Entangled (20 page)

“Becker,” he said after a moment’s
hesitation.

“Thank you.” I gathered the papers on the
table and tapped my pen against the stack. “Once I get a handle on
things around here, we can decide what needs to be changed.”

“Changed? Then you’ve decided to stay and run
the place?” he asked, surprise showing in his face.

“I haven’t really made a decision yet, but
whether I go or stay, I still want to see that the winery is
profitable.”

He pressed his lips firmly together and
squared his shoulders before meeting my gaze. “I’ll step down if
you want to hire a more qualified manager, Ms. Fredrickson. I
always knew I wasn’t really management material, but Jack put me in
the position anyway.”

I nodded. “I understand that Charlie, but I
don’t want to replace you. You are a good manager in many ways. We
just need to train you properly in the areas you lack.”

He didn’t appear convinced of his own
abilities. “I don’t know if that’s possible. Teaching an old dog
new tricks and all.”

I smiled. “It’s possible.”

The door opened and Sally stuck her head in,
glancing first at Charlie and then me. “There’s a man out here. He
says he wants to talk to the boss.”

Charlie sat down in a chair and folded his
arms, deferring to my authority. “I’ll wait for the pizza,” he
said.

I followed Sally out into the winery office.
A man stood leaning against a file cabinet, his hands in the front
pockets of his jeans. He wore a pair of battered work boots, a
flannel shirt worn so thin it looked as though moths had been
feeding on it, and a stained and faded baseball cap.

“Hello. I’m Ms. Fredrickson. And you are?” I
asked, extending my hand.

He slowly straightened, ignored my
outstretched hand, and pulled his cap off. His long hair was
liberally streaked with grey and tied back from his face with a
leather shoestring. “The name’s Parker. Sean Parker.” Standing
taller than his son, and quite a bit thinner, he appeared to be all
sharp angles, his skin like damp leather left to dry in the sun.
“I’m looking for a job,” he said simply.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, a man
down on his luck with no one to care, but then I thought of the
pain he’d inflicted on his family, on Handel, and I pushed aside
mercy. “We don’t have any openings right now,” I said, my voice
firm and final.

“Jack Fredrickson was a good friend of mine
once upon a time,” he said, by way of explanation. “I didn’t
realize he’d passed. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” His eyes may
once have been as blue as his son’s but now they were faded, as
though light and hope had gone out of them. He gave a little nod,
replaced his cap and walked out.

Sally sat quietly at her desk through this
exchange, but now stood up and followed him to the doorway. She
gazed after the man as he departed the building. “So, that’s Handel
and Margaret Parker’s father. Looks like he’s had a lot of visits
from the wrinkle fairy.”

“I guess he’s lived a hard life,” I said.
“Would you get our accountant on the phone please?”

Sally nodded and went to her desk where she
flipped through the Rolodex. “Do you want to speak to her or just
set up an appointment?” she asked, her hand poised over the buttons
of the telephone.

“Her?”

Sally smiled. “Alexandra Becker. Didn’t
Charlie tell you?”

“No. Wrong assumption, that’s all. Set up a
time when she can come out. Thanks.” I stepped into the hallway and
hurried to the front door of the winery in time to catch a glimpse
of Sean Parker walking slowly down the gravel drive toward the
highway before the dust from the incoming pizza delivery truck
bellowed up and obscured him from view.

“Having second thoughts?” Sally asked,
suddenly appearing at my side.

I took the slip of pink notepad paper she
held toward me, ignoring her insightfulness. “Tomorrow at two?”

She nodded. “If you want Alex to come here.
Otherwise, she has four o’clock open today, but can’t leave her
office.”

“Tomorrow is fine.”

I held open the door for the pizza man. He
struggled to balance ten boxes as he followed Sally to the
conference room where everyone would soon gather for lunch. One
hundred twenty dollars worth of pizza was a small price to pay for
happy employees. Besides - was it a crime to buy your employees’
trust and allegiance?

*****

“Ms. Becker, my uncle left this winery to me,
but I’m afraid he didn’t leave a set of instructions.” I smiled at
the woman across the desk from me. Her short, dark hair and
black-rimmed glasses made me think of a female Buddy Holly. I
leaned forward and folded my hands on the desktop. “My manager,
Charlie Simpson, is teaching me the basics, but he appears to be
lacking where the lead meets the page.” She seemed flustered at my
mention of Charlie, clasping her hands in her lap and glancing
away. I continued. “The bottom line, the numbers end of this
business is a blur to me right now. I would appreciate any insight
you can give.”

She opened her briefcase and pulled out a
thick file. “I brought a copy of last year’s tax return, among
other things. I’ll try to guide you through it. I also do the
payroll for the winery. But Mr. Simpson signs the checks.” I’d
never heard anyone call Charlie Mr. around the winery. The formal
use of his name sounded derogatory. She pulled nervously at one
earlobe as she watched me glance over the first page. “I heard you
were a divorce attorney,” she said, undisguised disdain in her
voice.

I looked up. She seemed ill at ease, sitting
stiffly in the chair facing me. I wasn’t sure what she was uptight
about. “Yes.”

“Were you thinking of opening a practice here
in California? Not that there is a shortage of attorneys in our
fair state,” she said, a frown of disapproval curling her lip. I
had the clear impression that she didn’t like lawyers very much. I
wondered how she got along with Handel.

I shook my head. “I’m afraid I have enough to
keep me busy right now. I’m neglecting my practice in Minnesota as
it is. I haven’t actually decided whether I’m moving here. I may
just fly out every so often to check up on things.”

Her brows drew together and down. “I was led
to believe you’d already made that decision.”

“Really? Led by whom?” I asked, meeting her
gaze a little defiantly. I didn’t like to feel that I was on trial
without knowing the charge. “I don’t remember discussing it with
anyone.”

“Jack, of course.” She shuffled through her
briefcase again before pulling out a small manila envelope, sealed
and taped across the end. She hesitated, holding it in her lap for
a moment. “Jack left this for you. He said you would know what to
do with it.”

I narrowed my gaze on Ms. Becker’s face as
she handed me the envelope. Was that relief I sensed, as though
taking care of a nasty IOU? I asked, “Jack told you I was coming
here to stay? How could he know that?”

“Look.” She reached across the desk, and
tapped the corner of the envelope where someone had penciled the
date. “Jack came to my office two days before he died. He handed me
that package, and asked me to give it to you when you came. He said
you were going to live here and run the winery while he was gone.”
She paused, letting the information sink in. “Handel Parker
normally had power of attorney when Jack was out of the country,
and made sure everything was running properly. I didn’t understand
why Jack would bring someone new into the mix, an outsider, but he
was adamant that you would take over. “

“Really? And what was different this
time?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I assumed he was
going out of the country again, perhaps on an extended trip to some
exotic place.

“A very exotic place,” I murmured. Jack
either had the ability to see the future or he planned his own
death. Either way, I didn’t like it. Why did he want me here? Why
all the mystery? And why did he leave all these sealed envelopes
around town for me to open? I felt like I was in a game of
Clue(.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Ms. Becker
asked, trying to appear nonchalant. She took her glasses off and
wiped them on the edge of her skirt. Without them she appeared even
younger than the twenties I’d assigned her at first sight.

“Why don’t we save time and you tell me what
this is all about?” I leaned forward with my elbows on the desk,
and my hands folded under my chin, giving her the look my third
grade teacher perfected on me.

She shifted nervously in her seat. “What do
you mean?”

“How long have you been an accountant?” I
countered, watching her squirm.

“Four years.”

“And before that?” If my assumptions were
right, Jack’s philanthropic tendencies favored those who worked for
him in the past, people he could use for his own purposes when the
need arose and their gratefulness would blind them. He had a lawyer
and an accountant in his pocket. How many more were there?

“I went to Southern Cal.”

“And I’ll bet you had a full scholarship
through Fredrickson Winery, am I right?”

Her silence was damning enough.

“So, what exactly did you do for my uncle?
Besides, taxes and bookkeeping, that is.” I leaned back in my
chair, the springs creaking on the swivel base, and crossed my
arms.

Her look of astonishment, followed quickly by
anger, was too real to be faked. She glared across the desk at me.
“Jack was a good man. He would never ask me to do anything
improper, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

I raised my brows but didn’t interrupt.

“He brought that package to my office, just
like I said. He told me you were coming to run the winery, and that
I should help you in any way I could.” Alex Becker was clearly
rattled but I wasn’t so sure it had as much to do with my uncle’s
secrets as my accusations.

“May I call you Alex?” I asked, trying to put
her at ease. When she nodded reluctantly, I smiled. “What job did
you have at the winery before you went away to college?”

“I worked in the office mostly. I was always
good with numbers. Sometimes Jack asked me to help clean up after a
tour group came through.” She stared down at her hands clasped
tightly in her lap, then looked up, her gaze candid. “He was like a
father to me. I miss him a lot.”

The simple admission sent a chill down my
spine. Jack, the man that wouldn’t accept responsibility for his
own child, was a father figure to young people? Had he reformed in
later years or was he a master manipulator, as I was beginning to
suspect.

“Why did Jack want me here? What was he
planning?” I asked, hoping to catch Alex off guard. Jack must have
divulged something to someone, trusted them enough to share his
secrets, his plans for the future.

Alex Becker shook her head. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about. The only confidences he shared with me
were the stocks he invested in. I’m his accountant, not his
counselor.” The woman’s vehemence was genuine. She shoved her
glasses back on her face, closed her briefcase with a click, and
rose. “If you don’t have any more business questions, I’ll be on my
way. I have other appointments today.”

I grinned up at her, imagining her as a
little girl, getting angry with her friends, taking her doll and
going home. Alex didn’t return my smile. “Thank you for coming
out,” I said, unwilling to concede at this point that I might be
wrong about her.

“If you have any more questions perhaps you
should email them to me and I’ll try to respond as soon as
possible.”

She shook my proffered hand and hurried away,
leaving me still unsure of my uncle’s intentions, but positive that
I would be receiving a hefty bill in the mail.

I stared down at the taped envelope and
sighed. “Here we go again.”

~~~

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“
H
ello, Billie.”
Handel stood in the doorway to my office not three minutes later.
Alex and he must have passed one another on the road. “Are you
busy?” he asked, one hand on the doorframe.

“For you? Never.” I smiled, set the letter
opener down, and pushed the unopened package out of sight in the
drawer of my desk. “Don’t you have to be in court this afternoon?”
I asked, as I slipped out of my chair to greet him.

“Already been there. Judge called a recess
until the jury gets back on their collective feet.” He glanced out
toward Sally’s desk before closing the door behind him.

“What happened?”

He made a face. “The flu happened. There were
so many jurors out sick today, Judge Reynolds inquired whether the
Rapture had taken place, although he was sure if it had, he would
have been taken as well.” Handel pulled me into his arms, a move
that startled me momentarily by the intimacy he seemed to take for
granted. He continued, his chin atop my head. “Instead of bringing
in the alternates, he decided to wait it out.”

I pulled back and looked into his eyes,
sensing that something wasn’t right. Gone was the teasing light,
replaced by something dark. He dipped his head and kissed me
lightly on the lips before letting go. “What’s the matter?” I
asked, hoping it didn’t involve the subject of his father.

He dropped heavily into the chair Alex Becker
had recently vacated, sighed, and released the buttons on his
double-breasted suit coat before answering. “It seems there have
been sightings of a man long thought to be dead. And it isn’t
Elvis.”

To anyone who didn’t know Handel well, his
cryptic message may have sounded glib, but I knew he was hurting. I
couldn’t withhold information from him any longer. I took the chair
beside him and reached out to run my hand down his arm. “Your
father. I know. He was here yesterday looking for a job.”

Handel pulled away at my touch, his
expression thunderous. “You spoke with him and didn’t bother to
notify me? The man deserves prison, not welcomed back with open
arms.”