The young man must have seen the confused look on her face. He explained, “Catfish. Like the MTV series. Are you pretending to be underage so you can take incriminating screencaps and get hush money from creepy older dudes?” He held up both hands. “Hey, it's fine by me if that's your business. Those dudes deserve what they get.”
“That's not something I would ever do, Otis.”
“Oh.” He relaxed his upper body, letting his hands drop to his lap. “Now I feel bad. I didn't think you were so young, not until Velma came up to the apartment to warn me I was about to make a big mistake.” He looked sheepish. “She was beside herself. She asked me if your name was Coco, and I said yes, and she showed me a picture online and told me you were fifteen.”
Piper nodded. Now she understood. “She thought I was Coco Lee, the girl who runs the House of Hallows fan site with her mother, Pandora.”
He looked relieved. “I guess so.”
“Do you know Pandora?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “I don't know. Do I? You tell me.”
Piper snorted. “It's not me. I swear. I'm just Piper.”
“Sure. Uh… I hate to be that guy, but do you have some ID you could show me?”
She grabbed her wallet from her purse and spread out all her cards, from her unused driver's license to her Copeland Library Card.
“Capricorn,” he said. “Same as my mother.”
His mother. Well, now was as good a time as any. “Otis, your mother is my therapist, by the way. Since we're getting the truth out and laying all our cards on the table.” She grinned down at her cards. “So to speak.” She glanced up shyly. “Is that weird for you?”
He took a moment before answering, his tone relaxed. “It's a small town. Anyone who sees a therapist has a twenty percent chance of seeing my mother. She knows everyone's secrets.”
Just then, the waitress arrived with a big stack of pancakes, along with big pats of butter and syrup.
Piper grabbed her fork and knife and dug in. The meeting had gone well so far, but she still had one key piece of business to deal with—the candlestick holder that had been in Otis's possession. She would ask him after the next bite.
Or the next one.
As she was demolishing the final bites of the stack, Otis observed, “You eat like someone going off to war.”
“I feel like someone going off to war.”
“Then don't go. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”
Piper pushed the empty plate away with a groan. “I will never eat again.”
“Pie? We make it fresh here.”
She whimpered and slumped in her bench seat.
After a few more minutes and a refill of coffee, she finally broached the subject. “Otis, where did you get the candlestick holder I found in your closet?”
His blue eyes darkened. He arched one eyebrow. “You mean the one you stole from my closet?”
She nodded. It was time for the whole truth. Well, just the parts that didn't include a ghost, but only because Nancy Dowd was waiting for her, and there wasn't enough time to get into the metaphysical stuff.
“I've got a strange hobby,” he said.
She gestured for him to continue.
“We've got a big dumpster at the back of the restaurant,” he said. “It's really visible, so people drive by and throw things in there. Perfectly good things.”
“You're a dumpster diver?”
He slumped down, looking humiliated. “More of an amateur collector and restoration artist. I have a passion for old things with some history to them. When I saw that candlestick holder, I thought it had a good, sturdy shape. I was planning to dip it in white enamel. Sort of a shabby chic look, though I suppose that's dated now.” He wrinkled his nose. “You're disgusted, aren't you? Nobody wants to date a dumpster diver.”
She nearly laughed out loud. Compared to other things he might be, such as a killer or an accomplice, dumpster diver wasn't too bad.
He joined her with an embarrassed laugh of his own. Once they'd stopped, he asked, “What's the deal with that candlestick holder? Is it valuable? I saw a couple of people rummaging around in my dumpster later that night. They ran off when I stuck my head out of the window.”
“It's valuable, but not in a monetary sense. I'll explain everything later, I promise. Did you get a good look at the people?”
“The smaller one was wearing a hood, but I saw the other guy.”
“Was he big, with a giant dumb-looking head and a buzz cut?”
Otis raised his eyebrows, seemingly amused by Piper's description of Officer Jerkface. “No. This guy was slim, actually, and he had longer hair, not a buzz cut He looked like he hadn't showered or had a haircut in years. I thought maybe he was homeless.”
“He was thin and scruffy with long hair?” She nodded thoughtfully. The pieces were all coming together. Nancy Dowd would be delighted with these new findings.
And just in time for today's Big Plan.
Chapter 21
1:44 p.m.
Eagle Eye Tours, Horseshoe Airstrip
The pilot for that afternoon's private flight, Craig “Mad Dog” Chase, welcomed everyone aboard. They would be getting a stunning view of the Grand Canyon, crossing it multiple times for the best views before releasing the ashes of the late George Morrison. After his introduction, Mad Dog moved on to delivering a well-worn speech about the Eagle Eye Tours safety regulations.
Piper and Nancy, who were both disguised as flight crew members in discreet taupe jumpsuits, exchanged a look over the tops of their aviator-style mirrored sunglasses. Most of Mad Dog's safety regulations pertained to passengers refraining from putting their feet up, horsing around, standing on the benches, or doing anything that might result in dirty footprints getting onto the seats.
Piper's upper lip was itching like crazy. Had they gone too far, putting on fake mustaches? It had seemed like such a good idea an hour ago, but now that sweat was pooling along the sticky spirit gum, Piper wanted to rip the furry caterpillar off while bolting for the only exit. But she held steady.
The other passengers, a group of twenty of George Morrison's dearest friends and family members, dutifully paid attention to Mad Dog's instructions and fastened their seat belts. Piper and Nancy were in crew seats, with their backs to the cockpit, which afforded them a perfect view of their captive audience.
In the front row, nearest to Piper, was George's sister, Simone. Piper didn't know what a sex addict was supposed to look like, but she would never have guessed at Simone's problem based on her appearance. The skinny woman wore a knee-length dark skirt with a crisp linen blouse, buttoned all the way to the neck. She fastened her seat belt and crossed her thin arms loosely over her chest, her hands continuously running over the smooth surface of the urn sitting on her lap. As the other passengers settled in, Simone shifted restlessly in her seat and continued to stroke the urn possessively.
Robert Jones, the editor, took a seat next to her. He looked as scruffy and rumpled as Simone looked clean and prim. They were politely formal toward each other. Nobody would have guessed the two of them had enjoyed an intimate relationship. Piper's cheeks flushed with heat as she remembered the conversation—and other noises—she'd overheard while skulking around in the Morrison residence.
While the pilot took a short break to do some preflight checks before takeoff, the passengers chatted among themselves.
Robert used his knuckles to rap on the lid of the urn. “Hello, old friend. We're going to give you a beautiful ending.”
“That's kind of you to say,” Simone said sweetly. “Will you be staying much longer in Copeland, or is this the end?”
Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd shaved for the occasion and looked almost handsome. In this light, Simone's attraction didn't seem so preposterous. “I'll be leaving straight from the hangar after we land,” he said. “Though I might be back to Copeland from time to time.”
Simone continued to move her hands over t
he large urn of ashes sitting on her lap, petting it like a cat. “George would have loved showing you the local sights,” she said. “Was there anything in particular you'd like to see on your next visit?”
“If the house isn't sold, I wouldn't mind viewing George's old childhood bedroom. Again.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Hoping to get lucky?”
Across from them, Piper had just taken a sip of water from her bottle, and now Simone's outright flirtation caused Piper to swallow water down the wrong pipe and fall victim to a coughing fit. She quickly yanked her cap forward to disguise her face, touching the brim to the top of her mirrored sunglasses. Luckily, Robert and Simone were too focused on flirty doubletalk to notice Piper or her much-more-recognizable and famous crewmate, the intrepid Nancy Dowd.
Sitting directly behind Robert and Simone were the fan club president, Pandora Lee, and the Realtor, Carl Plummer. Carl was dressed in the style of beige, lightweight suit that Piper would describe as “TV drama oil tycoon.” As he shifted around in his seat, a large gold watch flashed at his wrist. It was the sort of watch the wearer wants people to notice. The watch was real, but the teeth looked fake to Piper. He'd had the dental caps installed in a bright shade that was too white to be believable. How had she not seen him that first night at the Morrison house? His blue-white teeth had probably been glowing in the dark, like the smile of the Cheshire Cat.
Carl and Pandora were engaged in conversation, with Carl saying, “The best time to invest in real estate is years ago, but the second-best time is now.” He gave her a million-watt grin. “They say money can't buy happiness, but have you ever seen people looking sad on a yacht?”
Pandora giggled. “Mr. Plummer, I do love to talk about money. I've got a feeling I'm about to come into some money.” Her face glowed, as though saying the word “money” was now lighting the same fire within her that had once been stoked by talking about George's books.
Pandora's appearance had changed since Piper had seen her working her charms at the police station three days earlier. She'd been to a hairstylist, who'd added streaks of bright red to her black hair, which had been chopped shorter and asymmetrical. And instead of her usual sexy black dresses, she wore a sky-blue dress with a bright-pink silk scarf, along with an orange necklace. Who did that colorful look remind Piper of? Oh, just the famous journalist sitting next to her in disguise. Pandora seemed to be morphing into a clone of Nancy Dowd. Her appearance did seem to confirm the theory Piper and Nancy had, but only time and the right sort of pressure would tell.
Pandora glanced over at the two “crewmen” seated at the front and immediately looked away, failing to recognize them. She continued to talk to Carl Plummer, batting her eyelashes innocently. “But if you have some free time after this, I'd love to pick your brain about a few things. My daughter says I'm too curious for my own good, but I can't help myself.”
“You'd like to know about local real estate? I'm your guy. Plus, like I always say, a curious investor is a good investor.”
“I've always been fascinated by local history. And gossip.”
They were interrupted by Robert Jones, leaning his seat back to ask Pandora, “Did you ever find that thing you accidentally threw out?”
“No,” she said. “Don't worry about it.”
“You never know,” Robert said. “Certain pieces have a spiritual energy of their own. George was a big believer in that. He felt that souls traveling around between bodies would sometimes attach themselves to objects, and those objects would move around with a life of their own.”
“Yup,” she said, nodding. “You told me that, and I wrote it all down in my notes.”
“Your notes?” Robert sounded surprised.
“It's nothing,” Pandora said, but by the way she was blushing, it wasn't nothing.
Her seatmate, Carl, gave her a sidelong look. “Miss Lee, I can tell you're up to something.”
She shrugged.
Just then, Mad Dog climbed back into the small plane and started closing the sliding door. A hush fell over all the occupants. Robert lost interest in Pandora and straightened in his seat.
Mad Dog introduced his copilot, a man who was nicknamed Pitbull despite looking exactly like a Chihuahua. While Mad Dog climbed into the cockpit, Pitbull took over the announcements, repeating the spiel about not getting footprints on the seats.
A woman in the fourth row waved her hand and asked about washrooms.
Pitbull pointed to the rounded door through which they'd entered and said, “Straight through here, hang a left, and it's about ten-thousand feet down, depending on where we are along the route. Any other questions?”
An elderly man asked if they'd be flying within the Grand Canyon itself, below the rim.
Pitbull responded by quoting from Special Federal Aviation Regulation No. 50-2, Special Flight Rules in the Vicinity of the Grand Canyon National Park, AZ, Section 3. In other words, no.
Someone asked if the other two crew members, as yet not introduced, also had dog-themed names. Everyone's eyes turned to Piper and Nancy, the small “men” wearing hats, sunglasses, and fake mustaches.
Nancy coughed and elbowed Piper to speak for both of them.
Piper lowered the pitch of her voice and said, “I'm Teddy, and my pal here is Soup Bone.”
This answer satisfied the group, and everyone went back to looking through the windows as the plane taxied for takeoff.
Nancy snuck Piper an amused look over the top of her mirrored shades. Teddy and Soup Bone? Piper stifled a nervous giggle.
The engines roared, and the plane took off. There was no backing out now.
Pitbull talked to the passengers using a microphone to be heard over the engines, though he hardly needed it, because the plane interior was surprisingly quiet. “Folks, thank you all for flying Eagle Eye Tours today. As a long-time fan of the House of Hallows series myself, it is a great honor and privilege for me to be part of today's tribute to a great man. George Morrison, you will be missed, but your words and your spirit will live on.” Pitbull looked pointedly at the urn of ashes on Simone's lap and addressed George directly, his tone low and intimate. “And when we do meet again in the Great Sky Beyond, you and I are going to share a bottle of whiskey and discuss some of the things you did to my favorite characters.”
This earned him a grim chuckle from the passengers.
“Why wait?” Robert Jones leaned forward from his seat in the front row, hand outstretched and holding a silver flask. “Here. There's plenty of whiskey waiting to be drunk on Planet Earth.”
Pitbull politely declined the booze, citing a specific federal aviation regulation.
Pandora, however, had no reservations. She grabbed the flask and took a swig. Carl Plummer took the next drink, and the flask was handed back. An air of merriment brightened the mood in the cabin.
Pitbull pointed out the sights, made another quip about the restrooms, and directed everyone's attention to the two mustached crew members. “And now, ladies and gentleman, Eagle Eye Tours has a very special treat for you. I haven't previewed this act myself, so I'm sure I'll be as surprised as everyone.” He scratched his head. “Honestly, I don't know if this is against regulations.” He covered the microphone and leaned over to ask Piper and Nancy, “You won't be removing all your clothes, will you? I mean, you've got pasties or bikinis on under there, right?”
Piper's jaw dropped. This was how Nancy had gotten them on board? By pretending they were strippers?
Nancy stood and yanked off her mustache, sunglasses, and hat in one smooth motion. She grabbed the microphone from Pitbull as she shook out her trademark bright-red bob. The passengers gasped and muttered to each other. If they didn't recognize the world's most famous celebrity crime reporter, they didn't have televisions.
Nancy cooed into the microphone, “I do love a captive audience.” She unzipped her uniform, popped out one orange-suited shoulder, wiggled, and emerged in Technicolor, like a tropical bird stepping out of the sh
adows. “Hello, everyone. I'm Nancy Dowd, and I'm here today at the request of George Morrison. He had a message for the world, and you lucky people are going to be the first to find out the secret.”
In the front row, Robert turned to Simone and asked loudly, “Did George even know her? He hated reporters.”
Simone said, “She's got no business being here. George hated her. He always said that people who make up lies should have the decency to at least label it as fiction.”
In the second row, Pandora unfastened her seat belt and stood. She turned her back to Nancy and addressed the other passengers. “Nobody talk to this woman. She's an outsider. She was never part of George's inner circle. Not like us. His life story belongs to us, his nearest and dearest.”
Carl, who was finishing another swig from the flask, grabbed her hand and yanked her back down to her seat. “Shut up, you ridiculous woman. Anyone with eyes can see through your fame-whoring, money-grubbing ways.” The others gasped and mumbled disapproval. “Easy now,” Carl said to the group. “I'm also a fame-whoring money grubber, and it takes one to know one. But I do want to hear what the fabulous Nancy Dowd has to say, so everyone stay seated and shut up.”
Nancy glanced over her shoulder at Piper and winked. This was all going according to plan. Actually, it was going even better than expected, with the suspects turning on each other already, even before the big reveal. Nancy reached back for the prop. Piper retrieved the vintage telephone handset from a storage compartment and handed it to the redhead. Nancy winked again, and Piper noticed one small flaw: the mustache glue must have contained a skin irritant. Nancy's upper lip was red and swollen.
Interview with a Ghost in Arizona (Humorous Cozy Mystery) (Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest Book 2) Page 17