Fonduing Fathers Page 7

  “I knew that, at a minimum, we were going to need basic information on Pluto. Not necessarily the information one can find online, but what the company was like a quarter-century ago. Who worked there, what their financials looked like….”

  “You were able to get that?”

  “Not everything. But enough, I think.”

  Because he was delivering the news slowly, I knew it must be good. “What did you find?”

  He ran his fingers along the side of the stack of papers. There were at least fifty sheets there. “I made copies of whatever I could find on Pluto, from about five years before your dad worked there until about five years after. I included recent company information as well. I didn’t know what might pop, which is why I bracketed the years and took a ‘more is better’ approach.”

  I scooched close enough to Gav to spread the files across our laps. Before I dug in, I remembered. “You said ‘two things.’”

  “The second thing may not materialize in to anything solid.”

  I waited.

  “While you were at the White House yesterday, I drove out to meet someone,” he said. “His name is Joe Yablonski. Joe was to me what I sense Eugene Vaughn was to your dad: my commanding officer for many years, and now my good friend. Joe works for…” Gav hesitated. “Let’s call it the Department of Defense.”

  “Interesting wording,” I said. “What does he do for them?”

  “Even if I had specifics…”

  I finished it for him. “You couldn’t tell me.”

  “What’s important is that he’s connected. Very connected. I don’t know anyone who wields as much influence as he does behind the scenes. And he counts me as one of his close friends. I asked if he’d be willing to meet with you.”

  “He must have agreed,” I said.

  “We have an appointment with him tomorrow.”

  “That’s why you were so secretive yesterday,” I said, understanding now. “You were afraid of getting my hopes up and having him refuse.”

  “Are you interested?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course! I have no idea how to begin this kind of search into my dad’s past. If there’s opportunity for help—not just having doors opened, but to even find out which doors exist—I’m all for it.” I wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you, Gav.” I was lucky to have this man in my life. “You know how important this is to me.”

  “I do,” he said. “I also know how persistent you are about uncovering truth. I figured if I help you find the answers you’re looking for, it might save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

  “You sweet talker, you.”

  “We’ll drive out there tomorrow.”

  “To the Pentagon? Why not just take the Metr—”

  “Not to the Pentagon. It will be better for all of us to keep this meeting on the QT.”

  “Sounds very cloak-and-dagger,” I said.

  “Joe is connected,” Gav repeated. “No sense jeopardizing that.”

  “How would meeting with him cause any problems?”

  “You’re a force, Ollie. Whether you like it or not, you have a reputation. Better to keep Joe out of it in order to protect his.”

  Although Gav had spoken in an admiring tone, I wasn’t quite sure how to take his words. “You really believe I could hurt his reputation?”

  “I know it.”

  Something in his voice made me ask. “Have I hurt yours?”

  He hesitated.

  “What did I do?” I asked. “What has happened that I don’t know?”

  “Nothing of consequence.”

  “Tell me.”

  Gav flexed his jaw. “During your last adventure, there was talk that I might have become too emotionally involved.”

  “Who—?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What happened?” Sounding like a nervous fifth-grader, I asked, “Did you get into trouble?”

  “Not trouble,” he said.

  I waited.

  He sighed. “There was a plum assignment that came up. I would have been considered for it, but I was warned not to apply.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not. It would have taken me out of the country. For two years.”

  “Oh.” I stared up at him. “Did you want this assignment?”

  He put an arm around me and pulled me tight. “Any other time of my life, yes. Not right now.”

  “Do a lot of higher-ups know that we’re involved?”

  “Only those who need to know,” he said.

  “I don’t want to be trouble for you.”

  “You’re not. I mean that.” Reacting to the look on my face perhaps, he said, “Don’t sweat it, Ollie. I’m exactly where I want to be. Let’s put that aside for now and see what we can discover in Pluto’s paperwork.”

  Although I wanted to know exactly what kind of impact I might be having on his career, he seemed so eager for me to dive into the information he’d uncovered that I took his suggestion and let it go.

  Gav had been thorough in his investigation, and I realized as we sifted through all the information he’d uncovered that he’d pursued this thread exactly in the manner I would have. He’d pulled together all the pertinent information about Pluto that he could find, and after about an hour of reading reports, newspaper articles, and company newsletters—which were a magnificent resource—we decided to put together a time line.

  That took another hour. When I looked up, the sky was dark, the city glittering. I stood up and stretched, making my way to the windows. “I won’t say it again,” I said, “but this is so amazing. I could stay here forever.”

  He came up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “It’s a little small for two people. Permanently, I mean…” He stopped.

  Gav was seldom at a loss for words, but I understood. After suffering tragedies early in his life, he still had difficulty thinking and talking about the future. I placed a hand atop one of his. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Our faces were reflected back in the dark glass and I wished I could wipe the sadness from his eyes. The man was unflinchingly courageous in matters where he was required to put himself at risk. When it came to me, however, he fought powerful demons to keep fear at bay.

  I turned to face him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He held me at arm’s length and studied me for a long time. “Do you promise?”

  “Promise. Your worries of being a jinx are over. We can take our sweet time about the business of you and me.”

  He pulled me tight and I drew in a deep breath of his heady, manly scent. His chest rumbled as he spoke, “I don’t know, Ollie. Wherever you go, trouble follows. You get my heart racing. In more ways than one.”

  “I’ll behave,” I said, laughing. “I mean, really, how much danger can I get into looking at old company reports?”

  CHAPTER 8

  GAV STILL HADN’T TOLD ME EXACTLY WHERE we were headed when we set out the next morning in his silver Honda Civic. We were both dressed casually, wearing sunglasses to shade the sun’s blistering brightness. We headed north and west, and were about twenty miles out of D.C. when I looked up from the notes I’d been making on the time line we’d created the night before.

  “So what’s this Joe Yablonski like?” I asked.

  Gav kept his eyes on the road. “I can tell those Pluto papers have you enthralled.”

  “They get repetitive after a while,” I admitted. “I started adding names to the time line,” I said. “Employee of the month, retirees, etc. Trying to get an idea of who actually worked there at the same time my dad did.” I exaggerated my blinking. “Reading in the car makes my eyes go wobbly.”

  “Joe’s unique,” he said. “I think you’ll like him.”

  “How much farther?”

  “A while.”

  “Great,” I said, “plenty of time to get dizzy.”

  I resumed reading for about f
ive minutes. “Hey!” I said.

  Gav lowered his sunglasses long enough to glance over to me. “That sounds promising.”

  “Maybe. About three weeks after my dad died, one of the company vice presidents was hurt on the job, and badly. He’s in a wheelchair and homebound.”

  “How does that help you?”

  “It doesn’t. But Harold Linka, the man who was disabled, still works for the company. He has an office at home.” I pointed even though Gav kept his eyes forward. “Maybe he’d be willing to talk to us.”

  “If we really believe that your dad was shot and subsequently framed by a man he worked with, then you risk opening up old wounds.”

  I frowned at him and waited for him to notice before I spoke. “I wouldn’t go in there all gangbusters. I’d be careful. Even if this Harold Linka didn’t know my dad well, he might know who his friends were back then.”

  “Don’t lose sight of the fact that memories shift over time. Twenty-five years can skew recollections.”

  “My visit to Eugene Vaughn made that clear,” I said, scribbling “Harold Linka” into my notes. “That doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

  I glanced up again, taking in the surroundings. “I haven’t been out this far in a long time. You drove out here Tuesday?”

  “Joe and I met at a different location. A bit closer to home.”

  “Because meeting with you isn’t going to hurt Mr. Yablonski’s reputation?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hmm,” I said, not thrilled about the name for myself I’d apparently cultivated. I’d have to do my best to impress this Joe Yablonski. “I hate to miss all this lovely scenery, but I still have plenty to read. Let me know when we get close.”

  “You’ve got a while yet.”

  WHEN WE CROSSED INTO LOUDOUN COUNTY, Virginia, Gav let me know that we would arrive at our destination in about ten minutes. Perfect timing; I was nearly finished with my analysis. “I came up with one other name,” I said. “I think this Michael Fitch could have been at Pluto the same time my dad was.” I waved my hands over the uneven piles of pages and notes spread across my lap. “Except for the owner, Craig Benson, it looks to me as though the place has suffered a lot of turnover through the years. Check this out.” I held up a newsletter and read a paragraph about how Pluto had welcomed their newest employee as executive secretary.

  “So?”

  “Three months later, there’s this…” I read aloud another passage that was word-for-word the same welcome. “Same position, different woman.” I shuffled the pages into a neat pile and placed my notes on top. I tapped the straightened pile. “The only two viable candidates are Linka and Fitch, the ones I mentioned. I hope we get lucky.”

  “Here we are.” Gav turned onto a gravel road. We bumped and jostled along for at least another mile until he pulled into what could only loosely be described as a parking lot, adjacent to a group of one-story whitewashed brick buildings all with blue roofs.

  The structures were nestled into this low area amid rolling hills, surrounded on all sides by trellises of grapes growing in long, lovely rows almost as far as I could see. Nearby, next to the largest of the buildings, three worn wooden picnic tables sat beneath a cluster of trees.

  There was one other car in the sunny parking lot, and a butterscotch lab had found shade under one of the picnic tables. Otherwise, the place seemed utterly vacant.

  “A vineyard?” Leaving my paperwork behind, I got out of the car and stretched in the late morning sun. “Gorgeous day to be outdoors. Does your friend live all the way out here?”

  Gav didn’t answer. He shut his door and came around to my side. Wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and the sunglasses he’d pushed atop his head, he looked more like a handsome tourist than a government agent, although his alertness and ramrod posture threatened to give him away.

  After we’d alighted, I’d expected him to lead me to the rustic two-story home about fifty feet farther up the gravel path, but instead he placed a gentle hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward the nearest building. “They’re only open limited hours,” he said. “Closing at noon today. Let’s do a tasting.”

  I glanced at my watch: 11:30. “Sure.” Each of the white buildings sported blue metal doors and paned windows trimmed in blue. “I missed the vineyard’s name on the way in.”

  He spoke very close to my ear. “Follow my lead.”

  I gave him my best you’re-just-teasing-me look, but he missed it.

  “This way,” he said. We went around the building’s corner where one of its blue metal doors was propped open with a cinder block. WINERY ENTRANCE was hand-lettered in gold, next to the door.

  Coming in from the sun, I stopped after three steps to allow my eyes to get accustomed to the dark room. Although well-lit, the windows had been covered with wooden-slat blinds, helping to keep the place cool and maintain a cozy air. And cozy it was. From the nondescript exterior, I’d expected little more than a countertop and a few bottles on display, but this room was welcoming and friendly. Small, no bigger than twenty-by-twenty, its corners were warmed by the soft glow of Tiffany lamps.

  The floor was concrete, the ceiling high and industrial, but the walls were painted in muted jewel tones with quality artwork on them, placed around and above wine displays. Directly across from the door, the room’s bar took center stage. A young couple browsed the wine selections. An older gentleman leaned heavily on the bar’s far right flank. Wearing overalls, a red plaid shirt, and studying us with undisguised interest as we made our way in, he had to be Joe Yablonski.

  A middle-aged woman behind the bar gestured us in. “Welcome to Spencer’s Vineyards. Free tastings.” She graced us with a cheerful gap-toothed grin. “We offer them free because we know you’re going to love our wines.”

  “We’d like to do a tasting,” Gav said. “I’ve heard great things about this place.”

  “Where you from?” She pulled two glasses up from behind the bar and placed them before us. She then drew out two printed sheets and two pencils. “Here’s for making notes. My name’s Ermengarde, but everyone calls me Erma.”

  “We’re just down from Frederick for the day,” Gav answered. “Visiting friends and we thought we’d bring wine. What’s good here?”

  She straightened the neck of her apron with unabashed confidence. “Everything.”

  She poured our first wine, describing it far more eloquently than I would have expected. As we took our first sips and I marveled at the wine’s smoothness, she said, “Say, would you folks be interested in a tour?” She cocked her head toward the young couple, who’d selected three bottles of wine and were waiting for her to ring them up. “It only takes about fifteen minutes.” She leaned toward the young couple. “You liked the tour, didn’t you? Think it was worth it?”

  They looked at one another and then at us. “We enjoyed it.”

  Gav turned to me. “What do you say, honey?”

  Honey? I gurgled my mouthful of wine. “Sounds great,” I managed.

  The old guy leaning at the bar pushed himself off and ambled out the door. I glanced up at Gav, but he’d already begun jotting notes about the wine Erma had poured for us. “Wonderful,” he said, pointing to the printed sheet where the description and its price could be found. “Not terribly expensive either.”

  This was some charade, I thought as I sipped.

  We’d made it through two more wonderful wines before the young couple departed and we heard them pull away. As soon as they did, Erma grinned. “How you been, Gav?” she asked, coming around to the front of the bar to give him a hug. “We sure miss you around here.” Before he had a chance to answer, she turned to me. “And you must be Ollie.”

  I was completely nonplussed. “You know me?” I said in about as lame an exclamation as I’d ever uttered. “I’m sorry, you really had me there.”

  “We’ve sure heard a lot about you,” she said, wrapping me in a full-body hug. “Gav just goes on and on.”

  His
cheeks reddened. “I missed you, too, Erma,” he said. “Thanks for letting us use your place here today. Joe’s already here, I take it?”

  “Bill’s gone to get him.” She gave Gav an appraising glance. “You’re looking mighty fine, son.” To me, she said, “I think you’re good for him.”

  This was a lot to digest at once. Gav had told me about his childhood, mostly spent in foster homes in the Midwest. I didn’t know how Erma and Bill figured into that equation, but I assumed I’d find out. “You sure were quiet about all this on the drive up,” I said to Gav.

  “I didn’t know if there would be anyone else here,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “And if there was…Hey!” This last exclamation came as the man who had been leaning on the bar when we arrived—obviously Bill—returned with another man. Gav strode up to both of them, giving Bill a vigorous back-slapping man hug, before gripping Joe Yablonski’s hand in a sturdy, joyful shake. Gav was as happy as I’d ever seen him and I found myself smiling, too.

  “This is Ollie,” he said, bringing the two men forward. “Ollie, this is Bill.” He stepped back as I shook the man’s hand. “Bill and Erma have been part of my life…” A shadow flitted across Gav’s features for the briefest of moments. “For a very long time. They’re family.”

  Bill and I exchanged pleasantries though I got the feeling the older man still hadn’t finished assessing me.

  “And this,” Gav said, bringing me closer to the second man, “is the inestimable Joe Yablonski.”

  Joe Yablonski looked exactly as I’d expected, only bigger. Taller than Gav, he was wider, too, with broad shoulders, a massive chest, and a neck that draped over his collar. I guessed him to be in his mid-fifties. He looked the type who would be far more comfortable in a dress uniform than in the civilian Dockers and polo shirt he was wearing. “It’s very nice to meet you,” I said.

  He wrapped a meaty hand around my smaller one. “The pleasure is mine, Ms. Paras.”

  “Ollie, please.”

  All business again, he turned to Gav. “Shall we find a comfortable place to chat?”

  Erma was immediately solicitous. “Of course!” she said, “I know your time is limited. Bill will go set out the closed sign at the front gate and you all can have this entire room to yourselves.”