New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) (14 page)

“What my mother said explained why she always seemed to
reject me.
 
With her deception over, I
think we can get to know each other as friends.”

“Or as aunt and nephew,” Ivy said as she fished a few extra
clams out of the bowl of pasta.

“The whole situation troubled her, not me.
 
I wish I’d known many years ago.
 
My father wanted me to grow up with two
regular
parents.
 
Even though he meant well, he couldn’t have
been more wrong.”

“All we can do is what we think is best at the time,” Steve
said, glancing down at his hands.
 
His
comment made Ivy wonder if he contemplated himself and his son from his first
marriage, who he had not seen in a few years.

Later the same evening, Steve sat downstairs going
through his emails and thinking about his distant son, named Jeremy, who had
been brought up by his former wife and her second husband.
 
That man became
a real
father to the boy.
 
As
the years went by, Jeremy stopped wanting to see Steve or even
communicate
with him.
 
He had what he wanted with his stepfather –
love, a home, money and now a management position with his group of lobbyists,
or advocates as they were now called.
 
Even so
Steve decided to reach out to Jeremy
one more time by sending a message before they became caught up in their labors
the next day.
 
His son never responded to
his calls.
 
Every once in a while, a
short email arrived from him.

Email from Steve to Jeremy,
9th
September
2014

Dear Jeremy,

Many months passed by since
we last communicated – I think it was when I invited you to my wedding.
 
Is your career in your
stepdad's
firm going well? I am sure he groomed
you more than adequately for the position you now hold.
 
All those social engagements were not right
for me, but if you enjoy the whirl of activity, I am glad for you.
 

If you ever come out
to the West Coast, why not visit me here, meet Ivy and see our home and the
vineyard?
 
On the other hand, if you want
me to come to D.C., I can fly in for a long weekend.
 

I know I haven’t been
a real father to you, but you
should be aware
it is not because of you, but due to my shortcomings as a father.
 
While you are
often in my thoughts,
I feel I have let you down more than once over the
years.
 
I am sorry for not being around
as your father due to my responsibilities on critical FBI matters, not getting
along with your mom and my lack of knowledge on how to raise a son.
 
Please be assured I did not avoid you because
of who you are, but because of my life and my inability to function as a real
father.
 

Your dad – Steve.

Steve reread the note.
 
Even though the sentences said what he aimed to
say
, the language sounded stilted.
 
How well was he even acquainted with Jeremy?
 
The baby became a toddler in his home.
 
Then his wife moved out, taking the boy with
her and suddenly he became a schoolboy.
 
As time marched on, he rapidly turned into an adolescent and then into
an adult with Steve around only to witness a few of the changes.
 
If his son replied, he expected him to be non-committal
about getting together.
 
Steve tapped the
send button.
 
At least he tried.
 
Jeremy’s
stepfather
served as his real father.

He closed the laptop, rose, stretched and went upstairs,
calling goodnight to Mathew as he strode
by
his room.
 
Ivy went to bed right after
dinner, needing a full night’s rest after a long day of cooking.
 
Steve kept his tread light as he neared their
bedroom, slipping off his shoes at the door.
 
Soft lights glowed on each side of the bed.
 
Ivy lay back against the pillows, having
fallen asleep with her tablet against her chest and the old striped yellow cat
curled at her side.
 
The two corgis were
in their beds positioned at the footboard.
 
He walked over to stand by Ivy, picking up the iPad and sliding her
glasses off.
 
She murmured and snuggled
down under the light covers as he pulled them up around her.
 

His wife of nine months was so precious to him.
 
He found a time every day to let Ivy know how
much he loved and appreciated her.
 
She
continued to transform his life in ways he needed it to
change,
and she continued to help him evolve into
a more complete
person.
 
Only because of Ivy did he advance into a
broader man in retirement and away from the barren
reality
he used to fear.

Watching her sleeping, he wondered about their lives if they
met when they were 20 or 30 or even 40, rather than in their early 60s.
 
Would a relationship and family have been
possible?
 
Most likely their egos, determined
mindsets
and professional commitments
would have driven them apart in angry frustration after a passionate
affair.
 
They had
needed
all those years before they met to learn to love each other
and channel their indomitable spirits into building a life together.
 
One chance trip to Portland pursuing data for
proof in a case and Ivy had entered his life.
 
His heart had sought far more than evidence.
 

His first glimpse of Ivy was when she stepped out of the
elevator that morning at her offices two years before.
 
She had walked in to greet them,
self-possessed and alluring in her feminine way.
 
She had enthralled him.
 

When Mathew stared at Callie, Steve could tell she
captivated him, whether Mathew acknowledged the depth of his emotions or
not.
 
The expression on Mathew’s face
with Callie nearby mirrored Steve’s around Ivy.

Three weeks later with the bulk of the harvest behind
them, the whole crew gathered for an outdoor celebratory event near Rick’s
tasting room.
 
The October afternoon
brightened into a crisp, sunshiny day and Mathew’s heart filled with joy seeing
Callie basking in the golden radiance.
 
Everyone who stuck through working on the long days of back-bending work
shoved generous cash bonuses in their pockets.
 
A locally sourced caterer laid out a big spread of hearty food under a
canopy outside.
 
Rick gave a short speech
of appreciation and raised a glass of pinot noir in a toast to the hoped-for
success of the vintage.

Every weekday Susannah hurried out after school to help
until Callie
shooed
her into the house to
tackle homework.
 
On the weekends, Susannah
rubbed the sleep out of her eyes at first light and stayed out most of the day
with them.
 
Mathew found Susannah’s
seriousness with him troubling.
 
Sometimes she stared at him as if assessing his motives or she might
catch his eye with a glimpse and then she looked away quickly.
 
With Steve and
Lenny,
Susannah reveled
in
laughing, playing games and joking.
 
How
much did she still suffer from the kidnapping?
 
How long before Callie and Susannah could put their years with John
Henry into memory’s archives and move forward?

He sauntered over to where Steve talked with Ivy, arriving
just as Steve’s cell phone rang.
 
When
Steve greeted the former head of the FBI with his nickname of ‘Mule”, Mathew
and Ivy rushed to catch up with him as he walked away from the party.
 
Once inside the wine cellar and away from the
noise of the festivities, they
stopped.
 
S
teve put the phone on speaker.

“Mule, did something happen?”

“Sounded like you’re at a party.”

“End of harvest celebration at our neighbor’s place for the
work crews.”

“Not to toss ice water on
a
good
time, but you should know about an odd occurrence last night,” the
former FBI chief said.
 
“The gravesites
of the two Fuentes brothers in Albuquerque were dug up, the caskets
were broken
into,
and
individual
bones have been
stolen.
 
The diggers put back the dirt
and turf, still evidence of digging showed.”

Steve’s face clouded over.
 
“DNA testing.
 
Which bones?”

“Their left femurs.
 
Three other graves were disturbed too, likely as a diversionary
tactic.
 
We put out a warning to all the
genetics labs.
 
My guess is the perp will
contract it off the grid.
 
Any thoughts
on who might be behind the bone theft?” the Chief asked.

Steve shifted his gaze from Mathew to Ivy.

“The other brother, Cruze, might still be alive.
 
We thought we took him out in Mexico City
back in December of 2012, remember?
 
We
surmised the man we killed was really Cruze because he disappeared about the
same time.
 

“Don’t we have their DNA samples on file?” asked Steve.

“Yes, but now the U.S. Marshall’s office in Albuquerque
has owned
up to some mix-up of samples taken in
the fourth quarter of 2013 when this Cristo Fuentes and Eduardo Fuentes were
killed.”

“One bungle after another.
 
We should exhume all three cadavers and test them ourselves,” Steve
said.

“The body from Mexico City was cremated.
 
The case appeared to
be closed
.
 
W
e can
test
the two Fuentes brothers buried in New Mexico.
 
Make sure they are related.
 
I’ve
been activated to follow-up on this.
 
You
in?” the Chief asked.

Mathew and Ivy both nodded at Steve.

“You can count on The Spook Hills gang,” Steve said
firmly.
 
“Y
ou should know that
twice now Mathew found cigarette butts in
strategic spots around our property.
 
One
incident back in August and one more recently.
 
The first occurrence came with a man spying on
Mathew,
who he saw from the distance and chased but didn’t
apprehend.
 
We hired a retired agent,
Lenny Bruckner, to handle surveillance and security.
 
You remember him?”

“Bruckner?
 
Sure.
 
One of the best SWAT guys at the Bureau.
 
Interesting about someone snooping around
your place.
 
I’ll call when we
have
the DNA results.
 
Tell your squad to be ready.”

Steve clicked the phone
off.
 
They
started walking back upstairs and
outside.
 
As they emerged into the warm
October sunshine, Mathew said, “I better advise Lenny, but otherwise let’s not
spoil this gathering by appearing apprehensive.”

He surveyed the surrounding countryside showing the
beginnings of fall color.
 
This news from
the Chief rattled each of them.
 
Steve
and Ivy went back to the
gathering
while
Mathew hustled over to Lenny to take him aside.

“Sorry about this.
 
You need to be on red alert.”
 
With that introduction, he repeated what the Chief had told them.

Lenny put his
wine glass
down on a nearby table, headed over to the coffee urn, poured a mugful and
slipped out to go on patrol.
 
Mathew
scanned the crowd, searching for Ivy and Steve.
 
Even though they walked to different groups and listened to the
conversations, their body language changed.
 
Each one stood with the alertness of a wild elk in a field sensing an
intruder.
 

He ambled over to where Fred clowned around with some of the
other folks. Fred’s performance verged on incredible during his stint as an
assistant supervisor.
 
No one kept the
day laborers going harder during the long hours.
 
He instructed, encouraged and cajoled.
 
He played peppery music in the afternoons
when energy levels tailed off.
 
He
coached each group, moving along the rows, making sure only the best bunches
went into the big collection cartons and leaving the
poorer quality
ones to enrich the soil.

This recent case development made Mathew glad this bash
marked the crew’s last day.
 
If someone
opened fire at them at this festivity, the impact would be disastrous.
 
During the last three weeks, he toiled along
with each person here, men and women.
 
Each worker earned his admiration.
 

Callie walked over to his side to whisper.
 
“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll call you later.
 
For now, enjoy this get-together.
 
It means so much to Rick,
Sassy
and the workers,” Mathew said.
 

While he saw Callie as his longed-for life partner, he
wanted her to need him to become complete.
 
Should he do more to advance their relationship or did love only grow
organically?
 
He expected to work on the
remainder of the pressing at Rick’s to better understand the process and to see
more of Callie.
 
He headed over to Steve.

“You still coming over for
crush
tomorrow?” Mathew asked Steve.

Steve shook his head in the negative and said, “Think I
should get cracking on this latest Fuentes issue.
 
You work here on crush.
 
Growing grapes
is
more my
thing,
and I feel
a need to hang around Spook Hills.”
 
He
paused to let out a big yawn before he continued.
 
“Mind if we sit
by the fire
to talk over mugs of tea once we’re back home?”

“Sure, then I’ll run
into
McMinnville
to pick up dinners tonight, so Ivy can take some time off
from cooking.
 
All the hard labor has
trounced each of us.
 
On the Fuentes, if the
DNA doesn’t prove out, once again all our lives may be threatened.
 
Even if only Cruze is involved, we should
expect some sort of revenge action.”

“Why is he moving against us at such a slow pace?”

“Possible he just found out Cristo and Eduardo died.
 
If so, Cruze will be devastated, angry or
both.”

Steve gazed back at him with a doleful expression, then
squared his shoulders.
 
His eyes took on
an ice-blue quality Mathew recalled from their days at the FBI.
 
“We’ll face the
devils
and see the case through to resolution.”

That same day, back in Miami, Cruze angled Julio’s boat
out of the slip a little after eight in the evening as the sky darkened.
 
He planned to navigate south around the tip
of Florida and back up to Boca Grande to drop anchor off the Cayo Costa State
Park.
 
Once in Pelican Bay on the
northeast side of the island,
he
anticipated taking the dinghy up to the beach to meet Julio coming over by
ferry, carrying a backpack with the femurs of his brothers.
 
They would then make their way to Venezuela
for the genetic tests, traveling mostly at night.
 

Cruze had piloted many different yachts and owned at least
twenty over the years through their Fuentes Enterprises, using them to move
drugs or money from port to port.
 
Boats
were his toys.
 
Sleek, fast cruisers and
speedboats beckoned to him.
 
In those
days, each major new design and model had to be seen and tried out.
 
Now his love of boats clashed with his desire
for a simple life although he still read about advances in technology.
 
He helped Julio pick out this speedboat a
couple of years ago, selecting this model because the craft was streamlined and
swift.
 
When Julio reverted full time to
Annetta, she would need a classy though still speedy cruiser amenable to the
harbors of the Mediterranean.
 

He ran his hands over the sealed ebony dashboard, noticing
the way the controls glowed a bright blue in the
dusky
light, wishing only for a futuristic cloaking device to make
this vessel the perfect dodge and run vehicle.
 
The coasts and islands of the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico offered
many places to hide, but a mechanism to shroud the boat in apparent
invisibility would be the ultimate evasion tool.
 

His love of seaworthy vessels dated to his teenage years and
watching
Miami Vice
with its showy
Chris-Craft Stinger 390x and the Cabo Rico 38 sailboat.
 
Even though the Miami Vice fellows stood on
the other side of the law, his brother Cristo had idolized their image and
replicated it in his life, often wearing an Armani jacket draped over a silk T-shirt.
 

Cruze fancied the boats and used them to escape for a few
hours or sometimes days from the drug business.
 
Alone in the
Gulf,
he forgot about
the contraband or money secreted away in hidden compartments and enjoyed the
experience of being on the water, relishing the play of sunlight or moonlight
on the waves, in the same
way
that he
delighted in the sparkle of glass.
 

One day he intended to buy a sailing craft and learn to
captain it, choosing as large a sailboat as he could pilot solo.
 
All his boats thus far were
racy
yachts, speedboats, and fishing vessels
souped up to outdistance any pursuers.
 
The thought of skimming along on the sparkling blue water powered by his
wits, the
sails
and the wind appealed to
him.
 
He wanted to sail with no other
purpose than enjoyment, gliding out on the surf and letting the sea spray, the
breezes
and the storms cleanse his soul.

Late the next morning, Cruze took the backpack containing
the two bones from Julio, cradling it in his arms with reverence.
 
A jumble of emotions crowded him as he held
these remnants of his brothers.
 

“Thank you for these.
 
Odd though it may sound to say it, having the bones brings my brothers
closer.”

Julio nodded, then jumped back in the small inflatable
tender and finagled it around to the left side of the boat.
 
Cruze quickly secured the bag with the bones
in the cabin and then rushed up to help Julio raise the tender out of the water
to its place upside down over the cabin cover.

“We should get underway,” Julio said, going to the helm and
starting up the sleek yacht.

Cruze went to raise the anchor as the motor started.
 
Soon the DNA examination would give him
certainty about the fates of his brothers.
 
Their proximity through their femurs brought a fresh wash of memories
back to Cruze.
 
His mind drifted to the
hours they had spent at the Madrid house, first expanding the structure to make
a livable home for Eduardo and converting the finished house into their
headquarters.