The Senator’s Daughter (38 page)

She followed him, slowly.

The morning room might have borne an apt name when sun poured in through the bay window. This afternoon's rain-darkened skies had brought an early twilight. Andre switched on a lamp, illuminating citron-striped wallpaper and hues of goldenrod in the cushioned chairs. The table in front of the window had been set with coffee and tea, crusty bread, pancetta, and assorted cheeses, along with fresh fruit.

Sylvia endured the niceties, selecting Earl Grey tea. Though she'd been ravenous, she didn't think she'd be able to eat. Nonetheless, she took some Brie and grapes onto a delicate yet ornately painted plate.

Andre served himself black coffee and took some pancetta and a roll. “It's too bad the rain keeps us from sitting outside.”

Sylvia squeezed lemon into her tea, unfolded a linen napkin, and looked out at the hills covered in curving rows of vines.

Andre ate with relish. She picked.

Finally, when he stopped chewing and lifted his cup to sip, she placed her hands flat on either side of her plate.

“Andre. I'm not who you think I am.”

He broke into a laugh. “Now,
cara,
when I invited you here I had no ulterior motive in mind. I would certainly never do anything …” He sobered and took a leisurely tour with his eyes, over her breasts beneath the top he'd bought her, and back to her face. “Unless you wanted me to.” Lyle said he looked at her like a cat toying with a canary. She thought it was more like a snake.

She sat straighter. “My name is Sylvia Cabot … Chatsworth.”

Andre set his cup onto the saucer with care.

“I got so tired of being ridiculed by the paparazzi, and I had a fight with my mother … I know it sounds childish and it is, but I couldn't take it anymore and I started driving. One of Frank Fiamma's tanker trucks was coming out of the Lava Springs Road onto Highway 29 …”

“They draw water from the springs before dawn every morning.” Andre spoke evenly.

“I tried to avoid T-boning the tank and ran off the road. I left the car and walked to the Lava Springs Inn.”

“Where you assumed your false identity.”

“I ended up telling Buck and Mary, and they've been keeping my secret, but I'm amazed that nobody has recognized me. Especially you, when we've met before.”

The corner of Andre's mouth twitched, and her impression of him as a predator grew stronger. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“It was on the breaking news, just before you walked in. The sheriffs investigating the fire at the inn found my car.”

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.