The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 (27 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Ramon Maldonado was having a good day. His wife, Juanita, had called Magnus in the morning to invite him over, knowing the window of opportunity was narrow. When Ramon was lucid, his memories were as sharp and clear as the slides he showed on his old Kodak carousel.

In the elderly Ramon, Mac could see only subtle glimmers of the dark, strapping young man who had fled the wiles of Evelyn Skeedy by becoming a Red Cross volunteer—a brightness in his eyes, an impish upturn of his lips. Now Ramon was diminished, tiny and shrunken, confined to a wheelchair. The scar from a German’s bayonet still scored his neck.

Four of them—Ramon, Magnus, Annelise and Mac—sat in a distinctly masculine den at the Maldonado estate. It smelled of old leather and cigar smoke, and there was a big carved desk and a Chesterfield sofa set in front of an old-fashioned screen. The shutters were closed against the daylight, and the fan of the projector blew gently into the room. Juanita operated the old carousel from her chair in the back of the room.

“There is a special bond that forms between men who shared what we have shared,” Ramon said, pausing at an image of two young men standing together in front of a wharf. Magnus, tall and fair-haired, and Ramon, built like a fireplug—squat and strong, struck a pose in front of a ship’s hull. “Despite the prohibition against forming close friendships within the resistance, we became more than comrades-in-arms. It is impossible to share what we shared without creating a tight bond.”

Mac glanced away from the projection screen, forming a mental picture of young Magnus, stabbing a soldier in the neck in order to save the life of his friend. Some bonds were forged in darkness.

“God only knows what would have become of me if I’d stayed in Denmark,” said Magnus. “It was a ruin of a place. I didn’t even have my school certificate, just my wits and mechanical and masonry skills, and a few prized possessions.”

“It wasn’t until much later that we learned how difficult it was to get transport to America, and then to get permission to immigrate,” said Annelise. “Ramon pulled strings, and I suspect his father greased some palms.”

“It was not so hard,” he said. “I took advantage of my position in the Red Cross and I’m not sorry.”

“We are all grateful that you did what you did.”

“And what is it that he did?”

“He managed to get berths for the four of us aboard the SS
Stavangerfjord
at a time when even the VIPs were clamoring for space. We made landfall in New York, and then traveled by train clear across the country,” Annelise said.

“I cannot begin to describe to you how vast everything looked to us. Vast and empty and new,” Magnus said. “It was exactly what we needed. To make a fresh start in our new home.”

“A
tabula rasa,
” Annelise added.

“The generosity of the Maldonado family cannot be underestimated,” Magnus said. “They gave us the orchard and the house. It was more than I ever dreamed of.”

“That was only the beginning,” Ramon said. “The rest was up to you, and you created a wonderful life.” He showed a succession of slides of the orchard and house, of Magnus and Eva in the sunshine they craved so much. Then there was a shot of Annelise in a cap and gown.

“Ah,” she said. “Graduation day.”

“You went to Cal,” said Mac. “Not too shabby for a girl who didn’t finish secondary school.”

“I was very ambitious, and hungry to learn,” Annelise said. “I took such a liking to Berkeley that I never wanted to leave...until I found San Francisco. That is where I found my heart’s home, with my teaching job and dancing students and my cats.”

She was stunningly beautiful, Mac couldn’t help but notice. It was no surprise, given the way her granddaughters looked.

“You shouldn’t get involved in this, Erik,” said Ramon, suddenly glaring at Magnus. “It’s an ugly business. Carlos has made a terrible mistake, but there’s no reason for you to suffer for it.”

Magnus frowned. “Ramon? It’s me, Magnus.”

“Yes, I know, but the boy made his own trouble. I’ve told him I’m through settling his gambling debts for him.
El está en su propia empresa.
”

Mac had enough Spanish to understand.
He is on his own now.

“Ramon is tired,” said Juanita, getting up quickly and opening the shutters to let in the light. She gently touched his shoulder. “You’ve had a lot of excitement with your guests today. This is a good time to take a rest.”

“Who’s Carlos?” Mac asked Magnus after Juanita wheeled her husband out of the room.

“Their eldest son. Carlos and Erik were best friends, like Ramon and me. But unlike us, the young men had a falling-out. Shortly after Erik’s accident, Carlos was found drowned in an irrigation pond.” As he spoke, Magnus reached for Annelise’s hand. “A terrible tragedy for both families.”

“Were the tragedies related?” Mac asked.

“No,” Magnus quickly declared. “We’ve imposed on the Maldonados long enough today,” he added. “We should be going.”

* * *

Isabel was putting lunch together in the kitchen when her grandfather returned from his visit with Ramon Maldonado. “It was good to see my old friend for a bit,” Grandfather said, stealing one of her homemade tortillas from the hot plate.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” said Isabel. “We can—”

She stopped, hearing the spit of gravel on the driveway outside. Looking out the window, she saw a little red sports car grind to a stop. “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath.

A young woman exited the car, slamming the door with an angry thud. “I’ll go,” Isabel said, hanging up her apron. She went out the back door and came face-to-face with Lourdes Maldonado. She was the granddaughter of Ramon, and Isabel knew very well she had a bone to pick with the Johansens.

“Hello, Lourdes,” she said pleasantly enough.

Lourdes didn’t seem to be in any mood for pleasantries. “Listen, I don’t want you coming around and asking my grandfather questions.”

“For starters, I wasn’t there this morning. But I’m sure Ramon didn’t mind visiting with his best friend.”

“Well, I mind. You’ve already cheated my family out of a fortune, and I won’t have you taking advantage of a sick old man.” Lourdes, of course, was referring the treasure Tess had found, which had belonged to Magnus. A canny lawyer, she had laid claim to it and had initiated a suit to share in the fortune. It was an annoyance suit, but it was very real, and had been dragging on for months.

“No one’s taking advantage of your grandfather,” Isabel assured her. “As I’m sure Juanita explained, we were reminiscing. Would you like to stay for lunch?”

Lourdes made an unpleasant face. “I think not. Just stay away from him.”

Isabel glared at her. “Have a nice day, Lourdes.”

She left in a huff, punching the accelerator to stir up more gravel. Isabel sighed and went back into the kitchen.

“She seemed pissed,” Mac said, folding a tortilla around a wedge of cheese. “What’s up with that?”

“We used to be friends,” Isabel said. “It’s complicated.”

“Women’s friendships are often more complicated than romance,” Annelise said. Isabel instantly thought of Annelise and Eva, the birth mother and the adoptive mother.

“If I thought it would settle things, I would offer Lourdes a portion of Bella Vista,” said Magnus.

“She’d never accept that,” Isabel said. “It’s not the land she wants.”

Her grandfather nodded in agreement. “I always felt this place was too big. When we first settled here, the land, the house, everything seemed so vast, particularly in contrast to things in Denmark. Eva and I had dreams of a large family. We both wanted many children. It was, I suppose, a reaction to what we had seen in the war, all the death and deprivation. Babies are like the springtime, a renewal. An affirmation of life.”

Isabel’s heart ached for him, a man who had lost his family in the war, then his son and his wife. “I feel bad that you didn’t get to have a bigger family.”

He shook his head. “You mustn’t feel bad. I know that in spite of my trials, I’ve been blessed in ways I cannot begin to count. I discovered that life does not always give us what we think we want. Life tends to give us what we need.” He sipped from his glass of lemonade. “Erik came late into our lives long after we had given up the dream of having children of our own.”

Isabel caught Mac’s eye. Before he had shown up, she never would have waded into the morass of old secrets. He’d shown her, though, that secrets could lose their power once they were exposed. “How did you manage?” she asked both Grandfather and Annelise. “I want to understand.”

Magnus looked at Annelise. “Your grandmother Eva wanted a child so much,” he said. “We were on a list to adopt a baby, but we kept failing to qualify due to Eva’s health.”

“So that’s why you...the two of you...”

Annelise turned to face Isabel. “Your grandmother was my dearest friend. From the time we were girls, we always said we’d do anything for each other. She pined for a child—you never saw such yearning. And so we...Eva and I...we talked about it a lot. Finally, it was determined that I would have the baby. It was an unorthodox decision, and perhaps it was reckless, but we did what we did, and I have no regrets.”

Isabel stifled a gasp. It had been Eva’s idea, then. She tried to imagine what that had been like for them, to make such a radical choice.

“And did you get a vote?” she asked her grandfather.

“I felt the same way Eva did. I wanted a family.”

“After I...” Annelise cleared her throat. “When I was several months’ pregnant, Eva came to stay with me in the city. She returned to Bella Vista with your father.”

Isabel’s heart went out to her. What had that been like, to give birth a second time, to hand the child over and to be left empty and alone?

“Eva and Magnus were my most beloved and trusted friends,” Annelise said as if she’d read Isabel’s mind. “I knew the child would have a wonderful life with them.”

“Erik never knew,” her grandfather said. “We raised him with all the love and support we could give. He was a beautiful boy, full of laughter. But he had a reckless, impulsive streak.” He set down his glass. “When we heard about the accident, we were in shock for hours. Days. There is a fundamental injustice in losing one’s child. Any parent will attest to that. Eva and I raged. We cursed everything—God, the fates, each other.”

He paused, took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She cursed herself, believing it a punishment for taking another woman’s child. I told her it was insanity to think that way, but there was a moment when she believed we’d tempted fate by never telling Erik the truth.”

He polished his glasses and put them back on, and looked directly at Isabel. “It was you who saved us. You came along in the middle of the worst of life’s turmoil and there you were, helpless and utterly dependent on us for your every need. You were the sweetest baby imaginable. I remember you used to get the hiccups, and I would pat you on the back until they went away. And you loved it when your Bubbie sang you a song. Our love for you drove out the grief. I know that sounds far too simple, but it is exactly what happened. We took you home and you changed our lives forever.”

Chapter Nineteen

“I need to show you something,” Mac said, his shadow filling the doorway to her study.

“I’m trying something new right now,” she said, staying focused on the computer screen. The landscape designer had sent her some digital renderings for the swimming pool.

“How about trying something old?”

She could tell he wasn’t going to go away. “What’s that?”

“Come on. I’ll show you. Way more fun than staring at a computer.”

A chance. That’s what he said he wanted. Isabel was starting to want that, too. She walked with him down to the machine shop. There, he opened the tall double doors, letting the sunlight flood into the old stone barn. “It’s ready.”

“Oh, my gosh. You fixed up the Vespa.”

“We did. Your grandfather really got into the project with me. He’s a damned good mechanic.”

“Farmers have to be,” she said. “I’ve always admired Grandfather’s mechanical talent.”

“We had to replace about ninety percent of her, but the job’s done.”

The smooth, curved lines of the metal body gleamed with a fresh coat of seafoam-green paint. The chrome sparkled in the sunlight, and a pair of brand-new helmets rested on the rear rack behind the reupholstered saddles. New mirrors, new handlebar grips, fresh hubs in the tires. She took a slow walk around the scooter, admiring it from every angle and trying to picture her mother as a young woman, riding it around the coast roads and hill towns of southern Italy.

She loved the pride and anticipation in Mac’s expression. When was the last time a man had done something just to please her? “It’s beautiful, Mac.”

“Glad you like it.”

“It looks very continental,” she said. “Just like the one in
Roman Holiday.
”

“Never saw that movie.”

“It’s about an overly sheltered princess who runs away from her duties with a brash American reporter.”

“A brash,
awesome
American reporter.”

“True, Gregory Peck is awesome.”

“And I take it they ride a Vespa.”

“All over Rome—the Spanish Steps, the Mouth of Truth, the Coliseum....” She sighed. “We should watch it.”

“We should ride a scooter around Rome.”

“Let’s ride the scooter right now,” she said.

* * *

The helmets fit perfectly. The fresh leather upholstery felt luxurious as she mounted behind him. “It’s got that new scooter smell,” she said.

“Grab on, and let’s go show your granddad.” The upgraded motor sounded and felt a lot stronger as the scooter leaped forward. He drove up past the main house to the shady yard where Magnus and Annelise were sitting together with their notebooks and pens, laboring over their wedding speeches.

Mac beeped the horn and they waved as they went past, heading down the main road to town. The sunshine and wind-cooled air gave her a giddy rush of pleasure. She leaned her head back and looked up at the sky, brilliant blue and cloudless, typical of a Sonoma summer. The ride was so smooth that she dared to stretch her arms out wide and let the wind stream through her fingers. Their shadow, racing along the roadway, resembled a strange bird.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m taking you shopping.”

“Oh, please. For what?”

“You’ll see.”

She savored a sense of anticipation on the short ride into town. Even the sight of Calvin Sharpe’s restaurant sign—CalSharpe’s, Coming Soon!—couldn’t dampen her spirits. She refused to let it.

Mac pulled up and parked in front of the White Rabbit Bookshop. It had always been one of her favorite places in town, an eclectic, friendly store with a beautifully curated selection of books. The slogan over the door read Feed Your Head.

“When I was a kid, I didn’t get the reference,” she said, indicating the sign. “Actually, it was Homer Kelly who turned me on to the song.”

“Ah, Homer Kelly the drummer.” He held the door for her. “‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane.”

“He did have good taste in music.”

“Just not in girlfriends.”

“Ha. Where were you when I was in ninth grade?”

“Probably living at some diplomatic outpost in a country no one’s ever heard of, fighting with my brothers over who gets the top bunk,” he said.

Victoria, the bookseller, greeted them with a smile. “Hey, Isabel,” she said. “Are you looking for anything special?” Then Victoria blinked and turned to Mac. “Sorry, I don’t mean to stare. Aren’t you...”

He approached the counter and shook hands with her. “Cormac O’Neill. Nice to meet you.”

She flushed and introduced herself. “Welcome to the White Rabbit. We don’t get many authors in our little place.”

“Well, that’s impressive,” Isabel said. “She recognized you by sight. You’re more famous than you let on.”

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “Not even close. It just means Victoria’s good at what she does.”

“He’s famous,” Victoria assured her. “Don’t let him fool you. Mr. O’Neill—”

“Mac.”

“Mac, what brings you to Archangel?”

“A book project,” he said. “I’m not working on it at the moment. Today, I’m a customer.”

“That’s great. But...I wonder, could you sign a few books for us? We always keep your titles in stock. They’re really popular with customers.”

“Sure thing,” he said. “I’d be honored.”

“I’ll go get the books.” Flush with pleasure, she bustled over to the nonfiction section.

Isabel smacked his arm. “You’re totally famous, and you never even told me.”

“You never asked. And besides, I’m not. Booksellers know me because they’re in the business.”

“And because you’ve been on every major network,” said Victoria, placing a stack of books on the counter. “The top one has been really popular ever since that CNN interview you did a couple of months ago.” She bustled away to get more books.

“What CNN interview?” asked Isabel in a low hiss.

“That thing I told you about in Turkmenistan,” he said.

“Oh....”

“Here’s the thing. Yasmin’s father is with a permit to settle in Turkey. I plan to meet him there so we can work on an article about the murder.”

She caught her breath. “And you were going to tell me about this...when?”

He said nothing.

“What was it like, to have a wife one moment, and then to be told she had died?” Isabel asked. “I mean, do I have to Google that interview in order to find out?”

“Jesus, don’t Google me.”

“Then try telling me things. Don’t wait until I trip over something you haven’t told me.”

“Yeah, I know. It was... I need to explain something. I married Yasmin to save her, not because I loved her.”

“But you said—”

“I said I failed. Twice. I failed at loving her and I failed to save her.”

“You tried.”

“And look how that worked out.”

“Does that mean you shouldn’t try at anything else, ever again?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Listen, Isabel. I like you. We can be good together. Can we be good forever? Who knows? Just because we don’t know shouldn’t hold us back.”

“But what if—”

“Here you go,” said the bookseller. “Just a few more copies. I always say a signed book is a sold book.”

He scrawled his signature in each of the books. “Here you go. Thanks. Isabel and I are looking for travel books today.”

She directed him to a shelf along one wall.

“I love travel books,” Isabel said. “I’m a great armchair traveler.”

He perused a collection on Italy and pulled a book from the shelf, an oversize tome with glossy colored photos.

“Ravishing Ravello?”
she asked.

“Okay, so it’s not the best title, but let’s check out where your mother came from.”

She paged through the volume, which showed stunning views from the Villa Cimbrone and Ruffalo overlooking the deep blue Mediterranean, glorious gardens hung with color, quaint plazas lined with restaurants and shops, trees heavy with lemons, and the grand Duomo silhouetted against a blue sky. “It’s lovely, like a dream.”

“Let’s go find out.”

She gave a short laugh. “You’re crazy. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got the wedding, the cooking school....”

“After the wedding’s over, you can take a couple of weeks.”

“No, I can’t.”

He bought the book and they went outside. “What’s stopping you?”

“A hundred things.”

“Then we’ll deal with those later.” He took her to the next stop—a photo and copy shop. “She needs a passport photo,” he said to the guy behind the counter.

“I can do that instantly. I’ve got the forms from the post office right here.”

“I don’t need—”

“For chrissake, Isabel, have a seat.”

All right, a passport photo. It couldn’t hurt to humor him. She took a seat and finger combed her hair.

“Look at the camera straight on, chin forward,” said the photographer. “Neutral expression.”

A few minutes later, she had a pair of regulation photos. Mac stood over her, making her fill out the form. There was something curiously intimate about having him watch her write down all that personal information.

“I don’t carry my birth certificate around with me,” she said when she got to that section.

“Your grandfather gave me a certified copy.” He took an envelope from his pocket.

“He’s in on this?”

“It’s not a conspiracy, Isabel.”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“You’re doing this of your own free will.”

“No, I’m doing this so you’ll stop bugging me.”

They dropped the forms at the post office, and then he said, “Time for lunch. Take me somewhere good. Somewhere Italian.”

She chose Vine, one of the cafés on the main plaza, and ordered a
burrata
and squash blossom pizza. The fluffy soft cheese, drizzled with fruity olive oil, paired beautifully with the crisp blossoms and homemade crust. Eaten with chilled elderflower soda, it was exactly what she’d been craving.

Mac, too, apparently. He made a sound of gratification. “Pizza. Nature’s perfect food. Are you going to teach pizza making at your cooking school?”

“Sure. That’s what the wood-fire oven is for.”

“All the more reason to make a trip to Italy. See where the technique was invented.”

“I don’t get you,” she said. “Why are you being so pushy?”

He shrugged and helped himself to another slice of pizza. “Born that way, I guess.”

“Makes me suspicious of your motives.”

“Yeah? You shouldn’t be. I’m completely transparent.”

She frowned and sat back in her chair, arms crossed. “Not to me.”

“Look, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes, maybe you do.”

He finished his soda and set the glass on the table with exaggerated care. Then he took off his sunglasses and regarded her intently. She noticed in that moment how beautiful his eyes were, that whiskey color and fringe of dark lashes. “I’m falling for you, Isabel,” he stated.

She felt all the blood rush to her cheeks.

“I’m falling for you, and it feels good. Remember I told you about Linda Henselman?”

“Umm...you kissed her and fell off the porch into a bush.”

“Well, yeah, that, but it’s the same dizzy feeling now, only it’s the adult version of that. A huge rush, something I haven’t felt since I was a kid.”

“Mac—”

“Hey, you asked. Let me finish. I’m not a kid anymore. I know what I’m feeling, and I know it’s the kind of thing that doesn’t come along every day.”

She felt a pulse of attraction, and had to physically restrain herself from reaching across the table, touching him. For some reason, she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. She’d spent far too much time thinking about the night he’d kissed her, and the memory came rushing back now. “You’re here for grandfather,” she reminded him.

“I
was.
This sure as hell wasn’t in my plans when I came here for your grandfather, but I’m good with changing plans.” He leaned back in his chair and put his sunglasses back on. “Anyway, that might not be the answer you wanted to hear, but you asked.” Then he went back to eating his pizza as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t just blown her mind. She suddenly wished her glass contained something stronger than elderflower soda. “So...um...what’s next?” she asked, then took a nervous sip and held her breath, wondering what his plan was.

He took out a couple bills to cover the tab, plus a generous tip, and laid them on the table. “Next, we go to...what’s that shop you said you liked? Angelica Delica.”

That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant by the question. “I can’t believe you remembered the name of that boutique.”

“You’d be surprised what I remember about you.” He stood and offered his hand, and when she took it, the world felt different.

“It’s a women’s boutique,” she pointed out. “What are you shopping for?”

He shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Five minutes later, they were in the superbly eclectic boutique, filled with romantic, whimsical dresses and accessories, mostly by local designers and artists. The decor was shabby chic, with funky candelabras and antique cabinets. Women were browsing through the racks, and Mac was the only guy in the place.

“She needs a dress for the wedding,” he said to Angelica, the shop owner.

“My specialty. Let’s try some things on you.”

Isabel felt a little flustered, but they had a point. She still hadn’t settled on her maid of honor dress. “Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect,” said Angelica. “Long or short?”

“Tea length,” Isabel said.

“Short,” Mac said.

She glared at him. “I’ll keep an open mind.”

A few minutes later, she was in the dressing room with Angelica bustling around her, offering a variety of options—chic minimalist, flowing chiffon, strapless and fitted, dancing skirts. Isabel dutifully modeled each look for Mac, who waited on a vanity bench outside the curtained area. He turned out to be vocally opinionated.

“You’re going to a wedding, not a church social,” he said when she came out wearing a drop-waist silk sheath.

“I think it’s very stylish,” she said.

“Let’s try something more fitted,” Angelica suggested. She zipped Isabel into a strapless silk jersey sheath dress that outlined every curve. She felt exposed, not just by the revealing dresses but by Mac’s scrutiny. Yet his attention didn’t threaten her. Instead, it transformed her. She didn’t have to be afraid anymore.