed my mind?”
A Delicate Finish Page 17