Andre glanced toward the front of the villa. “And you have no doubt someone will be here at any moment asking questions.”
“I don’t care about that. With the news about my car, my parents are going to think I wandered off from the wreck. That my body is waiting to be found.”
She imagined her mother, staring at the ruined Jaguar, her hand at her throat. The news vans would be outside their Sausalito home, eager for a photo op of the Senator’s furrowed brow or a shot of Laura weeping. All the misgivings she’d had over what she was putting them through dissolved and she wanted to go home. So what if they smiled to the crowd at the AIDs benefit? That was part of the show. Hadn’t Sylvia put on a happy face for the cameras even if she felt like crying?
She faced Andre. “I need to call them right now.”
Andre pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open and looked. “No signal up here, though I sometimes get lucky.”
“What about your landline?”
“Apparently, the fire has interfered. Luigi called it in, but no one has been to fix it.” He didn’t even try to make it sound true.
This wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. His demeanor had not shifted to one of respect or deference to Lawrence Chatsworth’s offspring.
“You could drive me to a phone,” she kept her tone casual, “on our way to see Buck and Mary.”
“Ah, yes.” Andre checked his Patek Philippe. “We will leave shortly. But as it is after five, let us share a glass of wine before we go.”
Rain made the usual rush hour crazy. It took over two hours of bumper-to-bumper to get across the Bay Bridge, through Oakland and its suburbs, and across the Carquinez Straits Bridge to Vallejo.
Another half hour north and Lyle and Cliff pulled into the parking lot at Queen of the Valley Hospital. Though it was only five thirty, the streetlights had come on.
Mary was in a private room. As per the privacy act, the information desk attendant called to see if it was okay to give the location. Buck agreed and waited for Cliff and Lyle in the hall. It took every ounce of control for Lyle to inquire first about Mary’s condition.
Better, Buck allowed. Sleeping now. She’d be out in two or three days, and they would stay with some friends in Saint Helena.
“Not with Andre?” Lyle asked.
“Not with Andre.” Buck was firm, but not forthcoming.
“Where’s Sylvia?” Lyle looked hopefully toward the closed door of Mary’s room.
“Gone with Andre. Late this morning.”
Another flash of jealousy seized Lyle. “I thought Sylvia was going to wait here with you and Mary.”
Buck explained how he’d agreed to have Mary transported to the villa and then changed his mind. “It didn’t feel right to me. Not sure why. Andre’s been a sterling fellow, even offered to buy my place today.”
Lyle and Cliff exchanged a swift glance. Picking up more contiguous real estate?
As they were leaving, Buck turned back to them. “I heard on the news they found her car.”
“Say, what?” Cliff said.
“An hour ago, a picture of Sylvia was on the news. A shot of a red Jaguar with a crumpled front end being lifted up to Highway 29 near the inn.”
Lyle recalled his theory. Dickerson would tell Chatsworth where Sylvia was and asked, “Anybody else through here this afternoon? Anybody looking for Sylvia?”
No one.
Back on the Silverado Trail north toward Calistoga, the windshield wipers slapping wetly, Lyle glanced over at Cliff. “Think I should call the Senator and ask if Sylvia’s checked in with him? She said if her car were found, she would call and let her parents know she was all right.”
“I don’t think I would.” Cliff sounded guarded.
“You still beating Julio Castillo’s drum about Chatsworth being in the Quenton deal?”
“Maybe. I couldn’t raise even a byte of info about the Capitol, LLC. What do they call that big white building in Washington where the Senator works?”
“Too obvious.” But Cliff’s investigator’s instincts were good, so he should at least listen.
“And isn’t it strange the leave of absence that got you out of the office and away from the best databases came at the Senator’s request? We’ve connected him with Andre and Tony, and Dickerson let you go on leave without a peep.”
Lyle shook his head. “I still can’t believe the Senator’s involved in anything like this.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Quenton deal isn’t big enough. Chatsworth has money and prestige, too much to lose by getting involved in murder and mafioso stuff.”
“They’ve got say, five hundred acres from Quenton. Throw in Andre’s vineyard, over a hundred, and Buck Kline’s acreage, and pretty soon you’re talking about a real spread with million-dollar views. Tony and Chatsworth are both developers—”
“I’m telling you, it’s not big enough for a power player like Chatsworth to risk his national standing. And you tell me how they expected to get around the rules against subdividing in the Napa area? I personally overheard the Senator tell Tony Valetti he wouldn’t help him with Napa zoning.”
“If he wanted to, he could.” Cliff went on as though he hadn’t heard Lyle’s objection. “We’ve all seen developers swing deals no small operator could. What if the clout came from a senator?”
“You mean a discreet phone call here and there, and no one’s the wiser?”
“Precisely.”
“I still don’t like it. Sylvia doesn’t get along with her father, but I know she doesn’t think he’s crooked.” Lyle slowed to avoid a tractor load of harvested red grapes.
“How would she know what he’s up to? We’ve been operating on the assumption he’s clean and somebody’s after Sylvia to make him play ball. But if there is a kingpin in this operation, who would you vote for?”
Lyle was silent for a long time.
“As former head of the Bay Area Planning Commission, Chatsworth would know where the best profit on a development might be made. Some powerful men are megalomaniacs.”
“You mean Chatsworth thinks he won’t get caught. He can have power at the national level, and still not resist making a killing in real estate while his assets are supposedly in a blind trust.”
“A killing?”
Lyle swallowed. “So he had Andre or Luigi off Tony Valetti, to keep the profits in his pocket. And when I started asking questions of Andre …”
“If we say that, then we’re back to you being the target the night of the fire.”
“And Dickerson’s telling me Sylvia was the target was a red herring.”
“Then Sylvia could be perfectly safe with Andre …”
“Who wants her for himself. A cozy arrangement.”
“Unless Andre plans to use her as incentive to be sure Chatsworth doesn’t get cold feet and call in the law.”
“This is making my head hurt,” Lyle moaned.
“For the right price, most anyone would risk anything.”
Lyle had to think about that one. “I could have turned Sylvia in to her father for a cool half mil. That seems to indicate he wants her back safe.”
Cliff stared out through the streaked windshield in the gathering darkness and sighed. “Family.”
“No kidding.”
“You know, I tried to make a deal with Sylvia. If she’d go back, I’d take her to visit my father.”
“How was that supposed to work?”
“She was upset because Pop and I don’t get along. Wanted to change it for me, but wasn’t willing to accept that her folks cared about her.”
“Now you’re making my head hurt.”
Lyle refocused on the highway. “What’s this, then?”
“Looks like a roadblock.” Cliff peered through the windshield at the same time Lyle made out two large olive drab troop carriers forming a vee blocking the highway. “Military.”
Lyle started braking. “I can’t imagine a terrorist attack out here.
”
As they approached, the single car stopped in the lane ahead, made a U-turn, and started back toward the Mercedes.
A uniformed soldier stepped out toward Lyle’s auto and put up a hand. Though he wasn’t carrying a rifle, the five or so men beside the trucks had M-16s slung.
Lyle pressed a button and his rain-streaked window lowered. The soldier, whose dark hair was cut very short beneath his hooded parka, said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Have you heard on the news about the evacuation that’s underway?”
“Not at all.” Lyle glanced at his silent radio.
“A high level of mercury was detected in the waters of Lava Springs. Because mercury can cause central nervous system disorders and kidney problems, the government isn’t taking any chances.”
Lyle had an uncomfortable vision of him and Sylvia bathing in the river just below the spring outlet. “How large an area is affected?”
“Right now we’re taking out everyone who gets their water from Lava Springs, or the Lava River, down to where it joins the Napa. Below there, it should be adequately diluted.”
“Do you have any idea,” Lyle asked, “how long this will go on?”
“No, sir. They’ll be doing extensive soil and water sampling, but if this happened because of the earthquake, I heard the major say the entire evacuation area might have to be abandoned.”
Cliff whistled. “That’ll put a kink in the development plans.”
Lyle barely heard him. His chest ached again at being unable to find Sylvia.
Villa Valetti’s kitchen was state of the art and dustless. The commercial appliances were larger and more expensive than the ones Sylvia’s parents had. Over the bar between the kitchen and a darkened living area hung a row of halogen fixtures that sent small spotlights onto the slate counter.
Andre had turned off the lights behind them in the morning room. It was a little creepy in here with the rain running down the dark windows.
He pulled a bottle from a large metal wine rack with at least a hundred bottles and examined it. “This Merlot took three gold and two silver medals.”
“That’s nice.” He extended it to her; Sylvia pretended to appreciate the label.
Andre set the wine on the counter, got down glasses, and made a business of finding a corkscrew. When he handed her a glass, she bypassed a swirling examination of the wine and took a swallow.
“It’s very good, Andre.” She took a second drink and set the glass on the counter.
“You are going to make me feel bad if you do not drink my wine.”
Sylvia took another sip.
He raised his glass. “Come then, cara. A toast.” Something flickered behind his eyes.
She drank.
Though she liked a good wine, she was strung too tight to enjoy it. And, probably because she wanted to get out of there so badly, she felt a little strange.
Shoving the glass away, she said, “I need to use your restroom.”
Andre set his wine down a little hard; the liquid sloshed. “I will show you the way.”
He went ahead of her, turning on no lights, and she found herself unsteady in the semidarkness. Showing her into a marble half bath off the hall, Andre left.
A little light came in from the hall and she used it to slide her hands over the smooth wall. What kind of madhouse was this, no phones and now no light switches?
She strained to see her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Everything looked fuzzy, and her head was starting to spin. The wine must have been more potent than …
Of course it wasn’t. Wine was wine.
A wave of dizziness roiled up; she grabbed the granite edge of the vanity.
She’d been drugged! Andre had slipped something into her wine.
Thinking of sticking her finger down her throat and trying to throw up, but knowing it was too late, she watched her reflection slip below the counter and out of sight.
Chapter 26
Laura Chatsworth sat at her dressing table in Sausalito and considered the evening ahead. Another command appearance for the Senator and his wife, and she was fed up with going on as usual. Though she had always shared Lawrence’s ambition—it wasn’t beyond the scope of her dreams to be the First Lady—these past weeks had taught her there were more important things than power.
Facing her reflection in an oval mirror framed with gilt roses that had belonged to her mother, Olympia Cabot, Laura wasn’t happy with what she saw. Though her toilette was complete, her makeup and hair in place above her lace-trimmed silk slip, she looked like her mother.
The lines beside the eyes, the two creases starting at the corner of her mouth and turning down … she always had to be careful to turn her lips up at the corners whenever a camera was around.
Olympia had the keen gaze of a bird of prey, always on the lookout for a flaw she could point out. The way Sylvia had pounced on Laura about her haircut.
A chance glance in the mirror suddenly shocked her. There was the steely look she’d been the recipient of over the years from her own mother, flashing through when she thought of her daughter’s cruelty.
She quickly forced her expression to soften. Yes, she’d been angry at the willful thoughtlessness, but maybe Sylvia had come by it honestly.
Though it wasn’t easy to come to such a conclusion, she’d seen the proof in the mirror. Now she recalled the outrage on Sylvia’s face when she had told her she wished she’d disappear. Lord, had Laura turned out like Olympia?
Guilt stabbed at her, as it had so many times in the past few weeks … along with the fear. No, since this afternoon’s report that the Napa County sheriff had found Sylvia’s wrecked Jaguar, it had been terror.
Lawrence came in from his dressing room, and she turned on him. “I don’t care if the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff and the entire cabinet are going to be at this dinner tonight. I’m not going.”
He paused with a gold cuff link partway through the sleeve of his white lawn evening shirt. “Now, Laura—”
“Don’t ‘now, Laura’ me. I’ve gone along the past month because we thought Sylvia might be hiding. But now they’ve found her car …” She broke off.
Lawrence put the cuff link, one she’d given him upon his election to the Senate, down on his antique shaving stand, a piece from her native Virginia. “I know you’re worried, but—”
“You’re going to say what can we do about it? We can stop smiling for the TV cameras and acting like life goes on.” Laura’s voice rose. “If they find her … body… near the car…nothing will ever be the same.”
Lawrence came to her and folded her against his chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Your shirt …” She hated that it came out automatically. He had a dozen shirts like it in the closet. And whatever she decided about the dinner, he was likely going without her. He’d explain she was upset about the car being found and make her look like a weak woman.
“Forget the shirt.” His arms tightened.
Sobs shook her. How long it had been since they’d held each other like this?
Lawrence turned her face up to his. “I’ve always said you were a smart woman, and you’ve proved it. After today’s news, we’re going to stay in this evening. And select our venues more carefully until Sylvia is—”
The telephone on a marble stand rang. Laura and Lawrence both jumped.
When Sylvia had disappeared, the police had tapped the line and warned a ransom demand might be forthcoming. But as days melted into weeks without a call or note, Lawrence had insisted the wiretap be removed, citing the invasion of their privacy. And stating anyone who wanted to contact him would probably send a package to his local office.
Whenever a call came in, Laura rushed to answer, hoping to hear her daughter’s voice.
The phone rang again.
Laura disentangled herself from her husband’s embrace and hurried toward it.
“Maybe you’d better let me,” Lawrence warned.
She lifted the receiv
er. A glance at the caller ID showed no data. “Hello?” she asked carefully.
“Is this Sylvia’s mother?” An accented male voice.
Sylvia’s mother. Not Lawrence’s wife. If he were law enforcement, wouldn’t he have identified himself right away?
“This is Mrs. Chatsworth.” Laura’s heart started to race. “What about Sylvia?”
“About Sylvia, you tell your husband—”
“You can tell him yourself!” she shrilled. She didn’t want to hear another word, for fear his next one would reveal something horrible about her daughter.
Moving toward her with swift steps, Lawrence bore a grim expression. “Who’s on the phone?”
“I don’t know … he mentioned Sylvia.”
Lawrence reached for the cordless unit. “This is Senator Chatsworth. Who the hell are you?”
Sylvia swam up from sleep … no not sleep.
Where was she? Where was Andre?
When she’d gone down, she’d expected to wake and find she’d been sexually assaulted. Wasn’t that what “date-rape drugs” were about?
She lay on a big bed with a black comforter shot through with gold, still clothed in the black slacks and red sweater. Dark wood furniture dominated the shadows; a stained-glass lamp on the nightstand put out a dim glow. Heavy drapes were drawn over the single wall of windows, so she couldn’t tell if it was still raining. An ornate antique wall clock chimed half-past ten.
Around five hours since she’d ingested only a few sips of wine. Her head still spun, but at least she was aware of her surroundings.
Now what?
She knew better than to think a bedside phone would put her in touch with the police. The phones and Andre’s cell had probably been working all the time he was lying to her.
If she had been frightened before by his weird behavior, now she was paralyzed with terror. She hadn’t been raped while unconscious, but it was certain Andre still intended to have her in bed. This was probably his room, though she would have expected it to be bigger and more ornate.
Her mind might be fuzzy, but how did he expect to get away with raping a senator’s daughter?
The Senator’s Daughter Page 24