2 Crushed (14 page)

He coughed and covered his nose
against the assailing blanket of dust. Salvatore had tricked him. He must have
known he was being followed. Was one of Billie’s employees also in on the
kidnapping? He turned and ran back toward the winery. By now, the other person
would have had sufficient time to disappear.

He didn’t hesitate this time,
hoping to catch the culprit before they got away. No doubt the pounding of his
shoes against hard-packed earth was as loud as a battle cry. He ran toward the
machines, silent in slumber, hoping to surprise his opponent, but nothing
moved. The only sound was the distant Mariachi band playing another happy harvest
song on the radio. He picked up a metal fork leaning against the sorter and
raised it over his head like he was going spear fishing.

“What are you doing out here?” A
voice demanded. A flashlight flicked on, blinding him. He whirled around
brandishing the fork. Billie jumped back and gasped. “What the…!”

“Billie!” He dropped the fork and
stood there in the beam of the flashlight, blinded and dumb.

“Adam? I heard something and
thought someone was breaking into the winery. I called the cops. They’ll be
here any minute.” She shook her head. “Now what am I going to tell them? That
my stupid brother was roaming around in the dark, and nearly assaulted me with
a sorter fork?”

“Could you point that thing down a
bit? You’re killing me here,” he said, holding a hand over his eyes.

She lowered the beam to the ground.
“What
are
you doing out here?”

“Could I see that flashlight
please?” he held out a hand and she reluctantly handed it over.

“Well?”

He moved around the sorter, shining
the light over the ground, looking for something to prove that someone other
than himself had been skulking around the winery. He bent down, squinting at
the dirt. What looked like tracks from a bobsled being pulled across the
ground, equally spaced marks, led past the sorter and along the belt that
carried the grapes into the winery to be pressed. The marks stopped at the edge
of the concrete walkway that rounded the building. There was nothing around
that would make those dragging marks. One of the large grape bins, pushed
against the wall, filled with the cast off fruit and stems that went through
the sorter and was rejected, was the only thing within ten yards of the marks.

He straightened and blew out a
frustrated breath. “Salvatore was meeting someone here. I don’t know what they
were up to, but they took off.”

“Was it Sean Parker?” she asked,
clearly repelled at the thought that the man could have been right outside her
door.

“I don’t know. Never saw him. I was
actually wondering if Salvatore had an accomplice here at the winery. Someone
who could help Parker get the boys away without anyone being the wiser.” A
siren whined in the distance. “The cavalry’s coming to save the day.”

She took the flashlight from his
hand. “None of my employees would be involved in Davy’s kidnapping,” she stated
emphatically. “Don’t even go there.”

He held up his hands. “Sorry. Just
thinking out loud.”

“Well think silently,” she said.
The police turned up the driveway, sirens silenced now, but lights still
flashing. She moved to meet them, then stopped and poked Adam in the chest.
“Has this got something to do with Handel?”

“I left Handel at home with
Margaret. I saw Salvatore pulling into the dirt road behind the winery with his
lights off. So I followed him.” He left out the part about the hotel but he
figured it wouldn’t help his case with the police.

Red and blue lights flashed,
reflecting on the front of the house like a child’s mobile. “Let me do the
talking,” she said, hurrying toward the cruiser.

*****

Officer Stanton pulled his cruiser
closer to the yard, headlights on bright and a side-mounted spotlight flooding
the yard with enough light to grow marijuana. He and the other officer, were
both holding flashlights big enough to do double service as billy clubs, roamed
the yard, searching behind the machinery and around the sheds.

Adam pointed out the tracks and the
officer shook his head. “Could be anything. Are you sure you didn’t see
anyone?”

“It was too dark, and I wasn’t
close enough to hear what they were saying.”

“But you heard a gunshot?”

“It sounded like a gunshot.” He
shrugged. “But I don’t know. It echoed between the buildings strangely. Could
have been a vehicle backfiring in the field I guess.”

“But you did see Mr. Salvatore’s
car?” Officer Stanton asked, his brows raised.

“Yes sir. A convertible Ferrari is
hard to mistake even in the dark. I thought it was strange when he pulled into
the access road. It’s dirt and very rough. Not a great surface for a sports
car.”

“Okay, we’ll check it out.” He
turned toward Billie. “Ma’am, let us know in the morning if anything seems out
of place or missing.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to
go inside and turn the outside lights on?” she asked, pushing her hair behind
her ear.

“If anyone was still hiding here we
would have found them.” He met Adam’s eye and jerked his head toward the
Toyota. “Is there some reason Margaret Parker’s car is over there?”

“I borrowed it,” he said, hoping
they didn’t call Margaret and check out his story. They’d obviously run her
plates.

“Okay.” He tipped his hat. “Good
night, folks. We’ll have a patrol car come up your road a couple times tonight.
Keep an eye on the place.”

“Thank you, officer.” Billie
grabbed Adam by the arm and pulled him toward the house. “You’ve got a lot of
explaining to do.”

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Margaret woke to the smell of
frying bacon. She licked her lips and pulled the blanket closer under her chin,
refusing to open her eyes. Handel and Davy were trying to tempt her from her
bed on a Saturday morning again, so they could talk her into doing something
she wouldn’t want to do. Like visiting the San Francisco Zoo or going
fishing—two things she could live without ever doing again. She tried to
roll over on her side and felt the back of the couch against her face. Her eyes
shot open.

Davy! She pushed the blanket back
and sat up, looking wildly about the room. Had it all been a dream? If so, why
was she sleeping in the family room? She stood up too quickly and dark spots
clouded her vision. She sat back down and dropped her head in her hands.

“You’re up,” Handel said from the
doorway. “I made breakfast.”

She met his somber gaze. “Davy?”
she asked.

He shook his head. “No word yet.”

Tears came unbidden, welling in her
eyes. She blinked them away. She moved from the couch to the kitchen, went
through the motions of life, ate because Handel expected her to, spoke when
spoken to, but inside she felt dead, like life had been sucked out of her body.

“Did you hear me?” Handel asked,
setting his coffee cup down.

She stared at him, completely
blank. “Sorry?”

“Adam called.”

“About what?” She gathered the
dirty plates and forks and carried them to the sink.

“There was an incident at the
winery last night. He’ll tell us about it when we get there.” He stood up and
pushed his chair in. Glanced at his watch. “How soon will you be ready to go?
It’s almost three.”

“Why are you even up?” she asked,
the fog in her brain clearing enough to realize something wasn’t right. “I can
drive myself to the winery. You never get up before five. What’s going on?”

“You don’t remember? Adam was here
last night. He drove your car back to the winery.” He refilled his coffee cup
and sat back down to read the news on his laptop while she showered and
dressed.

She remembered Adam coming home
with her the night before. Insisting that she lay on the couch and rest while
he played his guitar. He could probably sooth a beaver with a toothache by
playing that thing. She remembered closing her eyes against the flood of pain
that thoughts of Davy brought. She tried to shut out the fear that grasped her
heart with fingers so tight she could feel it clear to her toes. The music had
washed over her like a spring of hope, withering fear. At least temporarily.

She pulled a t-shirt, hooded
sweatshirt, and jeans on, pushed her feet into sneakers and went into the
bathroom to brush her teeth. Her reflection in the mirror reminded her of her
mother, toward the end when all hope was gone for recovery, the light that once
glowed from her skin, her eyes, her very soul, was dim and yellowed, like a
bulb before the element snaps and goes out forever. Could an emotional death be
as permanent as a physical one? If Davy wasn’t found, if something terrible
happened to him, how would she survive it?

“Margaret?” Handel called up the
stairs. “Are you about ready?”

She brushed her hair back and
pulled it into a ponytail. Closing her eyes, she prayed to go back in
time—that this day would end the way the day before began—with Davy
beside her.

At the bottom of the stairs Handel
waited, his lips curved up into the semblance of a smile, but his heart was
definitely not in it. She moved past him, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “You
don’t have to pretend for me.”

He followed her out the door and
locked it behind him. “I should warn you that reporters may show up at the
winery today. They can’t legally camp out here because it’s private property,
but the winery is a business. Billie is trying to get the police to keep them
away since Fredrickson’s is supposed to be closed during harvest. Not that a
closed sign will deter the wolves from a story.”

It was inky black outside, the kind
of dark that slowly deepens through the night until it feels as though you
could touch it. The moon was hiding when they pulled up outside the winery, but
the yard was already bustling with people in motion. Handel parked the car
close to the house and they got out.

Billie was watching for them. She
opened the front door and waved them in. “I’m glad you’re here.” She let Handel
pull her into an embrace, but stepped out of his arms rather quickly as though
she wasn’t quite finished being mad at him. “We have a lot to discuss.”

They settled in the living room,
Adam hovering protectively over Margaret’s shoulder where she sat in an
overstuffed chair, while Billie and Handel took opposite ends of the couch.
Through the open window they could hear machinery start up, voices raised as
the crew resumed work, and the sound of the tractor returning to the field for
another load of grapes.

“When Adam followed Salvatore last
night,” Billie began, “he ended up back here at the winery.” She put up a hand
to stay questions. “He was meeting someone.”

“I couldn’t see them. They were
behind the machinery or something. It was really dark,” Adam said, in his
defense.

“And why were you following Agosto?”

Handel and Adam locked eyes and
looked quickly away.

Billie shook her head, looking
annoyed with them both. “They thought he might lead them to Davy. But he just
came back here. We haven’t figured out why. The police looked around but
whoever was here had already gone, and nothing seemed out of place.”

“Are you positive it was Agosto?”
Margaret asked.

Adam hunkered down beside her chair
so he could look her in the eye. “I followed his Ferrari from the hotel.
There’s no denying he’s involved in this somehow.”

“Isn’t it possible my father was
trying to extort money from him because he knows he’s wealthy, and Agosto met
with him to make an exchange for Davy?” She sounded desperate to exonerate the
father of her son, and after all he’d put her through she didn’t know why she
cared, but it felt wrong to blame him without proof.

“At this point, anything is possible,”
Billie said, and looked away.

“I wouldn’t hinge my hopes on that
bastard being the good guy.” Adam moved to stand at the window, his voice
harsh. “He took off like a bat out of hell. Probably did some damage to the
undercarriage of his car the way he was driving over those ruts. He did not
want to be found out. Other than in movies, heroes rarely dress in tights and
masks and hide their identity in the dark. Most times that practice is reserved
for crooks.”

“Adam,” his sister warned.

“No. He’s right.” Margaret got up
and moved behind him. Adam’s shoulders were stiff, his arms crossed tightly
over his chest. She put her arms around his waist and leaned into him, her chin
resting on his shoulder. It felt right. He relaxed. “You are all trying to
protect my feelings, when what we really need to do is find Davy.” She
reluctantly released her hold on Adam and turned around. “What cock and bull
story did Agosto give the police for last night?” she asked.

“Haven’t heard,” Billie said. She
glanced toward Handel. “They said they’d let us know.”

Handel reached out to clasp her
hand. A silent apology. He stood up, slowly releasing her fingers. “I’ll call
and nag them until they do. I’m going to drop by Carl’s place and see if he’s
been in touch with his cousin. Then I’m going to use the media to harass Agosto
Salvatore until he cracks. If anyone can do it, channel five news can. They
always get the story first,” he quipped, his tone as dry as shoe leather.

At the car he kissed Billie
goodbye. Adam and Margaret looked on from the front steps. When he pulled back,
his gaze strayed over her shoulder toward his sister. “I’ll tear the Golden
Gate Racetrack apart stone by stone if I have to Billie, until we find where
they’ve hidden Davy. That man will not take my nephew out of this country.”

*****

Margaret was on the press floor
when the first news van pulled up. She watched the grapes topple from the bin
into the giant rolling press. Adam backed the forklift away and got off to
watch. Leo had climbed up on the press and was packing the grapes with his
hands. It was still the best way although he’d probably be stained for days.
Once the press did the work, they would drain the free run juice.

“Ms. Parker, I’m Jane Goodall with
channel five news. Could you tell us what you know about the disappearance of
your son? Why did your father take him and did he leave a ransom note?” The
familiar looking blonde woman thrust a microphone in her face. She wore a tight
skirt and three-inch heels, and enough makeup to bake a cake.

Margaret backed away, clamping her
mouth tight.

The reporter moved closer,
carefully stepping around a pile of smashed grapes. “Have you spoken with the
boy’s father, Agosto Salvatore? My source says that you have a restraining
order against him. Has he been abusive to you or your son? Do you have any
reason to believe he is involved in your son’s kidnapping?”

“Get out. You have no right to be
here. We are trying to work and you are in the way,” she managed to say without
slapping the woman.

“Ms. Parker, I’m sorry we’ve
interrupted your work, but I know you want to find your little boy and the best
way to get the word out is through the media. If you’d be willing to be
interviewed, I can guarantee that millions of people will be watching. And that
is a lot of eyes looking for your son.”

“She said to go,” Adam said,
placing a hand over the microphone.

Jane Goodall turned toward Adam,
and smiled her slick reporter smile. “And who might you be? The boyfriend? The
handyman?” She raised her brows. “I bet you are very handy.”

“Ms. Goodall, may I speak with you
in private?” Margaret gestured toward the door that led into the distilling
room.

The woman waved her cameraman away
and followed her through the door.

With the door shut, Margaret leaned
against it. She released a breath. “I saw your interview with Agosto, Ms.
Goodall, and I know you slept with him.”

The reporter gasped and started to
protest.

She held up a hand. “No point in
arguing. Let’s come to an agreement. I won’t bring up your sordid affair with a
man the police have under investigation, and you won’t harass my friends or
myself. I’ll give you an exclusive interview this afternoon if my son has not
been found.”

Her lips curved up into a slow
smile. “What about if he is found?”

“Either way then.”

She held out her hand. “You have a
deal.”

“Good. I’ll call you.”

“No need for that. We’ll be here
waiting.”

Margaret moved away from the door
and Jane Goodall reached for the knob. “By the way, how old are you?” she
asked. “You look much too young to have a nine-year-old son. Agosto Salvatore
doesn’t happen to have outstanding statutory rape charges against him as well,
does he?”

“You’ll have to save that question
for later.”

She nodded. “I look forward to it.
I hope he does have something to do with this. Between you and me and the door,
I’d love to nail that bastard’s hide to the wall.”

“Get in line.”

*****

Officer Tate and his partner showed
up at 9:00 am and were ushered into the conference room by Sally. The reporters
had tried to push their way into the winery, but Sally was a bulldog when it
came to protecting those she cared about. She set Loren to guard the front door
and called in Billie, Margaret and Adam to hear the latest. The officers
refused to sit but stood just inside the door of the conference room, their
expressions grim. Margaret stood also, arms pressed tight around her middle.

“I called Handel. He was just
getting out of a meeting. He’ll be here as soon as he can,” Sally said, and
excused herself from the room.

Billie moved beside Margaret and
put an arm around her for support.

Adam stood with his hands braced on
the back of a chair.

“After the incident last night here
at the winery, we went to the hotel to question Mr. Salvatore,” Officer Tate
began. “The front desk couldn’t get him to pick up the phone in his room. But
the concierge said that he always uses valet parking, so we questioned the men
on duty. They were positive he had not returned. Apparently, he’s a big
tipper.”

“I saw him head back toward town,”
Adam said, “but he could have turned around and drove straight to San Francisco
in a couple of hours. Do you have an APB out on him?”

“What if he has Davy with him? What
if he takes him on his private plane and leaves the country?” Margaret’s voice
rose shrilly.

The other officer shook his head,
his voice a mellow rumble. “Ma’am, please calm down. We have an APB out on
Agosto Salvatore and Sean Parker. We’ll find them.”

“The thing is,” Officer Tate said,
glancing at his partner, “Salvatore’s rented Ferrari was found deserted in the
ditch just west of here along a gravel road that doesn’t get much traffic. A
passerby called it in this morning once it was light out. A forensics team is
going over it now.”

“What does that mean?” Margaret
asked.

“It means he had an accomplice pick
him up or he hitchhiked. Either way, he’s on the run. We’ll find him, Ma’am.”
Apparently he’d decided that Davy’s father wasn’t such an innocent man, only
wanting visitation rights and a chance to get to know his son. He continued.
“He didn’t check out, so we are waiting for a search warrant to go through his
suite and whatever he left behind. Hopefully, since he wasn’t intending to
leave quite yet, he left a clue to his next move.”