Lucky and the Falling Felon

by Emmy Grace

  “How fascinating!” I say, making my eyes bigger. I know, it’s completely shameless, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. “You wouldn’t happen to lease any spaces to a company named Garamond?”

  “As a matter of fact, we do.”

  “Really?” He nods. “Do you mind if I ask you some silly questions?” I take a piece of hair between my fingertips and tug. “Blonde and all.”

  “Fire away, Miss...”

  “Lucky,” I supply, much to his obvious pleasure. “My name is Lucky.” Men like that name a lot more than women, I think. For good reason, too.

  “Lucky? That should be my line.”

  I laugh and it’s genuine. Not a bad line. Unexpected from a guy like this. He seems anything but smooth. Then again, he’s young and not too hard on the eyes. He may have a lot of experience wooing women.

  “So, Kyle, do these planes have to file fight plans when they’re taken out?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s a federal regulation.”

  “Ah, I see. Do you keep those here? The logs, I mean.”

  “We do. We keep all that on site.”

  “That’s smart,” I say. I don’t know what else to say. “One more question. I’m not sure you’ll know the answer. This one is pretty specific.”

  “If I don’t know the answer, I’ll find it. How’s that?” He hasn’t stopped smiling since I came in. I wonder if his lips are getting tired.

  “Sounds good to me.” I clear my throat. “Do you happen to know if an airplane’s doors can be opened in flight?”

  “Not at cruising altitude. Cabin pressure won’t allow it.”

  “But at a lower altitude? Like during takeoff or as the jet climbs?”

  “It would be possible at a lower altitude.”

  “Like skydiving altitude or lower?”

  “Probably.”

  I know from my couple of trips up in skydiving planes that they usually drop their divers from around twelve to thirteen thousand feet. A Gulfstream could easily drop a body from below that altitude, as it climbs, and then be gone with no one the wiser.

  I was in a free fall. I wouldn’t have heard a thing. And if my pilot had already turned back toward the airfield, he wouldn’t have seen anything either.

  “Is it possible for one plane to fly under another plane?”

  “If there was enough altitude between them, and their flight paths diverged, probably.”

  So, not only can a plane’s door be opened at a low altitude, but, in theory, one plane could’ve flown low beneath the skydiving plane as it was turning back and dropped a body out directly over me.

  It’s risky and elaborate and insane, but…welcome to my life.

  I think I just found the murder weapon.

  “I don’t...I don’t suppose you’d let me look at your flight plan log, would you?”

  Kyle is just about to go along with me when Liam butts in. “I don’t think you should do that, Kyle. At least not without a warrant. Your customers might not appreciate the invasion of their privacy, and I’d hate for you to get in trouble.”

  “I’m not meaning to stir up trouble at all, Kyle. I won’t tell a soul what I find. Girl Scout’s honor,” I tell him, holding up my fingers with a bat of my lashes.

  “I don’t think these logs would help you much, if I’m being honest. Most of our clients file BARRs.”

  “Bars?”

  “Block Aircraft Registration Requests.”

  “What are those?”

  Liam interrupts again. Mr. Know-It-All. “It means that Kyle here can’t tell anyone where the planes go, and that their request for privacy is enforced by the federal government. That’s what it means.”

  I look from Liam to Kyle, who is grimacing. “He’s right, Lucky. I wish I could, but it’s really not something I should be doing.”

  “Oh, I understand, Kyle. I’d never want to get you into trouble.” I shoot a withering glare over his shoulder at Liam, who’s looking particularly pleased with himself. In my opinion, this little scene has only made him look more suspicious. If he has nothing to hide, it shouldn’t matter if Kyle lets me see. The fact that he’s blocking me...

  Highly suspicious.

  And another thing. How the heck does he know all this stuff? He’s a farmer, for crying out loud.

  Isn’t he?

  These are all questions I’ll have to consider, and probably look into, later. But not now. Now I need to ply Kyle for all the information I can possibly get from him.

  I try to ignore the grumpy shadow hovering over Kyle’s shoulder and focus instead on the task at hand.

  “One more question, Kyle, and then I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “You’re not a bother, Lucky. You’ve been the highlight of my day.”

  “Aw, you’re sweet, Kyle. Can you tell me if you know who Martin Vickerman is?”

  I see the shift. I see the happily dazed look melt out of his eyes as a cloud overshadows it. This is a small town. Everyone has already heard that name. And now they know what it means. “I do. Shame what happened to him.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “He was part-owner of one of the Gulfstreams timeshare.”

  “Oh. Is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You didn’t happen to see him last night, did you?”

  “No, I sure didn’t.”

  “Have you seen him out here recently then? Say, within the last week or so?”

  He looks up and to the left. “Yeah, once or twice.”

  That perks me right up. I was beginning to think this trip was a total waste of time. “Was he with anyone?”

  “Once he was. It was weird. That's probably why I noticed.”

  “Weird?”

  “Yes. The guy he was with was in a suit. Looked like corporate money.”

  “Why was that weird?”

  “He had an eye patch.”

  “Did you say an eye patch?” Kyle nods. “Like a...” I put my hand over one eye. “A patch?”

  “Yeah. Like a pirate wears.”

  A pirate? In a suit?

  A corporate pirate?

  For just a few seconds, I think of asking him if the name happened to be Captain Blackbeard, but I can tell by looking at Kyle’s expression that he isn’t joking.

  So. A corporate pirate. If Kyle is correct, he should be easy to find.

  7

  I thank Kyle and tell him I’ll be on my way. Unfortunately, Liam Dunning follows me out. Already, in my head, his name is taking on the feel of a curse. Kind of like Seinfeld saying, “Newman!”

  Kind of like Liam says my name.

  I guess we’re even.

  I walk ahead of him, not waiting and not looking back. He stops me at my car door with one hand to my forearm. He turns me around to face him.

  “What do you think you were doing?”

  “Me?” I’m incredulous as I stab my fingers into my own chest. “Me? What about you? Could you have made it any harder to get information? Why would you do that?” I pause, but it’s short and ends with sarcasm. “Oh, wait. I know. You have something to hide. This just proves it. You—”

  “Shhhh,” he hisses, short and sharp. I stop talking only because it’s reflexive. I hate hissing. Of any kind. Even from a hot yet grumpy and infuriating man.

  “What?”

  “You could’ve gotten both you and Kyle into real trouble. There are other ways to get information than flirting it out of someone willy-nilly.”

  “I don’t do anything willy-nilly. And I wasn’t—”

  “Save it,” he blurts. “Come on. We’d better get going if we’re going to make it to Chester’s before he closes.”

  “Chester’s?” I mentally scan my new neighbors and townsfolk for that name. “Why would I be going to see a mechanic?”

  “Because he also tows vehicles and sells tires.”

  “And why would I need either of those things?”

  “
Because your tire is flat.”

  His manner is so matter-of-fact that it takes me a second to even look down and check. Sure enough, my tire is flat.

  “How did that—?” I bite back a growl of frustration. And a couple of very unladylike words. “Never mind. I have a spare. I’m sure Kyle will help me change it.”

  “Spare’s flat, too.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” My eyes widen and then narrow in suspicion. “You! You did this.”

  “No, I did not flatten your tires.”

  Liam starts to pull me over to his truck, but I resist. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Have a better option?”

  I think of Kyle, but I’m sure he can’t leave. And there aren’t many people I could call for a ride. Really, this makes the most sense. I just don’t have to like it.

  I move toward his truck, albeit grudgingly. “How could you know I have a flat tire before I even open my trunk?”

  “I searched your car last night.”

  He opens the passenger door for me. I don’t bother getting in. I stand and balk instead. “You what?”

  “You can save the indignation. You’d have done the same thing to my truck if given half the chance.”

  I have fifteen retorts on the tip of my tongue. Mostly I don’t let any of them fly because I’m too shocked. And, of course, because he’s absolutely right.

  We ride in silence back to town, and Liam takes me straight to Chester’s. I get out of the truck and slam the door before storming into the garage and angrily punching the little bell to summon Chester.

  He appears within a few seconds. I met him once, but I’ve seen him a couple of other times. No matter the venue, he’s wearing the same old stained hat with the bill turned up in the front. If people would ever want to do a sightseeing tour to get a peek at a real, true hillbilly, Chester would be one of the main attractions. When he smiles, he’s even missing a few teeth. But even so, he’s one of the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet.

  He looks surprised until he sees me, but the moment he does, his expression melts into one of keen interest. As expected. It’s times like this, and many others like it, that I want to hug Beebee’s neck. If she did do something to me, which I still doubt, it certainly comes in handy at times. Not always, but often enough.

  I explain my situation to Chester and he heartily agrees to go get my vehicle and repair both tires. I follow him outside, exhaling as he fires up his wrecker and takes off in the direction of the airfield.

  Which reminds me...

  I turn the stink eye on Liam Dunning, who is leaning up against the side of his truck, arms and ankles crossed, a smug expression wreathing his face.

  “Why are you still here?” I demand moodily.

  “Wanted to make sure he could help.”

  “How gallant of you.” I put so much venom in those words, I can barely stand to push them past my lips.

  “Now that you’re all taken care of, I’ll be going.” He rounds the front of his truck as I start off down the street. “I think you’ve got the wrong name, by the way.”

  That gives me pause. I stop and swivel my head to glare at him. “What?”

  “Your name. It shouldn’t be ‘Lucky’.”

  “Is that right?” He nods. “Then, pray tell, what should it be, O Insightful One?”

  “Cat.”

  “Cat?”

  “Cat,” he says definitively.

  “Why should I be named after a feline?”

  “You shouldn’t. You should be named after something irresistible to them. Catnip.”

  I shift my weight to one hip. “Care to explain that?”

  “It seems you’re like catnip for men.”

  So, he noticed. He doesn’t seem bothered by it like women do. I’ve lost many a friend over the way men react to me.

  “I can't help it men are easy.”

  “Most men,” he clarifies, opening the driver side door.

  “Most men, as in not you.”

  His only response is to smile. At least I think that’s what it is. It’s too small to know for sure, but I think I get a glimpse of teeth. Just a quick flash. I was beginning to wonder if he had any, or if when he blustered, he was just gritting his gums together.

  I shrug, as nonchalant as I can be considering that I’m seething on the inside. This man... He just pushes my buttons. All of them. “Well, don’t worry yourself about it. I won’t be crying myself to sleep tonight, that’s for sure.”

  As I’m walking away, I think I hear him mutter, “Sure.” But I can’t be positive.

  I’m so wrapped up in my ire, I don’t even see Regina coming until she’s upon me. “Who the heck was that tasty piece of man cake?”

  I stop and stare at her, addled. “Where did you come from?”

  “Your house. I’ve been waiting for you.” A pause before she gets back to what she thinks is important. “Tasty Cakes? Hello! Who was he?”

  “A walking, talking nightmare.”

  “Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm. He can come and visit my dreams anytime.” She walks backward until his truck goes roaring by. Then she turns around to face the right direction. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to my house. To prepare.”

  “Prepare? For what?”

  “I’m gonna steal a pig.”

  8

  “We can’t steal a man’s livestock, Lucky. It’s against the law.”

  “I tried to buy it, but he’s more pigheaded than the pig is. Besides, he doesn’t deserve that sweet creature.”

  Regina’s face scrunches up into a grimace of disgust. “How big is this pig?”

  “Not very big.”

  “How big is that in the pork world?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the size of Mr. Jingles. Maybe twenty pounds. I guess it’s still a baby.” My heart swells at the mere thought of the little thing, with its pleading eyes.

  “But how big will it get?”

  “I don’t know. I’m no pig expert, but I can’t leave him there, Regina. Liam Dunning is going to... He’s planning to...” My throat clenches and I can’t get the words out. “His name is Bacon.” I see Regina’s expression and I know that adequately conveys what I can’t bring myself to utter.

  “I’m no animal freak like you are, but... Bacon?” She lets out a deep sigh. “I guess I’m helping steal a pig.” She perches on the edge of my bed as I rifle through my closet. “Tell me this. How did I get roped into larceny?”

  “Because I don’t have a car at the present moment. Plus, you’re my best friend. It’s in the job description.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I have one.”

  “You don’t even have a plan?”

  “It’s not like I’ve had time to think this through. Something will come to me, though. What I know for sure is that it has to be dark and tonight’s the new moon. It won’t get much darker than that.” I pick out two pairs of black pants and two black turtlenecks, and I toss them onto the bed, nodding at them. “Get changed. I’ll look and see if I have ski masks.”

  “Good Lord Almighty, Lucky, this is the kind of stuff criminals wear,” she exclaims when she holds up the outfit. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

  “Because you’re being negative. It’s going to work out perfectly. You’ll see. Just trust me.”

  As I close the bedroom door, I hear her mumble something about having heard that before.

  “You didn’t tell me there’d be a two-mile crawl after the two-mile hike,” Regina grouses as we scooch on our bellies past the barn.

  “It hasn’t been two miles. You just like to exaggerate.”

  “The skin on my stomach and on the insides of my thighs would beg to differ.”

  “We can’t be seen. You know that. But we’re almost there, so shush.”

  I worm my way over to the enclosure I spotted earlier in the day. There are no pigs out in it, so I assume they’re sleeping in
the shed-type structure. The question is, how to get my pig out.

  I ease up onto my hands and knees and turn to Regina. “I’m going to go through this fence and see if I can find him in the shed. I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you sure you should—”

  I don’t even get to hear her finish that sentence. I grab one of the strands of wire and the Fourth of July happens in my brain. I get a jolt of electricity that would blow a light bulb if I’d been holding one, Uncle Fester style.

  My teeth chatter and click, and every hair on my body stands straight up. The current buzzes along my skin and I feel for a few dazed seconds like I’m mainlining Red Bull to every single one of my cells.

  There’s definitely discomfort, too, but not enough that I don’t feel the kick to my ribs that lands about two inches south of my boob.

  I hear air whoosh from my lungs, and the next thing I know is...sky. Inky night sky, spread out above me like jeweler’s velvet, sprinkled with diamond stars. From some distant part of my mind, I appreciate the beauty of this particularly dense shade of black, even as I wonder if I peed myself or if I’m lying in something wet.

  A few seconds later, I see Regina’s face break into my view. She looks a little panicked. “Are you okay?” Her dark eyes are huge with concern.

  "D-did you k-kick me?”

  Her nose crinkles and she nods sheepishly. “I had to. You were being electrocuted and they say not to touch someone being shocked.”

  “So, y-you kicked m-me?”

  She nods again. “And probably saved your life, so you’re welcome.”

  “But you k-kicked me,” I repeat as she pulls me up into a sitting position. “And g-gave me a st-stutter.”

  “That wasn’t me. You can blame the fence for that.”

  “D-do you think it’ll g-go away?”

  “Knowing your luck? Of course, it will.”

  “That would b-be lucky, but wh-what about getting shocked to s-start with?” People tend to overlook all the not-so-lucky things that precede my lucky outcomes. Maybe it isn’t luck at all. Maybe God just has a soft spot for me and isn’t ready for me to bite the big one yet.