She studied it, then swore softly. “Where’d you get this?”

“Alex. It was her mother’s. She found it in the same trunk she found Dylan’s pacifier.”

“BOV. What does it stand for?”

“She didn’t know. She thought they might be her father’s initials.” He explained about Max Cragan, how Alex had found him and why.

“What I find interesting is that once again, Alexandra Clarkson’s at the center of trouble.”

“It does seem to be following her.”

“And her reaction this time?”

“Shook up. Very.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “The question is, why Tom Schwann and Patsy Sommer would both be in possession of the same, rather unusual image.”

“Coincidence?” she offered. “It’s unusual but not so off the charts it couldn’t happen. This is wine country, and the image reflects that.”

He agreed. “Dylan disappeared in ’85. Schwann would have been seventeen at the time. Alex five.”

“That eliminates the possibility of his being her father.”

“But their families would have traveled in the same circles.” Reed grabbed his jacket and stood. “This just got a bit more interesting. I’m going to pay a visit to Schwann’s wife, see what she knows about the tatt, then maybe a few of his friends.”

After speaking to Jill Schwann, who knew nothing about the tattoo except that it was something he’d done when young and that she’d found it hideous, Reed paid a visit to his brothers.

He made his way into the winery’s offices. “Hey, Eve,” he called to the receptionist. “Either of my brothers in?”

The woman, who had been with the winery since Reed was a toddler, smiled. She used to keep a jar of candy on her desk just for when he, Joe and Ferris came around. Which had been often.

“They’re together. In Joe’s office.”

“Double trouble,” he said. She returned his grin and he headed down the hall, passing his father’s closed office door, stopping at Joe’s.

He heard them arguing. Not a big surprise. This time about the replanting of a vineyard from cabernet grapes to pinot noir.

“You’re so full of shit!” Ferris exclaimed. “The fact is that vineyard produces inferior cab grapes; its northern exposure is perfect for pinots. You know it and I know it.”

“The cost of ripping up and replanting is too great for the return we’ll see. Plus, we’re known for our cabs.”

“Good cabs! Not the blended crap those grapes-”

Reed tapped on the partially open door, then stuck his head in. “Wow, what a touching moment. I ask myself, why didn’t I go into the family business?”

“Kiss my ass, Dan,” Joe said, coming around his desk to greet him. He clapped him on the back. “This is a surprise. How the hell are you?”

Ferris didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Talk some sense into this low-rent, penny-pinching jackass, would ya?”

“Impossible. I’ve tried before.” He hugged his younger brother. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to ask you a couple of questions about Tom.”

“Fire away,” Joe said, returning to his chair.

“What do you know about the tattoo on Tom’s foot?”

“Tom had a tattoo?” Ferris made a face. “Mr. Conservative?”

“From the old days,” Joe said. “He and Carter got a wild hair one summer. Got matching tatts.”

Reed turned toward Joe. “You know where they had ’em done?”

“Local place, I think. Ask Carter.”

“I will. You know anything else about it?”

“Sorry, Bro.” He folded his hands on the desk. “Why the interest?”

“Following up every lead, that’s all.”

“How’s Alex doing?” Ferris asked. “I heard she found old Max Cragan dead.”

“News travels fast.”

“Small town.”

Ferris shrugged; Joe stepped in. “She’s a little nuts. Like her mother.”

It shouldn’t have, but the comment got Reed’s back up. “How do you figure?”

“You saw her the other night. Hearing voices, screaming. Nuts.”

“Cut her some slack,” Ferris said. “She’d been drinking and got turned around. It happens.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Not to me.”

“Of course not,” Ferris shot back. “Because you’re perfect.”

“That’s right, little brother. And don’t forget it.”

Reed decided it was time to exit. Middleman in one of his brothers’ arguments was a thankless place to be. Been there, done that. Besides, if he was lucky he could catch Carter before lunch.

He said his goodbyes and left Red Crest, thoughts already on the interview ahead. Carter Townsend had also left the wine industry, though he hadn’t strayed far. He’d earned a law degree, specializing in corporate law, then settled right back here in Sonoma County. Carter represented a number of wineries, including the Reed and Sommer outfits.

Walton, Townsend Johnson & Associates law firm was located in Santa Rosa, not far from the county courthouse. As Reed stepped off the elevator and crossed to the firm’s double glass doors, he decided that Carter must be doing well. Beyond the doors he could see gleaming dark wood and shiny brass fixtures.

He crossed to the reception area and the perky blonde sitting there. In Reed’s experience, every law office was a cookie-cutter version of every other law office. Not in size or furnishings. In atmosphere. Hushed, like a library, with a certain “tiptoe” quality.

Law offices, even when luxuriously outfitted, were not warm, fuzzy places.

“Good morning,” the woman said, smiling. “How can I help you?”

“Is Carter Townsend in?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Detective Reed.” He held up his shield. “Is he in?”

She looked startled. “He may have left for… lunch. Let me see.”

He hadn’t. Several moments later, the man crossed the reception area to greet him. “Dan, what the hell? Scared my girl here to death with all that official badge crap.” He shook his hand. “Next time, just tell her Danny Reed needs a moment.”

“I’ll do that.” Reed smiled. “Could we speak in private?”

“Absolutely. Come on.”

He led Reed to his office. Richly decorated. Mahogany desk, leather chairs. Pictures of the wife and kids.

“Nice family, Carter,” Reed said, picking up one of the photos-a family shot complete with his four kids.

“Shelley, that’s my oldest, she’s starting high school this year.”

Reed set down the photo. “That’s crazy. I remember us being that age not that long ago.”

“Seems like a lifetime ago to me. Give yourself another ten years, a wife and four kids. It’ll make you old fast.”

“I had a question about when you and Tom were kids. About those matching tattoos you got.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Joe mentioned it.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “That was random. What’s up?”

Instead of answering, Reed asked another question. “Why the vines and snake?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“What did the image symbolize? Most people get tattoos that have some special meaning to them.”

Carter shook his head, expression rueful. “I’m sure it meant something at the time. Hell if I remember what.”

He was lying. “How’d you come up with the image?”

Carter frowned. “Tom did. I was just along for the ride.”

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much. We were young and stupid. Completely loaded that night.”

“How old were you?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Eighteen. Maybe. We had to show our IDs.”

“Anybody else with you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember? You’ll understand why I find that unbelievable?”

Carter stiffened. “I was drunk. It was twenty-some years ago. A lot’s happened since then.”

“Sure,” Reed said easily. “You’re right. I was out of line.”

Carter glanced pointedly at his watch and stood. “I hate to rush you, but I have an appointment.”

“No problem.” Reed followed him to his feet. “Where’s yours?”

Carter looked surprised. “My lunch appointment?”

“Tattoo.”

“I had it removed. Ten or fifteen years ago.”