A time for reckoning, p.24
A Time for Reckoning, page 24
“Maybe I should go to Wyoming and poke around,” I suggest.
“No,” Penelope replies sharply. “Your cowboy days are over, remember?”
I sigh. “Let’s see what Peter has to say.”
“Speaking of which,” Penelope says after her phone beeps, “he’s calling back now. I’ll conference you in.”
“Okay.”
“Tony is on the line with us,” she tells Zaluski after they exchange terse greetings.
“Hello,” Peter says. I do likewise.
“So?” Penelope asks anxiously.
“Grazyna’s cousin hasn’t seen her. There were no plans for a visit.”
“Great,” I mutter.
“It gets worse,” Peter says. “My wife checked Grazyna’s room and found a booking for a flight from Chicago to Casper.”
“Oh no,” Penelope whispers. “When did she leave?”
“Wednesday morning.”
It’s Friday morning now, so she’s been gone for two days and is now unreachable. “This is bad,” I mutter.
Nobody argues the point.
Peter’s voice ratchets a note or two higher. “I have called the other number she left several times, but nobody answers, and my calls don’t go to voicemail. Where is she?”
“Maybe call Smith in Douglas and ask if she was there to sign papers?” I suggest.
“I already did,” Penelope says. “Left a message. It’s still early there. Just after six, no?”
“Yup. Let’s call Mark Lewis,” I suggest. I don’t care if we wake him up.
“He won’t tell us if he has her,” Penelope replies.
“Not directly,” I counter. “But he may give himself away.”
“I guess it’s something to try,” Penelope allows. “Why don’t you both stay on the line and I’ll call and conference you in?”
I’m not sold on the wisdom of including Peter on the call and say so.
He objects immediately. “He may be more willing to speak with me than to her lawyers.”
Good point.
Penelope, ever the voice of fair play and honorable intentions, says, “Lewis should know if we’re all on the line.”
“If he’s abducted his soon-to-be-ex-wife—again—I see no point in observing niceties in trying to get her back,” I counter.
The line is quiet for a long moment before Penelope agrees.
“Peter, I think you were right,” I say. “It might be best if you place the call. Can you conference us in?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“Okay, then let’s do it.”
Peter identifies himself when Lewis picks up.
“Do you know what fuckin’ time it is here?” he grumbles.
“Is Grazyna there?” Peter asks.
“She doesn’t live here, old man,” Lewis replies with a trace of humor. “Aside from a visit with her lawyers a few weeks ago, I haven’t seen her in months.”
“We don’t know where she is,” Peter says.
“Well, then, that makes two us.”
The line goes dead.
“She’s there,” I say into the dead air.
“Why do you say so?” Peter asks.
“The tone of his voice, the absence of interest or any show of concern,” I reply.
“And no note of surprise that she’s missing,” Penelope murmurs. “I think you’re right.”
“What do we do now?” Peter asks forlornly.
“I guess I go to Wyoming,” I mutter with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
“No!” Penelope exclaims. “We already talked about this!”
“You did?” Peter asks.
Penelope explains.
“What other options do we have?” I ask.
Silence.
“I can call Dirk and ask him to join me.”
“Or we can just call Dirk and ask him to poke around,” Penelope counters.
“By himself?”
Penelope hesitates.
“That wouldn’t be fair, partner, and you know it,” I add.
“What about the police?” Peter suggests.
“In Converse County?” I ask with a bitter chuckle. “They’ll be a big help. Calling them may even put Dirk at risk.”
“Maybe Jake Plummer will have a suggestion,” Penelope says. “Why don’t you call him?”
“I can call,” I reply. “He might have a constructive idea or two, but Wyoming is way out of his jurisdiction. Besides, he won’t have any more luck with the sheriff out there than we would.”
“Call Jake, then call Dirk,” Penelope says.
I call Jake, who is awake already. He’s sympathetic but otherwise unable to help. I call Dirk, who tells me that he’s in Denver but can be in Casper by tomorrow morning. Then, correctly guessing that someone is probably at the funeral home at all hours to make sure they don’t miss out on any stiffs, I call and arrange for them to ship the urn containing Frankie’s ashes to the Law Offices of Brooks and Valenti. Finally, I drive to the airport.
39
A sharp rapping on the car window beside her head startles Grazyna awake from a restless sleep. The low morning sun blasting through the windshield hits her full in the face when she sits up, blurring the image of whoever is outside the car.
“Ma’am?” an authoritative voice says. “Please step out of the vehicle.”
Realization of where she is and why dawns as Grazyna tries to work a kink out of her neck by arching her back and twisting her head from side to side. A duffel bag stuffed full of cash doesn’t seem to make a very good pillow, and the cramped rear seat of a sports car made a poor bed.
“Ma’am,” the voice says a little more sharply. It isn’t a question this time.
Grazyna stares at the clock in the dashboard. It’s six fifteen in the morning. She pushes her face closer to the glass and peers outside. Converse County Sheriff Donahue stands back and hooks his thumbs in his belt when he sees her looking.
What is he doing here? Grazyna has never liked this man, whose eyes she often feels on her whenever he is around. She takes a quick look to make sure her dress is buttoned, smooths it down, pulls on a jacket, stretches to reach the door handle, and clambers out of the back seat. She stumbles as she exits. The sheriff catches her by the waist and arm, then holds on a moment too long.
“Now, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing sleeping on the side of the road in her husband’s fancy car?” he asks as he releases her.
“We are no longer married, Sheriff.”
“Which makes it all the more curious that you’re out here in his car, doesn’t it?”
“It is my car now,” Grazyna replies. “Mark had to give it to me in the divorce.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, looking beyond her and into the car. “You got all the paperwork with you, Missy?”
She nods. It has always annoyed her that he calls her Missy, as if it is her proper name.
He stands with his thumbs hooked in his belt again, looking expectant. “So?”
“What?” she asks.
“Let’s see the paperwork. Registration and title transferring ownership to you.”
Grazyna turns away and leans into the car to fish the folder of paperwork out of the duffel bag. Donahue moves in close behind her to watch over her shoulder. When she backs out, she bumps into him. He takes a half step back, but he is still peering at the duffel bag when she turns to him.
“Here,” she says, holding out the folder.
His eyes cut to her, then he glances back into the car before he reaches for the papers and flips through them. “It all seems to be in order.”
She breathes a sigh of relief as she takes the folder back.
“Insurance?” he asks.
She sags, then explains the situation.
“You’re on a public highway without insurance,” he says sharply.
“I have not driven anywhere,” Grazyna says.
“How did the car get here?”
“Mark made me take it off the property. I stopped as soon as I could.”
“Which means you’ve been driving without insurance, Missy.”
She throws her hands up in exasperation. “I have no phone. What else could I do?”
“Follow the law,” he snaps back. “I think you better come with me.”
“Where?”
“Back to Douglas, of course. We’ll sort things out there. Hopefully, you can be on your way once you get this insurance situation sorted out.”
“What about the car?” she asks.
He seems to ponder that for a moment. “Probably best not to leave it out here,” he finally says. “I’ll let you drive back to the station and I’ll follow.”
Grazyna smiles in relief. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
His eyes linger on hers for a long moment with a trace of amusement dancing in them. “Course, we probably shouldn’t have you driving on the highway.”
She gives him a blank look.
“You know how to get to Douglas on Route Fifty-Nine?” he asks.
She nods. Two-lane roads in horrific condition that wind through the coulees. It will take about forty-five minutes to reach Douglas that way, but there is little chance of encountering much traffic. That must be what he is thinking. Still, she feels a vague sense of unease steal over her as she ponders the arrangement.
“May I use your phone to call my lawyers and uncle to tell them where I am?” she asks.
“Afraid not, Missy, Police business only. You can get yourself a phone when I finish with you in town.” He shoots an appreciative look at the car and smirks. “Looks like you can afford a few phones.”
She doesn’t respond.
He waves her back into the car and gives it another long look. “You could leave me in the dust driving this puppy if you had a mind to. Don’t. Be sure to observe the speed limit and obey all traffic laws.”
Grazyna manages a tight smile, nods, and climbs behind the wheel.
40
Flying from Kalispell to Casper isn’t going to be easy. The only option with an available seat today is a ridiculously expensive eight-hour-plus ordeal with a connection through Salt Lake City. Factor in the usual airport delays, and it would probably be just as fast to make the eleven-hour drive, which I could probably work down to ten hours with a heavy foot on the gas pedal. Something tells me I don’t have that kind of time to reach Casper. A helpful airport worker directs me to the civil aviation area and a pilot with a twin-engine Cessna. She generally flies tourists over the mountains in Glacier Park, but it’s a slow day.
“What on earth can you possibly have to do in Casper that’s so pressing?” she asks as she circles her aircraft. She’s a ruddy, big-boned, robust woman with unruly red hair and a winning smile. I imagine this is exactly how a female bush pilot should look, walk, and talk. Not that I know a thing about bush pilots, female or otherwise.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” I reply. “Suffice to say a friend in need.”
“That’s a mighty fine reason, mister,” she says with a smile. “Flying time to Casper is around three hours each way and I generally charge twelve hundred bucks an hour.”
“One way is fine. I can fly home from Casper.”
“But I have to fly back to Kalispell,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “With or without you aboard.”
I do the math; six hours in the air for a total of over seven grand, plus whatever other costs come with chartering an aircraft. Highway robbery! Or, whatever one calls robbery in the sky. Air heist? Of course, what’s that against the value of Grazyna’s life? I’m about to accept the offer when she laughs.
“I’ve got a sister in Casper who I don’t see enough of,” she says. “The timing works out for me to drop in on her for lunch. So, just for you today, I’m prepared to offer a one-way, one-time deal of twenty-five hundred bucks to Casper, which is a real bargain.”
I’ll have to take her word for it. It’s certainly a much better deal than the one I was just calculating in my head. I accept the offer and then go in search of coffee. There’s a little coffee-and-snack truck serving the general aviation area, so I grab a coffee and call Pat.
“What’s up?” she asks.
I explain.
She sighs. “You’re not going to get yourself in trouble out there again, are you?”
“I hope not. I was hoping—“
“That I’ll take care of Brittany and Deano,” she cuts in with a chuckle. “Sometimes I think we should just move them into my place and be done with it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I know you do, Valenti. Gotta go now. I’m late for a meeting. Keep in touch, and stay out of trouble.”
My ride to Casper is ready to go within a half hour.
“Little planes scare the crap out of me,” I admit as we strap in.
“This one ain’t so little, mister. You should see some of the crappy little puddle jumpers I cut my pilot’s teeth on.”
“Anything smaller than a jumbo jet qualifies as small in my world.”
She chuckles. “I haven’t bent one of these things yet, so relax.”
As I start to, she shoots me a sideways grin and adds, “’Course, I figure there’s always a first time for everything.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” I mutter with a nervous grin. “Thanks.”
“And all this for only a couple grand,” she says before calling the tower for clearance. “A scenic flight plus in-flight entertainment.”
“What’s the movie?” I ask after she gets clearance and starts to taxi onto the runway.
“Well,” she says as she opens the throttles and we start to roll, “there’s whatever is playing on the windscreen.”
“That’s disappointing,” I deadpan as we pick up speed.
She lifts a finger to shush me while we bounce along faster and faster until she pulls back on the wheel and we climb into the air. Once we’re several hundred feet high, as best I can tell, anyway—things on the ground are looking smaller—she seems to relax and turns her head to me. “About the entertainment. The best I can offer is my own stand-up routine. While seated, of course. For the adventurous—and here’s where the windscreen comes into play—we can do some aerobatics.”
I make a point of looking around frantically. “How many barf bags does a little puddle jumper like this carry?”
She laughs. “Okay, cancel the aerobatic adventure. Sounds like you’re gonna hafta settle for the boring prairie sightseeing tour.”
“Fine by me,” I reply. Our eyes meet, and we chuckle. She’s a nice lady. Hopefully a good pilot, as well.
41
Grazyna’s arms and legs finally quit shaking and she coaxes her breathing under control several minutes into the drive. But she is far from relaxed. Once she drove away from her overnight stop at the side of the road, her mind started spinning all manner of dire scenarios about what she was caught up in. She’s under no illusions that Sheriff Donahue is acting of his own volition. Mark is behind whatever is going on, which frightens Grazyna more than she can say. How could she have been stupid enough to come here on her own? She would not have if she’d thought things through—but she had not. She rolls the windows down; she can at least enjoy the fresh morning air.
The Aston Martin is ascending a long incline out of the depths of a coulee when the red and blue lights atop Sheriff Donahue’s car begin to flash. What is he doing? Is he trying to warn her about something? She studies the road ahead. Nothing. She looks off to both sides of the road. Still nothing. Her eyes jerk back to the rearview mirror when the sheriff switches on his siren, closes up on her bumper, and waves her over to the side of the road. Maybe she has a flat tire or something else is wrong with the car? She touches the breaks and eases to a stop. Sheriff Donahue steps out his car, adjusts his hat, and marches straight to her open driver’s-side window.
“I’m gonna hafta ask you to step out of the car, Miss Zaluski.”
Miss Zaluski? Something in the way he says her maiden name unsettles her.
“Step out of the car, ma’am.”
Grazyna cracks the door open and sets a foot on the pavement.
“Turn it off and give me the keys,” he says.
She does, then gets back out and stares at him in confusion.
“Hands on the top of the car,” he orders.
“I… I do not understand,” she stutters before he spins her to face the Aston Martin.
“Hands on top of the car,” he repeats sharply.
She does so before he uses a foot to push her feet farther apart.
“Stay still.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks frantically.
“Got a tip that you’ve gotten yourself involved with some sort of drug-running scheme.”
“A what?” she asks incredulously. “Who would tell you such a thing?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Of course it—” She stops short of saying that it certainly is her concern when the realization crashes into her that Mark is the source of the tip.
“Stay right there,” he orders as he rips open the car doors and rummages inside the Aston Martin.
If he expects to find drugs, he will be disappointed, she thinks. Maybe when he does not find anything, they will complete the trip to Douglas. She is furious with Mark.
Donahue emerges from the car holding up a plastic baggy filled with white powder. “What do we have here, Miss Zaluski?”
Her eyes widen as she stares.
He sidles up close to her and takes her hands off the car, managing to brush his arms against her breasts as he does.
Now what? she thinks with a shiver as he pulls her hands behind her back. Only when she feels cool metal against her skin and hears a metallic clink does she realize that he has handcuffed her.
The sheriff leads her to his car and places a hand on her head while he pushes her into the back seat. He leaves the door ajar as he lifts a cell phone to his ear. She listens to his side of the conversation.
“Sheriff Donahue here. I’m waiting for a tow truck at the thirty-seven-mile marker on Route Fifty-Nine. What? Right now, goddammit. Why the hell do you think I called?”
“No,” Penelope replies sharply. “Your cowboy days are over, remember?”
I sigh. “Let’s see what Peter has to say.”
“Speaking of which,” Penelope says after her phone beeps, “he’s calling back now. I’ll conference you in.”
“Okay.”
“Tony is on the line with us,” she tells Zaluski after they exchange terse greetings.
“Hello,” Peter says. I do likewise.
“So?” Penelope asks anxiously.
“Grazyna’s cousin hasn’t seen her. There were no plans for a visit.”
“Great,” I mutter.
“It gets worse,” Peter says. “My wife checked Grazyna’s room and found a booking for a flight from Chicago to Casper.”
“Oh no,” Penelope whispers. “When did she leave?”
“Wednesday morning.”
It’s Friday morning now, so she’s been gone for two days and is now unreachable. “This is bad,” I mutter.
Nobody argues the point.
Peter’s voice ratchets a note or two higher. “I have called the other number she left several times, but nobody answers, and my calls don’t go to voicemail. Where is she?”
“Maybe call Smith in Douglas and ask if she was there to sign papers?” I suggest.
“I already did,” Penelope says. “Left a message. It’s still early there. Just after six, no?”
“Yup. Let’s call Mark Lewis,” I suggest. I don’t care if we wake him up.
“He won’t tell us if he has her,” Penelope replies.
“Not directly,” I counter. “But he may give himself away.”
“I guess it’s something to try,” Penelope allows. “Why don’t you both stay on the line and I’ll call and conference you in?”
I’m not sold on the wisdom of including Peter on the call and say so.
He objects immediately. “He may be more willing to speak with me than to her lawyers.”
Good point.
Penelope, ever the voice of fair play and honorable intentions, says, “Lewis should know if we’re all on the line.”
“If he’s abducted his soon-to-be-ex-wife—again—I see no point in observing niceties in trying to get her back,” I counter.
The line is quiet for a long moment before Penelope agrees.
“Peter, I think you were right,” I say. “It might be best if you place the call. Can you conference us in?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“Okay, then let’s do it.”
Peter identifies himself when Lewis picks up.
“Do you know what fuckin’ time it is here?” he grumbles.
“Is Grazyna there?” Peter asks.
“She doesn’t live here, old man,” Lewis replies with a trace of humor. “Aside from a visit with her lawyers a few weeks ago, I haven’t seen her in months.”
“We don’t know where she is,” Peter says.
“Well, then, that makes two us.”
The line goes dead.
“She’s there,” I say into the dead air.
“Why do you say so?” Peter asks.
“The tone of his voice, the absence of interest or any show of concern,” I reply.
“And no note of surprise that she’s missing,” Penelope murmurs. “I think you’re right.”
“What do we do now?” Peter asks forlornly.
“I guess I go to Wyoming,” I mutter with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
“No!” Penelope exclaims. “We already talked about this!”
“You did?” Peter asks.
Penelope explains.
“What other options do we have?” I ask.
Silence.
“I can call Dirk and ask him to join me.”
“Or we can just call Dirk and ask him to poke around,” Penelope counters.
“By himself?”
Penelope hesitates.
“That wouldn’t be fair, partner, and you know it,” I add.
“What about the police?” Peter suggests.
“In Converse County?” I ask with a bitter chuckle. “They’ll be a big help. Calling them may even put Dirk at risk.”
“Maybe Jake Plummer will have a suggestion,” Penelope says. “Why don’t you call him?”
“I can call,” I reply. “He might have a constructive idea or two, but Wyoming is way out of his jurisdiction. Besides, he won’t have any more luck with the sheriff out there than we would.”
“Call Jake, then call Dirk,” Penelope says.
I call Jake, who is awake already. He’s sympathetic but otherwise unable to help. I call Dirk, who tells me that he’s in Denver but can be in Casper by tomorrow morning. Then, correctly guessing that someone is probably at the funeral home at all hours to make sure they don’t miss out on any stiffs, I call and arrange for them to ship the urn containing Frankie’s ashes to the Law Offices of Brooks and Valenti. Finally, I drive to the airport.
39
A sharp rapping on the car window beside her head startles Grazyna awake from a restless sleep. The low morning sun blasting through the windshield hits her full in the face when she sits up, blurring the image of whoever is outside the car.
“Ma’am?” an authoritative voice says. “Please step out of the vehicle.”
Realization of where she is and why dawns as Grazyna tries to work a kink out of her neck by arching her back and twisting her head from side to side. A duffel bag stuffed full of cash doesn’t seem to make a very good pillow, and the cramped rear seat of a sports car made a poor bed.
“Ma’am,” the voice says a little more sharply. It isn’t a question this time.
Grazyna stares at the clock in the dashboard. It’s six fifteen in the morning. She pushes her face closer to the glass and peers outside. Converse County Sheriff Donahue stands back and hooks his thumbs in his belt when he sees her looking.
What is he doing here? Grazyna has never liked this man, whose eyes she often feels on her whenever he is around. She takes a quick look to make sure her dress is buttoned, smooths it down, pulls on a jacket, stretches to reach the door handle, and clambers out of the back seat. She stumbles as she exits. The sheriff catches her by the waist and arm, then holds on a moment too long.
“Now, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing sleeping on the side of the road in her husband’s fancy car?” he asks as he releases her.
“We are no longer married, Sheriff.”
“Which makes it all the more curious that you’re out here in his car, doesn’t it?”
“It is my car now,” Grazyna replies. “Mark had to give it to me in the divorce.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, looking beyond her and into the car. “You got all the paperwork with you, Missy?”
She nods. It has always annoyed her that he calls her Missy, as if it is her proper name.
He stands with his thumbs hooked in his belt again, looking expectant. “So?”
“What?” she asks.
“Let’s see the paperwork. Registration and title transferring ownership to you.”
Grazyna turns away and leans into the car to fish the folder of paperwork out of the duffel bag. Donahue moves in close behind her to watch over her shoulder. When she backs out, she bumps into him. He takes a half step back, but he is still peering at the duffel bag when she turns to him.
“Here,” she says, holding out the folder.
His eyes cut to her, then he glances back into the car before he reaches for the papers and flips through them. “It all seems to be in order.”
She breathes a sigh of relief as she takes the folder back.
“Insurance?” he asks.
She sags, then explains the situation.
“You’re on a public highway without insurance,” he says sharply.
“I have not driven anywhere,” Grazyna says.
“How did the car get here?”
“Mark made me take it off the property. I stopped as soon as I could.”
“Which means you’ve been driving without insurance, Missy.”
She throws her hands up in exasperation. “I have no phone. What else could I do?”
“Follow the law,” he snaps back. “I think you better come with me.”
“Where?”
“Back to Douglas, of course. We’ll sort things out there. Hopefully, you can be on your way once you get this insurance situation sorted out.”
“What about the car?” she asks.
He seems to ponder that for a moment. “Probably best not to leave it out here,” he finally says. “I’ll let you drive back to the station and I’ll follow.”
Grazyna smiles in relief. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
His eyes linger on hers for a long moment with a trace of amusement dancing in them. “Course, we probably shouldn’t have you driving on the highway.”
She gives him a blank look.
“You know how to get to Douglas on Route Fifty-Nine?” he asks.
She nods. Two-lane roads in horrific condition that wind through the coulees. It will take about forty-five minutes to reach Douglas that way, but there is little chance of encountering much traffic. That must be what he is thinking. Still, she feels a vague sense of unease steal over her as she ponders the arrangement.
“May I use your phone to call my lawyers and uncle to tell them where I am?” she asks.
“Afraid not, Missy, Police business only. You can get yourself a phone when I finish with you in town.” He shoots an appreciative look at the car and smirks. “Looks like you can afford a few phones.”
She doesn’t respond.
He waves her back into the car and gives it another long look. “You could leave me in the dust driving this puppy if you had a mind to. Don’t. Be sure to observe the speed limit and obey all traffic laws.”
Grazyna manages a tight smile, nods, and climbs behind the wheel.
40
Flying from Kalispell to Casper isn’t going to be easy. The only option with an available seat today is a ridiculously expensive eight-hour-plus ordeal with a connection through Salt Lake City. Factor in the usual airport delays, and it would probably be just as fast to make the eleven-hour drive, which I could probably work down to ten hours with a heavy foot on the gas pedal. Something tells me I don’t have that kind of time to reach Casper. A helpful airport worker directs me to the civil aviation area and a pilot with a twin-engine Cessna. She generally flies tourists over the mountains in Glacier Park, but it’s a slow day.
“What on earth can you possibly have to do in Casper that’s so pressing?” she asks as she circles her aircraft. She’s a ruddy, big-boned, robust woman with unruly red hair and a winning smile. I imagine this is exactly how a female bush pilot should look, walk, and talk. Not that I know a thing about bush pilots, female or otherwise.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” I reply. “Suffice to say a friend in need.”
“That’s a mighty fine reason, mister,” she says with a smile. “Flying time to Casper is around three hours each way and I generally charge twelve hundred bucks an hour.”
“One way is fine. I can fly home from Casper.”
“But I have to fly back to Kalispell,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “With or without you aboard.”
I do the math; six hours in the air for a total of over seven grand, plus whatever other costs come with chartering an aircraft. Highway robbery! Or, whatever one calls robbery in the sky. Air heist? Of course, what’s that against the value of Grazyna’s life? I’m about to accept the offer when she laughs.
“I’ve got a sister in Casper who I don’t see enough of,” she says. “The timing works out for me to drop in on her for lunch. So, just for you today, I’m prepared to offer a one-way, one-time deal of twenty-five hundred bucks to Casper, which is a real bargain.”
I’ll have to take her word for it. It’s certainly a much better deal than the one I was just calculating in my head. I accept the offer and then go in search of coffee. There’s a little coffee-and-snack truck serving the general aviation area, so I grab a coffee and call Pat.
“What’s up?” she asks.
I explain.
She sighs. “You’re not going to get yourself in trouble out there again, are you?”
“I hope not. I was hoping—“
“That I’ll take care of Brittany and Deano,” she cuts in with a chuckle. “Sometimes I think we should just move them into my place and be done with it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I know you do, Valenti. Gotta go now. I’m late for a meeting. Keep in touch, and stay out of trouble.”
My ride to Casper is ready to go within a half hour.
“Little planes scare the crap out of me,” I admit as we strap in.
“This one ain’t so little, mister. You should see some of the crappy little puddle jumpers I cut my pilot’s teeth on.”
“Anything smaller than a jumbo jet qualifies as small in my world.”
She chuckles. “I haven’t bent one of these things yet, so relax.”
As I start to, she shoots me a sideways grin and adds, “’Course, I figure there’s always a first time for everything.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” I mutter with a nervous grin. “Thanks.”
“And all this for only a couple grand,” she says before calling the tower for clearance. “A scenic flight plus in-flight entertainment.”
“What’s the movie?” I ask after she gets clearance and starts to taxi onto the runway.
“Well,” she says as she opens the throttles and we start to roll, “there’s whatever is playing on the windscreen.”
“That’s disappointing,” I deadpan as we pick up speed.
She lifts a finger to shush me while we bounce along faster and faster until she pulls back on the wheel and we climb into the air. Once we’re several hundred feet high, as best I can tell, anyway—things on the ground are looking smaller—she seems to relax and turns her head to me. “About the entertainment. The best I can offer is my own stand-up routine. While seated, of course. For the adventurous—and here’s where the windscreen comes into play—we can do some aerobatics.”
I make a point of looking around frantically. “How many barf bags does a little puddle jumper like this carry?”
She laughs. “Okay, cancel the aerobatic adventure. Sounds like you’re gonna hafta settle for the boring prairie sightseeing tour.”
“Fine by me,” I reply. Our eyes meet, and we chuckle. She’s a nice lady. Hopefully a good pilot, as well.
41
Grazyna’s arms and legs finally quit shaking and she coaxes her breathing under control several minutes into the drive. But she is far from relaxed. Once she drove away from her overnight stop at the side of the road, her mind started spinning all manner of dire scenarios about what she was caught up in. She’s under no illusions that Sheriff Donahue is acting of his own volition. Mark is behind whatever is going on, which frightens Grazyna more than she can say. How could she have been stupid enough to come here on her own? She would not have if she’d thought things through—but she had not. She rolls the windows down; she can at least enjoy the fresh morning air.
The Aston Martin is ascending a long incline out of the depths of a coulee when the red and blue lights atop Sheriff Donahue’s car begin to flash. What is he doing? Is he trying to warn her about something? She studies the road ahead. Nothing. She looks off to both sides of the road. Still nothing. Her eyes jerk back to the rearview mirror when the sheriff switches on his siren, closes up on her bumper, and waves her over to the side of the road. Maybe she has a flat tire or something else is wrong with the car? She touches the breaks and eases to a stop. Sheriff Donahue steps out his car, adjusts his hat, and marches straight to her open driver’s-side window.
“I’m gonna hafta ask you to step out of the car, Miss Zaluski.”
Miss Zaluski? Something in the way he says her maiden name unsettles her.
“Step out of the car, ma’am.”
Grazyna cracks the door open and sets a foot on the pavement.
“Turn it off and give me the keys,” he says.
She does, then gets back out and stares at him in confusion.
“Hands on the top of the car,” he orders.
“I… I do not understand,” she stutters before he spins her to face the Aston Martin.
“Hands on top of the car,” he repeats sharply.
She does so before he uses a foot to push her feet farther apart.
“Stay still.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks frantically.
“Got a tip that you’ve gotten yourself involved with some sort of drug-running scheme.”
“A what?” she asks incredulously. “Who would tell you such a thing?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Of course it—” She stops short of saying that it certainly is her concern when the realization crashes into her that Mark is the source of the tip.
“Stay right there,” he orders as he rips open the car doors and rummages inside the Aston Martin.
If he expects to find drugs, he will be disappointed, she thinks. Maybe when he does not find anything, they will complete the trip to Douglas. She is furious with Mark.
Donahue emerges from the car holding up a plastic baggy filled with white powder. “What do we have here, Miss Zaluski?”
Her eyes widen as she stares.
He sidles up close to her and takes her hands off the car, managing to brush his arms against her breasts as he does.
Now what? she thinks with a shiver as he pulls her hands behind her back. Only when she feels cool metal against her skin and hears a metallic clink does she realize that he has handcuffed her.
The sheriff leads her to his car and places a hand on her head while he pushes her into the back seat. He leaves the door ajar as he lifts a cell phone to his ear. She listens to his side of the conversation.
“Sheriff Donahue here. I’m waiting for a tow truck at the thirty-seven-mile marker on Route Fifty-Nine. What? Right now, goddammit. Why the hell do you think I called?”
