later?”
“Yeah, no problem, Josh.” Nancy paused. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just boys stuff,” he said, injecting a smile into his response to allay her suspicions.
“See you later, Josh,” she said, the concern gone from her voice.
Josh put the phone on the charger.
He went to pick it up again. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handset. He wanted to scream
through the phone to the cops that he’d found the bastard who ran him off the road, but the seeds of doubt
had been sown. He couldn’t be sure James Mitchell was his man. Kate had made him realize he’d been acting irrationally over the last week. He pulled his hand away from the phone.
He had to plan his actions instead of running head on into the situation. He had to do the sensible thing— find out from Bob what he knew about Mitchell. If Mitchell’s credibility was suspect, then he’d bring the cops in.
“I’m going now,” Josh called to Kate.
She came to the doorway from the kitchen, where she was making Abby’s breakfast. “How long will you be?”
“I’m only dropping the check off.”
“I don’t want to be clearing up on my own,” she said and smiled.
“You’ve got Abby.”
“You are just going to the airfield?” Kate insisted.
“Yes, I am. Trust me.”
Taking a moment, Josh watched his wife from the
doorway, going about her life. He loved her so much.
He feared losing her. She caught sight of him staring at her and she smiled, but it didn’t last. Her worried face was a reminder of last night. He smiled back and
picked up the keys to Kate’s ‘99 Dodge Caravan and closed the door.
Inside the minivan silence prevailed, but inside Josh’s head his thoughts shouted. The car wreck, Belinda Wong clawing for more money, Pinnacle Investments’s funeral wreath and James Mitchell consumed his mind.
He wondered if all the events were connected and if they were, what it meant. He tried to make some semblance of order from it all, tried to make everything fit into little boxes, but he failed miserably. He switched on the radio to block his thoughts.
Josh stopped the car in the parking lot of the small airport. The sound of a piston aero-engine spluttering into life greeted him as he got out of the vehicle. He headed toward the planning office where the club pilots mapped out routes, flight times and calculated fuel requirements.
The unkempt outbuilding posing as an office
consisted of charts of northern California and the type of plain-looking wooden design tables found in drawing offices forty years ago.
Mark Keegan wasn’t in the planning office, but Nick Owen, an instructor with the flying school, was with a student. Nick was a young pilot with his eyes set on a commercial pilot’s lifestyle with a major airline.
Josh leaned through the doorway with his arms outstretched, his hands supporting his weight against the
doorframe. “Hi, Nick. Have you seen Mark Keegan
today?”
Nick turned to Josh while his student busied himself with his route planning. “Yeah, I saw him talking to Jack Murphy earlier. If he’s not with Jack, then he’s probably checking out the Cessna.”
“Thanks, Nick.”
“You flying, Josh?”
“No, I have some business to deal with.”
“Shame, it’s a good day. You’ll be missing out.” Nick sounded like a car salesman with a “You’d be a fool to miss this bargain,” pitch.
“It can’t be helped,” Josh said.
Nick returned his focus to his student and Josh went to the apron. He spotted Mark walking toward their Cessna from the workshop hangar, called out and
jogged over to him.
Mark smiled and put his hands on his hips. “Hey,
you’re late—we said ten o’clock. What time do you call this? You turn up after I’ve done all the work. Too much celebrating last night?”
“Hey, sorry, man. You’re going to have to go without me. Something’s come up and I’ve got to deal with it,”
Josh said.
“Nothing serious I hope?” Mark’s smile disappeared.
“No. Life crap. Nothing exciting.” Josh dismissed his problem with a wave of the hand.
He and Mark were flying partners and their friendship was one of camaraderie rather than bonding. Neither man confided deep truths to the other, and Josh
was not going to start now.
“What are you planning to do?” Josh asked.
“Oh, I’ll still fly to Stockton, probably doing some exercises on the way. It never hurts to keep in practice.”
Mark offered an encouraging smile to show Josh
there were no hard feelings.
“Sorry, Mark. Maybe next weekend.” Josh removed
the check from his back pocket and handed it to Mark.
“Here’s my half of the service bill.”
Josh said good-bye and trotted back toward the
parking lot, but Jack Murphy intercepted him by coming out from his workshop.
Damn. The aircraft mechanic was the last person to whom Josh wanted to speak. It wasn’t that Josh didn’t like the man; he did. Murphy was a conscientious mechanic and paid loving detail to the aircrafts he maintained.
He nurtured the machines like prize blooms,
and like all keen gardeners, the product of his labors was evident on his hands. Engine oil and grease were always caked under his fingernails and the same cocktail of fluids stained his meaty hands. Though not obvious at first glance, his hands had the delicate control of a surgeon’s. Josh knew the mechanic would want to meticulously tell him every minute detail of the overhaul, but he didn’t have the time or the desire to talk about his aircraft; he wanted to know what James
Mitchell was after. “Hey, Jack,” Josh said.
“Josh, I suppose you’ve spoken to Mark about the
overhaul, but I wanted to let you know what I found,”
the mechanic began.
Josh feigned interest for about ten minutes before he managed to get a word in and made his excuses. Murphy seemed a little upset by Josh’s brush-off, but he would have to live with it. Josh would make it up to him and let the mechanic bore him for an hour when he had his life back in order. Finally, he got back to the Caravan and set off to Bob’s house to get some answers.
The professional cursed from the protection of the sun bleached brush. Where’s he going? Goddamn it. He
saw his plans trashed, again. Michaels had survived the drowning in the Sacramento River and it looked like he was going to escape death again. He watched Michaels’s minivan drive out of the parking lot.
His target wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do.
From his undercover work at the party, he’d discovered Michaels was meant to be flying this morning, but the
