Promise of Protection

By Diane Dresback

What if YOU held the power to manipulate the well-being or the demise of many?

Joe Tenning thought he knew his father…he was wrong.

After 25 years of estrangement, Joe is unexpectedly summoned to the nursing home bedside of Charles Tenning. He reluctantly drives sixteen hours to a small Texas town to have closure on his dysfunctional parental relationship.

The reunion turns heated after Charles requests that Joe retrieve his journals located in his house a mile away. When Joe returns, he finds his father's lifeless body. Foul play is suspect and he is suddenly entangled in unraveling a web of secrets about his father's bizarre covert actions.

Joe accepts the help of Dr. Lillian Kent who has her own brand of patient care. Soon it becomes apparent that someone else is also seeking to learn more about his father's past actions.

He is not Joe's friend.

Despite the desire to return home, Joe now must wrestle with the disturbing consequences of his father's work on himself, his loved ones, and the lives of thousands more.

If he does not, many more could die.

 

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"[The author] weaves a tale of characters that you can vividly picture in this suspenseful story." Reviewer

"…well plotted with interesting characters and good dialogue. Overall, a very good book." Editorial reviewer

"Visualizing the characters and the town was easy. It was a wonderful story that I truly enjoyed." Reviewer

"Suspenseful…There's no question this keeps your interest, as there are lots of unexpected twists and turns." Reviewer

"…a story that holds your interest to the end. It is filled with surprises at every turn." Reviewer

"Great book! Keeps your interest and is very suspenseful!" Reviewer

"A 'must read' with a great ending." Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mindclover Productions LLC
• Release date: Nov 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781963762136

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Charlie and Millie for all that you gave to me when you were on this earth and all that you continue to do now you are elsewhere.

PROLOGUE

The question of what is morally right has always intrigued me. Is it what’s best for the masses or the individual? And, who should make those decisions for us and those we love? History has validated time again that it is those with the most money, the most influence, or the most control.

But, a simple leaky faucet is oft proven much more troublesome than an unwieldy water hose. A modest consistent execution, unnoticed by most, fosters success or disaster.

Have I risked for what I believe? Absolutely. Has my family felt the effects of my forced moral judgment? No doubt. Would I have chosen the easier road? Never.

Only God will judge whether my actions have delighted or abhorred him.

~~Charles Tenning

CHAPTER 1

Don’t spill it, don’t spill it, I muttered as I carried a bed tray upstairs, yet again. Balancing a tray of brimming wine glasses without spilling a drop was not a problem, but with soup...a different story.

That day might have been different. Carefully I pushed the bedroom door open with my boot smiling triumphantly. My girlfriend dozed, not aware of the feat I’d finally accomplished.

Pausing, I took in Kara’s beauty. Even when sick, she was beautiful. Long dark hair fell around her slender shoulders as she sat propped up in bed surrounded by fluffy pillows. Her forehead damp with fever sweat and a white tissue wadded in her hand. Her nose red and raw from endless tissue contact, despite the ‘ultra-soft’ quality claimed on the box.

Walking closer, she opened those bright blue eyes. Those eyes that had instantly attracted me to her the first day we met six years earlier.

The CPA firm handling my financial books was a hoity-toity company—one that charged too much and paid their employees next to nothing. Getting a job with that firm always looked impressive on a resume.

They implemented a program called, ‘Knowing You and Your Business.’ The staff accountant assigned to a company’s books must visit their client annually. It was about public relations and enabled a face to be put with an email address. Those visits were a pain because I felt obligated to give a tour plus a complimentary bottle of wine. Typically, those middle-aged, male employees rarely made any coding errors on my books.

But that particular year, I had experienced way more bookkeeping mistakes. I looked forward to meeting the careless K. Neltman, who obviously was not paying proper attention to his work and my business.

Was I ever surprised when Ms. Kara Neltman, 27 years old, entered my office. Her smile, hourglass figure, and gorgeous blue eyes threw me off track! And, it wasn’t long until those few minor transposition errors didn’t really seem so bad. I mean $9,200 instead of $2,900—not that big of a deal.

The CPA firm’s efforts to motivate underpaid accountants and win overpaying clients backfired. I gave my accountant her tour along with several complimentary bottles of wine that we opened and shared the following weekend. Not long after, I convinced Kara to work for me directly. Then, I told her it would be easier to catch the errors in my books if she lived closer. That was a lie and she knew it. With a gleam in her eye, she moved in. I never stopped loving those striking blue eyes.

Then, it happened. As I set the tray on the bed in front of Kara, a few drops sloshed over the bowl onto the paper towel that I always used, just in case.

She smiled and responded through her congestion, Thank you, Sweetie. I realized how stupid it was to be proud of something so insignificant.

You’d think after doing this what say five times a year times six years, yes, 30 times, I’d be better, I said. She offered a grin, acknowledging my efforts and changed the subject.

How come I never get to bring you soup in bed? she asked as she adjusted her position to sit up straighter.

I shrugged my shoulders. Good immune system, I guess.

I guess, she repeated.

Does anybody eat this stuff when they aren’t sick? I wondered out loud.

Kara laughed then quickly snatched a new tissue and put it to her nose barely catching the violent sneeze that burst forth. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, but Rachel’s going to come take me.

Frowning, I protested. I can take you.

No, no, that’s okay. Rachel doesn’t mind and you’re busy with all the irrigation stuff.

Really, I will take you.

Kara patted my arm. Joe, you’ve got so much to do, and it honestly isn’t a problem.

I conceded. I was behind in getting the system repaired. Still, I did appreciate how considerate Kara was, almost to a fault. After working too late, night after night, I sometimes worried she wasn’t telling me everything. And that her secret unhappiness would someday show itself as a missing suitcase and a lowly note.

I knew Kara was frustrated with my inability to take the next step in our relationship. At times her feelings emerged when we disagreed on something—which had been happening more often.

My cell phone rang and I answered, Hey, Austin, what’s going on? Impatiently, I nodded my head. Alright, I’ll be down in a minute. No. I’ll be there, soon. I hung up.

More leaks in the drips? Kara asked. I nodded and the phone rang once more. It was Austin calling again. He was the resident intern and the most stressed-out twenty-four-year-old I knew. A skinny kid, probably from his high metabolism and his tendency to worry endlessly. He needed to learn how to deal with pressure otherwise he’d be destined for a heart attack within the first year—month—day of running his own business.

What’s the deal with this kid? I said, ignoring the call.

He’s still learning, said Kara with her normally calm tone. I shook my head and the phone rang a third time.

Angrily, I answered, Austin! I said I’d be there in a minute.

But, it wasn’t Austin. It was a lady claiming to be from my father’s nursing home. I didn’t even know he was in a nursing home. She explained that my father had asked me to come see him.

Uh, I can’t do that. It’s just a bad time. I’m sorry. After I hung up, Kara waited curiously for an explanation.

It was some woman from wherever my father’s at. I guess he’s having old man guilt and wants me to go see him. Kara’s stoic look wasn’t what I wanted to see. Look, I’m not going. I’ve got too much going on here. If he really wanted to talk with me, he would have called himself.

Kara defended my father. Maybe he’s too sick. I stood and started pacing as she continued. How do you know he’s not sick and who cares if he’s feeling ‘old man guilt,’ you should go. Maybe he wants to apologize.

I didn’t believe that for a minute. Kara had never met my father. He didn’t deserve that privilege.

Look, you’ve complained about him for years, this might be your only opportunity to settle things, she said.

He’s too late.

Kara rolled her eyes. Oh god, Joe. Could you be a little less dramatic? She sneezed and pushed the last tissue from the box to her already sore nose. I hate being sick. Can you get me another box?

After handing her a fresh box of tissues and kissing her forehead, I assured her we would talk later. Then, I left her alone with her runny nose and watery eyes.

That area of southeastern Arizona was not a big city metropolis by any means but held a sense of community. There certainly was enough business to go around. Often us winemakers would find ourselves at each other’s property talking shop and debating the usage of yeast and the timing of harvesting.

It was one of those beautiful, crisp days in mid-March with billowy gray thunder clouds hanging in an unmistakably blue sky. The red soil was distinctive and almost glowing in the early morning sunlight. Surrounding gentle hills alternated with sharp rocks jutting majestically into the air creating intriguing formations.

Evidence of precipitation lingered in the distance. Long trails of falling rain darkened the horizon and a faint rainbow of color could be seen. But, it had been a drier winter that year, which was a good thing. Too much rain could ruin crops, we certainly had experienced some tough seasons in the past.

Our tenth year on that land, seemed to have brought another problem. An abundance of leaks in our irrigation system. Several splits had developed in the aged tubing and others had popped out of the main water lines. We had been working on fixing the system for several weeks, trying to get everything repaired before the active growing season arrived.

I had decided Austin and I should work apart for a couple of hours, more for my sanity than his benefit. And, as I fought the battle with one very stubborn oversized drip head, my cell phone rang. Still holding the tubing, I dug the phone from my pocket. The screen indicated it was a returned call from the manufacturer of our destemmer-crusher machine.

Well, it’s about time you called me back, Stan. I’ve been leaving messages for five days.

Stan sounded tired. I know, Joe. Been busy. What can I do for you?

Man, you know. It’s the same problem we’ve been discussing for a while now. The one that you haven’t fixed yet.

Joe, I told you, the equipment is out of warranty.

I argued with Stan for a while until he finally agreed to send someone from Phoenix to take a look at the worrisome piece of equipment.

At no charge, right? I pushed my luck. Fed up with my whining, he hung up.

I saw Kara walk slowly to the car with Rachel. I tried waving but she either didn’t see my gesture or was ignoring me.

CHAPTER 2

The weekend always brought activity to Tenning Vineyards with the wine tasters. Some were more sophisticated than others, but most enjoyed our facilities and their experience.

Our winery sat on 30 acres of gently sloping land. I had been good friends with an architectural student in college. He designed and oversaw the building of our simple but elegant facility as one of his first professional projects. Of course, this saved me a ton of money while helping him out as well.

Aside from a couple of shoestring acacia trees, I hadn’t taken time to landscape. We kept the property clean. As customers entered through the iron gates, they drove up a long gravel-covered driveway into a good-sized parking area.

The building was sided in large chestnut and cinnamon-colored stone. Set with grandiose windows, it was almost 8,000 square feet spread over two stories. It consisted of the wine tasting room, our wine cellar, business offices, some low-rent employee sleeping rooms and our own personal quarters. Our large country-style kitchen had a spectacular view of the entire vineyard.

I walked into the wine-tasting room to find a half dozen customers milling around. They inspected bottles of wine, gazed out the glass doors to the grapevines, and sat along the long granite countertop tasting samples of our most recent vintages.

Our wine-tasting manager smiled from ear to ear mesmerizing a couple with her infectious charm and natural beauty. Dangling silver earrings swung around Evie’s face loosely.

First time to Tenning Vineyards? she asked in her singsong voice.

The couple nodded.

Fantastic! Thanks for coming in. We’d like to introduce you to our delightful wines. Please have a seat. With happy smiles, the couple sat down. She produced two sparkling clear wine glasses and a reflective silver bowl brimming with perfectly cut cubes of fresh white bread. The bread was kept under the counter because sometimes kids (and employees) would snag handfuls of the soft treat, rolling them in their palms to make bread balls.

Evie held up a bottle of wine. We like to begin with the fruitier, lighter blends. Filling their glasses, she began her spiel.

Suddenly one of the ranch dogs ran by the back door. The dogs were friendly enough, but it was better to keep them locked up during the weekends. Not all our customers were pleased to get a sniff in the crotch or a wet muzzle on the hand seeking some attention.

Stepping outside, I called to the dog as he ran down a row of grapes in search of something. Responding to my whistle he came bounding back. As I secured him I saw a man motioning to his girlfriend to come outside. I knew what that was all about and I watched.

The man beckoned her to follow him. Once around the corner, she grinned broadly and made a beeline to the fenced pen. Leaning down, she extended her hand between the wooden slats toward eight furry animals.

Oh my god, they are so cute! she exclaimed. The man seemed pleased with his discovery. I walked closer.

That’s Snookers, I said, nodding at the animal she was trying to coax over. Snookers wasn’t sure of the woman yet and just stared.

What are they? the woman asked as she gently snapped her fingers and made a clicking noise with her mouth like you would beckon a horse.

They are Baby Doll sheep.

How adorable. It looks like they’re smiling at me.

She was right. That breed of sheep did possess naturally upturned mouths that gave the impression they were perpetually happy.

Are they babies? the man inquired.

Nope, full grown. They never get bigger than two feet tall. They have a gentle temperament and are very curious and social. But, they are dedicated workers here on the vineyard, I added.

I bent down and called out. Snookers, come here baby.

Snookers, what a cute name, the woman just gleamed. The ladies always liked the baby dolls.

Come on, Snooks, I pleaded. After a second longer, the animal came prancing over. I gently massaged her head which was thick and springy with beige wool. I motioned the smiling woman closer and Snookers received several pats and scratches.

Snookers, Dolly and the rest of the gang are good eaters. They wander through the vineyard keeping the weeds and grass down.

Contentedly, I went on explaining about my use of other wildlife. The hawks, owls, and other birds of prey assisted in keeping the number of gophers and rodents to a minimum.

Just then, Snookers turned her back on the woman who had been petting her the whole time. The woman stood up.

It means she trusts you. She looked at me. When they ignore you, you know you have a new friend.

Despite the couple’s fascination with my rantings about wildlife, I could see the woman shivering.

Let’s go back inside where it’s warm, I invited. Have you tried our new Pinot, yet?

Late that night, Kara and I—well Kara was watching television in bed. Some nauseating reality show about brides and weddings. She couldn’t make a point more clear. I was reading up on the latest baseball game scores on my tablet.

My phone rang and it was the woman from my father’s nursing home, again. Kara turned down the television volume sensing it was important.

I already said I can’t come. I don’t care that he wants me there.

The woman pleaded. Please. This is very important to your father. He said he was taking a big chance to contact you, and that there is something important that you must know.

Why doesn’t he just tell me on the phone then?

Mr. Tenning, it is imperative that you come, soon.

I’ll think about it, I said, then hung up.

Kara’s arms were folded across her chest. She stared at me with those weary eyes, her nose as red as Rudolph’s.

Looking back at the baseball scores, I could feel her eyes on me. I whined. I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t care what happens to him. Looking for more, she continued to eyeball me. He was a terrible father, incredibly self-absorbed in his work. He never had time for me or my mother.

Kara raised her eyebrows with that look that always meant, Oh really? And what about you? I hated when she did that. Putting my tablet down I turned to her.

Kara, this has nothing to do with us.

That’s BS and you know it. It has everything to do with us. Obviously, my facial expression projected my total rejection of that claim. She continued. I get that you had this horrid childhood with this awful, inattentive father. So what? He’s still your father. You think you’re the only kid who lived through a broken marriage? Get over it. Half the people in this world have to deal with it. Just because your parents divorced, doesn’t mean that we’re doomed.

I didn’t say that.

Exactly, you don’t have to. Your actions say it all. Kara thought a moment. I know you love me, Joe, I know it. I don’t want to be afraid but, but..., she teared up. I felt my heart melt as she tried to get the words out. You just need to go get this figured out for the sake of our future.

I reached out and took her hand in mine. Ms. K., I love you. You know that. What does it matter if we have that stupid piece of paper or not? I don’t need it to love you.

She looked into my eyes for a few seconds. I felt better. I had convinced her. As I took a deep breath, she jerked her hand from mine. I knew I was in trouble as her voice became low and monotone.

I want the goddamn piece of paper. I am thirty-three years old and I want children with you. It matters to me. She picked up the remote, turned off the television and the light, then lay down with her back to me. After shuffling around the covers, I found my tablet. Picking it up I left the room saying nothing more.

In the kitchen, I selected a bottle of my very first estate wine. There was still something magical about the process of growing, making, and bottling all on my own property. I poured myself a glass of the dark red fruit of our labor thinking about how much I had learned over the years. I swirled the liquid in the glass—it had legs. As I took in a long deep inhalation, I savored the pungent bouquet. I allowed the first sip to immerse my tongue and run down the sides of my mouth. Following the minor bite was a smooth sweetness.

I carried my glass and the bottle of vino down a few steps into the wine cellar. I could see how the low accent lights always gave Kara an eerie feeling. Long strange shadows cast across the stone walls and down in between the rows of barrels.

The room was perfectly cooled to a temperature of fifty-nine degrees. I refilled my glass with the beverage that often made me feel more reflective. Maybe that’s why I became a winemaker to begin with. It can change one’s perspective. Sometimes temporarily, but many times permanently.

I walked amongst the stacks of oak wine barrels that were imparting character into their maturing contents. So much rode on the timing in this business. Pruning, testing, harvesting, vinification, aging. But, the best decisions could be trumped by one overarching thing—the weather. Too much rain and freezing temperatures created havoc.

The wine in many of these barrels had been untouched for almost three years. That year had been one of unyielding bad weather and it would be an anxious time when we finally began testing small samples. Enduring a failure such as this would create significant financial repercussions.

My thoughts turned towards my father. Thoughts about his failures. Those things that made me bitter. Were they really that important, or