by G M Eppers
Badger made a noise that sounded like a moose. He pointed vigorously at the board, then slapped a hand over his shoulder where his stitches were. “Oh, the guy there was Mr. Stephano. Prospero Stephano in the Department of Mineral Sciences. Ow.”
I put the name on another line and the department on a fourth. That seemed like the most pertinent information. So I went down a little space and put a number two. “What came next?”
None of us could remember. It was after that when things got hectic with the arrival of McGrone, the president’s announcement, and my having to choose another specialty. Everything after that was a blur to me. I’d only heard about them second hand and for the others the counterfeit cases were mixed in with a dozen or so Uber cases, and smuggler tracking and McGrone angst. People shouted out bits and pieces but we weren’t sure which facts went with which case.
“Wasn’t one of them in Switzerland?” asked Nitro.
“I don’t think so,” replied Sylvia.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve never been to Switzerland.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’d know if I was in Switzerland. The Alps are kind of hard to miss.”
McGrone said, “Perhaps we should wait for Miss Chiff to call.”
On cue, Sylvia’s phone rang. She checked it and opened the file Miss Chiff had sent. “Okay, got it,” she said, scrolling down. “The second one was the golf course.”
Keeping to the pattern I’d made with the first, I started writing down data from each case as Sylvia read it off her phone. Finally, we had them all listed:
Museum of Natural History, D.C.
Moon rocks, Sage Derby
Prospero Stephano
Department of Mineral Sciences
Better Edge Golf Course, Flagstaff Arizona
Golf Balls, Little Ypsi
Rachel Diamond
Compton Acres, Poole, England
Diatomaceous Earth, Parmesano-Reggiano
Source: Jekyll Island, Georgia
Kroger Grocery, Midland, Texas
Baby Bananas, Lancashire Cheddar
Sam Wise
Nestor’s Nook, Etain, France
Haddock Fillets, Bianca
Nestor Kourakis
The information was a bit haphazard, kind of like comparing apples to oranges, as the saying goes.
Sylvia kept scrolling down with her thumb, then back up again. “There are three more cases Team B did that we didn’t know about. You want that information, too?”
I stared at the list for a moment and realized I kept being drawn to number four. “No, I think … Badger, what does etain mean in French?”
“Tin, why?”
I realized I knew these things. Starting at the bottom, I pointed. “Tintin.” I moved up a number for each title. “Lord of the Rings, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Moonstone, The Tempest.”
Sir Haughty looked skeptical. “A literary criminal?
“And what does it mean?” Sylvia leaned closer, as if that would help her figure it out.
“Hybrid,” I said. I didn’t care that the others didn’t know what I meant. I knew these stories. I’d read them all. Most of them, while staying at my Grandmother’s during various lengthy court battles during my parents’ divorce. Tintin I’d read much earlier, from a school library. I thought I knew where it was all leading. “Sylvia, hand me the phone.” She did, and I looked briefly at the extra cases. It couldn’t be a coincidence. All three of those cases led me to the same conclusion. There was a case of Alfred Le Farmier, a yellow cheese, being used to make rubber ducks in New York City, discovered by a young father named Bruce Pennyworth. There was an order of white dice made of Feta in Toronto, Canada at a hobby shop on Jarvis Street, owned by a woman named Pepper Stark. The last case featured several packages of light bulbs made of camembert found scattered throughout Lurchville, Vermont, population 1313. I recognized each one as a reference to Batman, Iron Man, and The Addams Family respectively.
I handed the phone to Badger. As our Communications Officer, it was up to him to make any calls on behalf of CURDS, unless he was incapacitated. “Call Leavenworth.”
Chapter Three
A moment later, Badger handed the phone back to me. “Warden Fleischer.”
As I took it, I pushed the speaker button so everyone could hear. “Warden Fleischer, this is Billings Montana with CURDS. I’m calling about an inmate you have. He was probably admitted under the name Rennet Butler.”
An exceedingly deep bass voice came through the line. “Yes, we have Mr. Butler here.”
I felt my upper molar with my tongue thoughtfully. “Are you sure?” Butler has been known to escape from prison multiple times. Although oddly enough, it never seems to be his original intention. He is an escapee of opportunity. With Leavenworth being only a medium security prison, it wouldn’t be unusual for opportunity to present itself.
“What do you mean, am I sure? You don’t think I know my own inmates?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply anything.” I shifted the phone to my other hand. “It’s just we’re working on a case and the evidence seems to point to Rennet Butler.”
I heard the light tap of a keyboard. “Well, he’s here. I have the video surveillance on his cell right now. He’s lying on his cot reading a book. He does that a lot. Not much of a joiner.”
I didn’t want to challenge him again, but I still wasn’t convinced. “I’m in transit right now, but I’d like to come talk to him. I think he might be able to help us.” Or, I thought, you’re looking at a recorded video feed and he’s waltzing around playing with cheese again. “Can that be arranged?”
“I suppose so. What time do you expect to arrive?”
We were going to have to change course. I had no idea how far we’d come, if we might have to turn around, or if I could get clearance for the side trip. “I don’t know. I can call you back when I figure it out.”
Warden Fleischer warned me that I would need credentials and additional identification, but that he could arrange an interview with Butler with at least 30 minutes notice. I thanked him and disconnected, telling Badger to save the number as I handed the phone back to him. He started to hand it to Sylvia and she waved his offer away. “Keep it. I’ll take the replacement when it comes. You need it for your job.”
“Thanks!” Badger said, putting the phone in his pocket, clearly feeling whole again. He caught my eye. “Are you going to ask McGrone or am I?”
Standing, I looked down at him. “I’m not asking anyone. Call Miss Chiff and let her know we are diverting to Leavenworth, Kansas and why. I’m not taking no for an answer on this.”
Badger winced and whistled a warning as he dialed Miss Chiff. As I turned to head down the stairs to the cockpit to tell Kevin and Dinny about the change, McGrone was right there. He blocked my access to the stairs. “What do you think you are doing?”
I looked him right in the eye. “I’m diverting us to Leavenworth. There’s someone there I have to talk to.”
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You’ll be late for your appointment at the Space Center. If you miss Section Three of the course it won’t be offered again for another year. Also, you don’t have the authority. I’m in charge. And I say—“
“Get out of my way.” I figured if I pushed him down the stairs, Nitro could fix anything that got broken. On McGrone, anyway. And Dinny could probably fix the stairs.
“Show me.” He pointed to the white board. “Convince me. I’m not inflexible, but I won’t have you going over my head.”
“The sooner we divert—“
“Show me.”
I thought about guiding him to the table and then bolting for the stairs, but that seemed too childish even for me. Grinding my teeth, I took him over to the white board. “I know you recognized literary references,” he said, “but how does this get you to Leavenworth?” He asked, genuinely curious.
Nitro helped me along. “Have you ever heard of Rennet Butler?”
“Vaguely.”
“He’s a WHEY operative,” I said. “Just like the Krochedy Brothers and Chuck’s son, Junior. The man who shot my mother.” I saw sympathy cloud over his eyes and went on. “Look, each clue leads to a literary work. Each book has a character who is a butler and the butler’s name is always part of the clue. I think Butler is sending me a message.”
“What message?”
“That’s why I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him.” I looked back at the white board, more sure than ever than I was right. “He needs to talk to me.”
“Go.”
I spent a split second meeting his eyes, then hurried to the cockpit.
I knocked on the door and then opened it without waiting for an invitation. Kevin glanced back at me only briefly, but Dinny turned in her chair. “What’s up, Billings? Something wrong?”
I sat in the navigator’s chair again just for convenience. “What’s involved in changing the flight plan?”
Without asking questions, she went to work. First she pulled out her phone and called Miss Chiff, who had already been informed by Badger discreetly while I was explaining things to McGrone. She gave clearance to the change to Leavenworth and wished us luck. Then Dinny radioed the nearest Flight Specialist and quickly explained the situation. The Specialist came back with authorization codes and also spoke with Kevin, who rattled off a lot of curt instrument readings. He had already figured out the new heading and verified it with the Specialist. They thanked each other and broke contact. Dinny said, “It’s not a huge change. Like taking an earlier exit on the freeway. We have about 90 minutes before we land. Come back in here fifteen minutes before that and we’ll go over landing procedures.” I checked my watch and nodded. “If you’re going to risk being late for Section Three you are going to need all the help you can get.”
“Thanks, Dinny.”
I left the cockpit, anxious and fidgety about how to fill seventy-five minutes. Most of the team were still on the upper deck, but the twins had come down to greet me. Avis kissed my cheek while Agnes patted my back. Avis made a low growling noise. “Oh, I love it when you’re forceful.”
Kissing her back, I responded, “Except when I want us to get married as soon as possible?”
She looked guilty. “Yes, except for that, Fuzzy Bear. Can you blame us?”
She gave me a sad, puppy dog look and I had to relent. “No, of course not.” We walked together to the inner row of seats and sat down. I sat sideways in my seat so I could face them in their double seat behind me, the shoulder pack up against the seatback. “And not Fuzzy Bear. It sounds like a Muppet.”
The two of them reached out with their inside arms, the arms that made it impossible for them to swim, and stroked the shoulder pack reverently. “Don’t worry about what she said, you know, about her being in hell. She’s just frustrated. If carrying her around like this is why we can still talk to her, we think you should do it,” said Avis, only looking up at me when she was finished. “It’s easier than saying goodbye. Again.”
“I suppose that’s why I haven’t, you know, finished. It’s harder than it looks.” Especially when the person fades a little every time you do it, I thought.
Avis’ hand moved up to stroke the side of my face. “Don’t push.”
I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers. “I love you, Avis. And we will get married. The way you want. I will go anywhere, anytime, drop everything on your say so and run to your side. You say the word. It’s done.”
“That’s not what I meant by push.” She was going to explain that she was referring to the disposition of my mother’s ashes, but I stopped her with two fingers lightly on her lips.
“I know.” Even though Avis had told me not to worry about my mother’s words, the anguish I’d seen on Mom’s pastel face as she proclaimed herself in hell weighed on me. She said she felt she needed to be spread thin. I had an idea then, but I wasn’t sure if it would work, or if I actually wanted to do it. “We land in a little over an hour,” I told Avis and Agnes. “There’s something I need to do. Stay here. Relax.”
I glanced at the upper deck where the team, including McGrone, was taking turns writing something on the white board with the purple pen. “D,” said McGrone.
“Nope. There’s your first leg. You are almost hung, sir,” Sir Haughty said with a pretentious laugh.
The twins had leaned back and closed their eyes. I got out of my seat and headed to the front of the plane, appearing to go toward the cockpit. But I diverted to the left and went down the lower flight of the curved staircase, where only Dinny had gone before. I wasn’t sure exactly where I needed to go, but I believed I could figure it out.
This flight of stairs was shorter, and the ceiling beneath was low. The noise of the engines greeted me. This lower deck was too close to the engines for the Automated Pressure Equalizer to fully muffle the sound, but the air pressure was stable and didn’t hurt my ears. I had to walk hunched over, though. At the bottom of the stairs there were two chest freezers on one side and a stand up refrigerator on the other. Just beyond that were sturdy, covered, plastic boxes each marked neatly on the front label. Utensils, plates, canned goods, non-perishables, paper goods, cleaning supplies, pots, pans. A fully stocked, well-organized kitchen without a single cabinet available. The oven and microwave had to be upstairs in their own hidden area.
The edge of the supplies section was guarded by orange plastic snow fencing, leaving a narrow passage toward the rear of the plane. The space felt wider down here. Upstairs was divided, but this room ran all the way from one side of the plane to the other, much of it devoted to storage. Outside of the food storage, there was also an assortment of spare plane parts, tools, and oddments that I didn’t understand. I had to be directly underneath the shower and toilet facilities. I could hear water running. I was used to carpeted floor, but now I was walking on bare metal, and I thought about the thin fuselage that was holding me up in the air tens of thousands of feet away from the ground. I could feel the gentle bobbing of the plane up and down with the wind currents, feeling eerily similar to the ocean currents I’d gotten used to on the Ike. I crept forward quietly until I saw it.
Folded up into the flooring, separated by a few feet, were four wheel wells. The two inner wells held assemblies of six wheels each, and the outer wells had four each, nestled snugly into the flooring. I didn’t realize there would be so many. I checked my watch, and stepped to the farthest well to my right. Awkwardly in the tight, low space, I shrugged the shoulder pack off and held it by the strap. “Spread thin feels like it’s right, Mom?” I whispered into the air, hoping she was listening. “That’s what you said?” You couldn’t get any thinner than dropping from about ten thousand feet in high winds.
I unzipped the pack and looked inside, feeling sick to my stomach. I could change my mind, I thought. I could zip it back up and go upstairs and pretend I’d never been down here. The gray ash was chunky, and I tried not to think about what the larger bits were. Pressing my lips together, I inhaled sharply through my nose, gathering my nerve. Slowly, I tipped the pack over and let some pour out into the well. Something twisted in my heart, but it didn’t feel wrong. Again, my mind argued with me. I could stop now. Do just some, and keep her with me. I wondered how much she had faded from what I’d done so far. “Mom?” I wanted her to appear. Wanted her to tell me it was okay. But there was only the drone of the engines humming in my ears.
Even though it was uncomfortable, part of me knew it was okay. Kansas wasn’t a bad state to be spread in. I didn’t think Mom had ever been there, either, and she seemed to like seeing new places. I turned and took a step toward the next wheel well. Controlling it carefully, I tipped the bag up and let more pour out over the six wheel assembly, dribbling it like a chef putting a decorative, but generous, chocolate swirl over a fancy dessert.
Ducking around the mechanism, I moved on to t
he next well, where I dumped more less artistically, letting it fall over all six wheels. My heart pounded with the thrum of the engines. In the fourth well, I upended the entire pack and dumped the rest, gently rapping the sides of the pack to dislodge particles stuck to the interior of the bag. I kept rapping at it until the gray dust stopped coming out, then zipped up the bag and slipped my arm back through the straps. The pack hung there flat, and lifeless, like the bag of a bagpipe after the parade was over. The weight, only about four pounds to begin with, was alarmingly light. I pictured myself in a panic, trying to scoop it all back into the bag, like I had wished to retrieve the handful I’d dropped into the ocean that first night on the Ike.
But no. It was done.
I turned around and surveyed my work. There wasn’t enough in any particular well to be especially noticeable. Again, I hoped for her to appear. She probably wouldn’t be faded yet, not until the wheels went down and her microscopic parts were taken by the wind. I wanted her to tell me it was okay. That she was proud of me. To try to pat me on the back and fail. Anything. Finally, I reached down and picked up a small bit of the ash. I walked back over to the other side, to the workbench with the parts on it, found a box of washers, and put the ash on top. Then I used a finger to move the washers around and let the ash slide down amongst them. Some small part of her would always be with the plane. I felt better.
Growing tired of being hunched over, I walked back through the narrow opening in the snow fencing, back through the food storage, and up the stairs, finally able to stand up straight again when I reached the top. The twins were dozing lightly in their seats, seemingly without a care in the world. T.B. was curled at Avis’ feet. He raised his head when he saw me, determined me to be not a threat, and resumed his nap. Everyone else was still on the upper deck, apparently now playing an impromptu version of Pictionary as everyone called out guesses at what Badger was drawing with the purple pen. It was neither a horse nor a tractor nor Mary Poppins on a go-kart. I was surprised that it didn’t interest me. It was exactly the sort of thing I normally would have joined in on. But I wasn’t feeling it just then.