New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

Those days when they worked together took them away from the
frenzy of their drug-based
empire
,
reuniting them as
a family
.
 
They began to see more of the old Eduardo,
mainly on those nights when he brought out an album of old photos they had
taken from their mother’s house after her memorial service.
 
They had picked up
a picture
and recollected the day, occasion or situation, allowing
the old snapshots to summon reminiscences and impressions from their
youth.
 
Each of them had conjured up
different
stories,
and they had combined
those recollections to relive the patchwork of their childhood, back when they
were poor, but loved and happy.
 
He
supposed the FBI had the photographs now.

Sometimes they reminisced about the days before Annetta
became Julio.
 
Back then she made them
explode with laughter with her imitations of her parents and other family
members.
She
had a talent for imitating
voices, including each of their own and switched from one persona to another
without marring her pantomime.
 
Her
ability to mimic others contributed to how she became so convincing in her male
role as Julio.
 

Only once did Julio visit them in Madrid.
 
The open space of their property and the
adjoining rural area had unnerved him.
 
Julio had mastered slipping away unnoticed in the city.
 
Out in the
open
dry
land of New Mexico, he had felt vulnerable and exposed, without
anywhere to disappear.
 
Cruze remembered
one night when Julio came into his room and sat in the chair in silence,
wrapped in a blanket.
 
He had woken to
see him still there in the morning, wafted into slumber with a gun in his
lap.
 
Another night Julio had slept down
in the basement, curled up in a corner under the long table where Eduardo had
his computerized command center.

Whether as Annetta or as Julio, his cousin moved with the
lithe grace of a cat,
however,
he never
knew her to purr in contentment.
 
As a
child
her dynamism had kept her too charged to
sit still for long.
 
As an
adult
Julio was too wary to relax, although he
had learned how to sit and how to wait, even though under his exterior calm he
was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
 

At times like this when freed of constraints, Julio did not
stand still.
 
As he piloted the boat, he
stayed in motion, checking this control and that dial and
moving
his eyes over the open sea.
 
His
movements
were purposeful rather than fidgety.
 
With mirrors and TV screens he could see all around the small yacht with
minor movements of his head.
 
His
restless attention to his surroundings no doubt kept his cousin safe.
 
Even as a child when Annetta, she seemed too
wired.
 
The hyper-awareness was natural
since he had never known Julio to take narcotics, then or now.

Early the next day, Steve called the Chief who still
lived in the D.C. area.
 
In case some
super-hacker penetrated the Bureau’s multi-layered security or information on
them otherwise leaked, they set up a consulting firm in California to bill
their time and expenses for the Spook Hills gang using pseudonyms.
 
A regular Bureau squad was investigating the
gravesite bone robberies.
 
Steve read
their updates and then reviewed the files on the Fuentes case from the
preceding years.
 
He knew the files well,
having entered much of the information himself.

For a
break
Steve
walked out to speak to Lenny about any help he needed and
to discuss
with him who to bring in.
 
Fred and Lenny stood together in the barn
cleaning the pruning and cultivating equipment.
 
Lenny agreed he needed assistance on patrols if the work went on for
months.
 

After walking with Lenny over to the door, Steve asked in a
low tone, “How about training Fred’s father?”

Lenny slid his eyes over to Fred as he contemplated the
suggestion.
 
“Federico?
 
We clipped together during harvest.
 
He’s a good
worker.
 
He’ll need to help out with what I do
over at Rick’s too.
 
I like the idea.”

Steve nodded and walked
into
the barn
to be closer to the workbench.
 
“Fred, are you comfortable with having your dad here full time, at least
for the next few months?” Steve asked.

“Si. Without
work,
we
worry about my pap
á
.
 
Concerned he
go
back to drinking.
 
This way I keep an eye
on him,” Fred replied as he put the pruning shears down that he sharpened.
 
His face grew happy when he said, “He is now
like when I was a boy.
 
He talks
more,
and he is fun again.
 
No way do I want him to, what do you say,
jump off the truck?”

“Fall off the wagon – same thing,” Steve said.

“Okay if I call him?”

“Let me contact him first.
 
What’s his phone number?”

As Steve walked back to the house, he dialed Fred’s
father.
 
Once
Federico was
signed on,
Steve
planned to call Lenny with the news and send a text to Mathew since
he
was working on crush over at Rick’s.
 
Steve respected Federico for carrying the
burden of alcoholism by remaining abstemious after he went through a sobriety
program a little over a year ago.

 
After completing his
calls, Steve and Ivy reviewed the Fuentes case materials from their laptops
down in the library they used as an office.
 
He explained the structure of the FBI’s case file system named Sentinel.
 

“How about I go through the inventory from the New Mexico
house?” Ivy offered.
 

“Good with me,” Steve said, knowing Ivy would comb through
the list carefully.

Steve requested a comparative photo test of the brothers on
all passports recorded for travel in or out of the United States under any name
since the last time they did a similar run the prior year.
 
If any brothers remained alive, by this
time
they might have altered their
appearances.
 
Nonetheless,
he wanted to examine the obvious possibilities
first.
 

“Steve, some old
photographs
and other memorabilia weren’t scanned.
 
Can we get images of them?
 
Ivy
asked.
 
“They found them in a box in
Eduardo’s bedroom closet.”

“Bingo!
 
Those photos
may help us.
 
Good find, Ivy.
 
I’ll order up the scanning on a priority
basis.
 
By the way, did they find any
keys such as for safety deposit boxes or what might
be access
codes?”

“None I see so far.”

Steve liked being back at work.
 
Judging by her
intensity, Ivy
did too.
 
He
recalled their work on the Fuentes case last year when the house was under
construction.
 
They
had set-up folding tables out in the barn with room for six of
them.
 
The warm autumn breezes had blown
through the big barn doors when they were slid back, making their working
conditions pleasant.
 
He remembered he
had worked standing up part of the time to relieve the pain from a gunshot
wound in his butt while he and Ivy had healed from the attack on them ordered
by the brothers.

One downside to working in the library was a lack of
exposure to natural light or fresh wafts of air.
 
By design, the room was nestled into the bank
underneath the upper floor of the house with books on three sides and the front
open to the downstairs games room.
 
They
viewed the outdoors, but they did not benefit from any cross ventilation.
 
Ivy might agree to move their desks out
closer to the windows.
 

He peered over at his wife.
 
After she bundled her hair up on her
head,
tendrils
from her springy
curls slipped down around her face and neck.
 
Fascinating woman – homemaker, interior designer, gardener, wife, cook
extraordinaire, researcher, former executive, awe-inspiring lover -- a
compendium of many layers and capabilities.
 
He loved and admired her more than he ever thought possible.
 
With reluctance, he turned his attention from
his wife back to his monitor, but an idea struck him.

“When you did the mine exploration research last year, do
you remember any info about wells on the property?” he asked.

She kept her focus on the screen, made a little mark in the
online spreadsheet and sat back to think.
 
“Three as I recall.
 
One in use
for the existing home.
 
An old one over
to the side of the
house
and another old
well by the entrance to the old mineshaft.
 
Check the original maps Brian retrieved for us and the architectural
drawings and plot for the house filed with the county or the town.
 
Trying to unearth another hiding spot?”

“Won’t hurt to inspect the old
well holes
unless we
find
the
team went over them last year.
 
By the
way, the phone records for the known Fuentes numbers will arrive tomorrow.
 
Terry is setting up a database for us.
 
Moll and Brian are in the Midwest making
another major pitch for their company.”

“I want to stick with this
inventory
until I have been through it, then
I’ll review those snapshots and other
documents once they
are scanned
.
 
We should assemble a family tree for the
Fuentes, noting which relatives are still living along with any info we can
find on each person,” Ivy said, reaching up to tuck back a particularly wayward
curl that made its way down her cheek.

“Ivy, thanks for working with me.”

“We’re in this together,” she said with a smile.
 
“I’m not sorry to be working on case research
again, even if I am tired of these Fuentes.”

Over at the Lindquist Estates, Mathew shadowed Callie and
Rick on crush and press, which was often collectively referred to as just
crush.
 
As new techniques or
considerations popped up, he jotted notes in a little spiral pad he carried in
his shirt pocket.
 
With her more advanced
understanding, Callie asked questions about the nuances of how Rick planned to
handle this year’s harvest as he considered the merits of the grapes.
  

The odor of ripe fruit lay around them like an invisible
miasma cloying in its sweetness.
 
The
doors of the production building stood open and fans overhead ran to keep the
temperatures constant.
 
Working here, he
better understood the way the building contained different rooms to protect the
maturing vintages.
 
He stood by the
feeding station for the crusher as he now loaded boxes with Fred, dumping white
pinot grapes into the hopper, one neat plastic crate at a time.
 

A big auger de-stemmed the grapes and lightly crushed them
before shunting the collected fluid off to a tank.
 
The grape skins and pulp passed down to the
presser, which squashed out more juice and stored it for settling
overnight.
 
Unlike white grapes, red
grapes fermented
with their pomace
to
provide color and tannins.
 
The vats were
stirred several times a day since the skins floated to the top.
 

Callie thrived at the vineyard.
 
She picked up a little tan since returning to
Oregon,
and her stressed expression gave
way to sunny smiles, although today she seemed troubled.
 
When they stopped for lunch, she told him
John Henry wanted to meet with both her and Susannah to talk
about
getting back together.
 

“What will you do?” Mathew asked.
 
He could feel himself tighten up with concern
that Callie would even consider John Henry’s request.

“Discuss it with Susannah when I pick her up at school,”
Callie said cautiously, her brow furrowed in a frown.
 
“I do not want to go back or even meet with
John Henry, but I have to consider her feelings.”

“Callie, you can’t go back to him.
 
The man is verbally abusive and
mean
to you.”

“You didn’t know him when times were better.
 
I did.
 
Even so, I don’t want to go back,” Callie said, her eyes filling with
tears.
 
“But I worry -- is it right
for
me to
deprive Susannah of her father?

Mathew’s lunch swarmed in
circles
in
his stomach all afternoon as he waited to hear back from Callie.
 
When Susannah appeared, she cast off her
usual reserve and surprised him by running over and throwing her arms around
his waist.
 

“We’re staying.
 
We’re
staying.
 
We’re staying,” she chanted,
laying her little head against him, showing the most affection for him since
the kidnapping rescue.
 
“I have been so
afraid I would have to go back.”

Mathew understood then that Susannah had been holding back
her affection for him because she was afraid the move to Oregon was
temporary,
and he would be forced to disappear
from her life.
 
He squatted down and
pulled Susannah into a hug.

“
This is
your home
now, with your mother, your Great Aunt Sassy and your Great Uncle Rick.”

Susannah pulled away to peek up at his face.
 
“And you.
 
My not-uncle-but-still-great Mathew.”

He smiled back at her and nodded, then he glanced over at
Callie whose radiant countenance told him how happy she was about Susannah’s
decision.
 
She beamed at him and waved,
going back to work with extra energy in her stride.
 
He had to hope the miserable John Henry would
not fly up to coax Susannah into
coming back or
to attempt to coerce
Callie into returning.
 
The very thought made him more protective of
Callie.
 
How long should he stay as only
her friend?
 
Should he ask her out on a
real date?

Mathew breathed in deeply as Susannah turned to run to her
uncle.
 
Flipping cartons into the other
side of the crusher, Fred shouted across the machine, “You made a conquest with
the little one, bossman.
 
Time to make a
move on the mother.
 
A woman like that,
she no
be
alone too long before the men
line up down the driveway.”

Even as he glared at Fred, Mathew chewed on the echo of his
words.
 
Was he delaying for Callie or
because he was afraid of commitment?
 
After crush, he decided to ask her out to dinner up in Portland and take
a risk.

The next morning Steve cursed as he clicked off his cell
phone.
 
Ivy glanced over at him with a
questioning expression on her face.

“DNA shows the bones are of siblings, most likely
half-siblings,” he said.

“What?”

“Share one parent, not both.”

“So the mother fooled around,” Ivy said.

“Or the bodies are of two half-brothers.
 
Given their penchant for hiring actors to
impersonate them, the bodies may
not be
the Fuentes,” Steve said with a deep sigh.
 
“We’re going to exhume the remains of the parents, examine their
chromosomes and rerun the analysis on the cadavers from the New Mexico house,
isolating the genes from each recognized parent.”