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Announcing the 3
^rd
Fredrickson Winery Novel

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1st Chapter Below:

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Chapter One

“You surely can’t expect the bank
to give us another loan based on this.” Billie shook the copy of the financial
statement her brother had printed out for her. “Didn’t you even try to make us
look good? I mean, really – the government puts out statements all the
time that don’t divulge the entire truth. They just skim the surface. Can’t you
do that for Fredrickson’s, or are you too busy playing musician every night?”

Any
man of mine, better walk the line, better show me a teasing, squeezing,
pleasing kind of time
…Shania’s twang burst from Billie’s cell phone sitting
on the desk across the room, but she was too caught up in her argument with
Adam to pick up. Handel would understand she was busy and leave a text like he
always did.

Adam slammed open the file cabinet.
He’d been growing a scruffy beard for some reason and looked more like a deer
hunter than an accountant, but apparently it was what all the happening
musicians were sporting these days. “Don’t come down on me because your numbers
are in the tank. You’re the one who thought you could go from being a little
known lawyer to running a little known winery without any little known
expertise.”

“Whoa!” Sally stepped between them,
eyebrows and hands raised in self-defense. “Let me exit gracefully before you
come to blows, please. I don’t want to be a witness in the trial to whatever is
about to happen.” She pulled open the door and escaped down the hall.

“Thanks a lot!” Adam huffed. “Now
you’ve scared Sally away from her desk and I’ll have to answer the damn phone.”

“As if! When’s the last time it
rang?” She threw the papers down on Sally’s desk and crossed her arms, blowing
an angry breath through her nostrils. “We are sinking here, Adam, and this is
not going to help.”

He ran a hand through his hair and
shook his head. “I can’t change the numbers. You know that. Either the bank
gives us another loan based on our forecast or they refuse based on our past.
There’s no magical number crunching I can do to change their policies. We just
have to hope they see a future for Fredrickson’s.”

She was silent, staring at a coffee
stain in the carpet at her feet. All the anger had drained away in her tirade,
but her shoulders drooped at the weight of responsibility she felt for the
winery’s employees and their futures. Sally. Margaret. Even Loren and Ernesto
had become good friends and were like family to her now.

“Billie,” Adam reached out and put
a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be all right. If the
bank won’t give you the loan, I’m sure Handel would love to invest in
Fredrickson’s. He even – ” He broke off at the look on her face.

“You didn’t tell him that we needed
the money, did you?” she demanded.

“Are you delusional? I don’t need
to tell him anything. He already knows we need the money. Just because you
refuse to speak with him about it, doesn’t make the problem disappear. You’re
married now, Billie. Try acting like it.” He turned to open the door, but she
jumped in the way.

“How dare you tell me how to act!
You don’t know anything about my relationship with Handel. Fredrickson’s has
nothing to do with our marriage and I intend to keep it that way.” She glared
at him, arms crossed.

He just looked at her for a long
moment, his face softening despite her attitude. “You might believe that, Sis,
but I’m pretty sure Handel sees it differently. If you can’t even share the ups
and downs of your life with the man you married, then what’s the point?
Fredrickson’s is a big part of you now and it’s still a big part of who Handel
is, whether he’s monetarily invested in it or not. He wants to be a part of
your life, not just the man who shares your bed. If you can’t see that, then
you need a heart transplant.”

He reached around her for the handle
of the door and she automatically stepped away. A tight ball of fear and guilt
twisted her insides, but she fought to tamp it down. Adam didn’t understand. He
didn’t know how hard it was to stay in control, to keep the different aspects
of her life separate. She didn’t want to worry Handel with her business woes.
He had enough of his own problems, with a client he was trying to save from a
murder conviction. Besides, he didn’t need her input on his court case anymore
than she needed his on the winery.

And yet… Handel did share his work
with her. He often asked her opinion and discussed aspects of his cases in a
general sort of way without infringing on his attorney/client confidentiality
clause. He cared what she thought.

Why couldn’t she do the same? Sometimes
she had whole conversations with him in her head, but then face-to-face she
struggled for words and many times things went unsaid. As if not saying
something took away its power to hurt them.

Just this morning he’d called to
talk before he went into court. He chatted about the weather, his client’s
terrible new haircut, and randomly announced that when or if they had children,
he knew they would be extraordinary. She’d gone all quiet, unable to get past
the glibness of the comment to what lay beneath. Knowing how much he loved Davy
and spending time with the boy, she was confident he would make a wonderful
father, but… she wasn’t so sure about being a parent herself. She barely passed
as an adult, much less an example to small clones.

She drew a deep breath and slowly
expelled, loosening the knot around her chest. They really needed to talk when
he got home. She missed him when he was gone overnight. This case had been
taking him away far too many nights already. It would be a relief when it was
over. She never slept as well when he was gone. Wrapped secure in Handel’s
arms, her nightmares no longer stood a chance.

Sally pushed the door open. “All
clear?”

“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry
about it,” Billie said, retrieving the papers she’d thrown on the desk.

“Look,” Sally said, taking her arm
and gently turning her around. “Everyone around here knows that things aren’t
fine. The economy sucks. Why should Fredrickson’s have it easy?” She sighed.
“You should give your brother a break.”

“I know,” she said, “and I’m sorry
you were forced to witness another one of my meltdowns.”

“Meltdown? That was nothing.” She
waved a hand as though shooing away a fly. “You should see the fights my family
get into at Christmas. Since there’s no snow to pelt each other with, we just
run the hose in the backyard and mud wrestle.”

Billie shook her head, grinning.
“Someday I’ve got to meet your family. For some reason I keep imagining you as
a foundling left on the doorstep of the winery.”

“Not far from the truth,” she said,
slipping back into the chair behind her desk. “I’ve been here nearly that
long.”

“And?” Billie asked, knowing there
was always more to Sally’s stories.

“Adam’s right. Handel’s already
invested in Fredrickson’s because he’s invested in you. He married you, didn’t
he? So talk to him. Let him help, even if only as a listening ear for you to
vent.
 
He needs you to trust him, to
confide in him.”

“Why? Did he say something?” Billie
asked, suddenly afraid her perfect world was about to crumble.

“No. He doesn’t have to. Billie,
he’s your husband!” Sally dropped her head on the desk and bumped it repeatedly
against the surface, auburn curls flopping.

“I suppose that’s your way of
saying I’m really dense.”

She straightened, a small smile of
satisfaction on her lips. “Now don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

“Right.” Billie pulled open the
door but glanced back. “Thanks, Sally. If anybody needs me, I’ll be down in the
cellar.”

•••••

Handel pulled into traffic and sped
up, eager to be home and spend what was left of the evening with Billie. The
jury had been selected, the date had been set to begin, and Judge Matthews had
reminded them all that this was a high profile case and she better not hear of
anyone discussing any part of the trial or she would rethink her position on
sequestering. Handel wasn’t due back in court until Monday. He had the whole
weekend to remind his new wife just whom she was married to. The past couple of
weeks they had slept apart more than together, him spending lonely nights in
the city working. He would be happy when it was over. Maybe they could get away
to Maui for a few days or take a few weeks and visit all the islands – if
Billie would trust her staff at the winery and leave it all behind.

Traffic slowed to a crawl on the
freeway and he flipped the radio on as a distraction from the boredom of his
commute. Smooth jazz played softly over the speakers, soothing the edginess he
always felt sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Thunderclouds rolled in from
the bay, but there was little chance of rain this time of year. All the
hovering clouds managed to do was keep the stench of pollution at ground level.
He wrinkled his nose and turned on the air-conditioner. It had climbed to
eighty degrees in the heart of the city, but once he got out into the country
the temp would drop into the low seventies. This time of year in the valley was
usually pleasant, with gentle breezes and clear cerulean skies.

Cars began to move forward in the
lane beside him and soon his lane inched forward as well. He changed the
station on the radio to the evening news and listened to the drone of the
newscaster with only half his attention. A familiar voice interrupted his
wandering thoughts. The Deputy District Attorney usually spoke in a blustery
sort of way that put his listeners on the defensive. But today Alec Melendez
sounded calm and sure of himself when he’d answered the reporter’s questions
outside the courtroom earlier.

“Mr. Kawasaki has maintained his
innocence and pleaded not guilty,” the reporter said, “He was even quoted as
saying he had nothing to hide and would testify in his own defense. Do you
think that will be enough to sway members of the jury to his side?”

Melendez gave a short laugh. “Mr.
Kawasaki’s attorney, Handel Parker, is a well-seasoned litigator, so I doubt he
will allow his client to testify. No matter the smoke screen they throw up, I
will prove to the jury without a shadow of a doubt that Sloane Kawasaki is not
only guilty of illegal business practices and money laundering, but he was also
an abusive husband who planned the murder of his own wife, and then proceeded
to personally follow through with that murder even after a failed first attempt
by a hired thug. Jimena Alvarez-Kawasaki deserves justice and I plan to see
that she gets it.”

From the sound of it, the deputy DA
was getting a head start on his opening statement – or running for
office. He was definitely not stating proven facts, but rather innuendo from an
unreliable source. Sloane’s secretary had admitted that she was jealous after
he married Jimena and made up stories to anyone who would listen that her boss
was connected with gangs. The so-called first failed murder attempt had been a
hit and run. Someone side-swiped Jimena when she stepped out of her car on a
busy downtown street. She was battered and bruised but nothing had been broken
and the hit and run driver had never been found.

Other reporters yelling out further
questions faded into the background as the newscaster tied up the story. “That
was Deputy District Attorney Melendez outside the courtroom this afternoon
after the jury selection ended and the trial date was set to begin next
Wednesday.”

His cell phone buzzed over the
speakers and he pushed the Bluetooth answer button. “Handel Parker here.” There
was silence for a moment and he thought maybe he’d been disconnected. “Hello?”

“I have information for joo about
joor murder case.” The man’s voice was deep and raspy, with a strong Mexican
accent.

“Who is this?” he countered, eyes
narrowed as he glanced in the rearview and changed lanes. “If you know
something about Jimena Kawasaki’s murder, I am obligated to tell you to take it
to the police.”

“Dat’s not going to happen. I don’t
talk to no police. Only to joo.”

Handel’s mind raced. “Fine. Talk to
me. What do you know?” He didn’t want to scare off a potential witness. If the
man wouldn’t go to the police then he should at least hear him out. He was
probably a crackpot. They’d certainly attracted plenty of them during the
discovery phase.

“I don’t want to say over the
phone. Can joo meet me by the dock…”

Handel cut him off. “No. That’s not
going to happen,” he said, repeating the man’s words back at him. “Tell me what
you know and I’ll decide whether it’s worth my time.”

All four lanes of cars came to a
dead stop and Handel slammed on the brakes. He breathed a sigh of relief when
the cars behind him managed to stop in time as well. Just what he didn’t need
was to be in a freeway pileup.

The man sniffed. “Look, I need
money. I’ll tell joo everything for two grand.”

Handel laughed. “I’m hanging up
now.”

“No! Please. Listen. I’m telling
the truth. I know who killed Jimena.”

The way the man said her name… it
was personal. Intimate. Like he’d actually known her. Maybe he wasn’t a
crackpot. “All right. I’m listening. But I need something from you before we
can go any further. I’m not going to meet you or give you two-thousand dollars
without a compelling reason.”

He heard traffic noise and a car
horn over the speakers. “I loved her,” he said, his voice so quiet Handel had a
hard time hearing. “Jimena was going to leave Kawasaki and go to Mexico with
me. But her brother told her I was a heroin addict.”