Chapter 6
The minute she was alone in her guest room, Sake let her backpack slump onto the nearest chair, pulled out her phone, and punched in Rico’s number. She’d only half paid attention to her father’s assistant when he’d showed her around her bedroom suite with the whirlpool tub, the heated towel bar. Something about the forever view out the floor-to-ceiling windows filled her with a familiar bitterness. The evenly spaced rows of well-nurtured grapevines represented deep roots, continuity, and promise for the future. Luxuries her sisters took for granted, but that had always been missing from Sake’s world.
While she listened to Rico’s phone ringing across the line, she paced the springy carpeting—twelve paces across! Bigger than most entire apartments she’d lived in, and she’d lived in a lot of them—then, when he didn’t pick up, she spat out a message: “Call me. I need a lift.” Wouldn’t he be surprised to find out she needed a ride from Napa County, not the nearest city jail.
Then she called Bunz to tell Teeny that she might be late getting in in the morning, but lost her nerve and hung up when Francine, the counter girl, answered. Sake knew she was already on Teeny’s shit list for calling off last Friday.
She had to get back to the city tonight, but how? No way could she do three-month penance up here in this green prison. By then, there wouldn’t be anything left to go back to. Her job would be long gone. And what about Rico? Would he wait a quarter of a year for her, when he measured time by the bottle? Without him, where would she stay? Her mind flew to all sorts of awful scenarios—Rico skipping out, leaving her belongings behind to be raked through by the strangers who occasionally crashed there, or thrown out by the next tenant. She knew Rico. If he was shot to the curb, he might even sell what clothes of hers that he could for booze money.
She touched an earlobe, seeking the reassuring presence of a diamond stud. At least she had her most valuable possession with her. Of course, no one but she and Haha knew they weren’t fake—otherwise everyone in The Mission would have been trying to get at them. She guarded those earrings with her life, knowing that if things ever got really bad, she could always pawn them as a last resort.
She lowered herself to the utmost edge of the embroidered duvet and racked her brain for ideas.
First thing she needed to do was get Taylor back. Unlike Rico, Bill Diamond picked up on the first ring, almost as if he’d been waiting for her call.
“Hi Sake. How’s your afternoon going? How’s your head?”
“Taylor okay?”
“Under the coffee table, sleeping off Mom’s brisket.”
In the background, she heard a metallic whack. “You can bring her back to me now?”
“Did you get things straightened out with your dad’s housekeeper or whatever?”
“So, yeah, it’s all good. She can come back anytime.”
“Right this minute? I’m on the driving range with some guys. The ’rents went gaga over Taylor. We used to have a dog, back when I was a kid. Don’t think any of us ever got over losing her. Little buff-colored pug named Mollie.”
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
“Hold still,” she hissed into the phone. Maybe whoever it was would go away if she stood quietly.
“Sake?” The bedroom door opened and a woman’s head appeared through the crack.
“I’ll call you back,” she told Bill.
The woman stepped inside as Sake lowered the phone. “Forgive me for interrupting. I am Jeanne. Your papa said I would find you here.”
Jeanne didn’t look like any cook Sake had ever seen. Slender and tailored in her button-down blouse and gold hoops, she was one of those women who could pass for anything between late forties and early sixties. It was hard to tell. Because, unlike many attractive older women Sake passed in Union Square, Jeanne’s face didn’t appear to be shot full of Botox. Two faint vertical lines marked the space between her brows, but they did nothing to detract from her appearance. She looked refreshingly natural.
Jeanne placed her hands on Sake’s shoulders and kissed both her cheeks, Papa-style. Must be a thing, here among the high rollers.
“Welcome. We’re happy you’re here. Have you recovered from the accident?”
She’d be better if people stopped asking her how she was every five seconds. “Hey. Look, what’s the deal with you and dogs?”
“Pardon?” Jeanne blinked.
“I hear you have some kind of issue with dogs.”
“Well. Er . . . it’s true . . . dogs do make me—shall we say, uncomfortable.”
“As in, chaps-your-hide uncomfortable, or you have a freak-out party every time you see one of those little teacup Pomeranians pop his head out of some rich bitch’s bag?”
Jeanne gave her a frosty glare, then went to the window. When she spoke again, her voice came from far away. “When I was twelve and my brother was two, we were playing outside when we were attacked by our neighbor’s German shepherd. I lifted Jacques up over my head to protect him and began to walk home. I was not able to run; Jacques was too heavy.” She turned back to face Sake. “The dog bit the backs of my legs again and again, until I finally reached the safety of my house. He bit straight through the muscles, the nerves.”
Da fuq. Sake winced.
“In my village in rural France, we did not have access to the best medical care. It was only years later, when I came to California, that I finally received the proper treatment. For that I owe a debt of gratitude to your papa. Unfortunately, it was much too late to make a full recovery.”
“That is some serious shit.”
“I’m told the only way I was able to hold Jacques over my head as long as I did was due to the rush of adrenaline.”
Sake sat down. “Whew. I’ma be sending positive vibes your way for that.”
“Is this how you always greet people? By asking about their tolerance for dogs?”
“No.” Sake shrugged. “It’s just that I have one. She’s not a shepherd, nothing like that. Not even a purebred. Taylor’s just a mutt with a sweet face and a mad underbite.”
Jeanne’s eyes widened and scanned the room.
“Bill Diamond is watching her for me right now. But he’s bringing her back. We’re, like, totally inseparable.”
“I see.”
“Okay? So I’m assuming it’s okay if I keep her here with me.”
The lines between Jeanne’s brow intensified. “It is not okay. Not okay at all. Despite ongoing therapy, I have never conquered my fear of dogs. So no, Sake, I am sorry, but your dog and I cannot reside in the same house together. I would constantly be on my guard.”
Well, la di. Sake’s first impulse was to play the employer-versus-employee card to get her way, but on second thought, she kind of appreciated Jeanne keeping it real. She well knew what it was like to not get what you needed when you needed it. Besides, somehow she felt more from the same tribe as this cook than her bona fide blood relatives.
Jeanne brought her hands together, prayer-like. “Dinner is at seven. Of course, the newlyweds will not be here tonight; Sauvignon and Esteban are still on their honeymoon. When they return, they will live at their ranch.
“The design business of Merlot has taken off, with the help of her friend Mark. They spend much of their time in the city to be near Merlot’s workshop and Mark’s office.
“And Chardonnay all but lives at her foundation. She is affianced to Ryder McBride. Perhaps you have heard of him? He is known mainly for his role in the First Responders film, but he has humble roots, here in the valley.”
Oh, Sake knew. It was creepy how much she knew, from years of stalking her sisters on the Net. The question was: What did her sisters know about her?
“Seven,” repeated Sake. She had no intention of showing up for a cozy dinner with the fam. If Taylor couldn’t stay here, neither could she.
“So. I have prepared a large family repast. Your papa, he cares about such things a great deal—more than he cares to admit. I do the best I can to keep his daughters together. But you know yourself how unpredictable the young are. One can never be certain who will show up until the very last minute.” She shrugged, pursing her lips. “C’est la vie.”
As soon as Jeanne left, Sake called Bill Diamond back. C’mon, pick up! She treaded the floor, picturing Bill busy with other things while Taylor stood at the door pining for Sake, wondering when—if—she’d come for her. She’d pegged Bill Diamond as way too anal to let his phone battery die—unlike Rico. So why didn’t he answer? She hit redial, but again, no luck.
Now all she could do was wait. She slid down the side of the bed onto her haunches. No sense in messing it up too bad since she wouldn’t be sleeping in it, anyway. Plus, there was the housekeeper to consider. She didn’t want to give her needless work.
She tried calling Rico again without success, and then got up her nerve to leave word for Teeny, tensing when Francine told her to hang on, he was right there.
“Yeah?” came Teeny’s gruff voice.
“Teen! Whoody. Hey, I got a situation. I might need to take another day. I’ll be back Tuesday, latest.”
“Again?”
“In nine months, when have I ever called off before? C’mon, man, cut me some slack. I’ma try to make it, but I’m just telling you, in case I don’t. If not tonight, definitely tomorrow. Definitely.”
Holding her breath, she heard a grunt, then Francine got back on the line. “Okay?”
“What’d he say?” Sake asked, phone bruising her cheekbone.
“Nothing. He just went back to the kitchen.”
Teeny never cut anyone a break.
When Bill called back to say he was on his way, Sake went outside to wait for him.
Taylor bounded out of Bill’s car, looking totally on point in a shiny new red collar.
Bill beamed attractively, watching Taylor jump into Sake’s arms. Sake took note of a dimple in his right cheek.
“Whaddya think? I was only going to buy a leash, but then I caved and bought the matching collar. And then I thought I’d surprise you and give her a bath. The water running in the tub must’ve drowned out your phone calls.”
Sake hid her guilt in Taylor’s neck. Why hadn’t she gotten her act together enough to bathe Taylor before today? True, Rico’s place had no tub, and those folks down at the pet mart were robbers, charging what they did for a doggie shampoo.
“Did you get a bath?” she cooed. “Did you? Look at you, all bezeled out!”
Taylor wriggled away from her to race circles in the sunshine while she and Bill watched.
“Jeanne didn’t give you too hard a time about keeping her here?”
Sake let out a big sigh. “Not so much. Turns out Jeanne got run up on by a dog when she was a kid, so now she can’t handle them. No one said Taylor couldn’t stay outside, though.”
“She won’t run away?”
“Never has yet.” They’d be long gone by nightfall, anyway.
Concern darkened his expression. “Might want to put her under cover on the porch. Hard to believe from that sky right now, but there’s a chance of rain later.
“Well, I guess I’ll get going then,” he said, unexpectedly. “Nice meeting you.” He stuck out his hand. “If you ever need some commercial real estate, I’m your man.”
She shook woodenly. The warm, sturdy quality of his handshake shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given how he’d taken care of her and Taylor the past twenty-four hours, but Sake had learned the hard way not to fall into the trap of trusting people. She went so far as to scour his eyes for the usual hint of chicanery while she had him in her sights. But all she saw was a complete lack of guile. A wistful feeling washed over her, like when she spotted a dress in a shop window she knew she’d look bangin’ in, but couldn’t afford and wouldn’t have any place to wear it to even if she could. She had to let him go.
Sake watched Bill drive away in his logo-plastered car. Hoping he’d look back . . . knowing he wouldn’t.
Taylor was still giddy with her recent bath and their reunion, so Sake didn’t have the heart to tie her to the porch just yet. Besides, this place was even better than the dog park, Taylor’s special treat in the city. Here, on the private grounds of her father’s estate, there was no one else around. No need to be on the lookout for creepers of the canine or human variety. Safe, but strange. It would take a lot of getting used to—assuming she was staying here, which she wasn’t.
Now that she had Taylor back, she considered splitting before dinner, but it would be smarter to leave with a full stomach. Otherwise her next meal wouldn’t be until tomorrow morning.
At seven, Sake sat down at a long mahogany dining table sporting more silverware than Bunz had in its entire inventory. Both Meri and Char had shown up. Sake watched her sisters to see which utensil to use first—damned if she’d give them more evidence of her lack of refinement—and listened with hidden fascination to her family—her family—make small talk.
She didn’t know what she’d expected, but she ended up being shocked at how ordinary they were. Char asked Jeanne if she had a good recipe for her upcoming benefit, selling soup from handmade ceramic bowls donated by a local high school. Papa was all bent about something called downy mildew brought on by the wet winter and spring and his argument with his vineyard manager over whether the best thing to fix it with was lime sulfur or copper spray.
Sake took in every word that was said while quietly devouring her baked potato and broccolini and half her chicken, and slipping the other half into her napkin for Taylor to eat later. She was painfully aware that she had nothing to contribute to the dinner conversation except maybe how bad she was going to get bitched out by Teeny for sticking him with the bread ovens over the busy weekend. Or how much she hoped she’d find Rico in a good state when she got back. Rico wasn’t a monster. When he was sober, he could be really sweet. The problem was he was only sober in the early mornings. By the time Sake got off her shift at eleven a.m., he’d already started drinking. But his apartment was right around the corner from the bakery and he let her and Taylor live there rent-free. Sure, she shared his bed and he had everyone believing she was his bae, but that was all a scam. It’d been a long time since they’d done anything, which was just fine with Sake. He was always too wasted.
Sipping from her water glass, Merlot caught Sake eyeing her arm party. She held out her wrist. “These are part of my Entwined collection, and these other three are from the Olive Branch line.” She slowly rotated the bracelets to show off their wavy lines, their uneven surfaces designed to resemble natural vines and leaves. “Which one do you like most?”
Embarrassed at having been busted for staring, Sake replied, “This rose gold one is epic.”
Merlot slid it off. “Here.”
Against her better judgment, Sake accepted it. The metal was still warm from Meri’s arm. The arm of her sister, who shared the same blood.
“Put it on. Let’s see how it looks on you.”
“That’s okay.” Even Sake could tell it was real gold. She handed it back. Merlot was a big-time jewelry mogulista, but Sake was only a minder of the bread ovens . . . lower than her sister’s toenail clippings.
“Please? It helps with my designing to see how they look on other people.”
Reluctantly, Sake slipped it on, unable to contain her grin when she saw how amazing it looked next to her tats. She started removing it after a few seconds, though. Better not to get attached to something you could never have. But Merlot laid a stilling hand on her wrist.
“Keep it,” she said.
“No.” Sake chuckled self-consciously.
“I want you to have it,” Merlot insisted, her eyes aglow with sincerity.
Everyone’s forks stilled midair to see how the thug sister would react. She didn’t deserve a present as valuable as this. Was Merlot stupid, despite her impressive career achievements? Couldn’t she add? Didn’t she get that Sake was the result of an affair her father had had when he was still married to Merlot’s movie-star mother?
“Well! Who wants dessert?” Merlot stood up, indicating that it was a done deal. The table breathed a collective sigh of relief. Chardonnay raised her napkin to her lips too late to hide her smile, and Jeanne and Papa exchanged satisfied glances. “Stay there, Jeanne. I’ll get it.”
Newsflash: it got dark out here in the sticks at night. The clouds Bill Diamond had predicted had rolled in at dusk, and now there was no moon, no stars, no city lights, only the rush of headlights zooming past, mere feet from where Sake and Taylor trudged along the stony berm.
It had taken forever just to trek out here to the main road, and though there was plenty of Sunday-night traffic—hungover wine country tourists heading south in time for work tomorrow morning, no doubt—Sake had been thumbing for twenty minutes and no one had stopped to give her a ride. Maybe it was because nobody wanted a dog in his car. Taylor was panting, looking up at Sake like she was out of her mind for dragging her out here when she should be curled up on her rug back in the room they shared with Rico.
“I know. I’m trying to get you there,” Sake told her.
Okay, so thumbing wasn’t the classiest way to go, but what other choice did she have? The city was only an hour away—she could almost see the lights on the hills, smell the unique blend of jasmine and sewage, hear the ding-ding-ding of the cable car bells—and yet so far away when you didn’t have wheels.
She kept talking, pretending it was her pet she was reassuring. “Do you even remember your grandma, girl? Too bad you’re not a bloodhound. You could track her down in a minute, couldn’t you?”
Sake caught the glitter of phosphorescent yellow eyes. A wolflike creature streaked across the highway, disappearing so fast she thought she might have imagined it. Coyote. She’d heard about them. Sometimes they even ventured down into the urban areas, looking for food. Her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she reached down and snatched Taylor up. “It’s okay, calm down. He’s gone.” Coyotes were scared of people, everyone knew that. On the other hand, they might find terriers tempting. She strained her eyes toward the vineyards, but she couldn’t see more than ten feet into the blackness of the night.
She set Taylor down on a patch of grass and, with a trembling hand, poured her some water from the bottle in her backpack. Waiting for her to lap it up, she felt the first raindrops. “Come on, now,” she said when Taylor had drunk her fill and licked her muzzle. “I promise someone’ll stop for us in the next few minutes.”
Like magic, she heard gravel crunching just ahead.
“See, what’d I tell you?” With relief, she looked up to see who had finally given them a break.
“Evening!” called the man in blue, slamming his door as the colored lights atop his roof started to swirl. Cautiously, he approached Sake as if she were a dangerous criminal, taking the precaution of ducking his chin to report his location into the radio attached to his shoulder.
“What’re you doing out here this time of night, young lady?”
“Just trying to get home.”
“And where would that be?”
“Samfrancisco,” she heard herself say nervously, in the local vernacular.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
She felt her pupils contract in his flashlight’s powerful beam.
“Don’t you know hitchhiking is illegal on this highway? Come on back to the car with me a minute. Here. Walk out in front of me.”
She and Taylor followed the column of light he shone on the road.
The cop held open the door to his back seat. “Why don’t you and your dog hop in for a minute while I ask you a few questions? Safer that way.”
Like she had a choice. She climbed in and slung her backpack off her shoulder onto the seat by the door. Maybe if she obeyed his every instruction to the letter he’d let her go. Papa couldn’t find out about this! She couldn’t go back to jail. She pictured Taylor hauled off to the pound, cold and afraid, while she sat helpless in yet another police station.
“Mind if I take a look in here?” he asked. Before she could answer, he hooked one finger around the strap of her pack and locked her in with a foreboding ka-chunk, reminiscent of last Thursday night.
Her heart sank.
The cop slid into the front seat and from behind the metal grid she watched him pick up his iPad.
He asked for her name and typed that in.
“You got any identification?”
“No,” she said glumly.
“No driver’s license, school ID, bank cards?”
“I don’t drive.” Or go to school, or have a bank account.
He picked up his receiver and clicked in the button. “Base, this is Charlie-hotel-one-nine. Got an Asian female, approximately twenty-two years of age, five-foot-three—”
“Four,” Sake corrected him.
“Five-foot-three, hitchhiking at Twenty-nine and Hoffman, goes by name of Sake St. Pierre. No ID.” He turned to her. “Izzat S-O-K-I?”
Taylor whined while Sake corrected the cop’s spelling.
“I think my dog has to go to the bathroom,” she said. But he held up a shushing finger to listen to the result of her background check crackling in over the speaker.
“Sake St. Pierre, Fog City, no known street address, criminal record one count simple assault June twenty-five, awaiting court date.”
“Ten-four.”
The cop pulled on some blue latex gloves and reached into her backpack. “Anything bad in here? Weapons, syringes, needles that could poke me?”
“No,” she sighed, watching him unzip zippers and dig through her makeup and dirty underwear and the new dress she’d gotten for the wedding, all balled up.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“My father’s credit card.”
“And this?” he added, holding Merlot’s bracelet up to the dashboard lights.
“It’s mine.”
“Pretty fancy. Looks like real gold.”
“My sister gave it to me.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s her name?
“Merlot St. Pierre.”
It hit him then. He whipped his head around, eyeing her tattoos, her Sal Val dress. “You the one that was in the helicopter crash Saturday up at the winery?”
Taylor yipped her I have to pee, NOW yip.
“Cheese-oh-man. We were going to get in touch with you anyway, sooner or later. It’s routine to interview the pilot and passengers after a plane crash. During preliminary questioning, seems your father couldn’t locate his pilot’s logbook—er, scratch that, that’s confidential. You sustain any injuries?”
Her headache was coming back with a vengeance. She closed her eyes. Modulate. “No.”
“I’m going to ask you again, what are you doing out here along the highway at night, in the rain? Are you running away from something? A domestic dispute?” His flashlight traveled across her body. “Your father hurt you? He’s no stranger to the sheriff’s department, you know.”
“No! Look, I won’t hitchhike. Just let me out, would you?” she asked, rattling the locked door. “My dog really has to go.”
“Now, you just hold your horses a minute, young lady.” He got back on the horn. “Yeah, Judy, gimme the sheriff. He’s gonna want to know about this, ten-eighteen.”
A half hour later, Sake stood dripping rain onto the marble floor of the foyer at Domaine St. Pierre under the disapproving gaze of Jeanne, who was clutching her long velour robe closed at the throat, Papa, and her wide-eyed, perfect sisters. Sure as shit none of them had ever seen the inside of a police cruiser. Thanks to Deputy Dawg here, any good headway Sake had made at dinner was now shot to pieces.
“Thank you again for returning my daughter,” said Papa, peering down his nose. Despite her predicament, she had to bite back a smile at that special gift Papa had of making it seem like it was the cop’s fault Sake was in trouble instead of her own.
The deputy saluted and reached for the brass doorknob. “No problem, sir.” He glanced at Jeanne. “Thanks for the paper towels, ma’am.”
Sake had told him Taylor had to pee.
“Sheriff’ll be out pretty soon with some more questions about the plane crash as a result of the inspection.”
The yellow police tape was gone, the chopper towed away. But apparently it still wasn’t over.
“I welcome him. As I have said repeatedly to your office and the press, I have nothing to hide. I did nothing wrong. No one was injured.”
Meri studied her feet, Char rubbed the back of her neck, and Jeanne raised a brow and pursed her lips, anything to avoid drawing attention to Papa’s obvious black eye.
The deputy grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. “Any time an aircraft sustains damage on impact, that’s cause for an investigation, sir. Maybe you’ve heard, there’s been lots of controversy about small plane crashes last couple of years. The authorities are starting to take a closer look. Especially when it’s high profile.”
After the deputy left and her sisters drifted back to their beds, there was still the issue of what to do with Taylor out on the front porch, barking her head off. She wasn’t used to being tied up in a strange place at night, on top of all the other recent upheaval.
“She can spend the night in the vestibule off the kitchen,” Papa said. Though he acted like the shot caller most of the time, Sake saw him eyeing Jeanne for her approval. “That is a compromise.”
“You know how I feel about dogs,” Jeanne told him gravely.
“For one night only.” He turned and peered sternly at Sake through lowered brows.
She nodded. Better than outside. She’d think of something else by tomorrow.
But an hour later, confined in what Papa referred to as a vestibule but Sake would call a mudroom, Taylor still wouldn’t stop barking. Even after Sake smuggled her up to her bedroom, she wouldn’t settle. A sharp rap startled her.
“Sake!” called Papa from the other side of the door. “It is after twelve! That animal is keeping the whole house awake!”
Sake had tried and tried to hush her. But all this was too much. Taylor wanted her rug, her snug corner.
There was only one thing Sake could think of to do.