by Liz Turner
“You see, we’ve got two planes used exclusively for transport. People hire them out for their private use, along with our pilot, Terry. He’s the best,” Emily Sanders said, pointing at the entries. “The other two are used for both transport and lessons, depending on the day. They’re smaller, easier to manage, for the pilots-in-training.”
“Do you get a lot of people out here for flying lessons?” Jackson asked.
Emily looked surprised. She held out the log book for evidence, turning page after page of full bookings. “Oh, of course! From all over…Boston, even Connecticut. Truth be told, I think it was the war that generated all this interest.”
“Oh?” Hallie asked, intrigued.
Emily nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. Everyone adores the fighter pilots and dreams of flying into battle someday. Or at least, the young men do. And with Captain Tannen’s renown as a fighter pilot, well, we get a lot of wannabe young fighter pilots out here hoping to, well, become the captain someday I suppose.” Emily smiled sadly.
Hallie thought for a moment. “So, the flying lessons aren’t of the ordinary sort, then?”
“However do you mean?” Emily replied.
“Was the captain training people to be fighter pilots?”
At this, Gerald, who had been silent for some time, let out an absurd laugh. “Of course not. Can you imagine? My stepfather? Wanting to relive all that? No, the one thing the old captain wanted to do was forget about the war. He just wanted to hunker down with his small planes and teach people about the joys of being in the sky. And, matter of fact, he hadn’t taught a lesson in over a year. Was getting too old for it. That’s why we hired Terry to take over some of the work that I couldn’t do myself.”
Jackson asked after the pilot. “Is Terry here today?”
Emily nodded. “He should be here soon. He had a lesson this afternoon.”
“So,” Jackson said suddenly. “It looks like the only planes that were out anywhere near the time of Tannen’s death were the Cessna and the Turbo.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Emily said. “Our students benefit from nighttime flying lessons. You can’t call yourself a pilot if you never learn how to fly in the dark!”
Emily sounded cheerful, but Hallie thought she saw Emily staring at her strangely. But then again, her employer has just died traumatically.
A loud roar descended on the small airport. Hallie looked out the window to see a white-and-red painted plane pulling up for landing. From the numbers painted on the tail of the aircraft, she knew it must the turbo plane. Its landing gear touched ground, and with a painful screech, the aircraft pummeled down the runway. Hallie froze. It looked like the plane wasn’t going to stop anytime soon—it wasn’t slowing, and the runway was only so long.
But just as Hallie was starting to sweat, the airplane began to teeter more slowly, and soon stalled at the very end of the runway. Hallie relaxed as she watched it taxi back into one of the hangars.
Shortly, a small man wearing an outfit similar to that Gerald had on swung open the door to the office. He was trailed by a man in jeans and a blue windbreaker.
“Paul here would like to schedule another lesson, wouldn’t you Paul?” the man, who must be Terry, said, clapping the second man on his back.
Paul was apprehensive, but after hesitating, relented. Terry led him to Emily’s desk, where she marked down a date for the next lesson. All the while, Terry was talking rapidly.
“Say, Paul, don’t be upset. That was your first-time landing! It’s bound to be a bit bumpy. I stepped in, didn’t I? I wouldn’t let us crash, I promise you. But you’ve got to feel comfortable with a little shaky landing here and there or you’re going to lose your mind when you’re up there alone. Not that that will ever happen… hey, listen cheer up, Pauly. You did terrific! Swell! I think there’s a real pilot inside you, and I think I saw it today, huh?” He playfully thumped the man on his shoulder.
It was then that he noticed the crowd in the office. When he shot a questioning look at Gerald, Gerald explained.
“This is Sergeant Jackson, of the Warrenton Police Force, and his colleague Doctor Hallie Malone. They’re, er, investigating the death of the captain.”
Terry seemed stunned for a moment, but then he came over and introduced himself. “Well, hello there, then. I’m Terry Martin, pilot at large here.”
After some brief introductions, Jackson asked, “Would you be willing to speak to us about the night Tannen died?”
Hallie thought she saw a look pass between Gerald and Terry, but what it meant, she couldn’t discern.
“Of course,” Terry said, pulling up a chair. “What would you like to know?”
“Where were you that night?”
“Giving a lesson in the Turbo. Man by the name of Max had his first nighttime lesson. I’d say it went well.”
Gerald piped up, “—I was giving a lesson in the Cessna at the same time.”
“And you both departed and arrived at the same time, according the log book. Is that usual?”
“Actually, it’s not,” Gerald said. “We try not to schedule two lessons during the night if we can help it. It’s safer to have one qualified pilot on the ground, especially in the dark, if something should happen up there. The skies can be a dangerous place at night for someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” He paused. “But that night there had been some sort of mix up. Somehow we both got scheduled.”
Emily nodded in confirmation.
Jackson turned to Terry. “So, to your knowledge, you did in fact depart and leave at the same time that night?”
“What do you mean?” Terry asked, rubbing his hands together.
“Was there any time when either you or Gerald was alone at the airport that night?”
Terry shook his head firmly.
After a short time, Jackson had finished with his questioning and thanked the men for participating.
“Of course,” Gerald said. “We want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do.”
Jackson looked like he was ready to leave, but Hallie wasn’t satisfied. Something about the whole afternoon seemed staged, and there was a current running underneath the niceties that caused her some vague alarm. She aimed to keep conversation flowing.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Tannen,” she ventured.
The man appeared to stiffen slightly and got up to examine the flight schedules on the wall. “Thank you for your condolences, Doctor Malone.” He said this with his back turned to her.
“You must be worried the business won’t survive,” Hallie said carefully.
Gerald scoffed. “The captain was what he was: the founder. But I’ve been running the business practically by myself for three years now.”
“He must have trusted your abilities quite a lot then,” Hallie said. “I’m sure he was glad that when he died, he had someone in place to look after his airplanes.”
“He never trusted me with anything!” Gerald spat, finally turning around. “I had to earn every inch through hard work and endless flattery—I’ll tell you, the old man was a war hero, but he could’ve done better than treating me as one of his soldiers. Barking orders, never a kind word my whole life.” Then he softened. “But these last few years have—had—been much better,” he admitted. “I think he finally started letting go of his impossible standards once he retired from the military.” A shadow of sadness passed over his face.
An awkward silence ensued, with Emily patting him on the shoulder and saying aloud to the whole group, “He’s been having a rougher time with his death than he’d like to admit,” she said. Gerald glared at her.
****
Hallie was silent on the drive back into town. She was perplexed. Both Emily and Gerald had been more than forthcoming about which planes had been out that night. They wouldn’t be so eager to share if they had something to hide, she thought. Or would they? And there was certainly no love lost between Gerald and his stepfather. Although, he did seem genuinely distraugh
t. Everyone grieves in their own way… She tried to remember her feelings when her own father had died. Surely, she had felt some anger herself. She had felt a bit cheated, like her father had chosen to die instead of continue living and right some of the wrongs he had done against her. Any parent-child relationship is bound to be somewhat fraught. But there had been a distinctly malicious glint in Gerald’s eyes when she had pressed him about his stepfather. Or had she imagined it?
She shook her head. She was certain the flight school had something to do with the captain’s death, and maybe even with the black-market tobacco. But what about the baker’s van? What about the farm in Virginia? There were so many loose ends, Hallie could hardly sit still.
The skies can be a dangerous place at night….
****
That night, Hallie had dinner with her companion and coworker, Doctor James Livingstone. James had prepared the dinner, hopeful that Hallie would return soon, and he grinned when he saw her coming through the door.
“Hallie, dear, I wondered where you were at this hour. Your shift at the hospital should have been over ages ago!” He embraced her passionately.
“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry, James. I’ve told the hospital I won’t be in this week—it’s a case with the police department. Sergeant Jackson invited me on it.” When she saw James’ cheerful face, she regretted having left him out of what was going on. “I should have told you, dear.”
James noticed the telltale furrow in her brow and pulled her down to sit at the table where a spread of roast chicken, yellow squash, and golden potatoes waited. “I can tell from your look right now that it must be an intriguing case.”
Hallie assented. “Do you know Captain Tannen?”
James frowned. “Yes, and I heard of his nasty fall from the roof of Loch’s! Why, it’s all anyone’s been talking about in town. He was well-loved. He will be sorely missed.”
Hallie nodded, piling food on her plate. “I know, the poor dear. But I’m not sure it’s what everyone thinks, a suicide. Sergeant Jackson agrees with me.”
“Oh?” James leaned in, intrigued.
Hallie explained the findings from the autopsy and relayed the events since, including the baker’s van, and the illegal tobacco. Explaining it aloud didn’t seem to help her piece it together as it sometimes did. She could sense the solution right in front of her, but she couldn’t seem to see it clearly. I need to clear my head, she thought.
Now it was James’ turn to be perplexed. “I can see how you’re so concerned about all this, Hallie. It just doesn’t seem to add up, does it? And I can’t fathom black-market trafficking in our sleepy little Warrenton! But I suppose people do care a great deal for their tobacco, and may not be willing to let a little thing like a shortage hamper their habit.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling dramatically. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if cigarettes were suddenly only available on the black market. Would I go rogue?” He grinned cheekily, his graying hair bobbing about as he laughed.
Hallie sighed. “Perhaps we could talk about something else tonight? I think I need to think about something a bit more cheerful.” She smiled sheepishly.
“How about….” James said, and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a large platter covered in foil. “…We enjoy my world-famous carrot cake!”
Hallie burst out laughing. “Your world-famous carrot cake?”
James shrugged and sat down. “Okay, okay. Gladys may have given me the recipe after I begged her for it. I just couldn’t get it out of my head after she brought the cake to that cookout we had!” Gladys was Hallie’s oldest friend in town, a wise old woman who was known for her extraordinary baking.
Hallie made a show of taking a bite. “Hmmm,” she said. “It’s wonderful. It may be Glady’s recipe, but you’re not a shabby baker yourself.”
“Better than Gladys?” James smiled slyly. “I ought to tell her you said that!”
“I said nothing of the sort! Don’t you go filling an old woman’s head with lies. I solemnly swear, Gladys is the best baker this world has ever seen.” Hallie placed her hand on her heart. “Let the record show!”
James broke into laughter. “Now, Doctor Malone,” he said, doing his best impression of Gladys. “I’ll have you know I’ve been baking for longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Oh, hush,” Hallie replied, but she was grinning from ear to ear. The doorbell rang, and Hallie looked at James. “Were you expecting someone?”
James shrugged mischievously. “Why don’t you answer it and find out?”
Hallie tried to frown at him, but found that she couldn’t stop laughing all the way to the door. When she swung it open, she was filled with glee. It was none other than Gladys herself.
“What are you doing here?” Hallie asked joyfully, throwing her arms around her friend.
“Careful now, these bones aren’t what they used to be!” Gladys said.
Shortly, James joined them at the doorway, equally pleasantly surprised. “Gladys, we were just talking about you!” He shot a playful wink at Hallie, who pushed him away.
“Well, now, I was just in the neighborhood, and I can’t come to town without stopping in to see my dear friends! I hope I’m not intruding too late,” she said, sneaking a glance behind Hallie at the clock on the wall.
“Nonsense!” Hallie replied. “Come in, come in!”
Gladys made her way inside and made herself at home at the dinner table. “James, what’s this? Is this your doing?” she asked, referring to the cake in the center of the table.
“I’m afraid so,” James said sheepishly. “That’s why I had asked for the recipe—I wanted to bake Hallie’s favorite treat for her.”
“Of course, he was no match for your baking prowess!” Hallie said.
Gladys let out a loud laugh. The night carried on joyfully, filled with happy banter. Hallie got exactly the “night off” she had hoped for, and she scarcely thought about the case.
As James cut another slice for her, she protested, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!” She patted her ample stomach. James’ eyes twinkled, and she eventually gave in, saying, “I’m going to have to do something about you, Doctor Livingstone. You’re going to give me a heart attack with all this good food! My patients would never forgive you!”
Chapter 7
Testing a Hunch
T he plane was old, rickety, wooden. Hallie felt at home there; the cabin felt familiar, with its smooth chestnut paneling. Hallie felt as relaxed as she had ever been on an airplane. A flight attendant asked her if she’d like a drink, and Hallie obliged. A tumbler of whiskey appeared in her lap, just as heavy turbulence began. She struggled to keep the drink from sloshing over onto her dress. She seemed to be getting the hang of it, twisting her body with the turns of the plane, if she concentrated mightily.
“Can’t hold your liquor?” came a gravelly voice. Hallie looked up, frightened. It was Samson Harding, leering eagerly over the seat in front of her, his gray hair blowing wildly. Where was that wind coming from? Hallie thought with a jolt of panic.
The door! The door to the plane was open! Suddenly, she understood what was happening, and her stomach pitched forward. Looking around, she searched for a friendly face, but saw no one she trusted. The plane was full of men in suits and fedoras, smoking cigarettes and laughing too loudly. Booze began to pour from the safety gas masks in the ceiling, and soon, Hallie found herself soaked in bourbon.
“I can help you, Doctor, just open your hand,” floated a voice. Hallie couldn’t make out where it was coming from—the plane had devolved into chaos, with tumblers spilling everywhere. Several men around her suddenly donned brown bomber jackets and with a start, Hallie realized they all had parachutes.
Summoning all her courage, Hallie willed herself out of her seat and wobbled against the plane’s pitching to the back wall, sloshing through the whiskey deluge, where she saw one remaining chute. Just as she was about to grab it, she felt something being pushed into her han
d. It was a pipe, sticky with tobacco.
As she stared, a loud whirring began. What is that? She wondered frantically. She saw the men step lightly out of the plane; she watched as their parachutes opened.
The whiskey beneath her feet was draining away—that was the whirring sound, she realized. Her feet gave way, and she felt herself being pulled toward the center of the plane. Next thing she knew, she was shot out the bottom of the plane and was falling through unbroken sky. She experienced a jolt of adrenaline and…..
Hallie sat up. She looked around her dark room, safely on the ground. Sighing, she wiped a rivulet of sweat off her forehead and switched on her lamp. Hallie had bid Dr. Livingstone and Gladys goodbye some hours earlier, determined to get a good night’s sleep. So much for that, she thought. After pacing around her room for a few minutes, she climbed back into bed and switched off the bedside lamp.
She lay back down and squeezed her eyes shut. It was just a nightmare, she told herself. Go to sleep. But she tossed and turned in her bed, which suddenly felt impossibly warm. Frustrated, she rose and went downstairs for a glass of water, which led to a glass of wine, and then another.
Finally sufficiently relaxed, Hallie retrieved a pen and paper and set to work at her desk in the study. She wrote down all she knew about the case so far.
Captain Tannen: fell from a low-flying airplane. Was punched in the face and elsewhere just before. A fight?
Planes that were out that night: the Cessna and the Turbo. Both outings are logged as flying lessons. She sketched the designs of the planes as she recalled them.
Hallie mused, pouring a third glass of wine. Gerald and Terry, and even Emily, may not have seemed altogether trustworthy—not to mention Gerald’s clear anger at his late stepfather—but they did all tell the same story. Had they anticipated their visit and gotten their stories straight? Hallie sighed. No matter. Whatever the truth is, Captain Tannen did fall from a plane that night, and it was most probably a plane from his own airport. She thought for a moment, referring to her notes. So, we’re back to either the Cessna or the Turbo.