Chapter 3
“I’ll take the bad news first.”
“Jason is enrolled in Coastal Aviation’s flight training program,” Denver confirmed.
Morgan could feel the color drain from her face at the implication of her ex obtaining a pilot’s license. He could fly his own plane. Fly to Michigan. Fly to Easton Island. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“What…what’s the good news?”
“He only recently enrolled. He’s required to wait one year after his drug conviction to apply for a pilot’s license.” Denver grimaced. “However, if his conviction was overturned, there aren’t any restrictions.”
“How long does the training program take?”
“It’s typically three to six months. If he plans to get an instrument rating certification, it takes an additional three months.”
“So, anywhere from a couple of months up to nine months.” Morgan sprang from her chair and paced. “Why would Jason want a pilot’s license, other than the obvious?”
“You think he’s doing this to get to you undetected?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. He would have to fly into Easton Island Airport.”
“We’re already on the lookout for him. He could try flying incognito, using false identification.”
“I honestly wouldn’t put anything past him,” she sighed. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“I’m sorry, Morgan. I wish I had better news.”
“Me too.” She slid her phone into her pocket. “When did he start the program?”
Denver adjusted his reading glasses. “Four weeks ago.”
“Which means I’m safe for at least a couple more months.” Morgan thanked her friend and wandered out of the office. Jason becoming a pilot. He’d never voiced an interest—ever. Why now?
She returned to Locke Pointe and found Chester sprawled out under her desk. He did a doggie shake and pawed at her leg, his signal that he needed to go out.
“Excellent idea, bud. I could use some fresh air.” She followed her pup to the rear entrance and moseyed around the yard, noticing the projects Greg had tackled, anticipating a busy spring and summer season.
She heard steady pounding coming from the vicinity of the carriage house. “C’mon, Chester. Let’s see what Greg is working on.”
She found her handyman standing at the workbench, nailing legs to the cornhole game board.
He must’ve glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye and stopped hammering. “Hey, Morgan.”
“Hello, Greg.” She tipped her head toward the yard. “The yard is looking good.”
“The spring rains helped. I’m finishing the cornhole board, which means I’m wrapping up the last of the projects.”
“Thank you.” Morgan leaned her hip against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “How is Hailey?”
“Okay.” He gave her a thumbs-up and smiled, but his smile seemed forced.
Their eyes met. Greg looked away.
Morgan stepped closer. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean. I dunno. She’s different now, ever since…” His voice trailed off.
“Ever since Grady questioned her a few months ago about the man’s death.”
Not long after Hailey and her Aunt Jennie had left for a last-minute trip to the mainland, Grady MacDonald, an Easton Harbor police officer, had shown up at Locke Pointe, looking for her and asking Greg questions.
Hailey, while working at a hotel in Port Huron, had found a man’s body in a guest room. According to what they’d been told, the man died of a drug overdose.
Grace Coates, the Lilac Inn’s owner and Hailey’s boss, had done some digging around and discovered her employee had an arrest record for drug trafficking.
Grace promptly pulled her aside and had a long talk with her. Hailey assured her boss she was clean and even offered to submit to random drug testing to keep her job.
After careful consideration, Grace had decided not to let Hailey go—with the stipulation that she agree to the random testing. The investigation into the hotel guest’s death had come to a standstill. As far as Morgan knew, there was no new evidence linking Hailey to the incident.
Her main concern was Greg. He’d fallen in love with the woman, staunchly defending her to anyone and everyone who even hinted she might be trouble.
She had practically begged Grady to tell her what was going on with the woman. The Easton Harbor officer confided that the case was on the back burner.
“It’s like Hailey doesn’t want to talk about what happened or anything else for that matter. I can’t even make conversation without her accusing me of interrogating her,” Greg said. “She thinks I’m trying to trick her into incriminating herself.”
“What you’re saying is Hailey is paranoid?”
He thought about it. “Yeah. It’s almost to the point where I don’t want to be around her.”
“I’m sorry to hear this. Better to find out now than down the road when things get serious.”
“I’m thinking about telling her I need some space,” he glumly replied.
Morgan crossed the room and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Greg Baker. A great guy. The right woman is out there. You deserve the best. Don’t settle for less.”
He lifted his chin, a defeated look in his eyes. “I keep telling myself she’s not the only woman on the planet, but let’s be honest…how many single women are on Easton Island?”
“I think you would be surprised.”
“Let me rephrase my question…how many single women on Easton Island would be interested in me?”
She met his gaze. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she said softly. “I look at it this way. God allows things to happen in our lives that seem like we’re being punished when, in reality, He’s clearing the path for something better.”
Morgan paused to let what she had said sink in. “God might be clearing the way for the person you’re meant to be with…the perfect person who doesn’t have baggage, who is as sweet, thoughtful and caring as the man who is standing before me right now.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so. One day, you and I are going to remember this conversation, and you know what?”
“What?”
“I can’t wait to tell you I told you so.”
“Thanks, Morgan. I needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome. Come see me anytime you need a pep talk.” Morgan tracked down Chester, and they returned to the house. She finished a few tasks and swung by the kitchen to let Tina know she was heading out.
On her way home, she called Easton Estate to check on Tristan. Mrs. Arnsby told her he’d hung out in his room for most of the day but hadn’t complained about his stomach hurting, which only confirmed what they already suspected. His ailment wasn’t his stomach. It was the other kids.
“He wasn’t sick.”
“No. Poor thing.”
“Where’s Brett?”
“He just got home.” Mrs. Arnsby told him what had happened, how his son complained about not feeling well, and suggested he talk to Morgan.
Tink. She glanced at the screen. “He’s texting me now, asking me to call him.”
“I’ll let you go.”
Morgan ended the call and promptly dialed her brother’s number. “Hey, Brett.”
“Hey, Morgan. I talked to Mrs. Arnsby. She told me Tristan wasn’t feeling well but thought he might be faking it. What happened?”
Morgan briefly filled him in. “The bottom line is I’m almost positive two older kids are picking on him.”
“Who were they?”
“I wish I knew.” She told him she’d logged onto the school’s website to check the roster. “To be honest, none of them looked like the two who were making pig faces at us.”
“I’ll try to find out,” Brett said.
“How?”
“I’m rearranging my schedule and will take Tristan to school tomorrow morning.”