Blood Vines

CHAPTER TWENTY

Saturday, March 6

8:03 P.M.

Reed picked her up at eight. He wore blue jeans and a soft-looking chambray shirt. The battered leather jacket he wore over that was obviously an old friend.

Alex felt terribly overdressed in her little black dress.

“Wow,” he said.

“I should have realized it was casual when you said anything goes. I’ll change,” she said. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“Don’t. Mother will approve. Hell, I approve.”

“Your mother? I didn’t realize it’d gotten so serious between us?”

“Really serious.” He laughed. “Just for the record, you had a major crush on me when you were five. Ask anyone.”

She shook her head, amused. “I’ll get my coat.”

“Nice place,” he said. “Cozy.”

“I like it. It’s a little weird to be sitting on someone else’s couch, but I’ll get over it.”

“Here, let me help you with that.” He held her coat for her. “The move went okay?”

She slid into the garment. “Piece of cake. A couple suitcases. My toothbrush. Margo.”

As if on cue, Margo emerged from the kitchen, meowing. She wrapped herself around his ankles and he bent and scratched behind her ears.

“Careful, she bites.”

He jerked his hand back and she laughed. “Love nips is all. But they tend to startle.”

“A watch cat,” he muttered. “Is there anything ordinary about you?”

“Nothing, actually. But tonight I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They stepped out into the clear, cold night. He helped her into his SUV.

She buckled in, then angled toward him. “Who told you I was in Sonoma?”

“The truth? I recognized your car and plate number. It’s a cop thing.”

So much for her conspiracy theories. She smiled. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Nowhere, actually.”

“The pacifier-”

“No good. Any biological matter that might have been available was too degraded to use.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He eased into traffic. “Some cases, all the pieces fall together, just like that. Others take time and coaxing. And some have so few pieces, there’s nothing to build on.”

“And they go nowhere,” she murmured, thinking aloud. “Just fade away.”

“No,” he said, sounding suddenly fierce. “Baby Doe will not go unidentified. I won’t let that happen.”

“Because he may be Dylan?”

He met her eyes briefly, then returned his gaze to the road. “Because no child deserves that.”

She studied his profile, her chest tight with emotion. She couldn’t imagine being in his position, seeing the kind of ugliness he did, day in and out, and feeling the responsibility to somehow make it right.

He changed the subject. “How about I fill you in on who you’ll meet tonight?”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

“First, you’ll meet my mother and father. Dad’s a crusty old bastard, a fact Mom mostly ignores. She’s a class act, hence her approval of your dress.”

“Siblings?”

“Two brothers. Joe and Ferris.”

“And where do they fall in the Reed lineup?”

“Joe is the oldest, Ferris the youngest-”

“And you’re monkey in the middle?”

“Something like that. They both work for the family winery.”

“But not you. Why?”

“Long story.” He swung onto Sonoma Highway. “I expect the entire Sommer clan will be in attendance. Our families are close, but also in competition. A little industrial espionage is always in order.”

She laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not really. You’re sure to meet Treven tonight, Harlan’s older brother. He runs the Sommer outfit. He has two sons. Clark’s the older, Will the younger. Both are also in the business.”

“Rachel will be there?”

“Almost certainly.” He shot her a quick grin. “She’s a hoot, isn’t she?” When Alex agreed, he added, “But don’t be fooled. She’s as sharp as they come. Smart and ambitious. She lives for that winery.”

“What does she do?”

“Head winemaker.” He made a sharp right onto a private road. The iron gates were open, but judging by the card reader and keypad, that wasn’t always the case. “It’s a big deal, actually. Traditionally, the title of head winemaker has been a man’s domain. Only recently have women begun making names for themselves. Helen Turley, Mia Klein, Heidi Barrett-and Rachel Sommer.”

“I’m impressed. And frankly, intimidated.”

“In her case, you can check that at the door. Rachel is real people.”

“But the others aren’t?”

He pursed his lips, as if in thought. After a moment, he said, “Some are. But there are plenty of egos in that group. And plenty of bullshit.”

“Should I have worn boots tonight?”

“Hip waders.”

She laughed just as the house came into view. The large stone structure sat on a hill. Light spilled from the windows. The surrounding trees had been laced with tiny white lights. Jazz floated on the cold night air, at once earthy and elegant.

“More impressive than the Sommer place, isn’t it?”

It was. The house was grander. More manorlike. In light of the fact he’d wanted no part in the business, the obvious pride in his voice surprised her.

Interesting, she thought. No doubt there’d been a lot more to his opting out of the family business than he’d let on.

He parked and they climbed out. Alex was happy to see she wasn’t the only one in a dress. But Reed hadn’t been exaggerating-attire ran the gamut from grunge to bling.

Obviously, Reed had warned his family she would be his date this evening. One after another they approached her with some version of “Little Alexandra, I can’t believe it’s you!”

His brothers found them first. They were both dynamic, though in very different ways. Joe commanded and Ferris charmed. Their personal styles reflected that. Joe’s hair, silvering at the temples, was close-cropped. He wore a button-down shirt, open at the throat, and a pair of dress trousers. His shoes were polished to a shine that rivaled the glint of the Rolex watch on his wrist. Ferris’s hair was shaggy, his smile open and disarming. His choice in clothing: casual hip.

Reed resembled neither, with his thick, chestnut-colored hair, light eyes and rugged build.

After Reed introduced them, Ferris caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Danny didn’t tell us you were gorgeous,” he teased. “Hoping to keep you all to himself, selfish bastard.”

“Typical Dan.” Joe held out his hand and smiled. “Wonderful to see you again after all these years. My brother told you about his reputation with the ladies, I’m sure?”

“Actually, he didn’t.” She smiled back at the man. “However, he did remind me I had a raging crush on him at five.”

The two men burst out laughing. “Way to go, Bro. Smooth.”

To his credit, Reed seemed unfazed by their ribbing. “Laugh your asses off, guys. I’m still the one introducing you to the lady on my arm.”

Joe threw up his hands. “Hey, I’m out of this. Hitched. Ferris, on the other hand, needs some serious help.”

Considering the way he lingered over her hand, Alex seriously doubted that. As they left the brothers moments later, she leaned toward Reed. “Ladies’ man? And here I thought you were busy working the streets, not the sheets.”

He grinned down at her. “Funny. Nice play on words.”

But no denial. Alex tucked that fact away for later.

Wine, tonight’s zinfandel and in general, was the evening’s star attraction. As they moved through the party, talk revolved around it: the weather, grapes and current growing season, which wines were worth tasting and which ones weren’t. Everybody, it seemed, was an expert.

Alex was torn between finding it fascinating and totally affected. Reed had no such conflicts-as he led her through the party he kept up a running, sometimes irreverent, sometimes outright sarcastic monologue of who was who and why they thought so.

As he exchanged her empty glass for a full one, he said, “Here comes my father. Prepare yourself.”

She followed the direction of his gaze. She saw immediately where Reed had gotten his looks. He was a big man, with a head of thick silvering hair, whose gait-his very countenance-shouted, I’ll do it my way, thanks.

Now she knew where Reed had gotten that as well. And perhaps, why he had opted out of the family business.

“Dad,” he said stiffly. “Good to see you.”

“Son. Glad you could make it.”

The tension between the two was palpable, Alex noted.

“Where else would I be tonight?”

“You tell me. It’s only wine, after all. Not life or death.”

Alex felt Reed stiffen beside her. She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Alexandra Clarkson.”

The older Reed turned to her, pinning her with his piercing blue eyes. Only then did he take her hand. “Patsy’s girl.”

“Yes.”

“Wayne Reed.” He released her hand. “I hear you rented a place in town.”

“I did.”

“You’ll not be bothering Harlan.”

She bristled. “I had no plans to.”

“Good. Enjoy the party.” Without another word he turned and strode off.

She watched him go, working to recover her balance. “That went well,” she muttered.

Reed laughed. “I told you he was a crusty bastard.”

“In some cases, crusty is charming.”

“Not Dad’s. But you know that now.”

That she did. “You didn’t tell me there was such bad blood between you two.”

“Just disappointment.” Before she could comment, he added, “Here comes Mom. Big surprise.”

His mother, Lyla, proved to be the epitome of elegance and hospitality. Alex realized instantly that she played peacemaker between father and son. Or rather, she tried.

As Reed had predicted, she approved of the dress. “Don’t you look lovely!” she exclaimed, catching Alex’s hands and looking her over. “Little Alex, grown into a beautiful woman.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lyla.”

“To meet me? Why, we’re old friends.” She linked their arms. “Come, let me show you something.”

Alex glanced at Reed, who shrugged, his expression amused. He followed as his mother led her through an alcove into a large, paneled room. The room was richly but comfortably furnished, the walls hung with photographs, some of celebrities and politicians, framed medals and certificates. A scent lingered in the air, at once woodsy, sweet and somehow familiar. A fire crackled in the massive stone hearth. A video monitor played a promotional piece about the making of the Bear Creek Zinfandel.

“Trophy room,” Reed said.

“Our family history room,” she corrected, leading Alex to a grouping of photographs. “Our Marvale Pinot was served at the White House.” She indicated a photograph of a man who looked remarkably like Reed standing with President and Nancy Reagan. “That’s Wayne’s father.”

She pointed to another photograph. “Joe and Ferris with Governor Schwarzenegger. And here, Wayne and his father with Robert Mondavi. But that’s not why I brought you in here. Look.”

A photograph of Lyla and Patsy, both smiling for the camera, her mother very pregnant. They held up glasses of wine. Apparently, the picture predated the Surgeon General’s warning about consuming alcohol while pregnant.

Or maybe it didn’t. Here in wine country, Alex suspected, people wrote their own rules about such things.

“I missed your mother terribly when she left. We all did.”

“Were you close?”

“Very.” She sighed and lightly touched the glass. “We loved Harlan. He and Wayne were best friends from the time they were in short pants-as Wayne likes to say. I was close to Susan, his first wife… such a terrible tragedy.” Her voice thickened and she cleared it. “Poor Harlan, he has endured so much.”

She paused as if in thought. “Patsy made him so happy. You, too. Then, when Dylan was born… Those were joyful years.”

Alex imagined those years. In a strange way, as Lyla Reed led her through a series of photographs, she almost remembered them.

Lyla stopped on a picture of Harlan and Patsy, swinging Dylan between them. “That was right before-” She bit the words back, overcome with emotion.

Alex gazed at the image, then looked away. A log dropped in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the flue. She turned back to Lyla. “I don’t understand… why did she leave?”

Lyla looked surprised. She glanced at her son, then back at Alex, obviously distressed. “I thought you knew about Dylan.”

“I do. Now, anyway. But I’m having a hard time understanding the way she picked up and left. And an even harder time reconciling the woman she appeared to be in these photos and the mother I knew. Here, she seemed so happy, and all my life-”

“You’re not a mother,” Lyla said sharply. “You can’t truly understand until you are. His loss destroyed her.”

A young girl poked her head into the room, “Grandma, Pop-pop is asking for you.”

“Thanks, sweet pea. Tell him I’ll be right out.” She turned back to Alex. “If it had been one of my boys, I don’t know what I would have done. Or how I’d have gone on.”

She gave Alex’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Take all the time you need. We have photo albums from those years. Dan will show you.”