Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Roz had to show her face at the office Tuesday morning and check in with the reporters to make sure everyone was on track.
Alden suggested they might as well face John’s dressing-down now.
So she put on nice black pants with a cute wide belt, a white tank, a cropped black denim jacket and short boots with a low heel, preparing for battle.
Alden drove them to the Courier-Beacon office downtown. Her car was still parked outside. She’d need it. They expected to be on different tracks again today.
Oh, who was she kidding? She had no idea what track she’d be on today. That was one reason she loved this job.
What she didn’t love was John’s scolding. Why were they gallivanting about in an airplane? Why didn’t they ask him before they went? And why didn’t they get Hai to go along? He seemed to forget Hai was off pursuing golf pros.
On the other hand, John was super excited about all the clicks, partly because Webb Howard, their absentee publisher, had sent him a Way To Go email this morning.
They finally escaped his glass office and ran into Bruce, who’d just topped off his Star Trek mug at the coffee station. “That looked like it hurt,” he said with a smirk.
“He’s not the only one who can inflict pain around here,” Roz told him.
Bruce blanched. “Geez, touchy.” But he was smiling as he scampered off to his desk.
They also ran into Hai, who’d stopped by to pick up a package. “I hear John was upset you didn’t ask me to go along on the flight.”
“A little,” Alden replied. “Sorry about that.”
“I really appreciate your not asking me. You two are cursed.” The photographer’s mouth twitched with humor. “I’m off to hunt down nudists with Janice.” And he was off, leaving only Bruce typing away with his headphones on.
“So glad we’re such a source of amusement for the staff,” Roz muttered as she headed toward her corner.
“We’re helping morale,” Alden said wryly, dropping into the chair next to her desk. He looked delicious in dark jeans and a white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up. He swam regularly at the gym. Roz went with him sometimes but did more looking than exercising.
“Shall we go over the trouble we’re getting into today?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. He probably caught her looking.
“That’s the problem. We don’t know what the trouble is until we’re in the middle of it.
I’ve already sent Sebastian a request for the contract he had with Wayne.
Hang on.” Roz opened her laptop and checked her email.
There was an email from Sebastian … yes!
“I almost can’t believe it. He sent it to me.
That’s what I’ll be working on. And I suppose I can’t avoid some editing.
I’m also hoping Sheryl drops by, but if she doesn’t, I’m going to track her down. ”
“I’m going to the airport,” Alden said. “I intend to find out more about our doomed plane.”
“You have something in mind?”
“I do.”
“Will you have time to press Enolia for more info about Wayne?”
“We talked about contacting Craig first,” he said. “I can do that. Let’s touch base later.”
“Definitely stay in touch,” Roz said. “I don’t like the way this is going, and I don’t want to worry about you.”
He briefly caressed her shoulder as he stood, and the touch settled her.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m more worried about deadline.”
“As you should be,” she joked as she watched him leave. But she did worry about him. There was somebody scary out there doing bad things. And the more they learned, the more they put themselves in harm’s way.
Alden shook off the cold prickle that ran up his spine as he parked behind Sebastian Esquivel’s hangar at the Comet Cove Airport.
It’s OK. You’re not getting on a plane today. No matter who asks.
He wondered idly if he needed therapy—not for the first time—as he locked up the Miata, opened the unlocked back door of the hangar and wandered in.
It was half empty. Chuck’s biplane stood there. But Sebastian’s Cessna 172 didn’t. So where was it?
“Hello?” he called out. “Chuck?”
“Alden Knox,” came a voice from behind him, and he whirled, his heart hammering. He let out a breath when he saw it was Chuck in his jumpsuit.
“Damn it, Chuck, you scared me half to death.”
“That’s two days in a row you got a good scare, then,” Chuck said with a rough chuckle. “Though yesterday you were scared almost all the way to death.”
“Don’t remind me. Do you know what happened to the plane?”
“After the crash? They brought down a construction barge from up the river and used a crane to pick it up just after sunrise. Dropped it on a truck at the airport’s dock. Then a couple of NTSB people came and looked it over, and off it went.”
“Already?” Alden checked his adventure watch. “Ten thirty? I wanted to get a look at it. Maybe talk to the investigators.”
“They work pretty fast.” Chuck’s eyes twinkled.
Alden raised an eyebrow. “What do you know? Were you there?”
“Damn right I was there. I maintained that plane. There’s no way the engine just died on me. I wanted to see what they did when they got it ashore.”
Alden looked around, making sure they were alone. “Tell me how it went down.”
Chuck wandered out to him, past him, toward the big open doors of the hangar, and Alden followed. There were hangars on either side of this one, running down the length of the small airport. The tarmac spread out before them, wide open, the runway stretching toward the water.
A small plane—a Piper Cherokee, he thought—filled the air with its drone as it accelerated down the runway, lifting as it passed in front of them, the pitch of the engine dipping in that satisfying Doppler-effect shift as it soared out over the lagoon.
“Flying lesson,” Chuck said. “It takes some guts to do that the day after a crash.”
They stood there, watching the plane get smaller and smaller, birdsong replacing the growl of the engine as the Piper flew away. Small white clouds hung around in the blue, still waking up, waiting to fluff and puff and rain on someone.
“You’re killing me, Chuck. What did you see?” Alden was a pretty patient guy, usually. Patience worked for some sources. But he knew Chuck. And Alden had almost died yesterday. He had to know.
“They did a thorough inspection. I offered to help. Mostly they said no, but I made myself invaluable, and I was right there when they sampled the fuel.”
Alden swallowed. “What about the fuel?”
“Contaminated. I have no doubt. I could smell the jet fuel.”
“Jet fuel? But the Cessna uses avgas.”
“Exactly.”
“So it was an honest mistake? Sebastian put the wrong fuel in?”
“Absolutely not,” Chuck said. “There are avgas pumps here—that’s what most of the pilots use.
That’s what Sebastian uses. The jet fuel truck comes regularly, but Sebastian would never use it to fuel up.
Somebody added just enough to kill the engine, little enough that the plane was able to get in the air. Was it running rough?”
“Yeah. And then it just croaked.” A dim memory surfaced in Alden’s mind. “I thought avgas had a particular color?”
“You’re right. Sebastian should’ve seen the blue color when he sumped it during checks.
But if there wasn’t a lot of jet fuel in it, he might not’ve noticed.
It still would’ve killed the engine. But I don’t get why he didn’t smell it.
” Chuck kicked at a pebble. “Makes me wonder if he knew all along. I know that’s crazy, though.
Sebastian loved that plane. And I don’t think he’d invite passengers along on a kamikaze flight. ”
“That’s a horrible thought. Thanks.”
Chuck laughed at Alden’s sarcasm. Then his face grew more serious. “I don’t think that was it. He didn’t notice, for whatever reason.”
“He might’ve been in a hurry to get us in the air. Wait—he was sneezing yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah!” Chuck brightened. “He’s been kvetching about allergies for weeks.”
“So maybe he couldn’t smell it.” Alden gave Chuck an intent look. “And you didn’t notice anyone messing with the plane?”
“Chill, man. I’m here a lot, but we’re pretty relaxed about the hangar. When people are around, it’s open. When I go home for the day, I lock it up.”
“So who got in here to contaminate the fuel?”
“That I don’t know. But I’ve already ordered security cameras.”
“Better late than never,” Alden said dryly. “Hey, do you know Blake Burbage?”
“Are you asking as a friend or as a reporter?”
“Just answer the question. I’ll owe you a beer.”
“To think I’m so easily bought.” Chuck smiled. “Off the record? Of course I know him. I work on his plane.”
“Does he know Sebastian?”
“Yes. Casually, at least. Most of the pilots meet at some time or another. You don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think,” Alden said. “I’m just looking for connections, that’s all.”
“This have to do with that guy who died at the bookstore on Saturday?”
“Why, Chuck, maybe you should be the investigative reporter.”
“Ha,” Chuck huffed. “No, thanks. But I’ve seen that guy at the airport. He was hanging out with Blake one day.”
“Was he really? That’s very interesting.”
“Can you keep my name out of your story?”
“No problem.” Alden shook his hand. “But I might come back if I have more questions.”
“Don’t forget my beer.” Chuck gave him the stink eye, but his tone was light.
Alden nodded with a smile. “Done. Thanks, man.”
He didn’t mind buying Chuck a beer or three. He already owed one to Porter Cobb, if the filmmaker ever made it to Comet Cove. Fine. He was going to want a lot of beer when this story was over. Especially when he relived that bounce when the plane hit the lagoon.
He checked his phone when he got back to the car. There was a text from Roz:
I’ve got to talk to you. You’re not going to believe this contract.
And you’re not going to believe what I just found out.
I want to know now! But I need to talk to Sheryl. She just walked in. Bean Me Up in 45 minutes?
How about Taco Titan? We didn’t have time for breakfast.
Whose fault was that? See you there.