Erica Spindler - Blood Vines

“That’s what we figured. We wondered, too, if he was a public figure, afraid of a scandal. Or the cost of a divorce.”

Alex’s upset must have shown because the woman reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “The affair ended after you were born. She was brokenhearted. But truthfully, I thought it was for the best. That’s no way to live. She deserved a man who would honor her by making her his wife.”

“And she found him,” Alex murmured, thinking of her mother’s obvious joy in the photos from the album.

“Yes.” Rita checked her watch, then continued. “She went to work in the Sommer Family Winery’s tasting room. That’s where she met Harlan.

“He was an important man here in Sonoma and their courtship was quite public. I used to babysit for you sometimes, so they could go out. It was like watching her come back to life, and I was so happy for her.”

“Then he proposed? Did they have a big wedding or-”

“They ran off to Vegas.” She laughed, the sound girlish. “It was the talk of the valley.”

“How old was I then?”

“A year, I think. Just past.”

“And he was good to me?”

Rita looked surprised. “He doted on you. In fact, if I hadn’t known the whole story, I would have thought you were his own.”

Alex recalled the photo from the album and Tim’s comment about how much she had looked like the man pictured. That man had been Harlan Sommer.

She tucked that away for later. “What happened to them after Dylan disappeared? Why’d they break up?”

“Broken hearts. Too much pain between them. Too much anger.”

Alex remembered what Tim had told her about her mother’s feelings, the guilt she had probably suffered at having left her children alone that night. “He couldn’t forgive her, could he?”

Rita looked surprised. “She couldn’t forgive him. He insisted they go out that night. He promised her you and Dylan would be fine with Rachel.”

This time, Alex knew, she was the one who looked surprised. Which was it? she wondered. Guilt or anger?

Her phone vibrated; she saw it was Reed, excused herself and answered.

“I spoke with Harlan,” he said. “He can meet with us this afternoon, after the winery closes at four. I’ll pick you up.”

“Where?”

“Sonoma town square. In front of the girl & the fig.”

She ended the call and found the librarian staring at her hand, her expression odd. “What?” she asked.

“Your ring. It was your mother’s, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Alex glanced at it, then back at Rita. “Do you happen to know where she got it?”

“I don’t know. Sorry.”

An awkward silence fell between them and Alex sensed that Rita wasn’t telling the truth. She leaned toward her. “Was my mother happy, Rita? Before Dylan disappeared?”

“Yes. Very happy.”

“Did she suffer from depression or any other emotional disorder? Anything like that?”

“Patsy? Goodness, not that I ever saw.” Rita shook her head, as if for emphasis. “She was down sometimes, like we all are. But nothing that seemed… clinical.”

“How old was I when she became pregnant with my brother?”

“Three, three and a half.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I’ve already been away from my desk too long.”

She stood. Alex followed her to her feet. “Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me, Rita. My mother didn’t talk about the past.”

“Too painful, I suppose.” She sighed. “People change as they age. Especially when they’ve suffered horrible losses. Come, I’ll get you set up with the microfilm.”

They exited the break room. The readers’ film files were located on the far north wall. Rita quickly loaded the “Press Democrat” reels for her, then gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you came in today. I’ve thought of you and your mother so often over the years. If you want to talk again, just call me. Here or at home, anytime.”

She jotted her name and number on a slip of paper and handed it to Alex. “Anytime,” she repeated.

Alex thanked her again, then, thinking of a last question, stopped her at the door. “Harlan Sommer’s first marriage, when did they divorce?”

“They didn’t,” she said softly. “She died in a tragic accident at the winery.”

Friday, February 19

2:50 P.M.

Hours later, eyes burning and head throbbing, Alex still sat at the microfilm reader. She had begun her search with Dylan from his birth and christening to his abduction. Story after story repeated the same facts: he had been stolen from his bed; the expected ransom note that never came, the family’s despair and public pleas for his safe return.

The stories had been devastating to read. The accompanying photographs had broken her heart.

When she simply couldn’t take any more, Alex had turned her attention to Harlan’s first wife, Susan. The accident that killed her had been both tragic and gruesome. During a process called punching down, she had been overcome by the fermenting wine’s high CO 2content, tumbled into the tank and drowned.

She hadn’t been wearing the safety harness required by CALOSHA of all persons working on the catwalks above the tanks. Her brother-in-law and another winery worker had seen it happen and rushed to save her, but it was too late.

Exactly nine months after that had come the first local news blip about her mother and Harlan.

Alex sat back and rubbed her temple. It seemed odd to her. Nine months seemed a short time to mourn a wife and the mother of your child. How could the man suddenly appear, all smiles, with her mother on his arm?

Alex backtracked. Read the gossip columns and society news, looking for a hint of marital problems between Harlan and Susan. Even the whiff of a rumor of an affair. She found none. Indeed, in each of the published photos they looked happy.

A happy family. The way the photos with her mother all looked.

The Sommer family’s story read like a script for a made-for-TV tearjerker. They had suffered so much tragedy, it was as if a dark cloud hung over them, beginning with Harlan’s father’s generation. Accidents. Unexpected deaths. Broken marriages.

A kidnapped child.

Alex realized she was trembling. She glanced at her watch, shocked to realize how late it was. She collected the copies she had purchased, a stack over an inch thick, and stood.

What did it all mean? she wondered, sliding the copies into her tote. Nothing? Everything? Was this why her mother had stripped these years from their lives? To outrun the cloud of tragedy?

But she hadn’t outrun it, had she? She had dragged it along with her.

Alex hurried toward the exit. As she passed the information desk, she glanced that way. Rita was on the phone. When she saw Alex’s glance, she quickly turned away, as if she didn’t want Alex to see her.

Frowning at the thought, Alex stepped out into the brilliant day, squinting against the light. She rummaged for her sunglasses, found them and slipped them on.

Guided by her GPS, Alex made it to the Sonoma town square and the girl & the fig-wolfing down a sandwich on the way-arriving only a few minutes late.

Reed was waiting for her, leaning against the front fender of his vehicle, arms folded across his chest, face lifted slightly to the sun. He might’ve been sleeping. Cat quiet, she thought. Absolutely still with the ability to pounce without warning.

The sunlight caught the gold and red highlights in his chestnut-colored hair and she was suddenly struck by how ruggedly good-looking he was. She wondered how she had missed that before.

Alex parked beside him and climbed out. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

“No problem.” He straightened. “Sightseeing?”