“I’m glad you came. Mom would be proud.”
“I’d rather she never found out.”
“That might be wishful thinking,” he said, his tone grim. “Remember the news vans? A kidnapping and murder all at a California winery? No doubt it’s going national.”
She groaned.
“How’s Margaret doing?” he asked, following her out of the police station.
“She’s dealing with the fact that finding out Agosto was dead instead of Davy was the happiest moment of her life.” She opened the car door and looked at him across the hood. “That’s a lot to digest. Relief—even joy—is a natural human reaction when something like this happens, but then guilt sets in. She’ll be struggling with lots of conflicting feelings for a long time.”
He nodded, knowing she spoke from experience. “And we haven’t even found Davy yet.”
“No, but Handel is working on it.”
They drove back to the winery mostly in silence. The police had insisted the news vans leave the premises, so when they turned down the drive the parking area was eerily empty, except for Handel’s, Margaret’s and Sally’s cars.
Margaret’s promise to give Jane Goodall an exclusive interview had been postponed due to circumstances and everyone was relieved about that—including Jane Goodall who seemed on the verge of tears after Salvatore’s body was discovered. She’d apparently gotten more than she bargained for in that relationship.
Margaret and Handel were in the front office with Sally when they arrived. Adam hesitated outside the door, afraid Margaret might have some of the same doubts the police had about why he did what he did. She broke off mid-sentence from speaking with Sally and flew to the door to embrace him.
“Are you all right? I was so worried that the police were going to arrest you. They had no business taking you downtown like you were a common criminal.”
He pressed his forehead to hers and smiled. “That’s right. If I were a criminal I would certainly not be common.”
“Exactly.”
“If you two are done playing kissy face,” Sally said, moving toward the doorway with her purse in hand. “I have to leave. The police don’t want any random people around to accidentally get shot or something. That means me.” She stopped and looked around at them all, her eyes suspiciously moist. “See you tomorrow.”
When Sally was gone, Handel picked up the packet of Polaroid pictures that Billie had retrieved from her office safe earlier and the thick ten thousand dollar bundle of cash he’d withdrawn from the bank. “As soon as it’s dark, I’m going to take these to the shed and leave them on the work bench in plain sight. The police will be staking out the building from a good distance so as not to alert him when he comes to pick up the money and photos,” he said. “We’re supposed to stay inside out of the way. But I’m not going to let something happen to Davy because they drop the ball again.” He opened his jacket and pulled out a small handgun. “When it comes to my father, the only thing he understands is force.”
“Where did you get that?” Margaret asked, shocked. “I thought we only had the one gun and he took it.”
“I’ve had a conceal/carry license for a few years. For protection. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. I keep it at the office mostly. Some of the people I deal with make threats now and then.”
“What are you saying, Handel?” Billie asked. “You know better than anyone that taking the law into your own hands is a mistake. We have to have faith that evil will be repaid, that justice will be dispensed. We can’t do it ourselves.”
“I can’t believe you’re the one saying that. After what he did to you…”
“You can’t make what happened to me null and void by doing something that will only bring more pain. I love you,” she said, and from the look on his face it was the first time she’d said it out loud.
Margaret pulled Adam out the doorway. “Let’s take a walk.”
The evening settled in, deepening patches of shadow under the trees and along the buildings. The last rays of sunlight, dingy pink, melted into the horizon. Adam twined his fingers with Margaret’s and they moved toward the vineyard. A squirrel scampered across fallen leaves and disappeared up the trunk of an oak with a swish of tail.
“Billie’s changed a lot since she’s been here,” he said, plucking a red leaf from the vines beside him. He twirled it by the stem. “For the better. She’s a lot more open. I think Handel is really good for her. I had my doubts a few days ago, but she actually said the words—in front of us, no less.” He laughed, a slow chuckle that built to a snort. “She probably hates that she did that. But I’m glad. It shows she’s human. When I was a kid, sometimes I wondered.”
“She couldn’t have been that bad.”
“No. She was a good sister. Just a little bottled up. Her and my mother have had a strained relationship over the years, but I think its getting better. I hope so, cause I got a voice mail from Mom that said she was flying out here in the morning.”
“You didn’t tell Billie, did you?”
He took a deep breath and released it. “Nope.”
“You are in trouble.”
“Yep.”
They walked a little ways farther and then he stopped and pulled her into his arms. “It’s going to be all right, Meg. You’ll see Davy tonight.”
She wrapped her arms around him and clung, silent as the moon.
*****
When they returned, Billie was sitting at the desk, the pictures of the girls spread out before her like Taro cards. Handel silently watched from his chair across the desk. Margaret and Adam hovered in the doorway, unsure about what was going on.
Billie looked up and smiled sheepishly. “Just in case we don’t get them back,” she said, as though she’d been memorizing their faces. She tapped each one in turn. “This is Sarah—gone now. Lori.” She picked it up, looking closely at the face of the girl in the faded Polaroid. “I haven’t been able to find out anything about her…” She set that one down and touched the next, “or Tina. Except I think Tina’s mother worked here at one time. Ernesto remembered a girl who came with her mother, but I don’t know what year that was. He’s worked here since Jack bought the winery. ” She moved to the next. “Cindy lives in Los Angeles with a boyfriend. From what she shared over the telephone, it sounded like an abusive relationship. Angie is a nurse in Seattle. She’s married with three kids. She was very happy when I told her last year that our abuser was in prison, but she said she’d moved on and didn’t want to come forward at the time. Who knows what she’d say now.” The last photo she looked at for a second without saying anything.
She slowly gathered them back into a pile and slid them into the envelope, set it atop the bundle of money and pushed it toward Handel. “We’re ready.”
Handel picked up a two-way and spoke into it. “I’m delivering the package now.”
An answer came back, “Ten four.”
“The police didn’t wire you?” Adam asked.
“I asked them not to. If I do run into my father out there he’s paranoid enough to search me. I don’t want him to have an excuse to back out on his promise. He may be an evil man but he usually stands by his word. I’m praying this time it’ll hold true.” He picked up the bundles and kissed Billie. The gun lay deserted on the corner of the desk. “Be right back.”
“Be careful, Handel,” Margaret said, her throat tight.
He smiled and turned to go.
Adam followed and watched from the front door. Handel walked swiftly across the parking area and disappeared into the shrubbery and trees that surrounded the equipment and woodworking sheds. Soon a light flicked on in the shed and then moments later went out again. So far so good.
Handel was back in the winery within minutes. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “The ball is in his court. I hope he’s watching. Now all we can do is wait.”
The radio crackled every fifteen minutes. No sign of him.
Margar
et paced from the office, down the hall, into the tasting room and back again. On her third circuitous route, Adam joined her and stopped to peruse the black and white photographs lining the far wall. He hadn’t taken any notice of them before, but he was obviously trying to distract her for a few moments.
“Is this Davy?” he asked, although the picture was old. He bent close to the glass to block the glare of the overhead lights. His look of chagrin told her that he probably just realized it wasn’t the best way to distract her from worry about Davy.
“No, that’s my father when he was a little boy.” Margaret pointed at the farmer behind him, a droopy felt hat covering half his face. “And that’s my grandfather. I never met him. He died long before I was born. Lung cancer.”
He moved on to the next picture. A Mexican family with five children stood under a sign over the winery that read, Wines of Sanchez. “I know this probably sounds prejudice, like I think Mexicans all look alike or something, but have you noticed how this man looks a lot like Mario?”
Margaret was still intent on her father’s photograph. “What do you think happens to someone to turn him from a sweet, innocent child into a monster?” she asked, looking up into his face.
“I don’t know.”
She slowly turned her gaze to the other picture, feeling as though she was coming out of a daze. “What did you say about Mario?”
“I know he’s too young to be the elder Mr. Sanchez in this picture, but he looks enough like him to be his twin. You think he’s related? Like maybe one of his kids. This boy would probably be about Mario’s age now.”
She bent close. “Is that a scar on his forehead?”
“Looks like a scar.”
“Mario has a scar on his forehead. He usually keeps it covered with a bandana or his hat. That is a weird coincidence.” She moved away from the wall, but glanced back, a little frown between her brows. “Really weird.”
“So, you don’t think I’m being prejudice?” He grinned.
“No, but I think you’re a sweet guy for trying to take my mind off things.”
“I can live with that.”
When they returned to the office, Billie and Handel still sat silently, lost in their own thoughts. The big clock on the wall ticked loudly in the small room, reminding everyone that two hours had passed since the drop off and the police had no sighting of Sean Parker picking up the package.
Margaret dropped into the metal folding chair and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. “I can’t take much more,” she said.
“Want anything from the snack machine?” Adam asked from the doorway.
No one responded, so he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
Margaret’s cell phone started playing the tune to I’m a Believer, and she jumped. She fumbled in her sweatshirt pocket and pulled it out, flipped it open. “Yes?”
“Hello, Maggie.”
“Dad?” She didn’t want to call him that, but what else could she call him? He was holding her son hostage and offending him was the last thing she wanted to do. She said, in desperation, “Where’s Davy? Is he all right? Please, you have to give him back.”
“That’s why I called. I decided I can’t hurt my baby girl anymore. I’ve been a selfish bastard up to now. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I want to turn over a new leaf.” He stopped to cough and then drew a raspy breath before he continued. “Davy’s just fine. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. He’s my grandson.”
“Then where is he, Dad? Please tell me.” Her hand shook as she held the phone close to her ear. She glanced at the others in the room and nodded, her eyes wide. “Handel left the pictures and money in the woodworking building. Please—take them! Just bring Davy home.”
There was a lengthy pause, and she thought she heard the sound of a door closing and the crunch of gravel.
“Well that’s just it, Maggie. I decided I’m not taking those things. After what happened with Salvatore, the cops are gonna be on me like lice on a chicken. Can’t afford to come back for that little bit of money. Besides, Salvatore already paid me enough to live on for awhile.”
“What do you mean, come back? You left and took Davy with you?” She tried to tone down her voice but she was on the verge of screaming.
“Settle down now, Maggie. Davy is right where I left him. In your tool shed by the Parker vineyard. He’s fine—just a little tipsy from your homemade wine. I had to give him that to keep him quiet, cause Salvatore gave me horse pills to give my grandson. That’s why I shot him. He didn’t tell me about the side effects. Davy could’ve choked to death if I hadn’t found him in time. That man deserved to die. What kind of a father would ask a kidnapper to give his own son horse tranquilizers?”
She covered the phone with her hand and whispered. “Tell the police Davy’s in my tool shed, Handel. Dad left him there and skipped town.” She put the phone back to her ear. He was still talking about Salvatore.
“…can see why you hated him. I did you a favor, Maggie. I guess you owe me one.”
She started to argue but the line went dead.
“He’s gone,” she said, and flipped the phone closed.
Handel was already out the door, radio in hand. She could hear him relaying the information to the police and their crackling response. Everyone was converging on the Parker shed.
She ran out after him, Adam and Billie following close on her heels. Handel’s car was too small for all of them, so they piled into Margaret’s. Handel drove, whipping around in the gravel like a teenager on a joyride. She hoped and prayed that it would be exactly that.
The house, yard, and shed were awash with the glare of headlights when they arrived. Undercover cops swarmed over the area, a team of synchronized killers, surrounding the shed, fully armed. Margaret saw one man go in and then another. Others stood outside the door, guns drawn.
The first officer finally emerged through the door of the shed, Davy’s small body in his arms. He smiled broadly, blinking against the lights in his eyes, and strode forward. Margaret ran to meet him, tears coursing down her cheeks. She lifted Davy’s arm, hanging limply, and squeezed his fingers, pressing them to her lips. He giggled, and opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, but his silly smile made her laugh along.
Handel stepped forward and took him from the officer. “We should get him in the house.”
“I’m sure someone’s already called for an ambulance. It’s best if he gets checked out by a doctor. You don’t know what he’s been given.”
Margaret ran a finger along her son’s cheek and kissed his forehead. “He’s been given homemade Wine,” she said, with a shake of her head. “Not fatal, but he’s definitely tipsy.”
Handel carried him in and laid him on the couch. Margaret covered him with the quilt and sat on the floor beside him, her arm protectively over his chest. He turned his head to look at her, their eyes on the same level, and then they slowly drooped closed and he began to snore.
Margaret looked up to see Handel still hovering nearby. Billie and Adam stood in the kitchen speaking with two policemen. She closed her eyes and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
*****
Handel drove Billie and Adam back to the winery once everything settled down. Davy had been checked out by the EMT, and the police had taped off the shed as a crime scene and finally dispersed. The highway was a dark stretch of inky black in the light of the Toyota’s headlights. No other cars in sight. He turned onto the long gravel drive and glanced at Billie in the seat beside him.
“Margaret wouldn’t leave him alone in his room tonight,” he said, his voice soft. “She was curled up on the bed beside him.”
“I don’t blame her.” Billie reached out and ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck in a gentle caress. “It’ll take some time to get past this.”
He nodded.
Adam watched from the backseat, saying nothing. He didn’t want to break the mood of joyful relief. Everything had turn
ed out well in the end, thank God, other than putting Sean Parker back behind bars where he belonged, but hopefully the police would remedy that soon.
Handel parked under the oaks and they all got out and walked down to the woodworking shed to retrieve the money and pictures. The door was open, hinges creaking as it moved ever so slightly in the breeze. “What the…” Handel muttered and flipped the light switch. The room came to life with bright overhead florescent bulbs. The smell of freshly cut pine pervaded the room along with a hint of cigarette smoke.
A table saw and a circular saw built into their own cutting tables, took up much of the open floor space. One long wall held wood working tools of every description. Adam spotted handsaws, levels, planes, awls, a shaver, and things he didn’t recognize. The floor was covered in a fine powder of sawdust and curling wood shavings.
On the worktable sat a small pine birdhouse.
Handel shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he said, his eyes wide with wonder. “The bastard tricked us. Somehow he knew the exact moment I left the package. And he knew everyone would desert the stakeout as soon as he called and told Margaret where Davy was. He made us believe he’d already left town, when he was right outside our door waiting.” He met Billie’s eyes across the room, his own guilt ridden. “I’m sorry. He took the pictures.”
Adam looked up at the ceiling and around the door and windowsill. He felt along the edges of the tables with his fingers, feeling for something that didn’t belong.
“What are you looking for?” Billie asked, coming up behind him where he crouched to look under the bottom of the cutting table. “He took the pictures and the money. It’s over.”
He found the object, yanked it off the wood where it had been taped in place and lifted it up for inspection. “How did he know when we left and how long we’d be gone? Because he was watching.”
Handel reached out to take it from him. The camera was about the size of his thumb. He turned it over in his hand. “How did you know?”
Crushed (The Fredrickson Winery Novels Book 2) Page 18