3 Savor (10 page)

“Mr. Salvatore, I hope you won’t
consider me rude, but as a single mother I do have responsibilities and a
full-time job. May I be direct? What is it that you want?”

He chuckled low in his throat. The
sound reminded her of a cartoon tiger getting ready to pounce. “What do I want?
That is a good question and certainly direct.”

Carl took that moment to bring the
wine. A 2011 bottle of Chardonnay from Margaret’s cellar. He poured a bit for
his uncle to taste. “How’s this?” he asked, eagerly awaiting a show of
appreciation.

Edoardo swirled the wine, his lips
pursed seductively as he watched the legs cling to the glass. He breathed in
the bouquet and sipped. His brows lifted in a pleasantly surprised expression.
“Hmm. I don’t recognize the label and it’s not from Italia but...” He took
another sip and nodded.

Carl filled Margaret’s glass and
then his uncle’s. His lips curved up happily. “I was confident you would
appreciate this fine wine. It’s made by a genius local winemaker with whom I
have a special purchasing agreement.”

Margaret shot Carl a warning look.

Edoardo drained the glass and set
it down. “Full-bodied, well-balanced, and vivacious,” he said, his gaze on
Margaret.

His flirtatious manner was creeping
her out. Even Carl seemed to find it disturbing. He tried to divert his uncle’s
attention. “I hope you’re hungry. I have fresh Tortellini and Zucchini soup or
Wild Mushroom and Red Wine Risotto. What is your pleasure?”

Margaret hadn’t planned on staying
long enough to eat, but the man had yet to discuss what he came here for. She
smiled up at Carl. “A bowl of your soup would be wonderful, thank you.”

“The risotto for me,” Edoardo said,
his eyes never leaving her face.

Carl hesitated as though unsure
whether to leave them alone together. A clatter of pots and pans from the
kitchen, followed by cursing, decided the issue. “
Scusi
,” he said and disappeared through the swinging doors again.

Angry voices rose and fell behind
the doors until the disagreement had been settled and then only a low rumble
could be heard now and then.

“Where were we?” Edoardo took
another sip of wine and licked his lips.

“You were going to tell me what
brought you here. I know you said you wanted to meet Davy, but why now?”

“Why now?” he shrugged. “Because
there is no better time than the present to take care of the mistakes of the
past. My son was taken from me. A grandson would be balm to my soul.”

A tiny flicker of guilt made her
stomach flip-flop. After Agosto was killed, she had the chance to reach out to
his family, Carl even offered to be the liaison, but she chose to burn those
bridges forever. She decided to be truthful. “Agosto said I was a diversion,
nothing more. He wanted me to abort my son. Said that we weren’t good enough for
his family tree. That you wouldn’t accept me or Davy. He had no intention of
acknowledging us. How did you…”

“Agosto never told me that he
fathered a child, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that I didn’t know. My
sister,” he tipped his chin toward the kitchen, “Carl’s mother, informed me of
the situation not long after Agosto returned to Italia.”

“Yet for ten years you never asked
to see Davy.”

“No. Because it was Agosto’s
private business. He was young, sowing a few wild oats as you Americans like to
say, and he had many years left to sire the right heir.”

The
right heir
. The words sparked immediate outrage. “How dare you?” She rose
from the table, throwing her napkin aside. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. Do
you truly believe I would allow my son to be in your company for even five
minutes? You obviously destroyed any goodness that Agosto may have had as a boy
and turned him into a conniving, self-centered human being. You will not do the
same to my son.” She strode toward the kitchen and nearly collided with Carl
entering with their entrees on a platter. She dodged him and pushed through the
door, leaving him staring after her.

“Miss Parker!” Dirk called from
across the kitchen where he was washing dishes. “I can change that belt for you
anytime. Just give me a call!”

She threw open the back door of the
restaurant without responding and let it slam behind her. Anger rose up until
she thought she would scream. The sun beat down upon the pavement and glared
off the windshield of the shiny, new, black Jaguar parked in the middle of the
driving lane, directly in her path. Unbelievable! Did the man expect a valet to
show up and park his car?

She hurried past, climbed into her
pickup and turned the ignition. A faint squeal accompanied the sound of the
engine. “Arrogant, son of a…” she muttered and tore out of the parking lot,
belatedly seeing Carl in the rearview mirror trying to wave her down. She
thought about turning around and going back, after all Carl was a family
friend, but her anger drove her on.

•••••

Adam pulled into the school parking
lot to pick Davy up from soccer camp. Boys and girls wandered all over the
place, some with blue shorts and others with red. All wore jerseys that said
Shin Kickers
across the front and the
kid’s name printed on the back. Parents waited in hot cars with windows rolled
down or stood outside talking with other parents while their kids got their
gear together.

He saw Davy coming down the hill
from the field behind the school. His blonde hair was so pale from hours in the
sun that it looked almost white. A girl, about four inches taller and as dark
as he was light, walked beside him. They were laughing and reenacting some kind
of silly play they’d made in the game. The girl gave Davy a high five when they
neared the parking lot and took off at a trot toward a mini van parked farther
down the line of cars.

Adam opened the door and waved.
Davy wasn’t expecting him and was probably looking for his mom’s pickup. He
usually drove the BMW that Uncle Jack left to Billie when he died. She still
had the Mazda she brought from Minnesota and preferred to run around in that,
but since Handel’s wreck Adam figured they needed the second car. So, he’d gone
car shopping. As fate would have it, he didn’t find what he was looking for at
a dealer, but rather parked out front of the club last night with a FOR SALE
sign in the side window. The perfect vehicle.

“Adam!” Davy ran toward him, his
eyes huge with excitement. “I don’t believe it! You bought a Vette?” He yanked
open the passenger door and jumped in, dumping his duffel bag on the floor.
“Wow! Wait till Mom sees this. She’ll freak out.” He slammed the door closed,
grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“Why would she freak out? Doesn’t
she like Corvettes,” Adam asked, turning the key in the ignition. Had he made a
terrible mistake? He wanted Margaret to know that he respected her opinion. If
she really hated it…

Davy laughed, touching everything
on the dash like he was taking a ride in a helicopter for the first time. “No,
she doesn’t hate them. She
loves
Vettes! Especially old ones like this. Uncle Handel had an old Shark when he
was in college but he couldn’t afford to keep it. She told me she was pretty
mad at him when he sold it cause she thought she’d get it when he bought a new
car.”

Adam grinned. “Cool. A girl who
appreciates the classics.”

He pulled out onto the street and
accelerated, shifting into second. The purr of the engine was music to his
ears. Davy was too busy checking out every nook and cranny to ask why his mom
hadn’t picked him up.

“So who’s the girl?” Adam asked,
casual as a tornado touchdown in Oklahoma. But Davy didn’t seem to notice.

He swiped his hand over the black
and red leather seat. “What girl?” he asked, totally zoning on what was at
hand. “This is awesome. Will you let me drive it when I’m old enough?”

Adam laughed. “You bet. In fact,
when you get your permit, I’ll teach you to drive this baby myself.”

“Cool!”

When they pulled into the Parker
driveway, Adam saw that Margaret had beat him home. Her pickup was parked outside
in front of the garage. He wondered how the meeting with Salvatore went, but he
knew she wouldn’t want to discuss it in front of Davy, so he put it on the back
burner of his mind to ask about later.

Davy reluctantly climbed out of the
car, slowly lifting his bag after him. “Can you drive me to soccer camp
tomorrow morning too?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Have to ask your
mom.”

“Can’t
you
?” He wistfully shut the door and followed Adam toward the front
porch. “She might not understand.”

Adam turned around. “Understand
what?” he asked, pushing his sunglasses up on top his head.

Davy shrugged and flashed a guilty
looking smile. “I want Heidi to see me pull up in the Vette.”

“Heidi?” Adam waggled his brows up
and down. “So this is about that girl I saw you with. I knew it.” He poked Davy
playfully in the chest and then bumped his finger under his chin. “You got a
girlfriend!”

“Sshhh! Not so loud. She might
hear,” he warned, looking up at the house.

“Why don’t you want your mom to
know? Is this girl wanted by the FBI or something?”

“No,” Davy shook his head, serious
as a Cadillac salesman. “She doesn’t have a record or nothin’. Mom just gets so
worried about me all the time. She says I’m her first love. I don’t want her to
feel bad if I like Heidi too.”

Adam put his arm around Davy’s
shoulders. “Come on. Your mom is pretty understanding. I think you can trust
her not to get too upset about another woman in your life.” He turned Davy
around so they both faced the car. “And once we show her this baby…” he began.

“Oh my God!” Margaret flew out the
front door and down the steps. “You didn’t! A 1981 Shark!” She hesitated the
briefest of seconds, kissed Adam on the mouth, patted Davy on the cheek and ran
to fondle the blue muscle car.

Adam watched her slip behind the wheel
like she was taking up residence. To think he was worried she wouldn’t like it.
Now he worried he might never get her out of it.

He looked down at Davy. “I think
she may want a ride to soccer camp tomorrow too.”

•••••

“Why didn’t you tell me you were
coming to America?” Carl asked, sitting across from his uncle. After Margaret
ran out the back, Edoardo insisted he sit and catch up as though nothing
noteworthy had just happened. Carl pushed the bowl of tortellini soup aside and
placed his crossed arms on the tabletop. “It would have been nice to be
forewarned. I could have prepared something special,” he said, tipping his chin
toward the plate of risotto his uncle was picking over.

Edoardo gulped the rest of the wine
in his glass and reached for the bottle. He’d already had two glasses since
Carl sat down with him and it didn’t look as though he planned on slowing down.
“If I called, it wouldn’t have been a surprise. And this is perfect. I’m just
not very hungry.” He lifted his glass. “Di famiglial!”

“To family,” Carl echoed. “It is
good to see you, Uncle. Ever since Antonio went home to Tuscany last year, I
admit I’ve been a little lonely for family.”

“You should marry and have sons.
Who is going to run this place when you are old?”

The question was rhetorical and
Carl just shrugged.

Edoardo set his glass down and sat
back in his chair with a contented sigh. “Marriage doesn’t mean you can’t do a
little tasting on the side.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the
kitchen door. “Like with that one. Don’t tell me you haven’t bedded her. Life
is too short not to take what you want.”

“Uncle, please don’t speak about
Margaret that way. She is my friend. Nothing more.” Not that he wasn’t
attracted to her. He was. So were Dirk, Juan, and his entire kitchen crew.
Maybe even Abby. He wasn’t quite sure about her. But nonetheless, Margaret was
off limits. She was Handel’s sister and as such, his family.
 

“Really? Well then you won’t mind
if I –” he broke off and laughed at the look on Carl’s face. “You do want
her for yourself.”

“No. Not like that.” He shook his
head in disgust. It was never good when his uncle let the wine speak for him.
He’d already drunk one bottle and was starting on another. “What did you say to
make her so angry?” he asked, suspicious. He hoped his uncle hadn’t
propositioned her like a common call girl. Margaret would probably forgive him
in time, but she might just withhold her wine orders in retribution. He
couldn’t afford to lose her friendship or her product.

Edoardo unbuttoned his jacket and
laced his fingers over his flat stomach, a look of concern drawing his brows
together. “I only asked to meet my grandson. She is a volatile woman. Seems a
bit unstable to me. Perhaps she’s bi-polar. Are you sure that the boy is safe
living with her?”

“Of course,” Carl said. “She’s very
protective, that’s all. Like a mother lion.” He hesitated, unsure whether he
was overstepping his bounds. His uncle, as head of the family, had always
insisted on total capitulation to his wishes. Which was the main reason Agosto
had come to America all those years ago – to get away from his father.
Finally he asked, “Why did you decide to come and meet Davy after all this
time?”

Edoardo threw up his hands in
disgust. “Why does everyone ask me
why
?”
he bellowed. “He’s my grandson for god’s sake! Isn’t that self-explanatory? I
have every right to know my own flesh and blood!” He jerked out of his chair,
threw his napkin over his plate and stalked away toward the restroom.

Carl leaned back in his chair and
groaned. “Mama Mia.”

Billie insisted on driving Handel
to San Francisco to meet with Manny. She tried to talk him out of going at all,
told him to ask Manny to come to the winery for a conference, but he just laughed.

“You want me to pay that guy fifty
bucks an hour to drive out to the most beautiful vineyard in Napa?” He put his
arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She was still standing in her
underwear, deciding what to wear and he was already fully dressed. “He should
pay us for that enjoyment,” he teased and smacked her butt when he released
her.

“That may be true, but you should
be taking it easy. The doctors haven’t even signed off on you driving alone
yet.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t
know I needed their permission.”

“Well, you aren’t going to be in
top form for trial next week if you don’t rest,” she sputtered, unable to think
of anything else that would cause him to worry.

“I’ll rest after the trial. I
promise.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

Handel sighed and picked up his
wallet where he’d left it on the bedside table the night before. He slid it
into his inside suit jacket pocket and crossed the room to get his pain
medication from the bathroom. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Until we
know more, you should stay inside.”

She crossed her arms and glared at
him. “I’ll stay inside if you stay with me, otherwise I’m going.”

“I never thought I’d marry a woman
who brings murder out in people – not once, but twice,” Handel said, his
voice droll, “but I’m beginning to see it from their side of things.”

Billie knew he was trying to make
her angry so she would stay home. He had another think coming. She quickly
pulled a pink t-shirt over her bra and snatched on a pair of skinny jeans, all
while he watched from the other side of the room.

She stepped past him into the
bathroom. “Don’t you dare leave without me,” she warned, pointing her
hairbrush. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“That’s never happened before.”

“And it may never happen again.”

The drive to the city was quiet.
Handel brought along his laptop and was busy typing notes while she drove. They
passed vineyards bearing fruit much farther along than should be in July. With
the weird weather they’d had this year – early rains followed by months
of warm, dry days – the grapes were ripening at an alarming speed.
Harvest would be early this year and they had so much to do at Fredrickson’s
before crush.

Billie glanced at her husband. “I
hope this trial is over quickly, so we can get away together,” she said. “How
do you feel about the Bahamas?”

He looked up, a pleased smile
turning up the corners of his mouth. “You in a bikini twenty-four hours a day?
I’d say I feel pretty good about it.”

“Who says I’ll be in a bikini?”

“Even better.”

The drive took a little over two
hours, but they finally pulled into the parking lot of a tacky looking strip
mall. A pizza joint, nail salon, and coffee shop took up most of the building,
but on the far end was an office with the sign,
Alvarez Investigations
. A low riding car drove past filled with
Hispanic teenagers, blaring music that seemed to consist of thumping bass and
nothing more. Sitting on the sidewalk against the building, directly in front
of Manny’s office, was a homeless man. Clothed in layers of shirts and pants,
despite the warm afternoon temperature, he clutched a bag of belongings to his
side and seemed to be dozing in the shade of the overhang.

Billie looked tentatively around.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? Couldn’t we meet him at a restaurant or
something?”

“We’re already here now.” He
slipped his laptop in his shoulder bag and opened the door. “It’ll be fine.
Come on.”

She followed, clicking her lock
button twice for good measure. The man on the sidewalk didn’t move or
acknowledge their presence. He was definitely asleep. She could hear him
snoring. Handel held open the door and they entered a tiny reception area with
three molded plastic chairs and a low table covered in outdated magazines. A
stand in the corner of the room held a coffee pot and cups. The pot was still
half full; the contents black as sludge. The stench of burned coffee permeated
the air.

The back office door stood open and
they could see Manny sitting at his desk talking on a cell phone. He ended the
call, jumped up and hurried out to greet them. “Hola!” He glanced from Handel
to Billie, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you, Ms.
Parker,” he said. He waved a hand toward the chairs. “Have a seat. Would you
like some coffee?”

Billie glanced at the pot and shook
her head. “No thanks.”

Handel set his bag down on the
table and took the chair next to Billie. “My wife thinks I’m still a helpless
invalid. She insisted on coming along to take care of me,” he explained,
flashing her a teasing grin, “even if it puts her own life in jeopardy.”

“You told her what we discussed,”
Manny asked, glancing at Billie.

“I know someone was paid to kill
me, if that’s what you’re referring to,” she said, sitting back in the chair
and crossing her legs. “I also know that if they had really wanted to kill me,
I would be dead by now.”

His eyes narrowed. “What makes you
think so?”

“They missed, but then one of them
came back on Saturday and spoke with me directly.”

“What?” he looked totally baffled.

“Exactly. What kind of paid killers
want to be identified? These guys may have tried to terrorize me, I’m not so
sure they actually tried to kill me,” she said. She’d been trying to come up
with a logical scenario, but it made absolutely no sense.

Through the front window she saw
two young men approach her Mazda. She stood up to get a better look. One of
them had a crowbar in his hand. She was sure of it. She moved toward the door,
but Manny got there first.

He put up his hand to ward her off.
“You should have parked in my two designated spots. They know not to bother my
clients.” He opened the door and shouted, “Angel! No es que uno de ellos.”

Billie glanced at Handel. He gave
her a crooked smile and shrugged.

“Sorry about that,” Manny said,
rejoining them. “Young men need an occupation.”

“Breaking into cars isn’t their
occupation?”

“It has been lately. They both lost
their jobs at the cannery. Now they’re a breath away from joining up with the
Maras. I try to talk sense to them but they don’t listen so good.” He shook his
head. “The gang is seductive to young men. It promises everything they long
for. Family. Women. Violence. It’s a hard drug to fight against. Believe me, I
know.”

Billie found her eyes straying to
the tattoos on Manny’s neck and arms. His green t-shirt did little to hide the
fact that he was covered in ink. Much like the young man at the winery the
other day – covered in skulls, barbed wire, and gang signs – he was
a walking advertisement for death and violence without saying a word. “Did you
get all those while you were in the gang?” she asked.

He held out his arms. “Sí. Except
for this one.” He pointed at a set of numbers. “It used to say, MS-13, but when
I left the gang I had it changed.” He rubbed his fingers lightly over the new
numbers, 08-18. “My mother’s birthday. She pleaded with God every day that I
would leave the Maras.”

“She must be very proud of how
you’ve turned your life around,” Billie said.

“Sadly, she never saw the answer to
her prayers. She died of a stroke ten months too soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pressed his lips firmly together
and nodded. “We should get down to business.”

“So the person who tipped you off
about the hit on Billie is a member of the Maras,” Handel began, pulling out
his laptop. He’d left it on, so he just started typing.

Manny put up his hand. “Sorry,
that’s off the record. Loyalty is the glue that holds these guys together.
They’ll kill to prove it. Without a second thought. I’d rather not be the guy
they take out next.”

“Okay, but how do you know this
information is accurate?”

“Besides the fact that your wife
was shot at? I trust him. We’ve exchanged favors before.”

“What did you give him?” Billie
asked, leaning an elbow on the arm of the plastic chair.

He ignored her question and got up
to pour himself a cup of black ooze. He took a sip and cleared his throat. “You
have an enemy who wants you dead. Let’s concentrate on that reality.”

“What can we do?” Handel asked,
closing the lid on his computer. “Can you talk to them? Get them to call it
off?”

“It’s not that simple.” Manny set
his cup down on the cover of a People magazine and crossed his arms over his
chest. “If members of the Maras were paid to take out your wife, then they
won’t stop until the job is
terminado
.”

“That’s comforting,” Billie
murmured. “At least your people have a great work ethic.”

“My people?”

“Excuse my wife,” Handel said by
way of apology, putting a hand on her arm. “She’s a bit stressed, as you can
imagine.”

“I don’t have to imagine. I’ve had
people gunning for me before too. It’s not a pleasant feeling.” He took a slip
of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “I wrote his number
down before you came in. He comes highly recommended.”

“Thanks.” Handel took the paper and
slipped it into the side pocket of his bag.

“Whose number?” Billie asked,
feeling like she was being left out of something important.

Handel shot her a quick smile.
“Nothing for you to worry about. Just trial stuff.”

“Let me get copies of the files you
wanted.” Manny got up and went into his office. They could hear him opening and
shutting drawers.

There was something not right here,
but Billie couldn’t put her finger on it. She watched Manny come back in with a
file folder in hand. “I finally talked with the guy who was working at the gas
station when Sloane stopped that night. He was out of the country visiting
family in Pakistan. His statement is in here with my other reports.”

“And your extravagant bill, no
doubt.” Handel took the file and shook Manny’s hand. “Appreciate your hard
work. I’ll look through all this tonight and get back to you.”

“No problem. Let me know if you
need any follow up.”

Back in the car, Billie turned to
face Handel, one arm along the back of the seat. “Are you hiding something from
me again?” she asked, trying to read his mind and getting nothing.

“How could I hide something from
you? You’ve been here the whole time.”

She shook her head. “How do moms do
this? I’m coming up empty.”

“What are you talking about now?”
He was clearly confused. At least she could decipher that much.

She expelled a frustrated breath,
turned the key in the ignition, and pulled out of the parking lot. “Never mind.
I’ll ask my mother next time I speak with her.”

•••••

Carl unlocked the back door of the
restaurant and entered the unlit kitchen. He flipped the switch and fluorescent
bulbs blinked on, reflecting off stainless steel appliances and countertops. He
was running a little late this morning. Had nearly missed catching the seafood
guy in the parking lot ready to drive off with his order of lobsters. Louie had
scowled from the cab of his refrigerated truck before climbing down and pulling
out the box from the back.

“You’re lucky I was still here,” he
grouched, and shoved the box at him. “I got other restaurants to deliver to, ya
know.”

Carl set the box of fresh lobsters
on the counter now and looked around. He liked arriving before everyone else
when the kitchen was still immaculate from a thorough cleaning the night
before, and it was so quiet he could hear the tick of the clock and the growl
of his own stomach.

He opened the refrigerator and
pulled out a plate of leftover spaghetti. Cold pasta was often his breakfast of
choice. It was always available and he didn’t have to go out for it. He sat
down at the table to eat and look over his inventory books. He still hadn’t put
everything on the computer. Writing things out in neat rows with a #2 pencil
just felt right.

He was glad his uncle hadn’t asked
to stay with him while he was in town. That would have been a nightmare. They
were both comfortable with the lives they’d built. He led a simple life that
was not conducive to Edoardo’s natural expectations. Bellhops, maids, and a
professional masseuse were not in Carl’s household budget.

Edoardo Salvatore didn’t go out of
his way to flaunt his wealth as his son once had, buying extravagant items just
to impress people. He bought them to please himself. He was rich and that was a
fact. As with many wealthy individuals, he chose to believe, despite his
disdain for anyone beneath them, that it was his magnetic personality that
attracted others to him.

He had booked the largest suite at
Harvest House, a small luxury hotel that catered to every whim of the rich and
privileged. Carl imagined by this time of day he was soaking in a hot tub and
having a manicure while taking care of overseas business online. Even while
relaxing, his uncle was always busy working. No wonder he’d become one of the
wealthiest men in Italy.

Carl’s restaurant business wouldn’t
have gotten off the ground if it weren’t for Uncle Salvatore. He owed him much.
When he couldn’t afford to pay for his last year of college, when he’d needed a
loan for the restaurant, when he’d needed help getting specialty foods and wine
brought in from Italy…Uncle Salvatore had been there paying the bills, loaning
the funds, smoothing the way. That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to discount
everything he said about Margaret and Handel the evening before when they’d met
again for dinner.