Crushed (The Fredrickson Winery Novels)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  “Who did you write them to?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. To God I guess. Spilled my guts on paper. Of course, he never wrote me back. But just putting the words down, acknowledging the way I felt—my anger, confusion—was a form of therapy. I managed to survive until he disappeared.”

  “So you never told anyone about this?” she asked, wondering why he was sharing it now. What did this boyhood refuge have to do with Davy’s disappearance?

  He didn’t answer, busy testing the strength of a low hung branch. He dropped the flashlight, grabbed hold of the branch and swung himself up. Squatting low to avoid hitting his head, he braced his hand against the trunk and looked down. “I’ll be right back,” he said and started climbing upward.

  It wasn’t much of a climb for a grown man, but it did take him a few moments to maneuver between the tight branches, twisted with age. She watched him lose footing once and slide, nearly falling, but he caught hold of another branch in time. She bent down and picked up the flashlight he’d dropped in the process.

  “You need some light?” she asked.

  He must have reached the birdhouse. He was tugging on something. She pointed the light upward and caught his face in the beam for a second. His jaw was set with determination. “Not in my eyes!”

  “Sorry.” She moved the beam to the left and spotlighted the little wooden contraption he was yanking on. “Maybe you should just leave it there and take whatever’s in it,” she suggested. “It’s been a long time. The tree has probably grown around it.”

  “I think you’re right.” He reached inside and pulled something out, stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it. He put his hand in again and felt around, but came up empty-handed this time. “That’s strange.”

  He climbed back down and dropped to the ground. “My letters are gone. Not that they’d be in terrific shape, out in the weather for years, but I expected to find something left of them.” He pulled from his pocket the one piece of paper he’d found and spread it open against the trunk of the tree.

  Margaret peered over his shoulder, pointing the flashlight beam so they could both read it clearly. Printed in dark block letters on a piece of motel stationary, it read:

  How does it feel to be the cause of so much pain? To know that you could have stopped all this if you’d just given me what I asked for? You’re hurting your sister. You know that. You always wanted to cut corners and skip steps. Davy can come home when you follow directions and bring the items I requested. I’ll be waiting. Don’t let me down.

  Your father, SP

  Handel started to crumple it into a ball and then thought better of it. He smoothed it out and folded it carefully into fourths. “I’m sorry,” he said, sticking it back in his pocket. “I should have given him the money. Maybe he would have gone away and left us alone.”

  “What are you talking about? He showed up the other night when you were with Billie. I didn’t even tell you.”

  “He called me at the office. Demanded his share. Said that he heard about my engagement and knew I’d be coming into some money.” He shook his head. “As if my marriage to Billie was about taking back the winery or something.”

  She flicked off the light and gazed up. The full moon was the color of butter tonight, a creamy orb against the night sky. Stars appeared one by one as her eyes adjusted. “Is it?” she asked, hating herself for the question, but needing to ask it. He’d always taken care of her and Davy. He knew she loved the winery and that she’d been extremely disappointed when Jack died and left it to Billie. The engagement seemed so sudden, without a hint of his intentions. Sure they’d been dating but…

  “How can you even ask that? Did your relationship with Salvatore really scar you that much?” He took a step away, turned his back on her, and stared off into the vineyard for a moment.

  “I’m sorry. It was a stupid question.”

  He slowly turned back around, hands pushed in his jeans pockets. “I love Billie. I intend to spend the rest of my life with her. That’s what marriage is about. That’s what this marriage is about. I don’t care that she owns the winery, or even if she lost it tomorrow.” He paused. “Sean Parker may have supplied half of our DNA, Margaret, but he’s not our father. He is a crazy man with twisted perceptions. Don’t buy into them.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said, but was relieved by his answer.

  “Can we go home now? I can’t leave you out here alone.”

  His cell phone rang before she could ask what other item besides money had their father requested.

  “This is Handel Parker,” he said, in his take-charge lawyer voice. “What? Where would he get something like that?”

  “Who is it?” she asked, moving closer. “Is it the police? Did they find Davy?”

  His expression changed from concern to anger, his mouth pulled tight at the corners. “I understand. No, I have no idea. Certainly. Thank you.” He slipped the phone back in his pocket.

  “Well?” She stared at his shadowed features, trying to read his thoughts. He rubbed a hand over his face and released a heavy sigh.

  “The tablet was Ketamine.”

  She pressed her hands to her chest as though to protect her heart. “Tell me what that is.”

  “It’s a powerful anesthetic used in horse surgery.”

  “What?” She barely breathed the word.

  “Horse tranquilizer.”

  She closed her eyes and knew such intense self-recrimination that the pain was physical. Her stomach knotted and she bent over with a sob. Handel tried to pull her into his arms but she dropped to her knees in the dirt and screamed. There were no words, only wailing that bordered on hysteria. The wails continued and she couldn’t seem to stop. Full-blown hysteria. The neighbor’s dog began to bark, an empathetic howling.

  Handel grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Stop it, Margaret! This is not helping Davy! Get hold of yourself!”

  “You knew! You knew all along he couldn’t be trusted. But I felt guilty for not calling him when Davy went missing. I took him into my office and comforted him.” She spit out the word, bitter on her tongue. “He said he prayed God would give him another chance to be a real father.”

  Handel bent down and lifted her by the elbows. This time she allowed him to pull her into the strength of his arms. When her sobs quieted, he pulled back. “Are you all right, now?” he asked.

  She nodded, and wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt. She’d never be all right until they found Davy, but it wasn’t what he meant.

  “The police already questioned him. He has a rock-solid alibi for his whereabouts at the time of Davy’s disappearance.”

  “Of course he does. He would never get his own hands dirty. But we both know he’s involved.”

  “Probably. It’s too big of a coincidence for a horse tranquilizer to be the drug of choice. Although, the police did say that teens in rural areas have been found using it.”

  “They’re not accusing the boys of taking it themselves?”

  “No, they just asked if we knew of neighbors with horses. Somewhere the drug could have been stolen from.”

  “Did the police tell you what this drug does?” she asked, fearful of the answer but needing to know.

  He nodded. “It produces euphoria and an inability to concentrate. Probably why they gave it to him. He wouldn’t remember where he went or what happened and he wouldn’t cause any trouble along the way.”

  “What aren’t you telling me? I’ve seen drug commercials. Every drug has side-effects far worse than the problems they fix.”

  He hesitated. “It could possibly include numbness, vomiting or unconsciousness.”

  “Which means he could choke to death if no one is watching him,” she said, panic gripping her insides again.

  “Don’t borrow trouble, Margaret. We have more than enough without worrying about what ifs.”

  *****

  Adam waited in the dark, leaning against an old piece of mac
hinery. He watched the flashlight beam move through the vineyard, go off for a time, and then come back on pointing in his direction, like a giant firefly wandering aimlessly. The beam bobbed unsteadily and then went dark when Margaret screamed. The sound was gut-wrenching and he stood rooted to the spot, fearing the worst. He wanted to run into the vineyard, to be her shield against the pain, but Handel’s voice carried across the field, “stop it Margaret!” and soon she quieted.

  Billie had locked up the winery and retired to the house, still angry with Handel and him for the scene with Salvatore earlier. But she didn’t know Salvatore, hadn’t met him. She didn’t know what a piece of work he was, that he shouldn’t be trusted. Adam had a feeling the Italian playboy might have something to do with Margaret’s emotional breakdown in the field. He gripped the edge of the smooth metal behind him and waited, digging the heels of his tennis shoes into the dirt.

  Murmured voices reached his ears long before they left the field and crunched over the gravel drive toward Margaret’s car. He moved out of the shadows and caught up to them as Handel opened the driver’s side door and Margaret slid behind the wheel.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Handel asked, even as his eyes strayed toward Billie’s house.

  “That’s silly. You have your car here. I’ll be fine.” She pulled her seatbelt across and snapped it in place. “Besides,” she said, “you need to talk to Billie. I don’t know what you said to her, but she looked really hurt.”

  “I can go with her,” Adam said, moving around the car. “I’ll just walk back across the fields.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she said, turning the ignition. “I’m not a child.”

  Adam climbed in the car beside her, and smiled. “I’m not a child either.”

  “Good, you’re both consenting adults to ride in a car. Glad to hear it.” Handel closed the door and headed toward the house.

  “I hope she lets him in,” Adam said, glancing back. “Billie can be a tad stubborn.”

  “Must run in the family.”

  She was quiet until they pulled up outside her house. The garage was closed and she reached up to push the remote before she remembered that it was gone. She thrust the car door open and climbed out, her lips set into a thin angry line. “I hope they give him life for this,” she murmured, digging in her sweatshirt pocket for the key to the front door.

  Adam followed her up the steps and waited as she turned the key and released the deadbolt. He reached out and turned the knob and stood back for her to enter first. She hesitated as though afraid of what she’d find. He took her hand in his and they went in together.

  She flipped the light switch beside the door and an overhead chandelier illumined the hallway and staircase that led to the upper level rooms. The kitchen was as they’d left it that morning after finding the broken window. The gun case was still on the table, open and conspicuously empty.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, her eyes darting about the room as though searching for a clue to the events of the day. She obviously wasn’t interested in sleep or knew it would never come anyway. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of filters and a bag of ground coffee, then gave him a crooked smile. “I forgot,” she said. “You don’t really like coffee, do you?”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’ve never seen anyone nurse coffee so long without managing to taste it.”

  He shrugged. “I tasted it. I just prefer cocoa.”

  “You really are too young for me,” she teased, filling the coffee pot with water. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you drink any.”

  “Thanks.” He moved over to the broken slider. “You got a broom? I’ll clean up this glass for you.”

  She pointed at the small closet door behind him.

  He swept up the glass and put some duct tape over the hole in the window to keep the jagged edges from being a danger until it could be replaced. When he turned around she was sitting at the table with her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried silent tears.

  He poured a cup of coffee and brought it to her at the table. She raised her head and tried to smile. A tear dripped off the end of her nose and she wiped her face with the tissue wadded in her hand. “You don’t have to stay. Handel will be home later. You should go get some sleep. Billie will need you in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I think I held some kind of record at college for the most consecutive nights without sleep.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Why don’t you lay on the couch and relax, and I’ll play something for you.”

  She put her hand in his and he led her from the kitchen. The family room was more cluttered than usual and Margaret moved about picking up books and magazines and straightening pillows until Adam gently pushed her down on the couch, and swung her feet up before she could get back up.

  “You came in here to relax, remember? Just lay there and close your eyes and you won’t see the mess,” he said. He picked up his guitar and slipped the strap over his head.

  “But you will,” she argued weakly, with eyes closed, a hand thrown over her face.

  He breathed out a soft laugh. “I’m a guy. Messes are my life.”

  He began slowly strumming an old lullaby his mother taught him when he was a kid, soothing and mellow as a satin pillow, then moved on to something classical he’d learned in high school. He no longer remembered the name or the composer, but played from memory a version all his own. The composition always reminded him of water trickling over smooth stones in a mountain stream.

  Her jaw grew slack in sleep, her lips parted slightly, and she pressed into the back of the couch. He watched her; afraid to stop playing for fear she’d wake. His fingers continued moving over the strings, as though they had a mind of their own. He played every slow, love song he knew and even managed to turn Rod Stewart’s classic Hot Legs into a calming, slumber-inspired lullaby.

  Finally, his fingers grew tired. She didn’t wake when he stopped playing but curled tighter into the couch as though she were cold. He looked around the room and found a blanket folded over the top of the recliner. He carefully tucked it around her, feeling like he was in some chick flick and he was the rugged, romantic lead who falls for the beautiful, but tormented girl, who pretends to hate him, but is really head-over-heels.

  He settled into the recliner and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her. He could only hope she felt that way about him. Her breathing turned heavy and her eyelids twitched as though she were dreaming. She moaned softly and curled her hands under her chin. He hadn’t meant to come to California and fall for the first girl he met, but apparently he had. Now there was no going back.

  The hairs on the back of his neck tingled and he turned his head to find Handel standing silently in the doorway. The man’s shoulders sagged with the weight of responsibility. He stared at his sister, helplessness and fear deepening the lines in his face. Adam quietly stood up, revealing the fact that he was in the room, and Handel turned away, moving into the kitchen.

  He followed.

  Handel stood at the counter, his back to the room, pouring a cup of coffee. When he turned around he had regained his composure. He leaned against the counter and took a sip. “Thanks for bringing her home,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think she’d sleep. How’d you manage that?”

  He lifted his hands. “Magic fingers.”

  Handel quirked his eyebrow but didn’t ask. “Well, whatever you did, thanks.”

  “No problem.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Can I ask what happened out there? In the vineyard?”

  “Margaret didn’t tell you?” He set his cup down and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I didn’t ask her.”

  “Probably for the best. She didn’t take it well.”

  That was obviously an understatement. Adam remembered the sound Margaret made, more like a wounded animal than a woman. He waited.

&nbs
p; “The police called. Told us that the drug Davy was given was a horse tranquilizer.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. Agosto Salvatore owns racehorses. He came to America to race one of them. He has access to such drugs. My father would not. But together they make a formidable team.”

  Adam shook his head. “Are you sure?”

  Handel shrugged and picked up his cup. “I’m sure. Margaret’s sure. The police? Who knows what they believe. They questioned him and checked out his alibi, but are they staking out his hotel to make sure he doesn’t skip the country with my nephew? Doubtful.”

  “You know where he’s staying?” Adam asked, reaching for the keys on the counter. Margaret wouldn’t mind him borrowing her car for a few hours. Not for this.

  “Sure. The biggest hotel with the fanciest...” he trailed off. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I think someone should be watching him. Make sure he doesn’t run off in the middle of the night.”

  Handel reached in his pocket and pulled out a money clip. He extracted three one hundred dollar bills. “It would be a lot easier if that someone were a guest of the hotel. They would have access to the underground parking as well.”

  He took the money and slipped it in his wallet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Adam drove slowly through the parking garage, searching for the blue convertible. There were so many fancy sports cars, he wondered if there was a mid-life crisis convention in town. After winding around up to the fourth level, he finally found what he was searching for. Blue metallic paint sparkled alluringly as he turned the corner and the headlights of his car flashed over the Ferrari. Salvatore had one of the best spaces available, wide enough for a huge SUV and far from any of those annoying concrete posts. His car had buffer zones large enough to keep any fellow drivers from parking too close and dinging his doors. Obviously he’d tipped the hotel’s parking valet an exorbitant amount.

  He found the nearest open spot and maneuvered Margaret’s Toyota between the cement posts, hoping he could get back out without taking her side mirrors off. Another car drove past, tires squealing, not finding space, and continued to the next level. Very carefully, he opened his door and slid out between the tightly parked vehicles.