Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) (4 page)

The floatplanes could be ‘armed’ and capable of fire power, if and when needed, but would have no outward signs of the potentially destructive apparatus.  For normal use, the mounting mechanisms would be completely removed and the standard pontoon exterior would be replaced.

Linguistic specialist Mario Ianozzi raised his hand requesting to be the first at testing the system.  Ezra glanced over, with curiosity, at the senior Partner, and Chip nodded his approval.

A meeting was scheduled between Brad, Ezra and Max for setting up the budget outline for the retrofitting project.

The meeting was adjourned and the Partners went to their respective offices to catch up on business while awaiting the last item on the meeting agenda, which was lunch.  Back in his office, Max called Maggie on his cell phone.

“Hey, Mr. Mystery Man,” she answered, “how goes the old grind?”

“I’ll call you after work to fill you in. You probably won’t believe it, though,” he said.

On Thursday following the meeting in the briefing room Chip sent an office memo and asked Max by to stop by his office.  Chip didn’t mention a reason for the meeting and Max complied with an open mind.

Chip welcomed Max when he arrived at 3:30 PM and offered him a chair, a cigar and a snifter of imported Hungarian brandy.  Max accepted the offer of the seat, passed on the cigar and took him up on the imported brandy.  Chip got right to the point of his request.

“I need you to look into a potential acquisition for the Partnership.  It’s a commercial marine laboratory in Nova Scotia.  Your predecessor, Ernie, inherited it from family just prior to the accident.  It meant a lot to Ernie but his widow wants to divest herself of any connection with the operation.  We need to find out what the property and business is worth to make an informed decision on making her a fair offer.”

“Is this an immediate matter?” Max queried.

“I heard from Mahlah Bickford last night and she seemed anxious, for some reason, to move on it now.  Are you tied down with anything serious, or can you go this weekend?” Chip wanted to know.  “You can take your lady friend on a nice autumn holiday if you’d like.  It’s located on an island so you can take the DHC Beaver and get there in an hour and a half.”

“I can do it right away,” Max replied. “I’ll have to check with Maggie, but if she can’t manage it I’ll go solo. Time is important.” This was the first time he had been made aware of the first name of Ernest Bickford’s widow. He made a note.

“Good, I’ll have Brad set up the Beaver.  Have you checked out in it yet? Chip asked.

“Not yet, but I can do a run-through with him tomorrow morning to pick up on any quirks it may have,”  Max said.

With the agreement, Chip and Max went over the checklist of factors needed to make decisions on an acquisition.  Chip filled Max in on whatever he knew regarding transactions in Nova Scotia and bid him good luck on the journey.  They parted ways after Brad had agreed to meet with Max the following morning at the boat house.

Once Max got back to his apartment and checked his wardrobe a quick trip into Ithaca to buy a couple of wool shirts was on his agenda.  First he needed to reach Maggie to determine if he would be picking her up or flying straight to his destination from Black Bottom Lake.  After 3 beeps Maggie answered.

“Can I call you right back, Max?” she asked.  Max agreed and said he would be on his way into Ithaca.  He suggested that if the satellite didn’t connect right away he would try her again when he got back.

On the way back to his apartment Max was ‘airing –out’ his Audi Quatro A6, (his term for pedal-to-the-metal driving) on a straight stretch of the narrow two lane road when Maggie called him back.  After slowing down to 55mph he answered the call.

“Hey good-lookin’, what’s cookin?’ he said using a hackneyed old quip.

“What am I doing? You called me. Are you over-doing the martinis out there in wonderland?” she shot back with a slight edge to her tone.

“Not yet, but get a couple of martinis ready for  lunch tomorrow, if your boss will let you break away from the rat race for the afternoon,” Max retorted.

“I am the boss, you goof-ball, and don’t you forget it!” Maggie mocked.  “Why, what’s up?” she queried.  Max filled Maggie in on the extent of Chip’s latest request and he was glad to hear that she had no un-breakable appointments or plans. She told Max that she could get away for 3-4 days if needed.

With the plans made, the two chatted until the cell connection faded. While Max completed his trek back to his apartment, Maggie made arrangements with Jessie, her secretary, to take calls and ‘watch the store’ for her while she was out of town from Friday afternoon until the following Tuesday.

At 7:15 Friday morning Max arrived at the USAP boathouse on Black Bottom Lake to meet with Brad for a run-through on the DHC2 floatplane.  He left the runabout at the hangar entrance and had walked with his backpack and overnight bag to the lakefront.

As he entered the boathouse he could see that the boathouse lake doors had been opened and Brad was inside the cockpit of the plane with the pilot side door open. He waved Max over onto the pontoon step to watch him go through the pre-start sequence.  They each hopped around, stepping on the pontoons, to inspect the aircraft surfaces and controls and Brad handed over the kneeboard checklist for Max to follow as he set the controls and adjustments in the cockpit. Once ready to start he instructed Max to throw off the mooring lines and he moved over to the co-pilot’s seat. Max stepped up into the pilot’s seat.

Once having strapped himself in, Max nodded his readiness to Brad and activated the start switch.  The whine sounds echoed through the boathouse as the propeller ground around for a few full rotations and the powerful nine-cylinder radial engine roared into life spewing a cloud of blue- gray smoke to the rear. They taxied out on the lake and, after noting the wind direction as indicated by the weather vane atop the boathouse, Max turned the airplane into the wind, lowered the wing flaps and pushed the throttle to full.  With the roar of the engine and the battering of the water against the hollow metal pontoons rattling in his ears, Max could feel the heavy six-passenger aircraft lift and vibrate as the floats began to plane across the water surface. Three seconds later as the speed increased, the wings took over and they lifted off into the relative smoothness of the air.

After a loop around the Lakeside neighborhood, Max maneuvered the float plane into the wind and descended in a slow glide onto the lake surface.  He taxied the Beaver DCH2 over to the boat house and, with the engine at idle, drifted up to the inside dock.

“I think you’ve got a handle on her Max,” Brad said. “If you have any problems or questions, call in. I’ll be around here until next Wednesday.  Your flight plan is logged in round trip to Saint John’s, Nova Scotia, via Tweed Airport in New Haven.  She’s gassed up and ready to go. Bon voyage.” Max nodded his thanks and Brad exited through the rear passenger door and stepped up onto the boathouse dock.  He pushed the floatplane backwards along the dock by hand, and then using a 12 ft. docking pole, until Max turned the plane with the rudder controls.  Once clear, Max throttled–up and took off in the same direction as before.  The Beaver rose into the morning sky and Max turned it to a 120 degree heading, climbing up to altitude on the way to Old Lyme, on the Connecticut coast.

Maggie had gotten up early on this Friday morning of her Nova Scotia trip with Max. As Max had suggested, she packed some cool weather attire along with the usual travel accessories in a carry-on bag. She was having breakfast when her cell phone jangled to the tune of “Me and Maggie McGee”, signaling a call from Max.

Max told her that there was a slight change of plans after having filed his flight plan. He had gotten a revision notice regarding the flight after Brad returned to his flight office.  Brad had radioed Max just after the takeoff from Lakeside.  He informed Max that, since the Tweed Airport in New Haven didn’t have the floatplane facilities in service, the stopover was set for a seaplane facility in Lyme, CT, along the coast some 28 miles north of New Haven.

“Well, that’s just great!” Maggie fumed. “What kind of an airline are you guys running up there?” she quizzed, with feigned seriousness.

“As an air service, this one is as normal as everything else with USAP,” Max answered with a come-back laced with comic irony. “The motto is, ‘Be ready for anything, any time’.”  They both had a chuckle over the circumstances, and Maggie told Max that she would leave the East Wayford apartment and drive to Lyme right away.

“As soon as I find the seaplane facility on the river in Lyme,” Maggie announced, in her best stewardess voice. “I’ll locate a good place for lunch. Then I’ll reserve a table for two, complete with two vodka Martinis, and hope there is a decent menu. How’s that for service Captain?” she asked.

“If you keep up the good work, my dear, I might promote you to co-pilot,” Max quipped.

As Maggie was leaving she called Jessie, first to make sure the office had opened, and secondly to assure that there were no business emergencies. She told Jessie that she was leaving directly from the apartment rather than stopping by as planned.

“Everything is fine here,” Jessie said. “I’m just a little jealous. I’d love to fly up north for a weekend.  I guess I’ll have to wait until I have my own company,” she said with a slight laugh.

“All in good time my child,” Maggie answered, with a motherly tone.

“I guess, but have a real good time and tell Max I said hi,” Jessie responded in a serious mode.

Maggie liked Jessica. She was a pretty girl who was level headed but somewhat flirtatious. Maggie was also aware that she had a slight crush on Max but sensed that Jessie probably developed such crushes quite often.  After the phone conversation Maggie was satisfied that her business was in good hands. Jessie was a good worker and a great people-person.  Their employer-employee association had developed into more like a big-sister, little-sister relationship.  Jessie exhibited lots of professional potential and had a bright future, Maggie felt.

Twenty minutes after Maggie left the apartment she arrived in Lyme.  There wasn’t a whole lot to look at in this sleepy little settlement with a history dating back to English Colonial days.  The highway exit ramp led to a two-lane paved country road which ran south to the coast on Long Island Sound, or north to Old Lyme village.  The road followed the east side of a wide river/ocean inlet.  Noting the symbol indicating the seaplane terminal, Maggie turned north and drove to a point where the river narrowed.  There, an 18th century grist-mill village had formed around a ferry fording point, which had later been replaced by a toll bridge. The village and toll bridge became irrelevant during the New England industrial revolution and the U.S. Route 1 freeway, ‘Boston Post Road’ was built across the river, two miles south.  The upper river section, not affected by ocean tidal changes, was slow-moving and placid.  A former steam ship docking pier had been converted to a seaplane docking area.

Along the river banks nearby, an inn dating back to the 1700’s still stood, and had been converted to a popular, up-scale restaurant which drew customers from ‘Historical Points of Interest’ signs the US I-95 highway. The roadside sign at the inn’s location read: “Toll Bridge Inn” “Fine Dining by Appointment”.

“Perfect,” Maggie muttered to herself as she drove up to the entrance.  She went to the entrance door and found it was locked.  “Open 2:00 PM- 10:00 PM Fri- Sat-Sun.” was decaled on the tinted glass.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, as she looked at her watch which indicated 12:10.  At that point she noticed interior lights and someone walking by the host/ hostess station.  She took off her right ankle boot and banged on the door.  After a few minutes a maître-de type of middle-aged man appeared. He partially pushed open the locked glass door with the emergency bar.

“I’m sorry Madame, we do not open until 2:00 PM,” he said, pointing to the lettering on the door.  Maggie was not easily persuaded, she had been through this before.

“My boss is flying in on the river in about twenty minutes.  He has allotted forty minutes for a stopover and put me in charge of arranging lunch at the best restaurant in the area,” she said, acting like a nervous assistant. “He’s a big-wig ‘security service’ guy, and he’s on a priority assignment,” she said, making finger quotes in the air. “And he’s a stickler for punctuality.  If I don’t set it up right, I don’t know….”  Maggie’s voice trailed off as she showed a pitiful, pleading look.

The manager hesitated.  Maggie sensed an opening and went for the close;

“I know he’ll be really grateful if you can accommodate him,” she quickly added.

After a few seconds, the man relented, probably expecting a sizable tip.

“He’s with what agency...?” he asked.

Maggie held a finger to her lips. “I can’t say anymore,” she said softly.

“Ok miss, go around the side to the riverside deck.  I’ll let you in that way in about ten minutes,” he stated, with a bothered look indicated by his knitted brow.  He let the door close, turned on his heel and strode back into the darkened foyer.

So far, so good.
Maggie thought to herself,
At least we should have some privacy.
  Maggie dialed Max’s cell phone to find out where he was.

“I just touched down,” he said. “I’m pulling up to a dock just up the road.”

“Great.  I’ll drive over and pick you up,” Maggie replied.

An attendant was tying the seaplane to the dock post as Maggie walked over to greet Max.

After a hello kiss and hug the two walked, on a wide flagstone path, down-stream toward the old inn.  They went around to the deck entrance as Maggie had arranged and the manager came out to meet them. He wore a black bow tie and carried two white-linen placemats over one arm.

“Good day, sir,” he addressed to Max. My name is Sven; I am the manager here at ‘The Toll Bridge Inn.’ I can seat you here on deck, or inside if you like.”

“Outside will be fine,” Max said, pleased with all the attention.

“We are pleased to serve you prior to dining hours. Your extremely efficient assistant here explained the situation,” he said. “I’ll bring the martinis and a quick-lunch menu.”

Max gave a curious look to Maggie. She squeezed his arm and answered for him before he could respond.

“I explained how you agreed to accommodate us, thank you so much, Sven,” Maggie said.  She then led Max to a table beside the door, shaded from the bright sun and out of sight from the curious kitchen crew looking out at them.

Max could sense that something had taken place between the manager and Maggie and waited for the manager to get beyond earshot to ask what was going on.  Maggie told him about how she had convinced him into serving food before opening hours.  With a huge grin Max listened to her describe how she hinted with feigned secrecy about his ‘important stature’, and how the manager took the bait.

“You are something else!” Max said. “So I have to act like some upper-echelon Secret Service official all impressed with my own importance, hey?”

“Right, just act yourself!” Maggie quipped with a smirk.  Max laughed, probably too loudly, but he couldn’t stifle it.

After they finished lunch, Max and Maggie stayed in character.  Max paid the check with cash, in crisp new bills, and included a twenty dollar tip.  They thanked the manager and, as they turned to leave, Max gave a quick salute.  The manager just gave the couple a blank stare. While Maggie made arrangements to leave her car there until Monday, Max dealt with the Dock Manager and the Flight Coordinator. His question about Canadian Customs procedures was waved-off with “Arrangements are all set” as an answer by the Flight Manager. He was cradling his cell phone on one shoulder as he poured himself what appeared to be an iced lemonade. Without the patience to pursue the matter, Max helped Maggie stow her luggage and get seated in the co-pilot seat.  He started the engine and with a wave to the Dock Manager to untie the securing ropes, proceeded to taxi out onto the river. After referencing his airport layout atlas, Max shouted to Maggie over the din of the engine and water flow;
“Watch the heading compass and let me know when we are on heading 19,” he asked.

After a series of horn blasts to warn boaters of a floatplane take-off, the Beaver DHC2 lifted into the air. Max and Maggie were airborne within twelve minutes after finishing lunch, and on their way to Nova Scotia.