Dulac found him before he was halfway to where the main house was staked out and partly slabbed. PAD Construction’s owner was a burly, jowly man in his late fifties, the 49ers cap he habitually wore tilted back on his head, a tool belt slung around his waist. He’d worked for the old man once, long ago, but that wasn’t the reason Hollis favored him whenever he could. Dulac was the best and most reliable general contractor in the county. He seldom finished a job late or overbudget; drove his crews hard, but no harder than he drove himself.
“Saw you pull in,” he said. “How they hangin’, Jack?”
Damn sour joke now, but Hollis went along with it. “A little lower every day.”
“Wait till you get to my age. Come up for a reason?”
“Just a look-around to keep Chesterton happy.”
“Well, we’re still pretty much on schedule.”
“Never any doubt of that.”
“I’ll be in the trailer for a few minutes,” Dulac said. “Give a holler if you want me.”
Hollis roamed the site, stopping once to talk to a workman, another time to feign an inspection of a foundation slab, a third time to enter one of the portable toilets. What urine he could produce caused a burning and flowed in thin interrupted spurts, as if his bladder were on some kind of timer switch. Frustration made him slam his hand against the inner wall, and when he came out a man working nearby gave him an odd look. He pretended not to notice.
From there he wandered back to the excavation for the big wine cellar. Forty by sixty feet, cut deep into the shale rock of the hillside; all the digging finished, the walls and ceiling shored and framed with plywood. The floor slab hadn’t been poured yet, he saw with relief. The hard-packed dirt was overlaid with loose plywood sheets.
Inside, he bent to lift one of the center sheets and then squatted with his back to the opening. He knew that they hadn’t hit bedrock anywhere on the site, but he had to be sure the earth wasn’t too rocky here for easy digging. He burrowed two fingers into the pack, sifted dirt between his fingers. It would take a pick and shovel easily enough, but there was no way of telling for certain how far down he’d be able to go. Just have to take it on faith that it would be far enough without too much effort.
He replaced the plywood, went back outside. The nearest mound of earth and rock was fifty yards distant; he noted its location and the fact that there was a wheelbarrow near the pile. Then he went to the trailer to talk to Dulac again.
“Everything looks good, Pete. Pouring the rest of the slabs next week, right?”
“Right,” Dulac said. “Should have ’em all done by a week from tomorrow.”
“One in the wine cellar looks like it might be a little tricky.”
“Shouldn’t be. We’ll have that one down Monday or Tuesday.”
“Fine,” Hollis said. “Oh, one more thing. Pretty good chance Chesterton and his wife will be driving up on the weekend. If they do, they’ll want to check progress for themselves. So I’d better have your spare key to the padlock on the gates.”
“Sure, no problem.” Dulac got it for him. “You coming up with them?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, better remind Chesterton to lock up again when they leave. Remote site like this, we don’t want anybody getting in here that don’t belong.”
“No,” Hollis said, “that’s the last thing we want. Somebody here who doesn’t belong.”
5
When he came down out of the hills he drove straight home. Three-thirty already; not much time left in the workday, even if he’d been inclined to return to the office. What he needed right now was to talk to Angela, break the news that Boston was no longer an option and reinforce the argument that she wait awhile before leaving home.
Only she hadn’t returned from Santa Rosa yet; there was no sign of her little Chevy Geo. Cassie wasn’t home, either. But parked in front was an unfamiliar Dodge pickup, old and a little battered, and as Hollis started his swing into the driveway a rough-dressed man appeared on the porch, stepping out from behind the screen of bougainvillea. Recognition thinned and tightened Hollis’s mouth.
Angela’s first big mistake.
Now what the hell?
He stood waiting as Ryan Pierce came down the steps and approached him. Tall kid, on the gangly side. And on the scruffy side now: beard stubble, brown hair curling well below his collar, stained cowboy boots and Levi’s and a western-style shirt. Not much to recommend him, today or any day, except a pair of soft brown eyes and an ingratiating smile. Little gumption, no real focus or ambition. Hollis had never understood what Angela saw in him. Cassie thought it was gentleness, hidden depths that she’d been able to tap into. Maybe. His own best guess was that Pierce appealed to the strong maternal side of her; that she’d believed she could make something of him, teach him how to be a husband, father, man. Well, she’d been wrong. He had kept right on being immature, directionless through four struggling years of marriage and most if not all of the time since — no damn good to anyone, including himself.
“Hello, Mr. Hollis. Long time.”
Not long enough. “What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for Angela. You knew I was coming, right?”
“Wrong. If I had I’d’ve told you to stay in Wyoming.”
“Montana. I told her in my last e-mail I was getting ready to drive down. She didn’t tell you?”
“No.” And he’d ask her why she hadn’t, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
“I heard she left the guy she married in San Francisco, about all the trouble she’s been having with him. Not from her, from my sister Rhona. It sounded messy and I couldn’t get her to talk about it and I’ve been worried about her and Kenny. I quit my ranching job even though we were in the middle of—”
“Worried. Sure you were. How long has it been since you saw your son? Eighteen months? How many phone calls in that time? How many cards or letters?”
“Look, Mr. Hollis, I know I’ve been a lousy father—”
“Damn right you have.”
“—but I’m not the same person I was before Angela and I broke up and I moved away. I’ve learned some things since I’ve been out on my own. Done a lot of growing up.”
“Is that a fact.”
“Yes, sir. I know you don’t believe it, and I can’t blame you, but I care about her and my son. I never stopped caring. Now... I’m ready to start being a father to Kenny. I mean that. Angela must’ve told you about the money I’ve been sending the past few months for his support.”
“Is that what you think being a father is? Sending a check for a couple of hundred dollars every month?”
“No, sir,” Pierce said. “That’s why I’m here. I want to he part of his life from now on.”
“Just like that. And on your say-so we’re supposed to welcome you with open arms.”
“I don’t expect that. All I’m asking is that everybody give me a chance to prove how much I’ve changed.”
“Your timing is lousy, Pierce. You say your sister told you about David Rakubian. Well, you don’t know half of how bad the situation is. Angela’s trying to cope with the biggest crisis of her life, and you showing up, trying to wiggle back into her good graces, is only going to make matters worse.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to cause more problems for her. That’s the last thing I want.”
“What you want doesn’t matter. What’s best for her and the boy does.”