Crushed (The Fredrickson Winery Novels)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  The telephone was ringing when she opened the door. The machine picked up before she could get to it. The caller I.D. number wasn’t familiar, so she turned away and went to the refrigerator to see what to make for dinner. The prerecorded message played, followed by the beep.

  “Hello, Margaret.” Agosto’s voice reverberated through the tiny speaker. She froze. “I didn’t hear from you, so I decided to forge ahead. Davy and I are going to the park to play soccer. I’ll bring him home around five-thirty. Talk to you then.”

  She slammed the door of the refrigerator shut and flew to the machine, lifted the receiver, “Agosto!” she yelled, but he’d already hung up. The dial tone droned like an angry bee. She dropped the phone, grabbed her keys from the table where she’d tossed them earlier and ran out to her car.

  She heard the bus coming up the highway. Maybe Agosto was playing with her. Maybe he meant he’d pick up Davy and take him to the park to play soccer after he got off the bus. He couldn’t have taken Davy from school. Wouldn’t the teachers, the bus driver, someone, stop him, a stranger, from taking her son without permission?

  She broke into a jog and got to the end of the driveway before the bus arrived. The engine didn’t sound as though it were slowing down. Mr. Hadley nodded hello as he drove by, but when she waved her arms for him to stop, he didn’t seem to notice.

  Sweat broke out on her upper lip and she could feel blood pounding loudly in her ears. Davy was not on the bus. Agosto had taken him. Where? She ran back toward the house. He said they were going to the park to play soccer, but how could she know for sure he was telling the truth? And which park? The one by Davy’s school?

  She rubbed her hands over her face and tried to think. This couldn’t be happening. Davy was taught never to get into a car with a stranger. Why would he go with Agosto? He’d never met him or even seen a picture of him. She turned and ran back to the car, climbed in and started the engine, then shut it off. Where would she go?

  Handel would know what to do. He always knew what to do. She jerked the door open and ran back into the house to retrieve her cell phone. She dumped her purse out on the table before she found it in the side pocket, pushed Handel’s quick dial number and waited, biting her lip and praying Davy was all right.

  “Margaret?”

  “Handel, he took him! He took Davy!” She began to sob uncontrollably. She heard him say something but couldn’t understand.

  “Margaret!” Handel finally shouted into the phone. “Who took Davy? Get a hold of yourself and tell me what’s going on. I can’t help if you don’t…”

  “Agosto,” she managed to say, his name like a curse word grating on her tongue. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her t-shirt, stammering an explanation. “He called to say he took Davy from school. To play soccer. Said they were going to a park. That he’d bring him home at 5:30.” She sniffed and tried to breathe, but her chest hurt at the simple action. Was she having a heart attack or was the thought of life without Davy so horrendous to cause her heart to physically ache?

  “Calm down. He said he would bring him home. That’s good.”

  Handel’s calm and collected attitude grated on her already prickly nerves. “That’s good? The man kidnaps my son and you say its good?”

  “Hold on. Call the school and find out if Davy’s still there. If he’s not—call the police and report him missing. I want this on that bastard’s record. He can’t come here and act like he has rights. The court system won’t acknowledge him as the father since his name is not on the birth certificate. So, until he rectifies that by going to court with a paternity suit, he’s just a kidnapper.”

  “Why would Davy go with him?” she asked, not expecting an answer but unable to stop the questions, the finger pointing back at her. If only she’d talked to her son about his father. Maybe none of this would be happening.

  “Margaret,” Handel repeated sternly. “Call the school and the police. I’ll be home as soon I can. I’m leaving now.”

  *****

  The officer listened to the message on the machine and wrote something in his notebook. He looked up, his eyes taking in Margaret’s purse dumped out on the table where she’d searched for her phone, the tear tracks in her makeup, and the bottle of wine and empty glass on the kitchen cupboard. She’d needed a drink while she waited. It probably looked bad—drinking when her son was missing—but she had been shaking so hard and she didn’t know what to do.

  “Doesn’t sound like a kidnapping, ma’am,” he said. He flipped his notebook shut and slid it in his front shirt pocket. His expression was bland, but his tone conveyed skepticism. “This man—what is his relationship to your son?”

  “There is no relationship. Davy has never seen him before. He’s a complete stranger to my son!”

  “Then why would he take him to play soccer?” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and cocked his head to the side, like a bird alert for signs of emerging worms.

  She threw up her hands. “I don’t know! I haven’t seen him for over ten years. Suddenly he’s back in town and wants to see Davy.”

  “So he is the boy’s father,” he said, his lips thinned into a straight line. “Does he have visitation rights?”

  “No! He has absolutely no rights. He left the country when I was pregnant. He’s never seen my son, or spoken to him. Is that clear enough for you? The man is not Davy’s father. He’s a deadbeat sperm donor.” She crossed her arms and bit back the rest of the diatribe that wanted to flood out of her mouth. The officer looked like he’d enjoy arresting her for a smart mouth.

  She heard Handel come through the garage door, his shoes clicking on the ceramic tile. He put his arm around her as he calmly took in the situation. He held out his hand to the officer. “I’m Handel Parker, Davy’s uncle. Have you issued an Amber alert? I didn’t hear one on the radio. Time is of the essence. Agosto Salvatore is Italian. He could possibly be planning to take Davy out of the country.”

  The officer’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t think it will come to that. Mr. Salvatore left a message on your sister’s machine that stated exactly what time he would bring his son home. Perhaps your sister has forgotten that they had a date,” he said.

  “What are you implying?” she demanded. “Do you really think that I would forget something like that?”

  He inclined his head toward the bottle on the cabinet. “You have been drinking, Ms. Parker.”

  Handel stopped her arm when she would have taken a swing at the officer. “Margaret, please find a photo of Davy for the officer,” he said firmly. He didn’t let go until she nodded, her muscles going slack.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” said the officer. “I’m sure…”

  “I don’t think you understand the situation. A man took my nephew without permission. This man’s name is not on the birth certificate. He has absolutely no legal standing to go near my nephew. As an officer it is your sworn duty to uphold the law. My nephew has been taken. He is nine years old. He has blonde hair and blue eyes. His name is Davy Handel Parker. If you want to keep your job working for the citizens of this county I strongly urge you to issue an Amber alert.” He handed the officer his business card and calmly waited for a response.

  Margaret never left the room but only moved to the bulletin board beside the refrigerator and took down the photo of Davy she’d pinned to the cork board just the week before. It was taken in the vineyard, in the heat of the afternoon, his bare chest tan from running around outside without a shirt, his blonde hair even whiter than normal, bleached in the summer sun.

  She moved back to Handel’s side and extended the photo to the officer.

  He nodded curtly, and stepped out to his car to radio it in.

  “Are they going to look for him?” she asked, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was 4:58 already. If Agosto had been telling the truth, Davy would be home in thirty-two minutes. If he wasn’t…

  “I’m sure Agosto will bring him home before Officer Starchy-pants co
ndescends to uphold the law.” He stepped to the window and watched the policeman sitting in his car talking on the radio. “I’d bet money that man is going through a custody battle of his own right now. But I don’t care if his ex-wife took the kids, the dog, and his last can of beer, if his negligence is the cause of Agosto taking Davy out of this country, I will put this county through such a mudslide of law suits, they won’t be able to crawl out for a hundred years.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at his vendetta lawyer talk. Handel, the one who taught Davy, when a bigger kid was picking on him at school, that revenge made a man weak, while forgiveness took a man’s power back from the bully. She knew he was just being protective and feeling inadequate—as she was. The court system was fine revenge after the fact, but right now they needed real action.

  The officer returned, his face a mask of official business. “Do either of you know what type of vehicle Mr. Salvatore was driving?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Relief slipped through her veins at the thought that authorities would soon be looking for her son. “He came here a couple days ago in a blue convertible sports car. It was expensive. I think it might have been a Ferrari. I didn’t see it up close.”

  His eyes widened at the description. He nodded. “All right. We already have patrols doing drive-bys of the parks in the area.” He handed her his card. “Call me if he shows up.”

  “Thank you, Officer Tate. I’m sorry I lost my temper. He’s the only son I have.”

  The corners of his mouth relented and curved up slightly. “I understand.”

  *****

  Handel was first out the door when the convertible pulled up to the house. He didn’t wait for Agosto to get out of the car, but leaned over the door and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. The man hung there, choking against the tightened fabric until Handel released him and slammed him back down into the seat. “You dirty…”

  “Handel!” Margaret caught up to him and grabbed his arm before he could do worse. “Not like this,” she warned, even though every instinct screamed to hit the man herself. But Davy was sitting in the passenger seat, his eyes as round as quarters, and she didn’t want to scare him more than he already was.

  “Davy, get out of the car,” Handel ordered.

  Davy opened the door timidly as though he expected the same treatment himself. She didn’t wait for him to come to her but flew around the front of the car and wrapped her arms around his small frame. “You scared me to death,” she breathed into his hair. He smelled of sweat and riding in the open wind and she hugged him hard, relief swelling her heart.

  “Mom,” he said, pulling back, “you’re choking me.”

  He was home safe and she was suddenly furious. She straightened, hands on her hips. “I’ll do worse than that if you ever get into a stranger’s car again. Now get in the house and take a shower. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “He said you’d be mad at me,” Davy said, in a persecuted tone. “But he’s not a stranger and you know it.”

  The words sent a chill down her spine. Agosto had already taken a bit of the respect and trust her son had in her and destroyed it with his version of the truth. She pointed at the house and Davy reluctantly obeyed.

  As soon as he went inside, Handel yanked open the car door and pulled Agosto from the seat. “I warned you ten years ago that if you ever came back, your life wouldn’t be worth a bullet to take it.”

  Agosto jerked away, his handsome face twisted with rage. “How dare you touch me. I will have you arrested for assault. You may be a lawyer but you are not above the law.”

  “You first. The police have already issued a warrant for your arrest, for kidnapping my nephew. Did you account for that scenario in your plan?”

  Agosto turned to Margaret, a look of astonishment drawing his brows together. “Why would you do that? You knew I just took him to play soccer. I would never hurt my own son. Do you hate me that much?” he asked, wounded regret creeping into his voice.

  “Don’t even start with me,” she said, moving around the car to stand beside Handel. “Against my brother’s advice, I considered allowing you some sort of relationship with my son, and you’ve thrown that tiny bit of trust that had begun to sprout, back in my face, by taking him without permission and without my knowledge.” She pointed her finger at him, her hand shaking with pent-up fury and overwhelming relief. “You will never have anything to do with Davy again as long as I live!”

  Agosto stared back at her, then calmly moved around them both and climbed into the car, slamming the door. He twisted the key in the ignition before looking up, dark glasses now hiding his emotions. “I actually thought that perhaps you and I could start over. Learn to care for one another once again. Raise our son together as a family. But you’ve destroyed that dream.” He slipped the car into reverse. “You will be hearing from my lawyers,” he said, leaving them with a dismissive wave of his manicured hand.

  Margaret grabbed Handel’s arm and held on. To keep him from going after the man or to keep herself from screaming, she didn’t know. Gravel dust hung in the air in the wake of Agosto’s departure like poison fumes from a chemical spill.

  “I think you made him angry,” Handel noted, a satisfied lilt to his words.

  She breathed out a laugh based purely on frayed nerves. “Me? You’re the one who wrinkled his two hundred dollar polo shirt. He’s probably talking to his lawyers about it right now.” The fact that Davy was home, safe and sound, made her giddy with relief. She knew she shouldn’t be relieved quite yet. Agosto was obviously serious about pursuing his paternity rights in court, but right now all she could think about was what to make Davy for dinner. There would be time for admonitions and courtroom strategy later. Right now she wanted to lavish her son with love and pizza.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Just as I thought. He didn’t spend five minutes in jail. Apparently, his father’s wealth and influence extends to our little neck of the woods. His lawyers have been busy. They’ve already filed a paternity case to get the blood work flowing. With Salvatore’s ego, he’ll be filing for sole custody next.”

  Margaret sighed. She switched the phone to her left ear as she listened. “I hope you’re not saying that’s even possible.”

  “He can ask all he wants, but ten years without support or acknowledgment of any kind, in the eyes of the law, looks rather poor for his case.”

  “Handel,” she began hesitantly, “I’ve spoken with Billie about handling this. She is a family lawyer and knows what to expect. And I think you are too close to be objective.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of…”

  “You verbally threatened Agosto and physically assaulted him. In front of Davy, no less. I know you want to help, but I think you need to keep your distance on this one. It’s for the best. For all of us.”

  He was silent a moment. “You’re right,” he said finally, his voice heavy with wounds deeper than time could heal. “Davy hasn’t looked at me the same since. It’s like he’s afraid of me. I turned into a monster right in front of him and he doesn’t know when that monster will resurface again. The way I felt when dad…”

  “Handel, don’t! You are not anything like him. You have done nothing but love and care for us since he left. I’m only asking you to step back because I don’t want to see your reputation and career ruined. This is my chance to do something for you. I need you to understand.”

  “All right. I’ll hand everything over to Billie this afternoon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Margaret?” he said, before she could disconnect. “I want you to know that I will do anything it takes to keep that man away from you and Davy. Anything.”

  She set the phone on the counter and stared unblinkingly out the window, seeing only the murderous look on Handel’s face when he pulled Agosto from the car.

  Anything. That’s what she was afraid of.

  *****

  “But why can’t I see my dad?” Davy asked again, watching he
r for signs of weakness like when she said “no ice cream before dinner” and he begged until she gave in.

  Ruining his dinner once in a while was a small concession to day-to-day rules. Ruining his life was another matter altogether. Agosto’s idea of fatherhood did not include love and nurture. She doubted he even knew the definition for them. The stories he had told her about the senior Mr. Salvatore made her wonder if the man cared more about his fine stable and gave more thought to raising expensive race horses than raising his son. Agosto at twenty was skewed by his father’s inattention. Ten years later she doubted he had changed for the better.

  “Davy,” she said, trying once again to make him understand. “He is your biological father—not your dad. A dad is there when you’re born. He helps raise you, gives hugs and high fives, teaches kindness and forgiveness. How to work hard. To be responsible.” She smiled. “He even cleans up after you when you have the flu. A dad sticks around for all of those things. Agosto Salvatore is not your dad.”

  Davy bit at the inside of his jaw while he digested her latest explanation. “A dad is a lot like Uncle Handel,” he said finally.

  She pushed his hair back out of his face. “Yes. Uncle Handel did all the things a real dad would do. You might say he was a pinch-hitter dad.”

  He grinned at that analogy. “Uncle Handel hates baseball.”

  “I know, but he always went to your t-ball games and cheered, didn’t he?”

  “But my bilogic father said he wants to take me to Italy to visit my other grandfather. And he has a horse for me. I’d like to have a horse. Wouldn’t that be cool?” He picked up a banana. “Can I have this? I’m hungry.”

  She nodded and watched him peel the top down and take a bite. Hunger always trumped angst. “I’m sure a horse would be cool, but Italy is very, very far away. Across the ocean. Too far away for a boy to travel without his mother. I’d be awfully lonely without you.”

  “Are you afraid my other grandfather is bad like Grandpa Sean?” he asked, calmly chewing banana as though every kid had a grandpa in prison.