He shrugged. “A friend at college was a wannabe private investigator. He was always buying these tiny gadgets and spying on people. That looks like one he had—motion detection and a 72 degree angle view. Your dad just needed a laptop computer nearby and he could watch the show without anyone being the wiser.” He crossed his arms. “He was one step ahead of us the whole time. I’m sure he planted a camera in the shed where Davy was too. Maybe even in your house. His little game of breaking and entering probably involved more than just taking the gun and leaving Pablo.”
Handel handed the tiny camera back to Adam and approached the workbench. He lifted the newly built birdhouse, looked inside and underneath, felt the smooth wood with his fingertips. “He actually built this while half a mile away a dozen cops stormed our shed with enough commotion and light to wake the Napa Valley. Just to prove he’s better than me—without cutting corners or skipping steps—even under pressure.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Adam yawned and stretched, padding out of his room in bare feet. He cinched the string on his sweats and looked around for his running shoes. He couldn’t remember where he’d left them. He carried his socks to the kitchen. Maybe they were by the back door.
Billie was already up nibbling on toast and drinking coffee. He looked greedily at her second slice, but she moved the plate to the other side of the newspaper she was reading, out of his reach. “We made front page news,” she announced. She didn’t sound excited about it.
He found his shoes and sat down at the table to pull on his socks. “What’d you expect? Kidnapping and murder are still pretty newsworthy even in California. Jane Goodall and the five o’clock news will be up and running with her exclusive interview before you know it. She’s probably pulling Margaret out of bed as we speak.” “I hope not. Ernesto said they were going over to harvest her vineyard this morning. Knowing her, she’s out there helping even though I told her to take time off. She could use a few hours rest and relaxation after the past few days, spend a little quiet time with Davy, and then if she has to, come in later this afternoon to supervise the winemaking.”
He grinned, double knotting his shoes. “Dream on. She’s sort of one-track minded like yourself.” He got up and opened the back door. “Got to run. See you in thirty.”
He walked briskly along the back of the house, following the paver stones that wound past the rose bushes and around the side to the gravel drive. He hadn’t run enough since he’d been here and his body felt out of tune. He started at a slow jog, heading toward the highway, then broke into a run. The cool morning air felt good against his bare chest. A stray cat pounced on something in the tall grass of the ditch he passed. Further down the road, he heard tapping and looked up to see a woodpecker looking for bugs in the bark of an old olive tree, long black beak above a little tufted red head hammering away like a rock and roll drummer.
He turned after about two miles and started back. He would like to go further but Billie would need him back at the winery soon. There was much left to be done. He heard a car approaching from behind and moved onto the shoulder, barely staying out of the ditch. This was a dangerous road most days, pedestrians and bicyclers were warned to be alert. Wineries and driving didn’t mix well. But since the wineries were closed for harvest he hoped he was safe enough.
The car sped past, a little silver Ford Taurus. It slowed, brake lights coming on, and then pulled over to the side of the road. He watched the car as he approached, wondering if they were lost. When he neared, the window rolled down and a woman looked out at him, perfectly coifed brown hair framing his mother’s lovely frown.
“What are you doing out here half dressed, Adam?” She glanced up and down the road. “Get in this car before someone sees you.”
He sighed and hurried across the road. No matter how old he got, there was no arguing with Mom. He climbed into the car, still panting.
“Now don’t get any sweat on these cloth seats. This is a rental, you know.”
“Yes, Mother,” he said, as sweat dripped down his face and chest and soaked into the seat at his back.
“You are certainly ripe,” she commented, turning up her nose and putting the car into gear. She left the window open even though she hated her hair getting windblown and pulled back out on the road to drive the remaining distance. With her blinker on for the turn into Fredrickson’s she asked, “You did tell Billie I was coming, right?”
He prayed that Billie, still basking in the joy of finding Davy safe and sound, would forgive him for neglecting to pass on this small tidbit of news—Mother had come for a visit.
“With everything that’s been going on, I really haven’t had a chance,” he said, wishing he’d worn a shirt so he could wipe away the sweat dripping in his eyes.
She shook her head. “I heard all about it at the airport this morning. Saw that blonde woman on channel five report that Sean Parker released his grandson and disappeared into thin air.” She glanced his way, her lips pursed with concern. “How’s Billie doing? Knowing he’s out running loose has got to be very frustrating for her. Not to mention, frightening.”
“She’s managing,” he said.
She parked the car in front of the house and shut off the ignition. Adam glanced up at the front windows, wondering if Billie had spotted them yet. He opened the door and got out, looked down at the damp seat he left behind and hoped his mother wouldn’t notice. He quickly went around the car and opened her door, standing back as she gathered her purse.
She gestured toward the trunk. “Get my things, will you honey? I’ll surprise Billie. She is still home, isn’t she?” She glanced at her little diamond studded watch his father had given her decades ago. “I took the earliest flight available so I could be here for her.”
He popped the trunk and struggled to extract the giant suitcase she’d managed to cram into the small space. It weighed more than she did. He wondered how she ever got it to the airport and then into the trunk without suffering a hernia. “It is harvest, Mom. So, she may have gone to the winery already.”
She hurried up the front walk, knocked and rang the bell, patted at her hair, and tried to peek through the front window. He pulled the suitcase down the sidewalk, glad it had wheels, but thinking it should include a motor as well. “Just open it, Mom. It’s not locked.”
Her expression was aghast. “Not locked? After everything that’s happened—she doesn’t lock her doors?”
He sighed and followed her in, yanking the suitcase up over the steps and through the doorway. A loud crash reverberated from the kitchen, followed by loud muttering. Apparently Billie had spotted their guest. He closed the door behind him and locked it.
*****
Margaret hovered over Davy while he ate enough food to rival his uncle Handel’s appetite. She brushed her fingers lightly over his head every time she passed by his chair, needing that small physical contact to reinforce the fact that he was home and safe.
“I want to go see Pablo. Is he all right? Grandpa Sean didn’t hurt him, did he?” he asked, after finishing his second glass of orange juice. It was the first he’d mentioned his friend, and was a good sign that he was not devastated by the past few days, blocking out bad memories, but that the drug and alcohol had actually caused his time in confinement to seem short and not nearly as scary as it could have. He still didn’t know what happened to his father and Margaret thought it might be too soon to bring it up.
“I don’t know if Pablo has been back to the winery. We’ll have to call his parents and see if we can stop at their place for a visit soon. But today Ernesto and the crew is out harvesting the Parker vines and I think we should be involved in that, don’t you?”
Davy nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Your new wine blend will be the best ever!” he said with all the confidence of a nine-year-old connoisseur.
“Now you’re talking. Brush your teeth, Mr. Parker, so we can get going.”
He made a face. “Do I got to? I’m just going to dirty
’em up when I eat grapes out there anyway.”
“You better keep your mitts off my grapes, buddy. Those grapes are meant for wine making, not snacking.” She smacked the seat of his pants. “Go on.”
The phone rang. She set Davy’s dirty dishes in the sink and picked up.
“Miss Parker?”
“I’ll be out to help in a minute, Ernesto.”
“Okay, but I was just wondering if you’d heard from Mario since he took Pablo home the other day. I tried to call the number but he doesn’t answer.”
Margaret couldn’t remember seeing the man since then either. Funny that no one mentioned it before now. If anyone should be holding down the fort it would be the two vineyard managers. “Why don’t you call Billie. She might have another contact number in the employee files.”
Davy trudged back into the room, wearing the hat his father gave him with the Golden Gate Racetrack insignia. She cringed at the thought that only recently she’d believed him dead, buried in that bin of rotten fruit, his cap sticking up through the muck. She turned away, so he wouldn’t see the horror she felt at the thought. “Don’t you think you should wear an old cap, so you don’t get that one dirty?” she suggested.
He pulled it off and looked at it, his bottom lip caught between his front teeth. “I guess. I’ll get my Star Wars hat. Be right back!” He ran up the stairs to his room. When he returned, he was wearing a black cap, glow-in-the-dark sabers crossed on the front.
Margaret hugged him and he suffered through it once again, pretending he was too big to hug. “Aw, Mom.”
*****
Billie and Adam escaped to the winery while their mother freshened up from her travel. After that long flight, practically in the middle of the night, she said she needed to rest. Relieved at the respite, they hurried back to work.
Sally was already at her desk, her face beaming when Adam came in. “I knew everything would turn out. I’m so happy for Margaret. Davy is home safe and sound and now we can all get back to normal,” she said.
“If you don’t mind the fact that Sean Parker is still running loose,” Adam said, bending over the front of her desk. He ran his fingers along the edges and then bent down to look around the bottom.
“What are you doing? Looking for used gum?”
He raised his head and met her curious stare. “I’m looking for bugs.”
“Ick! We don’t allow bugs in the winery, and certainly not on my desk.”
“A different kind of bug. You know—the kind that listens to other people’s conversations? Sort of like you, only smaller and technologically advanced.”
“Holy Moly! Have you lost your mind? Why would someone bug the winery?” she got up and moved around her desk to watch him feeling along the legs of the chairs.
He flipped one chair and then the other, checking under the seats, then righted them again. He put his finger to his lips. “You never know who’s listening.”
Billie appeared in the doorway, frowning. “What are you doing on the floor?”
He looked up and grinned. “Cleaning house?”
She’d obviously overheard. “There are no bugs in the winery. The lock pad on the front door is changed every month and only Sally, Ernesto, Mario, and I have the combination. I haven’t even had time to give it to Margaret. Handel said they did find a camera in the Parker shed though and one taped under the table in Margaret’s cellar, so Sean would know when we found Pablo. The police didn’t find any bugs.”
He shrugged and stood up. “Can’t be too careful.”
Sally rolled her eyes and released an exaggerated sigh. She went back to the computer on her desk and started typing.
“Sally, do we have more than one phone number for Mario? Ernesto hasn’t been able to reach him with the one he has.”
“I’ll look.”
Adam stood over her shoulder and watched as she opened the employee files, clicking on Mario Nava. There was one cell phone number and his emergency contact person. She looked up. “Just his emergency contact number. Do you want that? It’s his sister. Carlita Ortiz.”
Billie bit her lip. “That must be Pablo’s mother. Send me an email with the number, would you? I’ll call them in a bit. I need to talk to Handel first.”
Adam followed her down the hall to her office. He could tell she was worried about something. “What’s up? You’re not still mad about Mom showing up? It’s not my fault,” he said, his defenses up.
“No. Nobody can control Mother’s flights of fancy.” She sat back behind the desk and picked up the phone. “Something has been nagging at the back of my mind. Handel told me that before they released Sean Parker on probation, he had two people vouch for him. I find it hard to believe that random citizens would vouch for a sex offender unless there was some ulterior motive. I want to know what their names are.”
“You think it’s someone you know?” He was truly surprised. He leaned over her desk, his palms flat on the surface.
She dialed the number and waited. “Handel? Did you ever find out the names of the people who went before Sean’s probation hearing? Yes. Could you? Thanks.” She held a hand over the mouthpiece. “He has a friend who works over there. He’s calling them on the other line.”
Adam slumped on his tailbone in the chair behind him and waited, hands clasped behind his head. His sister looked grim, tapping her pen against the desktop in an agitated manner. He wondered what Sean Parker’s probation hearing had to do with their missing vineyard manager. The night he’d followed Salvatore to the winery, she’d been adamant that none of her employees could possibly be involved in Davy’s kidnapping. He was sure she would have vouched for each and every one of them at the time—but now?
She tipped the phone back against her ear. “Yes. Juan and Carlita Ortiz. Did anyone happen to check them out? See if they were legal citizens?” She scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “I know. California’s policy is don’t ask, don’t tell. Well I’m asking for a reason. Carlita is Mario’s sister and he hasn’t been seen or heard from since he took Pablo home. Don’t you find that coincidence a bit disturbing, seeing as your father got away?” She paused and listened, then added, “Maybe he had help.”
When she hung up, Adam leaned forward, his chin in his hands. “What motive could Mario possibly have to help Parker? His file said you hired him a year ago. Long before Parker was released by the parole board.”
She looked down at the note and shook her head. “I don’t know. But I think his sister does.”
“What if she won’t talk to you?”
Her eyes widened and she smiled. “We have a secret weapon. Davy. I’m sure Pablo would want to see that his friend is safe and sound.” She picked up the phone again.
“Are you calling Carlita Ortiz?”
“No. I’m calling Margaret. She can set it up to appear like an innocent play date.”
“You’re pretty sneaky.”
She turned her swivel chair to face away from him. “Margaret?”
*****
“This is it.” Margaret squinted at the stenciled numbers on the beat up mailbox. It looked like someone had driven over it and then set it back up in the hole again. The post leaned West like a drunken cowboy.
Billie pulled the car over and parked at the curb. An old Chevy pickup was parked in the driveway of a small boxlike structure. The exterior of the little house was stucco, grey, and crumbling. The windows were square and unimaginative, the door painted candy apple red.
Davy released his seatbelt and leaned forward. “This is where Pablo lives? Cool,” he said, when a giant black Lab bounded out of the front door, followed closely by his friend and a woman who looked surprised and a little unsure when all three of them climbed from the car.
“Hello, Carlita,” Margaret greeted, holding out her hand to the woman. “I’m Margaret Parker. Thanks for letting us stop by. Davy was very worried about Pablo. He wanted to see for himself that he was all right.”
“Si.”
Da
vy was immediately knocked down by the wriggling black Labrador puppy. It licked his face and tried to crawl onto his lap, to the chagrin of Pablo, who tried to pull him away. But Davy’s laughter was contagious and soon Pablo was rolling on the grass with him, wrestling with the overly exuberant puppy.
Carlita glanced worriedly at the boys, but Margaret laughed and turned toward the house. “They’ll be fine. Davy loves animals. Could we go in and talk for a minute while they play?” she asked, her smile bright and carefree.
The woman hesitated, then gestured toward the front door. “Si.”
She motioned for them to sit on the small, flower-print sofa and went into the adjoining kitchen to make coffee. Soon she was back, and sat in a little rocker across from them. She smiled and clasped nervous hands in her lap. She was a short woman, even shorter than her brother. Her hair was streaked with threads of grey but she didn’t appear any older than forty.
Margaret was beginning to think the woman spoke no English when she suddenly blurted out, “Pablo’s a good boy. He’s sorry to cause so much trouble.”
“He didn’t cause any trouble. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m truly sorry he was caught up in this horrible situation.” Margaret smiled and leaned back on the sofa, her gaze straying to a photograph on the mantel above the television in the corner. She nudged Billie and gestured with a nod of her head. Billie’s eyes opened wide and she abruptly stood up and approached the mantel.
Carlita Ortiz stood up also and tried to direct her away from the photograph, but Billie had already picked it up. “This is the Sanchez family. They owned the winery before my uncle, Jack Fredrickson.” If eyes were swords, Carlita would have been pierced through. “Why do you have this picture?”
Carlita pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head back and forth as though to make the question go away. “I can’t speak with you anymore,” she said, waving toward the door.
Crushed (The Fredrickson Winery Novels Book 2) Page 19