Erica Spindler - Blood Vines

“Researching. Would you believe, I met someone who was a good friend of my mother’s?”

“Yeah, I would. It’s a small world around here.” They both climbed into his car. “Who?” he asked, after they had buckled their seat belts.

“Rita Welsh. A librarian at the main branch.”

He backed out of the spot. “Learn anything interesting?”

“Several things. She said my mother was happy. And that Harlan doted on me.”

“He did.” Reed flashed her a smile. “But you were pretty darn adorable.”

She felt herself flush, but didn’t know if it was his smile or the comment that caused it. “She didn’t know who my father was. Mom was very secretive. She met him at a Robert Mondavi party. She worked there, in the tasting room.”

“Why so secretive, do you think?”

“My guess, he was married. Maybe in the public eye as well.”

“A classic story,” he murmured.

She angled in her seat so she could clearly see his face. “Rita told me that Harlan’s first wife died in an accident.”

“That’s true.”

When he didn’t offer anything else, she frowned. “She drowned in a wine vat.”

“Asphyxiated, yes. What are you getting at, Alex?”

Did she just come out with it? Tell him she wondered if Harlan Sommer was her dad? Or mention the fact the man had gone from “happily married” to madly in love with her mother pretty damn quickly?

Instead, she shrugged. “It seems the Sommer family’s had more than their share of tragedy.”

He looked at her oddly. “They have. But I don’t think I’d bring that up when you meet them.”

“I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I don’t think you are, Alex. Far from it.”

They fell silent. She gazed out the window. Under different circumstances, she would have marveled at the natural beauty before her. The eucalyptus, madrone and oak trees. Rolling hills of dormant vineyards. The narrow, serpentine road, spiraling upward.

Circumstances didn’t get much more different than these, she acknowledged, chest tightening. In a matter of minutes she was going to meet the stepfather two days ago she hadn’t even known she had. In fact, these circumstances were so far out of her frame of reference, she had no idea what to expect.

Would he like her? she wondered. Would he look at her and see the little girl she had been? Or had he forgotten everything about that girl? Did it really matter to her either way?

Could Harlan Sommer be her father?

She cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap. “What did he say when you told him I wanted to meet him?”

“Harlan? He agreed. Isn’t that enough?”

“That excited, huh?”

“Can you blame him, Alex?” He glanced quickly at her, then back at the road. “It’s been a long time. We’re talking some pretty painful territory.”

She was a physical connection to the loss of his son and the end of his marriage. No doubt he’d have preferred never to see her again. It hurt, but how would she have felt on his side of the situation? “I appreciate him doing the right thing.”

“What if it’s not?”

He asked the question in such a matter-of-fact way, she thought she had misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“One person’s blessing is another’s curse.”

“Maybe you should have become a philosopher instead of a cop?”

“Maybe so.” His mouth turned into a sheepish grin as he navigated the narrow road. “Think about it this way. Refusing to allow the past to be dredged up by refusing to see you would’ve been a hell of a lot easier. Harlan’s not an ‘easy way’ kind of guy.”

“He let my mother go. He let me go.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice?”

Maybe, she thought, turning her gaze once more to the window. She would just have to see.

Friday, February 19

4:15 P.M.

A short time later, as Alex gazed into Harlan Sommer’s cool gray eyes, she acknowledged she might never know what choices Harlan Sommer had made or what they had cost him. He would most probably never let her close enough for that.

“Alexandra,” he said, “it’s been such a long time. It’s hard to believe it’s you, all grown up.”

Time had not been kind to him, Alex thought, comparing him to the robust man in her mother’s photographs. Not handsome, no. But full of self-confidence and swagger.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” she said.

“Of course I would.” He smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s sit down. I’ve opened one of our 2004 cabs. Do you enjoy red wine?”

“I adore red wine.”

“Very good.”

He poured them each a glass. Reed, she noticed, abstained. Harlan handed her one and sat. The awkward silence she had anticipated-and dreaded-ensued.

After several moments, it was broken by an attractive brunette rushing into the tasting room. “Where is she?” Her gaze landed on Alex and she broke into a huge smile. “Oh my God, it is you! My annoying little shadow!”

She crossed to Alex and hugged her hard. “I wondered if I would ever see you again.”

Tears stung Alex’s eyes and she blinked against them. “You must be Rachel.”

“When Dad called and said you were in Sonoma, I couldn’t believe it. Tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last twenty-five years. Absolutely everything!”

Her father handed her a glass of wine. She tasted it, then nodded. “The ’04. I continue to be impressed with this one.” She turned back to Alex. “Are you married?”

“Divorced.”

“Children?”

“Let the poor girl take a breath,” Harlan said. “This isn’t an inquisition.”

“Sorry.” Rachel smiled. “I’m a little nosy. And bossy.”

Reed chuckled. “A little?”

“Stuff it.” She turned back to Alex. “So, do you… have children?”

“No. What about you? Husband? Kids?”

“Neither. Beautifully unencumbered.” She laughed. “Except for this freaking albatross of a business. Sorry, Dad.” She bent and kissed his cheek, then took the chair across from Alex. “I love my position here at Sommer, but it’s all the responsibility I want just now. How about you, Alex? You must work.”

“I’m working on my PhD right now, tending bar to pay the bills.”

“A PhD?” She looked at her father. “Dear God, she’s an academic. I never would have guessed that.”

She turned back to Alex. “What are you studying?”

“My thesis explores the role of belief systems in the human experience.”

“Belief systems?” Her eyebrows rose. “As in?”

“Studies suggest we’re actually hardwired to believe in a creator, a controlling creative force we pay homage to through ritualistic acts. That’s why we see again and again, across all cultures, a search for meaning through religion.”

“Sounds like the Catholic Church to me,” Rachel quipped.

“Judeo-Christian beliefs represent only a fraction of the world’s belief systems,” Alex said softly. “Paganism is actually the world’s oldest religion, with literally an endless number of variations. Some of the earliest artifacts are clearly items of pagan worship…”

Alex let her words trail off. The room had gone stone silent and its three other occupants were staring at her. “Sorry, I get a little carried away with my work.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned forward. “Mary Mother of God, you left the church, didn’t you?”

“What church?”

“The Catholic Church, of course. Father would’ve killed me if I’d tried. Believe me, some Sundays I think I would have preferred death.”

“Was I Catholic?”

Rachel looked stunned. “Your mother was a rabid Catholic.”