Killer Summer (20 page)

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Authors: Ridley Pearson

BOOK: Killer Summer
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But Kevin couldn’t forget it, and he thought she probably knew it. The more he thought about it, the more she seemed to be acting, and he wondered what that was all about.
“So, you ready?” she asked.
“Depends what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t try to sound cool. Guys do that all the time, and I’m telling you it’s a complete turnoff, okay? Just be you. You’re cute; live with it. But don’t try to sound like James Bond or something, because you’re not.”
She squeezed past him again and headed toward the cockpit.
“What is it with you and your father?” he asked, trying to strike back. He didn’t like being lectured to.
The question stopped her. She didn’t turn around to face him. “I explained that,” she said. “It’s just father-daughter stuff.”
“And your taking off like this? Running away, coming here when you shouldn’t? That’s just you getting back at him?”
“What are you, my shrink?”
“I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Well, lose it. You’re a buzz kill.”
“I don’t think you should go.”
“No one asked you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go. I wish you’d stay. Why don’t you just tell him whatever it is you want to tell him? Then we could hang out some more.”
Her face brightened, but her look was patronizing. “That’s so sweet,” she said.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m leaving,” she said, her voice deeper and her eyes darker.
“Because of the tennis guy you told me about?” he said.
“Men’s finals are tomorrow, Sunday. He’s playing. I’m going to be there.”
“But then he’s gone, right? To some other tournament? What’s with that? Are you going to follow him? You think he’s down with that? You’re seventeen. They’d arrest him.”
“So, what, you’re suddenly my father? Lose it, would you?”
“If you stay, you get props from Dad, right? Coulda run off but didn’t? He’s got to appreciate that.”
“He doesn’t appreciate anything about me. Believe it and leave it. I’m serious. I’m going down to L.A. and don’t want to be talked out of it. So just let me, would you please?”
“The thing is,” he said, “and we know this better than anyone else, it’s a lot harder when they’re gone, no matter how much of a pain in the ass they are when they’re around.”
“Do you want to see the cockpit or have an
Oprah
moment?”
He followed her to the front of the jet, and she stepped aside to allow him to pass. He hesitated.
“Go on. It’s why you came along, isn’t it?”
He thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“To sit in that seat.”
He remained standing.
“I understand wanting to blow him off,” he said. “I’ve asked my mother, like, a thousand times to move. Everything here reminds me of him. I can’t stand living in the valley anymore. I’m done. How my mom does it, I have no idea. She’s like trying to hold on to something that isn’t there. She is so lost.”
He slipped into the pilot’s seat. He could hear her breathing.
“You could come with me,” she said.
“That would go over big.”
He sat there. She said nothing.
“We can turn on some music,” she said. “See those battery switches? Flip the second one.”
“I need the key, right? Are you sure this is cool?”
“There is no key. Not for this part.”
“No way.”
“
Way.
The key’s for the door.”
“You’re bullshitting me!”
“No key, no shit.”
He double-checked her instructions and then pushed the buttons as told. Lights came on in the cabin, and she turned them off. Then she pulled down all the window blinds.
The dash had come alive, the number of lights and instruments overwhelming.
“Have you ever flown it?” he asked.
“I’ve steered it a couple of times, sure. My dad can land it. He took instruction and stuff. He’s a complete safety freak. There’s a case in the closet,” she said, “with an extra radio, a portable GPS, charts, flashlight. Extra everything—that’s my dad. He’ll probably wish he had an extra daughter by this time tomorrow.”
Kevin’s phone chirped, signaling a text message. He slipped the phone out of his front pocket.
Kev? Walt is looking for you. Where are you?
I’m coming to the airport. Mom
 
 
He stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
“Gotta go!” he said.
How the hell does she know I’m here?
Someone must have seen his car.
“No way! We just got here.”
“I’ve got to go,” he repeated.
40
C
antell, McGuiness, and Salvo entered Sun Valley Aviation wearing flight uniforms. They approached the reception counter with an air of confidence, their caps pulled low.
ON DUTY: REBA KLINE read the plaque.
Cantell placed a small key on the counter, along with a pen and some paperwork.
“I’d like to settle charges for Lear tango-alpha-niner-five-niner.”
“Absolutely,” Reba said. She worked the computer, found the account, and printed out a statement for him to review.
Cantell paid her eleven hundred seventy-five dollars in cash.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Cash is king,” she said. “We just don’t see a lot of it here.”
She printed out a receipt.
“Where’s William this evening?” she asked the pilot. “Wasn’t that his name?”
“William the Conqueror?” the man teased. Salvo and McGuiness laughed with him. “He’s picking up the flight in the morning. We’re the maintenance crew.”
“There’s that pesky little requirement of TBO,” said McGuiness. TBO was an aviation term for time between overhauls. McGuiness had spun that into time between drinks. Reba Kline got the joke and laughed with him.
“There is
that,
” she said.
Cantell scribbled a physician-style signature on the paperwork.
“Did you happen to cater?” she asked, already checking a card file.
McGuiness produced a tin of Altoids. “This is our food service,” he said, winning another laugh from her.
“We’re bringing it down to Boise for a DVD issue,” Salvo said. “Can’t have the DVD malfunctioning.”
Cantell shot Salvo a look.
“We’ve got some good electronics guys here,” Reba said.
Cantell smiled at her weakly. “Boss wants it done in Boise.”
“I hear that,” she said.
“Should be back around nine A.M. tomorrow,” McGuiness added.
“So, we’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said. “Safe skies, gentlemen.”
Cantell checked his appearance in a mirror behind her that had been frosted to look like clouds.
 
 
 
R
eba Kline experienced a slight tinge of unease as the three men left and headed for the Lear.
It wasn’t the pilot’s vanity—
Lord knows, pilots are full of themselves.
It wasn’t him paying cash, not exactly, though maybe that was part of it.
She’d gotten plenty of dirty looks in her time, but she’d come to accept the egos of flyboys. So the little guy had made a point of undressing her with his eyes, big deal. What pissed off and confused her was the wake of debris they left behind. Bark chips, sawdust, dried mud: it was like they’d been climbing trees or cutting firewood minutes before coming in here.
What was with that?
She turned back to the keyboard and closed out the sale.
41
W
alt clambered over the logs, already on the radio trying to identify possible high-stakes, south valley robbery targets.
The first thing that came to mind was the cache of arms and vehicles housed at the National Guard Armory. Every kind of weapon, half a dozen Hummers, the theft could be catastrophic. There were other prizes locally as well: art collections, famous and wealthy kidnapping targets. When he looked at the valley from that point of view, he was all the more aware of how vulnerable it was to an organized attack like this one. The thought drove him over the final log all that much faster.
It was then, through the obnoxious beeping of car horns, that he heard someone falling and cursing behind him, someone following him over the logs. He turned, prepared to give Brandon an earful.
Fiona stared back at him, holding her black dress well above her knees. She released the dress’s hem, and it fell.
“I told you,” she said.
Y
ou can’t be here,” Walt said from the driver’s seat of a Toyota Prius he had commandeered. Thankfully, the driver hadn’t put up a fight.
“But I am, so live with it.”
“You’re a civilian. I’m dropping you off in town.”
“No, you’re not. I was the one who figured this out. You obviously need me.”
He smirked, resenting that she could win this from him.
“I also happen to be a woman,” she said, “which is something that has apparently escaped your attention. If you take custody of this runaway, then you’re going to need a woman as part of your team.”
“How can you possibly know—?” He cut himself off, answering himself. “Myra.”
“No, it wasn’t Myra,” she said. “I may have run into Chuck Webb, but I’m not saying I did.”
“I can’t deal with Kevin or the girl . . . not now.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“You followed me.”
“You really are a brilliant investigator.”
“Why would you follow me?” he said.
“You ask too many questions.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m conflicted,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“
Some
detective you are.”
42
K
evin scrambled down out of the pilot’s seat. He pushed her back into the body of the plane.
“What?” she said.
“Three guys heading this way.”
“No,” she said. “To a different plane. Chill, dude.”
“I swear.”
She eased into the cockpit and sneaked a peek.
“Not us,” she whispered but not convincingly. “First, it’s not William or Jack. Second, we don’t have three crew with us.”
But as they drew closer, she stepped back alongside Kevin.
“I don’t get it. They are not our crew.”
“I don’t think that really matters at the moment. What the hell do we do?”
“The power’s still on!” she said, diving forward and crawling on her knees to toggle the switches.
A loud electronic
clunk
came from the cabin door as it began to open.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Kevin said. “My mother’s going to kill me!”
Summer hurried him up the aisle and into the storage area over the toilet. She slid the partition shut behind her but not all the way, her eye to the crack.
Both jammed into the small space; his heart was beating too hard and too fast.
The cabin door came fully open.
Summer pressed her index finger to her lips, as she whispered at him, “I don’t know these guys. It can’t be anything much. Prep for tomorrow’s flight maybe. Who knows?”
She returned her attention to the passenger area.
As the three men came on board, they barely said a word to one another, which struck Kevin as odd. He could hear noises up in the cockpit. They were doing stuff.
Lights came on, the air system hissed.
When he finally heard the mumble of a voice, it was someone reading.
Summer’s hair tickled his face. “That’s the checklist!” she said. “I think they’re starting it up.”
“What? They can’t do that!”
“Shut up and let me think.” For the first time, she looked as scared as he felt.
 
 
 
C
antell read off the checklist just as he and McGuiness had practiced dozens of times. McGuiness had nine months of training invested in the next twenty minutes of flight, and though he ran through the run-up with authority his anxiety permeated the cockpit.
Cantell’s responsibilities were limited to the radios and GPS navigation. He set the proper frequencies, double-checked the destination he’d keyed into the GPS, and held his index finger over the transponder switch.

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