One Fool At Least (4 page)

Grand Blue, Jack assured me, aside from being a huge expanse of God’s world relatively untouched by humanity, was full of sky and forest, and only about fifty miles south of The Cat’s Teeth Mountain Range, also called “The Felines” by locals.

I would love the mountains, Jack had assured me long ago. The mountains would make me believe in God.

“I already believe in God,” I said.

“Not like you will in Montana,” he told me with such solemnity that I felt a surge of intimidation. The Cat’s Teeth, where we intended to hike, cut into the sky with a fierce and defiant beauty, a raw and rocky reminder of the elemental nature of the true world.

This I had seen even in the photographs that Jack had showed me, but I looked forward to seeing those wonders for myself. The cabin Pat had reserved for us had, we were told, a spectacular view of The Felines. Pat had made sure it would be untenanted for our honeymoon, and now Jack and I were to stay in it together for two weeks, enjoying nature and each other—for free. That last part warmed my heart the most, since Jack and I had used up most of our resources pitching in for the wedding, buying gifts for bridesmaids and groomsmen, and purchasing a honeymoon wardrobe.

“That’s exactly what we’ll do,” said Jack firmly, taking my hand. “Now we need to get packed for the airport. I guess we’ll meet you there. Pass on this info to Mom and Dad when they get here, okay?”

Two hours later we were bound for O’Hare. Jack had given me the pills that were supposed to ensure a fear-free flight. We’d discussed the trip at length in regard to my phobia, and decided that I really couldn’t get on a plane without some chemical calm.

I still felt worried, but in a vague, drunken sort of way. Jack was again holding my hand and saying soft quiet things into my ear, but I felt my fear mounting through the haze of drugs. Jack finally told me that I was gripping his hand too hard.

“Hmmm?” I asked.

“You’re hurting my hand. You’ve got your nails in it.”

“Oh, sorry.” I removed my fingers from his palm and stared out the window of our taxi. Why couldn’t we have honeymooned somewhere close, I wondered foggily. Somewhere in driving distance, even walking distance…. As we approached the airport, we saw planes flying over continuously, sometimes near enough that it seemed I could reach up and pat their bellies. “Like a beast, a sky beast,” I mumbled.

“What?” Jack was laughing at me. “Maddy, are you okay? I thought that was the right dosage, but you look kind of—”

“Oh, I’m fine as rain. I think that’s right. I imagine so. What are you laughing? At?”

“Nothing. Come on, we have to get out here.” Jack had his lips sucked all the way into his mouth in order not to look amused. He obviously feared my drug-induced wrath, which might have been worse than my regular wrath.

* * *

O’Hare Airport was confusing: lots of hallways and moving sidewalks and running to other places. I let Jack lead me as I viewed it all from my fascinated yet fearful high. By the time we got to the little tunnel that connects to the plane and we’d presented our tickets to a flight attendant with a stern face and hair cut severely short, I was like the doggie that doesn’t want to go to the vet. I struggled against going into the tunnel, clinging to the wall and then to a random airport cart that was being pushed past in the other direction, the direction where people kept their feet on the ground.

I only vaguely remember the scuffle, which involved Jack, red with embarrassment and clutching my feet in midair, his mother and father, who arrived in time to see me, loopy and hanging off the wall like a monkey, telling the line of people why I’d always been afraid of planes, regaling them with visions of limbs floating on ocean waves and fiery 747s plunging into the sea, and the flight attendant, who kept saying, “Get down, please.”

Jack’s dad ended the standoff by scooping me off the wall with big hands, draping an arm across my shoulders and steering me on board, talking to me all the while in a soothing voice about Jack’s childhood in Montana, about his three sons and the things they’d done together, about Christmases when the boys were young, anything he could think of to keep me from struggling under his arm, which I suddenly didn’t want to do. He said he was glad to have a new daughter, just as he considered Libby his daughter, and the only way he’d be able to see her sometimes was if she was brave enough to get on a plane and come for a visit. Didn’t I want to come and visit him sometimes? I leaned my head against his shoulder sleepily, nodding when he asked me questions. He smelled of fragrant tobacco, like the pipe he always smoked, and it was both comforting and hypnotic.

I don’t remember much about actually boarding the plane. I’m told that I obeyed Robert Shea meekly enough, and that after he strapped me in and said something softly in my ear I went almost instantly to sleep. Jack, relieved, took his place at my side, grateful that he didn’t have to endure a scene at take-off, as well.

When I woke he was there beside me, smiling.

My head hurt and my throat was dry. I told Jack, and he handed me a bottle of water. After I sipped, I said, “Jack, did I make a fool of myself?”

“No, no,” Jack lied. “You were great. And guess what? We’re almost there. Another half hour, I think. So you’ve done it, Maddy, you’ve made your maiden flight. Do you want to look out the window?”

“No,” I said. I looked into my lap, trying to fight the rising wave of panic. I was in the air, where I’d never wanted to be. I glanced around the plane. Jack’s dad and mom were a few rows behind us; they waved encouragingly when they saw that I’d emerged from my coma.

Molly and Mike were across the aisle; Mike was strapped into a special seat, and his wheelchair had been stowed somewhere. Behind them were their parents, Pat and Libby. They sat holding hands, like teenagers on a date. Pat leaned toward Jack. “She looks a little green around the gills, Bro.”

Jack nodded, looking nervously at me. “Do you need the airsickness bag, Maddy?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Jack, I’m scared.”

He looked crestfallen. “I never should have asked you to do this. I guess I didn’t understand how bad it was. I’m so sorry, Maddy.”

I was gripping his hand again, holding it tight. I could feel the individual bones, the connecting of knuckle to finger. “I can do it, I’m sure I can do it. Just—if you could distract me? Maybe tell me a story, like your dad did, or—”

Jack looked even guiltier. “I’ve been drinking water, and I really have to run to the lavatory. Just for a second. Do you want me to get Pat to come and hold your hand?”

I began to tremble. “No. It’s bad enough, whatever psycho thing I did at the airport. I don’t want them to know, I don’t want them to see. I wish they weren’t all here.”

Jack kissed my hand and promised to return in a moment, then darted from his seat.

I found it quickly filled by Molly.

“Hi, Madeline,” she said, with her lovely green stare.

“Hello, Molly. It’s so nice to have you back where you belong,” I joked weakly. She didn’t get it, of course, the song was long before her time, and mine too, but I knew every song from every musical. A little-known fact about me.

“Huh?” she asked, smiling.

“Nothing. Old joke. Have you uh—enjoyed the flight?” I asked, finding it difficult to maintain my concentration.

“It’s okay. Listen, I wanted to ask you. Did you really get shot one time?”

The question surprised me enough to distract me from my misery. “Uh—yeah. That’s true. I don’t think Jack wants me to discuss—”

“I won’t tell him, or anything. I just want to know. I was asking some people about you at the wedding, Mike and I were, and they said you’re like this great investigator. That you figured out two murders, and it was in all the papers. I know Dad was talking about it, too, when it happened, he and Mom were saying as how this girlfriend of Jack’s always seemed to find trouble, just like those detectives in the books. They thought it was sort of funny.”

“Glad to amuse,” I said wryly, thinking how their image of me must have changed since the airport incident, which was slowly coming back to me.

“Well, no,” she said quickly. “They didn’t think it was funny that you got shot. They just thought it was funny that you were so little and cute and pretty and yet you always got in all this trouble. We have this picture of you on the mantel, of you and Jack.”

The flattery perked me right back up again. It didn’t actually matter how genuine it was. “That’s nice,” I said. My hands relaxed slightly, remembering that I had, in fact, faced dangers worse than sitting on a plane.

“Anyway, I know you’re on your honeymoon and everything, but Mike and I want you to look into Slider’s disappearance. I mean, you’re already involved, aren’t you, because that guy came to see you, that weird guy, and he’s proof that something funny is going on. I’m worried about Slider, although I think he’s okay.” Her eyes grew wistful for a moment, then businesslike. “We’d pay you. We’ve got money saved. We both still have our money from eighth grade graduation. Uncle Jack alone sent us each a hundred dollars.”

I hadn’t known this, of course, I didn’t know Jack then, but it pleased me to hear it, his generosity to his niece and nephew. Mike hadn’t been in the wheelchair back then; he’d only been in it for two months, ever since his car accident.

Jack had flown to Montana in April; that’s when it had happened, the accident Slider had saved him from, and it had ended Mike up in the hospital. He was in for a week and had come home in a wheelchair, prognosis uncertain. Presently he had no feeling in his legs below the knee, but doctors weren’t exactly sure why.

“I don’t want your money, Molly; I’d never take money from you. And I’d normally be happy to help you, but I don’t know how often I’ll be around. I mean, Jack and I are going to do a lot of sightseeing and hiking and such. We’ll only be at your house in the evenings.”

“You don’t have to be at our house to look into it,” Molly persisted. “You could try to work it in, while you’re sightseeing and stuff—”

Jack returned, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Molly and me with our heads close together. I’m sure we looked conspiratorial. “Oh, hi Uncle Jack,” Molly chirped. “Let me get out of your seat.” She sent me one last pleading look from her gorgeous eyes, pressed a piece of paper into my hands, and went back to her seat to whisper to her brother.

“What’s Molly want? Telling you boy stories?”

I shrugged. “Not really. More about Slider.” I slipped the paper into my purse.

As I turned I saw Jack’s parents, Maeve and Robert, lean forward and smile at us. I felt embarrassed every time I looked at them. What must they think of me, I wondered? His mother was a teacher, too, of third graders. His father had worked in sales all his life, and was so successful that he had founded an online camping supply company. There was much to learn about the new family, I thought.

I came back to the present and heard Jack chatting with his younger brother T.J. (short for Terrance James) about our plans for the honeymoon.

“You’re going to do some hunting, right?” asked T.J. with a charming smile. “And some fishing? How good is Madeline at fishing?”

I made an effort, even in my terror. “Oh, is there a lake near your house?”

Jack and T.J. smiled blankly at me for a moment. Then T.J. said, “It’s Montana, Madeline. We’re stream fishermen; at least by the Cat’s Teeth, we are.”

“Ah,” I managed, wondering what made a stream so different from a lake. I was blowing out little breaths, Lamaze style, trying to rein in the panic that was rising again, as Jack said, “Actually, Madeline is not into either of those ideas. We’re just going to sightsee, hike, take pictures. And other honeymoon things,” he added under his breath.

“I’m envious,” T.J. told Jack. “My wife is off limits for another two weeks. Doctor’s orders,” he said. “She needs time to recover. Man, I never knew what women went through when they have babies, but it was like a battle scene in there. Trina screaming. The nurses were actually pushing on her stomach. I was ready to punch someone.”

Nice to know that T.J. had no boundaries of discussion, I thought, as I dealt with the nauseous feeling that his description had raised. Jack and I had talked about having children right away, but I’d admitted I was terrified of labor. Apparently marriage makes you face all your terrors. We thought we might wait a little while for the babies. Maybe a long while, I amended in my mind.

“How are you doing, Blondie?” Jack asked me, kissing my cheek.

“Okay,” I said.

“Maddy. Look in my face. What do you see there?”

I looked into his face. Jack’s eyes locked onto mine and some desire overrode my fear. “I see you,” I said.

“Do you see how much I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe that I won’t let anything happen to you?”

“Yes,” I said.

He smiled, victorious, and sat back in his seat, still holding my hand.

Well, I thought, that had diverted my attention for a good ten seconds. I reached down and retrieved the paper that Molly had slipped into my hand.

It was a front page from a newspaper, dated May 20th. The headline said, “Cops Stumped in Flanagan Murder Case.” Two smaller headlines read, “Local Boy Reported Missing,” and “High School Scores Get Low Grade.” I skipped the high school story, but read the other two. Apparently this local man named Finn Flanagan had been shot to death in mid-May in the bar called Flanagan’s. It was after hours, and police had no witnesses to the crime. Flanagan had been found the following morning by someone in the cleaning company that routinely repaired the damage of the previous night. Whether or not the bar and restaurant would remain open was still under consideration by Finn’s family; the townspeople were apparently waiting on tenterhooks, because it had been the most popular hangout in town for the over-thirty crowd.

Police said fingerprint analysis was too difficult, since everyone in town would have left fingerprints in the joint. The weapon had not been found. No money had been stolen, so police were also uncertain of a motive. Finn’s ex-wife had come forward to say that Finn had no known enemies, except perhaps her new husband, and he certainly had not killed Flanagan.