Brodie stared at the label for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about fixing her roof.”
Silas was confused. “Cornelia’s roof?”
“Raven’s roof. It’s leaking again, and I can’t convince her to move into staff housing.”
Silas could understand Raven’s reluctance. He personally had no problem with the utilitarian camp trailers and central cafeteria, but WSA and Galina were 99 percent men, and she probably wanted a little privacy.
“I can give a hand with that.”
Raven was like a sister to the guys at West Slope. She kept Galina Expediting running like a well-oiled machine, making their lives easier and enabling them to maximize flying hours, thereby maximizing their paychecks.
Cobra returned with a set of calipers to evaluate the prop and got to work.
“And?” Brodie asked after a couple of minutes.
“Not good,” Cobra said.
Brodie gave a curse under his breath.
“What does that mean?” Xavier asked, looking from Cobra to Silas, skipping over Brodie.
“That means we ship it out for a teardown and inspection,” Cobra said.
“The prop?” Xavier sounded like he was in pain.
“The engine,” Silas said. It was as bad as he’d feared.
The color drained from Xavier’s face.
“The prop goes too,” Cobra clarified.
Brodie smacked his flat hand on the fuselage.
Xavier cringed, obviously waiting for Brodie to bring the hammer down.
“Well . . .” Brodie paused. “That’s aviation. Better start stripping it out.”
Xavier gaped at Brodie, clearly taken aback by his blasé reaction.
“You,” Cobra said to Xavier, pointing at him with the calipers, “can help me with that.”
“Sure,” Xavier said. “Yeah. No problem.” He snapped-to beside Cobra.
“Misty Mountain Mine wants the crew picked up in Fairbanks this week,” Brodie said to Silas as the other two men headed for the hangar.
“Same as Viking?” Silas guessed. “Until they fix the washout?”
Brodie shook his head. “They’re making a permanent change in procedure. Corporate brass wants FBO Fairbanks from now on.”
“That’ll cost them,” Silas said.
“I know.”
“Good for us, though.”
“Can you set it up?”
“You bet.” Silas moved his thinking on to tomorrow morning. “Did you know Raven had a cousin in LA?’
Brodie started for the office. “I did not.”
“Odd.”
“Odd how?”
“Can you picture a citified version of Raven?” Silas couldn’t.
Brodie looked amused again. “No. And apparently Ms. Mia Westberg is accustomed to the finer things in life.”
Silas considered that for a second. “Well, she won’t find those in Paradise.”
Chapter Two
The Fairbanks FBO wasn’t what Mia had expected. She was familiar with fixed base operators, the posh, amenity-rich check-in and lounge areas for private aircraft that some of Lafayette’s clients used. But the one Raven had sent her to . . . not so posh.
It was cramped, utilitarian with a tiny coffee, fruit and pastry station in one corner and a small lounge full of worn furniture that was merely an extension of the check-in space. LA’s local bus station was fancier than this. The place didn’t even have a proper ladies’ room; nothing but a single person unisex restroom with an unpredictable lock on the door. It boasted a urinal stall beside the toilet and a free-standing sink with a tiny hanging mirror. Forget about a powder room lounge and proper lighting.
Mia had landed in Anchorage yesterday after a comfortable first-class flight on a wide-body jet. The commuter flight to Fairbanks had been considerably scaled down, but that was fine. The attendants were cheerful, and the seats were small but comfortable.
The Eagle-View Motel last night had been something else entirely. Alastair’s assistant, Veronica, had made a last-minute reservation, claiming the big chains had all been booked up.
At first, Mia wondered if Veronica had lost her mind, or if she’d been influenced by Mia’s detractors and enemies at Lafayette and this was some form of retribution. If that was the case, as soon as Mia was in charge, Veronica was going to find herself out of a job.
But it hadn’t turned out to be the case. Through an excruciatingly slow internet connection last night, Mia discovered the Eagle-View Motel’s marketing created a false impression. The website showed clean, spacious, if dated rooms. The property description boasted an extensive breakfast buffet, an indoor pool and a fitness club.
Ha! After a painful night’s sleep on a saggy bed, Mia had suffered through a lukewarm shower, dried off with a threadbare towel, skipped breakfast altogether and was genuinely afraid of what might be growing in the indoor pool.
Thankfully, this was the last leg of her trip. In a couple of hours, she’d be in Paradise, Alaska, with her cousin Raven, out of the reach of the protesters and media hounds who’d staked out her house and far enough away that online threats couldn’t turn into real threats.
As of yesterday, it was either get out of town for a few weeks or hole up in her house and hire round-the-clock private security. She couldn’t even use her patio and pool for fear of photographers’ long lenses catching her every move and interpreting her every action and expression as confirmation that she was a gold-digging widow dancing on her husband’s grave.
She’d had enough.
Good luck to them finding her in Alaska.
Most of the Fairbanks FBO lounge was taken up by five scruffy men who looked to be in their thirties, slouched and sprawled out in chairs reading dated magazines or scrolling through the screens on their phones. They all had beards, wore scuffed canvas work pants with too many pockets, threadbare shirts of nearly indistinguishable color and steel-toed boots that had clearly seen better days.
One of them gave her a nod.
She wasn’t afraid of them, more worried that her white and blue knit top would soak up residual dirt from their clothing.
She’d worn jeans today, knowing Alaska was a more laid-back state. The pair was from the Boyfriend Collection, slim and stylish, but comfortable too, with a slightly lower waist, which was good for long periods of sitting. She’d paired the jeans with tan leather ankle boots, low-heeled and pre-aged for a nice outdoorsy look.
Her shirt was striped, a knit fabric for flexibility. And she’d gone
