Erica Spindler - Blood Vines

“The Robert Mondavi Winery, that’s where your mother was working when she met your dad.”

“Yes.” Alex dropped her face in her hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“It is,” Rachel said tersely. “You’re going to have to deal with your personal feelings later. Right now, we figure out what happened. When we do, then we go to the police.”

Alex squeezed her eyes closed. The image of the robed figures filled her head. The men, their arousal… hands holding her down. The fire, its tentacles reaching for her. The screams.

“We can do this, Alex. You can do this.”

She snapped open her eyes. “How?” she whispered. “How do we make me remember?”

“You already know. You tried it yourself.”

She did know. The wine cave.

Alex’s heart beat heavily. She struggled to breathe past the sudden, overwhelming fear that balled up in her chest. Was she up to this? Was she strong enough?

It’s what she had set out to do. Unearth her past. Fill the empty place inside her, the one where those memories used to live. Find her father and identify her brother’s killer.

Was she strong enough? she wondered again.

Alex shuddered and Rachel caught her hands. “I’ll be right there with you. I’ll talk you through it.”

“A reenactment,” she whispered. “That’s what we need to do.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tonight. Late. I’ll prepare everything. You try to get some rest.”

That would be easier said then done, Alex acknowledged. She was completely terrified already, and she hadn’t yet set a foot in the cave.

Wednesday, March 17

11:40 A.M.

Reed sat at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen. He’d been unable to stop thinking about that last interview with Alex. He had replayed the things she’d said about Clarkson’s last call to her, the things about her father.

“Maybe my dad’s behind all of it. Even Dylan.”

She had come off as desperate and irrational. To him-and the entire team. Guilty of murder or not, they’d written her off as a first-class whack job.

That’s what he wanted to believe. His gut told him otherwise. Or were his personal feelings interfering with his professional judgment? In terms of the case, it didn’t matter. He was off it. But on a personal level, it bugged the hell out of him.

He wasn’t one of those guys, wasn’t one of those cops. He didn’t get personally involved. Didn’t let his emotions get in the way of rational thinking. So what the hell was going on here?

“Maybe my dad’s behind all of it. Even Dylan.”

A missing piece of the puzzle. One the investigators at the time wouldn’t have considered. Unless alerted by someone.

Patsy. She was the only one who would have been able to do that. Instead, she had run away. What had Harlan said? That Patsy had been overcome with guilt and despair.

The guilt fit now. She had suspected Alex’s father’s involvement, but had kept her mouth shut. Out of fear. Maybe. For her young daughter. For herself?

On a hunch, he picked up the phone and dialed information, retrieved San Francisco State’s number. The main office directed him to the College of Behavioral Sciences. There, the department secretary confirmed his hunch.

Tim Clarkson hadn’t had a faculty meeting the day before.

So, where the hell had he been? Why had he made certain Alex was out of the way for the day?

Her father. She’d been right. About it all. That’s why Tim had called her at the spa, meaning to leave a message for her. To prepare her.

Reed’s thoughts raced forward to the note her ex had left for her. I have news. Clarkson’s meeting with Alex’s father had been successful. Or so he had thought.

Why kill Clarkson?

Reed answered his own question. To keep his secret safe. Of course. But what secret? That he was Alex’s father? Or something more ominous?

“You okay, Reed?”

Tanner stood in his doorway. He motioned her in. “I’m good. And you’re just the person I needed to see.”

She wandered in, sank onto the chair across from him. “What’s up?”

“Followed a hunch and gave San Francisco State a call. Clarkson didn’t have a faculty meeting yesterday.”

“So one of them lied.”

“My bet’s on him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

He ignored that. “The question is why.”

She nodded. “Thanks. We’ll work on that. Cell records will help there.” She leaned forward. “Got some interesting information from the Ashton Drake people. Apparently, each doll is unique and comes with a serial number and adoption papers.”

She paused. “You adopt your baby. It’s all very official. They’ve got ‘adoption’ documents going back to the seventies.”

“Tell me you’ve got a name.”

“Not yet. By the end of the day.”

She stood and stretched. “Sorry you’re off the case.”

“How’s Saacks doing?”

“He catches on fast. He’s trying to nail down who at Red Crest took Schwann’s call. I’ll keep you updated.”

His cell vibrated. He glanced at the display and saw that it was his father. They hadn’t spoken since two nights ago, when his dad had told him to get off his property.

He thanked Tanner, then answered. “Hello, Dad.”

“I need to see you. Can you come over?”

“When?”

“Now?”

“Where are you?”

“My office.”

Reed frowned. His father sounded strange. Shaken. “What’s this about, Dad?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Wednesday, March 17

12:45 P.M.

When Reed arrived at Red Crest, he headed back to the offices, which he found deserted. Everybody, it seemed, was at lunch. He passed Eve’s desk, making his way to his dad’s office.

The door was closed; he tapped on it. “Dad, it’s Dan.”

Wayne called for him to come in; Reed did and closed the door behind him. His father stood at the window, gazing out at the vineyards.

At the snap of the door, he swung to face his son. “I heard about that murder.”

Reed slipped his hands into his pockets. “What did you hear?”

“That she most likely did it.”

“She?”

“Patsy’s girl.”

He couldn’t even say her name. Why? Reed frowned. “You mean Alexandra?”

“You know I do.”

“Then why not say her name?”

He glared at him. “I hear you let her go.”

“Didn’t have enough to charge her, Dad. And I don’t make those decisions. D.A. called it.”

“You know where she is?”

“I might. Why?”

“She’s been busy.” He crossed to his desk, snatched up an envelope from his desk and held it out. “Take a look at this.”

Reed crossed to his father and took the envelope. Inside, folded, was a single sheet of paper. On it, in what appeared to be twelve-point Helvetica, were two simple sentences: I know your secrets. I will make you-and the others-pay.

He read it twice, then returned his gaze to his father’s. “You think Alexandra sent you this. Why?”

“Who else would have?”

He searched his father’s expression, noting the way he couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds, the subtle flush across his ruddy cheeks. “What secrets is the letter writer referring to?”

“How the hell should I know? She’s crazy with a capital ‘C.’ Just like her mother.”

Reed narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying, Dad. We both know it, so can the bullshit outrage and tell me the truth.”

For a moment, it looked as if his dad was going to argue anyway, then he shut his mouth and went around his desk and sat. He dropped his head into his hands.