Chapter Twenty-six

Tori left Aldo and hurried back to the house, where she found Brody and Elliott in the dining room waiting for her. Maria was sitting with them, listening to Elliott explain about the enthusiasm among growers for syrah grapes.

“Mark my words,” Elliott was saying, “if I had money to invest, I would put it into syrahs. They’re destined to produce the best wine in the new millennium.”

Elliott motioned for Tori to take the chair next to Brody, and she silently slid into the seat at the cherry wood table that had been polished to a mirror finish. For a moment, Maria caught her eye, and Tori thought she detected a flare of disapproval, but perhaps it was just her imagination. Tori wondered if she should discuss what Aldo had told her in front of Maria, then decided Aldo may have already told the housekeeper. If not, he would.

“I’ll have Conchita serve lunch now.” Maria said to Elliott as she rose. “I imagine you’re in a hurry as usual.”

Elliott smiled affectionately at the older woman who disappeared through the side door leading into the kitchen. “Maria is as close as I came to having a mother. She saw me through a lot of rough times when I was growing up.”

“What about your father?” asked Brody.

As silent as a shadow, Maria eased back into the room and sat down again, her eyes on Elliott. Tori wondered if she had heard the question, then decided she probably had. The housekeeper was accustomed to walking in and out of rooms quietly as she supervised the very efficient operation of a large household. What else had she overheard during the years she’d worked at Hawke’s Landing?

“Gian Hawke was too busy with the winery to raise a child, right Maria?”

“Yes, it took all his time.”

From the way the housekeeper had responded, a slight note of sarcasm in her tone, Tori knew the woman may have worked for Gian for most of her adult life, but it didn’t mean she approved of the way he had treated his son.

While she’d been engaged to Elliott, Tori had spent some time around Maria. The woman ran the household like a general, wasting no time on idle chatter except with Elliott. Maria always had time for Elliott.

“Tori, did you have any luck?” Brody asked.

Before she could respond, Conchita entered with a tray of salads and a basket with a baguette of French bread, Elliott’s favorite. Behind her was another servant with a bottle of Chalk Hill Chardonnay. Tori raised her eyebrows to let them know she wanted to wait until they were alone.

“Tell me about our mother,” Elliott asked Brody while they were being served.

If the question bothered Maria, she didn’t show it. The housekeeper was paying close attention to the way the salads, which were a work of art, were being served.

Brody gazed at the tower of baby greens held in place by carved tomatoes and spears of white asparagus for a moment before saying, “She was a hard worker. Usually she had two jobs to support us. I didn’t see very much of her.”

“What was she like?” Elliott prodded.

The servants had left the room, but Tori didn’t want to interrupt this exchange. She wondered if she was reading the situation correctly. It sounded as if two very remote parents raised these boys.

“Mother was pretty. Slim, dark hair blue eyes. The kind of woman that men turned around to look at twice even when she was older.”

Tori noticed Maria was eating, tasting each forkful of salad as if to see if it had been dressed with exactly the correct amount of balsamic vinaigrette. Tori couldn’t believe the older woman wasn’t at least curious about Elliott’s natural mother.

Unless she’d known her personally.

A disturbing thought, Tori silently acknowledged. She wasn’t sure where it had come from. She tried to pay attention to Brody’s response. Elliott had asked if their mother had ever considered remarrying.

“Mother never paid attention to men,” Brody said, reaching for the bread, and Maria automatically passed him the butter as well as a miniature carafe of olive oil, but she didn’t look at him. “I never knew her to have a date much less think about marriage.”

“Were our parents married?” Elliott asked.

“Damned if I know.” Brody buttered his bread. “Aunt Gina said they were.”

“I wouldn’t bet on Gina’s knowing. She can blow smoke with the best of them.”

Tori decided this would be a good time to tell them about Lorenzo, but Elliott looked directly at Maria, caught her eye, then asked, “You said they weren’t married. Do you know that for a fact?”

Maria put down her fork and gazed at Elliott as if he were the only one in the room. “Yes. I know it is the truth. Your parents never married.”

“You knew my mother, then?” There was a note of anger in Elliott’s voice. “Why didn’t you tell me? For years I asked you about her.”

Tori felt sorry for the woman, but Maria seemed prepared as if she’d been waiting years, anticipating this question. She responded in a calm voice that never broke.

“If I’d told you what I knew, which wasn’t much, your father would have fired me. Then you would have been left alone with him.” Her tone softened. “I couldn’t do it. When you were older, it didn’t matter any longer. You stopped asking.”

“You did what you thought was best,” Brody said, when his brother failed to speak. “Tell us what you know. It can’t hurt now, can it?”

Maria stared down at her plate as if searching for the right words among the baby greens. “Your parents never married because your mother, Linda, was already married.”

The words detonated on impact. It was the first time Tori had seen Brody slack-jawed with astonishment. Elliott appeared equally as flustered at this revelation.

“What?” Elliott’s voice was nothing more than a husky whisper.

“It happened while they were at UC Davis studying et—en—you know, studying wine making.”

“Enology,” Elliott said. “Exactly what I studied.”

“She was the wife of another student,” Maria said, as if that explained everything.

Conchita reappeared and whisked away the salad plates. Right behind her was the other servant, who presented the penne arbiratta with a flourish. It seemed to take forever to sprinkle freshly grated Parmesan cheese on top of the delicious smelling pasta.

“Why didn’t she divorce her husband and marry Gian?” Tori asked.

Maria tossed her pasta with her fork, then looked at Elliott when she answered. “He didn’t want to marry her. It was that simple.”

Tori couldn’t help saying, “It doesn’t make sense. He wanted one of her children, but not the other and not the mother.”

Maria’s mouth was full, and she didn’t answer. This was only the tip of the iceberg, Tori told herself.

“Sounds just like Father,” Elliott said. “He was totally paranoid about sharing any part of Hawke’s Landing with a woman. He always said you can’t trust women.”

“Why didn’t he keep both of us?” Brody wanted to know. “Especially since he left both of us equal shares in Hawke’s Landing.”

Tori nodded, toying with her pasta, her appetite gone. “Maria?”

“I’ve told you what I know,” Maria said without hesitation. “All this happened while Gian was in Santa Clara at UC Davis. I wasn’t there. He returned home just before the end of his senior year with a baby boy.” Maria smiled at Elliott. “You were bawling at the top of your lungs. It was a good thing Gian’s father had passed away the previous year. Carlo Hawke couldn’t stand noise.”

“Gian left you with the baby and returned to school,” Tori guessed with a quick look at Brody, who hadn’t said much.

“No. Gian never returned to college. He stayed home, but I was in charge of the baby.”

Brody asked, “We must have relatives somewhere. We could check the college records—”

“Your mother wasn’t a student,” Maria said. “She worked as a waitress. Her husband was the one in school with Gian.”

“Makes sense. Mother always waited tables wherever we went,” Brody agreed. “I remember once I asked her to help me with fractions. She couldn’t. She claimed she was too tired to help me after that, but even then I suspected it was too difficult for her.”

“What happened to Linda’s husband? Do you know?”

Maria lifted her shoulders in a long-suffering shrug. “He left her. What would you expect?”

“I would have expected my father to marry her so we legally had his name,” answered Elliott. “Failing that, I would have expected him to provide for Brody the way he did me.”

“He didn’t,” Brody said without a trace of bitterness. “From the time I can first remember, we were always scraping by, living on macaroni and cheese and cans of beanie weenies.”

For the first time, Maria looked at Brody with a suggestion of sympathy on her face. “It wasn’t fair, I know, but I can’t explain why he did it. Your father often did things that made sense only to him.”

“If you knew her husband’s last name, we could trace him and find out if you two have any relatives,” suggested Tori.

Elliott chuckled without humor. “Just what we need. More relatives.”

“I wish I could tell you,” Maria said, “but it happened at Davis, not here, almost thirty years ago. I can’t give you his name.”

“It’s not that important, is it?” Brody asked Elliott. “We’ll check into it later. Right now, we need to hear if Tori found out anything from Rachel.”

Tori pushed aside her pasta, having barely tasted it. “Rachel claimed the Barzinis were joking.” She turned toward Maria. “Do you remember Aldo coming in for dinner on the night of the funeral?”

“Of course. Aldo eats here every night. He likes my homemade pasta.”

“We all do.” Elliott held up a forkful of pasta. “This is great.”

“What time did Aldo come in?” asked Tori.

“Late. After I’d put out all the desserts. Why?” Maria eyed her suspiciously.

“I was just trying to find out the time. Aldo told me on his way in, he noticed the garage door was open. He saw Lorenzo in there.”

“What?” Brody put down his fork. “Why didn’t Aldo tell the sheriff?”

“No one’s asked him.” Tori thought for a second. “The sheriff just told you guys last night. I guess he hasn’t been out here again.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Maria said.

“I’m going to call Sheriff Westcott,” Elliott said.

“Wait.” Brody looked at Tori, then his brother. “Let me talk to Alex Abruzzo first.”

“Alex! Why?” Maria’s question came out a little too loud. “He hasn’t been here in months.”

Tori had suspected it might be a mistake to discuss this in front of Maria, and she was right. No doubt Aldo was going to hear everything.

“We want to see if the Corelli brothers have approached him,” Elliott said, his voice smooth, as if it wasn’t terribly important. He checked his watch. “Let’s have dessert. I have an exporter coming shortly.”

“I want to go with you to see Alex,” Tori told Brody. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a momentary look of disapproval flash across Maria’s face. “I’m doing some work for him. I have the samples in my car.”

Lou checked the records at the reception desk the minute the part-time clerk left. He thumbed back two days to check on Katherine Wilson. Just what he’d expected. She’d paid cash when she’d checked in, and she hadn’t had a reservation. Like Brody, she’d gotten into the Silver Moon when someone canceled at the last minute.

“No one pays cash these days,” he muttered to Piny who was at his heels, “unless they don’t want to be traced.”

What did she want? He reminded himself that the woman hadn’t done anything wrong. So she came in late at night and tiptoed up the stairs. So she was out early in the morning using night vision binoculars to spot birds. So what?

He didn’t have anything to go on except a feeling. The binoculars, the way she kept to herself, not asking the usual tourist questions. He sensed she was watching people, not birds.

He studied the Labrador’s soulful eyes for a moment, then said, “Stay, Piny.” He pointed to the wood floor and put the dog on a stay command before doing the unthinkable.

It was early afternoon, and the B and B was deserted. With the warm weather and colorful leaves, Lou knew all of the guests would stay out touring the vineyards. They usually ambled in around four, half crocked, and had a quick nap before cocktails.

Katherine Wilson was a wild card. She’d left right after breakfast, a camera and binoculars in her hands, wearing hiking boots. Any idiot could see she wasn’t going wine tasting.

From the window in the upstairs hall, he gazed down at the guest parking lot. Empty. The white Toyota that Katherine had rented hadn’t returned.

Hating himself, Lou pulled out the master key. In case of emergency, he had a key to every room, but he’d never had to use one except for the time the couple from LA had gotten so kinky that the lady next door had called Lou to complain about the noise. The couple refused to answer the phone or their door, and Lou had finally unlocked the room.

It had taken the better part of an hour to calm down the poor woman from Iowa. She’d never seen female impersonators before, and certainly not in the buff. Once again, Lou reminded himself he should have insisted the lady shut her door while he quieted down the couple, but it was too late now.

The room Katherine Wilson had rented was called “The Queen Anne” after the antique Queen Anne style bed that Lou had discovered while antiquing. The pink and white room was a little too frilly for his taste, but female guests loved it. He quickly glanced around the suite and saw the woman was neat. Everything was in drawers or in the closet.

“Great,” he whispered under his breath. He was going to have to do some serious snooping.

He opened the closet door. A few dresses, slacks, and several blouses were hung beside a car coat. He quickly searched them. Nothing.

The bathroom had the usual assortment of feminine junk. It didn’t give him a clue about the woman’s real identity. He was closing the medicine chest door when the telephone rang.

He jumped sideways and banged into the cabinet. “Get a grip,” he mumbled to himself.

Lou rushed into the bedroom and stared at the digital display panel on the telephone to see who was calling. Montgomery and Montgomery. The name sounded familiar. A law firm? Then it clicked: private investigators. It was a San Francisco firm he’d encountered a few times when he’d been reporting for the Herald.

He scooted out of the room as quickly as possible, leaving the telephone still ringing. Taking the stairs two at a time, he called to Piny, “Come on, boy. Up here.”

Inside his room, he petted the Labrador for a moment while catching his breath. Montgomery and Montgomery weren’t run-of-the-mill private dicks who made their living sneaking around taking pictures of straying spouses. They didn’t accept domestic cases. Their practice was strictly business related.

“Did Katherine hire them or does she work for them?” he asked Piny. In response, the dog nuzzled his hand.

The way she behaved and the lack of identifying items in her room made Lou suspect she was an employee. There was only one way to find out. He called San Francisco information for their number.

When he got the receptionist, he asked, “This is Warren Talbott of MicroNet Software in Palo Alto. You know, I’m having a senior moment here. I met one of your people at a party, but I can’t remember her name and I want to hire her. Let me describe the lady.”

Lou did his best to sound like one of the young nerds from Silicon Valley who breezed through the wine country when they weren’t cybersurfing on their computers or counting their microchips or whatever they did for fun. He described Katherine Wilson, omitting any reference to bird watching.

“Oh, you met Marilyn Mowrey. I’m sorry but she’s out on assignment. May I give you her voice mail?”

“No, no. Thanks. I’ll write down her name, and call back later.”

He slowly replaced the receiver, and Piny pawed his leg. Lou absentmindedly stroked the dog’s head. “What the hell could she be investigating?”

Lou had no reason to suspect he or Tori were targets of the investigation. The investigator had registered the morning after Brody had checked into the Silver Moon.

“Someone’s after Brody Hawke.”

He stood up slowly, the arthritis in his hip troubling him the way it always did when winter approached. Mulling over the situation, he walked over to the window and gazed out at the valley, which was dressed in the russets and golds of fall. Workers were busy on the hills, pruning the vines back before an early frost could damage the plants.

“A high-priced firm that specializes in corporate accounts,” he said to himself. “The Corelli brothers are behind this. Who else?”