Pablo shook his head. “He gave part to Davy.”
“We better get this to the police so they can send it to the lab. Find out what it is.”
Silent tears coursed down Margaret’s cheeks, and Handel appeared less than his usual confident self. He helped Pablo walk up the steps to the garage. The boy’s legs were stiff and numb from sitting in the cold for so long.
Adam and Margaret slowly followed. He could see she was losing hope; the spark that drove her had been extinguished by the thought of her son drugged and possibly dying. He stopped and turned her around at the bottom of the steps. “Meg—look at me. We will find him. Don’t stop believing.”
She nodded, a small sob escaping before she straightened her shoulders and hurried up the steps.
*****
Handel dealt with the police, as only a lawyer could, shielding Margaret as much as possible from the brunt of interrogation. They had all been questioned over and again. Why hadn’t anyone seen or heard the boys being taken? Why were the boys here working instead of in school where they belonged? Why was Davy with the other crew instead of with his mother?
Anyone who had worked in a vineyard during harvest knew it wouldn’t be hard to take the boys. Under the cover of darkness, with the noise of the tractor coming and going, workers calling and chatting back and forth, it would be quite simple. According to Pablo, Sean Parker threatened to kill Mario if they didn’t go with him. He took their headlights and smashed them under his boot, then while the other men were at the trailer dumping their bins, he led the boys through the vineyard, staying to the shadows, until they crossed the road and headed toward the Parker house. Margaret’s vineyard was last to be harvested and no one was at work there yet. He’d obviously stolen the garage remote from her car to set the stage for drama.
Margaret felt helpless. She didn’t know what to do. The police had issued an Amber alert. They had a canine team scouring the fields. They told her to stay close in case her father called. Pablo never mentioned the olive tree when he spoke with the police. She didn’t know if Handel had sworn him to silence or Sean Parker had threatened him earlier. She doubted it mattered. The police had less of a chance of understanding her father’s gibberish than she did. She was more worried about the pill that had been found. They said they would call when they knew what Davy had been given. Maybe that would give them a clue as to where Sean Parker had taken him.
She sat in the kitchen staring blindly at the clock on the wall. She didn’t know how long she’d been there until Billie drove up and walked in the front door unannounced. Handel and Adam had returned to the winery to aid the police in their questioning of the crew. But she sat alone waiting for a call that never came.
“Margaret, you’ve been sitting here in the dark for at least an hour. It’s not doing anybody any good, especially Davy.” Billie pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “The police will find him. You need to stay busy until they do. Handel said to forward the home number to your cell. That way you can come with me and you won’t miss a call.”
“All I can think about is how scared he must be. He’s only nine.” She shifted her eyes to Billie. “You know what that’s like…being a small child in the clutches of a monster.”
“You can’t think like that,” Billie said, her voice soft but firm. “Sean Parker is a monster, but he’s also Davy’s grandfather. I think in his twisted mind he actually cares about him. I don’t believe he intends to hurt him.”
She expelled a harsh sound, somewhere between laughter and tears, and shook her head. “No, he doesn’t intend to hurt him, just drug and kidnap him, use him for extortion.”
“Margaret.” Billie leaned close and clasped Margaret’s hand, forcing her to look up. “I know what it’s like to be the victim and I know what it’s like to wait for justice and closure. The only thing that kept me sane was staying busy.”
Billie knew something about staying busy in a horrible situation. She’d dealt with so much and managed to come out the other side whole with just a few scars. Margaret knew Billie didn’t like to talk about the past, to dwell on what she’d gone through, but she was a survivor and knew what she spoke of. So she got up, changed the phone, and followed her outside.
Billie dropped her off in the yard to supervise the crush and finally, in the business of working with the grapes, she found temporary solace. The pungently ripe smell of fruit mingled with the musky odor of Leo’s sweat as he pushed the grapes into the de-stemmer with a long-handled fork. She lifted a cluster before it was pushed in. The skins were soft and not too dry—she bit one in half—the seeds nice and brown. They had picked at just the right time. Mario and Ernesto knew wine grapes even better than Jack Fredrickson or Charlie Simpson had. They were terrific vineyard managers. This crop would probably yield some of the best wine Fredrickson’s had ever produced. Ironic really. On the worst day of her life, the best crop ever came in.
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes surreptitiously. Everyone was waiting for her to fall apart. But she wouldn’t. Davy needed her to stay strong. He was proud that she was Fredrickson’s new chief winemaker and she wouldn’t let him down.
“Miss Parker.” Mario stood at her elbow. He’d tied his yellow bandana around his neck now and wore a red baseball cap on his head. He pulled it off when she turned around.
“Yes?”
“Gracias. You find Pablo. My seester’s son.” He couldn’t meet her eye but kept looking down at the ground as though ashamed that his nephew was found and her son still missing.
“I’m so sorry he got caught up in this. My father…Sean Parker is a monster.” She couldn’t go on. She drew a shaky breath. “I’m truly sorry. Take him home to his mother so she can hug him tight.”
He nodded, but still hesitated. He had something more to say. “No se preocupe. El hombre malo va a pagar,” he said. He slapped the cap back on his head and hurried to his pickup where Pablo sat inside waiting, his head leaning against the door, already fast asleep.
Margaret stared after him, her eyes narrowed against the noon sun. She had no idea what he said. Something about a bad man. Maybe. She watched him drive away and hoped Pablo didn’t incur nightmares from his experience.
Leo climbed down from the machine with the fork in the crook of his arm. “That was weird,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“What?”
“Mario.” He inclined his head in the direction the pickup had disappeared. “He told you not to worry cause the evil man would pay.”
“The evil man?”
“That’s what he said. My grandfather speaks Spanish at home all the time. Believe me, I’ve heard the word evil more than once. He hates my music, my books, my girlfriends. To him everything’s evil if it wasn’t born or invented before 1950.”
She and Leo had gone to the same schools, growing up. He dropped out about the same time she got pregnant, causing a lot of innuendo and gossip at the time. Leo had always been a player, but he had a soft heart and she could tell he was trying to lighten up the situation.
She smiled. “Thanks. I needed a laugh.”
He shrugged. “No problemo.”
Adam was bearing the next bin of grapes their way on his forklift. She pointed up to the top of the sorter. “Back to work, Leo.”
*****
“Where’s my money?”
The gravelly voice set Agosto’s teeth on edge. This man was a pox on society. He tried to hide his disgust. “You’ve managed to stir up the media. I thought we agreed to keep this off their radar.”
Sean Parker laughed into the phone. “A secret kidnapping? There were a dozen people around and he happened to be hanging out with some other kid. Unless you wanted to turn it into murder, I couldn’t very well keep it secret.”
Agosto rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the man’s statement. Since when did murder make things less worthy of media attention? He stared at the muted flatscreen on the wall of his hotel room. A picture of Davy and a prison photo of Sean Parker
had been flashed on the screen at least forty times since he’d turned it on this morning. Parker would probably have a swat team on him before the end of the day. And Agosto couldn’t afford to be in the country when it happened.
“Where is he?” He flicked off the television with the remote and strode to the window to look out at the city below. It wasn’t nearly as calming as the view he’d had in San Francisco. And his nerves were already frayed from speaking with this imbecile. “We had an agreement. You wouldn’t hurt him, just drug him so he doesn’t remember anything.”
“Did we?” The old man coughed, the phlemy wheezing sounded like he was on his deathbed. “I remember money being mentioned and I haven’t received any. My grandson means a lot to me. A lot.”
Agosto took a calming breath and released it. “You’ll get your money when I get my son, but now I have to act the part of a distraught father. The whole production could take days. I wanted to be out of the country by tomorrow. I don’t see that happening.”
“Sorry. Sometimes kidnappings don’t stick to the scrip.”
Anger welled in him, but he kept his voice soft. “Take the boy to the place we agreed upon. I have someone to care for him. He will give you the money and you will disappear.” He paused. “Mexico would be a good lifestyle for you. A nice hot, dry climate for your failing health, and lots of other kidnappers to sit around and swap stories with.”
“I don’t know what Maggie ever saw in you Salvatore, but you make me laugh,” he said, dryly. “Don’t cross me though, or you’ll be laughing out the other side of your face.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Adam spotted the blue convertible rolling up the gravel drive and cursed under his breath. Just what Margaret needed. He scanned the parking lot and saw that Handel’s Porsche was still parked in the shade of the spreading oaks. He hurried inside the winery to look for him.
Sally sat at her desk, speaking to someone on the telephone. She lifted her gaze and covered the mouthpiece. “What?”
“Where’s Handel?” he asked, obviously transmitting his need for speed, because she jerked her head in the direction of Billie’s office. “He’s with Billie.”
“Thanks.”
He strode down the hallway and didn’t bother to knock, but thrust open the door to his sister’s office. Handel sat on the edge of Billie’s desk and she stood beside him with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. She pulled quickly away when Adam entered.
“Sorry,” Adam said, “Handel, we’ve got a situation.”
Handel’s gaze narrowed and he stood up. “What is it? Is Margaret…”
“She’s fine right now, but maybe not for long. I think you better come. That Salvatore guy just showed up.”
“Damn!” Handel was out the front door before Adam and Billie. He strode down the walk and met Salvatore head on, his voice raised. “What are you doing here? You’re not welcome!”
Salvatore stopped and looked at him as though he’d asked what color grass was. “I came as soon as I heard. What did you expect? My son has been kidnapped.”
“He’s your son when the situation calls for one. Carl told me how your father is pressuring you for an heir. It must be quite inconvenient to suddenly become a father when you’ve been living this terrific playboy lifestyle.”
“How is Margaret doing?” Salvatore asked tightly, ignoring Handel’s diatribe.
Adam glanced toward the yard where he’d just left Margaret going through a final inspection before sending a batch of grapes through the press. The Italian followed his gaze.
“I guess I’ll ask her myself,” he said and headed that way.
Handel grabbed his arm. “You’re not going anywhere. This is private property.”
“Handel! Stop it!” Billie stepped up and put her hand on his arm. “Let him go. He’s Davy’s father. He has a right to know what’s going on.”
“Stay out of this! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His words cut Billie to the quick. She dropped her hand and stepped away. “Adam, go get Margaret,” she said. When he hesitated she turned and locked eyes with him. “Get Margaret now. Neither one of you are helping by shielding her from reality. She needs to know what’s going on. She’s Davy’s mother and he is Davy’s father.” She glared at each of them in turn. “Not you. And not you. Whether you like it or not.”
Adam didn’t have to fetch Margaret. She’d apparently heard the commotion and was already headed in their direction. A blue scarf held her hair away from her face and made her eyes appear large and luminous. Her mouth was set in a thin line, hiding the emotion fighting to get out.
Handel released his grip on Salvatore’s arm and stepped back.
“Agosto,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. You should have heard this from me.”
He took her hand and held it briefly, his thumb caressing her skin. “It’s quite all right. I understand. I imagine the police have kept you busy with questions.”
“Yes, there have been a lot of questions and very few answers. My father…” she broke off and wiped at her eyes with the pads of her fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“I can only imagine. I wish I would have known sooner, so I could be here for you,” he said, his voice dropping to an intimate, husky whisper. “Is there something I could do now?”
Adam wanted to toss him back in his fancy car and send him over a cliff but Margaret had a different idea. She took him to her office and closed the door. When they emerged thirty minutes later, her eyes were red from crying. She walked the man back out to his car, ignoring their hallway hovering and curious stares. Salvatore hugged her intimately, then got in his car and drove away. It was more than Adam could take. He strode down the hall, took the stairs two at a time to the cellar and waited to cool off.
*****
The sun had long set and almost everyone had already gone home to get a few hours of sleep before they would rise to do it all again. The machines sat motionless, sleeping hulks of metal fading into the shadows of the yard. A neighbor’s dog barked in the distance and then grew quiet as night settled down like an antsy child.
Margaret walked in the vineyard, down one row and up another, searching, hoping, enduring. The flashlight she carried lit up one side and then the other as she swung it back and forth in a rhythmic motion over the ground. Her eyes burned with strain, but she kept going, not knowing what else to do, unable to rest with Davy still missing. Maybe she could find something, a clue dropped by her bright son.
She heard a car start and glanced back toward the winery. Headlights cut a quick path toward her and then away as someone turned around and headed home. Probably Sally. She’d remained inside manning the phone in case word came about Davy. Even after Billie told her to go home, she stayed, adamant that they needed her.
“Margaret!” Handel called. “Wait up!”
She paused long enough for him to catch up—he was panting with the effort—then continued on. He matched her pace, not saying a word, and walked quickly along beside her as though they actually had somewhere to go.
“What are you doing?” he finally asked. “The police already had the dogs cover this whole area. You’re not going to find anything. You should go home and get some rest.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said, swinging the light back to the left when she caught the glint of something shiny. She bent down closer. A foil gum wrapper. She straightened and continued on.
“Margaret,” he pleaded, his hand on her arm, tugging for her to stop. “Please, don’t do this.
“Do what? Search for Davy? I don’t see anyone else doing it!” She jerked her arm away and glared at him in the dark.
“There’s nothing anyone can do right now. We just have to wait.”
“That’s why I’m doing this,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to wait.”
He fell into step with her again as she moved on. The cluster of old olive trees was jus
t ahead, marking the end of the field. She flashed her light up into the branches for a second and then back at the ground, turning down the next row.
“Wait,” Handel said, touching her arm.
“What?”
“The trees.”
“So?” Even as she said the word a tiny spark of comprehension tore up her spine. She turned and pointed the light at the grove. “What’s in the trees, Handel?” She should have known he’d understand the hidden meaning behind their father’s message. His face had been too blank, his reaction too bland.
He took the flashlight from her hand and walked toward them until he stood right below the largest tree. Weathered and twisted by time and age, it stood sentinel over the vineyard. He shined the light up at the thickest branch and held it there. “See that?”
“I don’t see anything.” She cocked her head over his shoulder, gazing up into the dark branches, seeing only the face of the moon peeking through small crinkled leaves. “What am I looking for?”
“A birdhouse. The only thing he ever made with me. He was always in that woodworking shed of his, drinking, and doing God knows what else. I guess in spite of the way he treated me I wanted to please him. So I begged him to show me how to use the tools and make something. I built that little birdhouse. It wasn’t much. He said I stunk at carpentry and should find another vocation.” He dropped his arm to his side, and flicked the light off.
“Why did you put it clear out here?” she asked. A birdhouse was hung or placed where people could enjoy the activity, watch wild birds flit about looking for food and raising families.
“Because I was angry. He made fun of my work, so I told him I was going to smash it and throw it away. But I couldn’t. Instead, I brought it out here and nailed it in this tree. A small refuge he couldn’t take away. Or so I thought.” He sighed. “I used to come here at night when everyone was asleep. This was my hiding place. I wrote letters and mailed them in the birdhouse.”
Crushed (The Fredrickson Winery Novels) Page 13