Leonard lit another cigarette. “Can I fly with a gun?”
“When you’re flying private? Sure. Just alert the pilots. They’ll probably have to lock it away for the flight though. Be ready for that. You’re a police officer with a conceal-carry permit. You should be fine.”
“Why do you know more about this shit than I do?”
“I’ve been around the block more than a few times and I haven’t spent my entire life in Wabanaki, Maine. I’ll see you tomorrow, honey. And for God’s sake, go buy some Nicorette gum before you get on that plane.”
“Yeah, yeah. How will I find you guys after I land?” Leonard asked.
Brenda smiled. “We’ll find you, Lenny. Fly safe.” And with that, she disengaged the video call before he could scold her for using the much-hated nickname again. It tickled her to tease him.
In her own suite, Skyler was wrapping a present she intended to overnight to Leonard the following day. She was seriously conflicted about focusing on Christmas revelry and tradition while Georgia was still missing, but at the same time, was secretly miffed that she was embroiled in the drama during one of her favorite holidays. Again.
She was still incredibly wounded from losing one of her lifelong best friends over the Independence Day holiday six months earlier. There were many times Skyler would actually pick up the phone to call or text Tanner Millhouse, only to suddenly remember that he was very dead. And it was Tanner who took Leonard’s father with him, too, so she shared that loss with her boyfriend on a daily basis. They didn’t talk about it often, but she knew that Leonard was still brokenhearted over the death of his father, the former sheriff of Wabanaki. Theirs was a complicated father-son relationship, she understood, crowded with the pains of a nasty divorce, various family members’ deaths, and general parental disappointment, but love seemed to seep through the many cracks just enough to hold them together. It hadn’t helped that Leonard’s father was also his boss for so many years. It was strained, but there was love there.
Skyler’s cell phone vibrated and the screen came to life, indicating that Foster Martin was calling from his personal number. She cleared her throat and stood up before answering the call.
“Foster! How are you this evening?”
“I am well, Miss Skyler Moore,” he said. “I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, but I wanted to let you know that I am leaving Santa Fe tomorrow, a few days earlier than I had originally planned.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. “I thought it was a tradition of yours to be here for Christmas.”
“That was the plan, yes, but my plans change frequently. A very good friend of mine is having a big Christmas Eve party at her house in Maui. She’s an honest to goodness Hawaiian Princess. Did you know that the island has its own royal lineage?”
“I guess I did not know that, no sir,” Skyler said.
“Well it does, and she is quite the entertainer. The Princess has insisted that I come and since I am all by myself, I’m going to go, gosh darnit.”
“Good for you. It will be wonderful to be around friends for Christmas.”
“Will you come with me? I am sure she’d be more than happy to host you, too. She has the most amazing house right on the ocean and there are at least a dozen guest rooms. It’s beautiful there this time of year, I’ll tell you that. Not nearly as chilly as New Mexico.”
Skyler laughed politely. “That’s very kind of you, Foster. But I think I better stay here with my friends. And we’re down one at the moment. Georgia Reece has gone missing.”
“The opera singer? Missing?”
“Yes sir,” Skyler said, immediately sorry that she’d brought it up. She gave him the short version of the complicated story.
“For heaven’s sake,” he said when she was done. “Well then, it sounds like this is where you should be right now. But I wonder if you’d agree to come meet me at my airplane tomorrow morning before I take off? I have some foundation documents that I want to give to you before I go—I believe I told you that I’m not a fan of sending sensitive things by email and fax and such. I just need a few moments of your time.”
It was like the ultimate Christmas present and he didn’t even know he was offering it up on a silver platter. Getting the chance to climb aboard Foster’s jet—purportedly one of the most expensive custom-built private planes on the planet—would be the self-proclaimed plane nut’s dream come true. She agreed without a second’s thought. “Absolutely. What time should I be there?”
“I’m taking off from S.A.F. at Noon on the dot. Shall we meet at half past eleven? The bird is tied down at Advanced Aviation. I suspect you won’t be able to miss her.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Skyler said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 11:30, Foster. Good night.”
She finished up her present wrapping, filled out a sappy-sweet card to Leonard, then set out to find Brenda. Skyler had wine on the brain and she intended to suggest that they get a large amount inside themselves just as soon as humanly possible.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After nearly getting shot at Georgia’s house, Diego Ferrera was laying low and staying off the grid for a few days, but agreed to show up at the Franklin-Lowery construction site to assist his brother with an electrical problem. It was late, and the entire crew was gone for the day, but Matteo and Diego soldiered on; Matteo was determined to stay on schedule to avoid the wrath of Carter Lowery. The construction foreman wasn’t fond of bringing his brother in on his projects given their powerful sibling rivalry, but Matteo was desperate. The main electrical panel wasn’t operating at capacity—every time the central heating system switched on, the entire building went dark—and Diego had an uncanny knack for fixing such things.
They worked in silence until they heard a loud banging sound coming from the ground floor directly above them. Matteo left his brother to work while he investigated. With a large flashlight in hand, he made his way up the service stairs, through the lobby, and then cautiously approached the large floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led to the street. Two imposing white men stood on the other side.
“Can I help you?” Matteo shouted through the glass.
“We’re looking for Diego Ferrera,” Archibald Grey said. “Is that you?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Can you open the door so that I don’t have to scream?”
It was late and he obviously wasn’t thinking clearly—Matteo unlocked the door and let the men inside.
“Are you Diego Ferrera?” Archie asked again, skipping the pleasantries.
“I am not,” Matteo said. “Who are you, sir?”
Archie sighed and fished into his blazer pocket for a business card. He handed it over. “Archibald Grey with Mallard Protection. I was hired by Georgia Reece.”
Matteo took the card and examined it with the use of his flashlight. At that very moment, the electricity was restored and the construction lights flickered on above them. “Good job, gentlemen,” Matteo said, as he pocketed the card. “I was told by Ms. Reece’s houseguests that you lost her and that she still hasn’t been located.”
“What did you say?!” A shocked Diego stood in the doorway between the lobby and the service stairs.
“Are you Diego Ferrera?” Archie asked.
“I am,” he said as he joined the group. “What is this about Georgia Reece? She’s missing?” The handyman looked confused.
Archibald Grey’s expression said he didn’t believe Diego for a second. “Come on. Save yourself and everyone else a lot of trouble. Just between us, right here and now. What do you know about Georgia Reece’s whereabouts?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Matteo interjected. “What exactly are you implying? That my brother is somehow involved? That’s ludicrous. He’s done nothing but come to the aid of that woman since she showed up in this town.”
“She’s missing?” Diego repeated. “I don’t understand. What does that mean, missing? Where was she last seen?”
The bodyguard who ha
d accompanied Archie into the hotel had run out of patience. He strode forward and grabbed Diego by the collar, nearly lifting him off the ground and then slammed his body into a column. Matteo gasped, dropped his flashlight, and jumped onto the bodyguard’s back to free his brother. Archie joined the scuffle, hitting Matteo hard on the ribs, sending the contractor to the ground. Archie pulled his handgun out of its holster and held it on Matteo.
“Terrance,” Archie said, “Ease up on Mr. Ferrera, please.”
The brute let go of Diego and backed away as the handyman collapsed onto the floor next to his brother. Both men looked up into the barrel of Archie’s pistol.
“Something isn’t adding up,” Archie said calmly, “and I intend to get to the bottom of it. We’ve been doing some checking into your background, Diego. You have a thing for opera singers. An obsession maybe? We’ve seen your…what shall we call it, Terrance? A shrine? A sick-puppy, opera singer shrine? What is all that shit, Diego? What’s your fascination with Georgia Reece?”
Diego didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes for a moment and slowly let out his air.
Matteo sat up slowly. “Have you been inside Diego’s house without his permission? That’s certainly trespassing, gentlemen. You aren’t police officers. Did you have a warrant? You aren’t even from around here.”
“Shut the fuck up, amigo,” Terrance said. “No one’s talking to you.”
“I like opera,” Diego said meekly. “It’s not a crime. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Where is Georgia Reece, Diego?” Archie asked.
The front doors slammed open and two Santa Fe policeman entered the lobby each with a drawn weapon leading the way. “S.F.P.D.! Drop the gun!”
Carter and Sullivan Lowery stood on the sidewalk directly behind the officers. When it appeared that the situation was under control, they slowly walked in.
Terrance put his hands up, Archie carefully lowered his pistol to the floor, then turned around as he raised his hands above his head. “Officers,” he said with a smile, “I think there’s been some sort of mistake. We were just having a friendly, private conversation.”
“Hardly,” Carter said as he squeezed by the officers. “I think it goes without saying that we’re pressing charges.”
The officers patted down and handcuffed Archibald and Terrance after taking a handgun from the bodyguard’s waist. Then they called for backup to transport the men to the city jail. The Lowery brothers helped the Ferrera brothers to their feet and the four men moved to the rear of the lobby, away from the intruders.
“How the heck did you know what was going on here?” Matteo asked Carter.
Carter pulled his iPhone from his pocket. “Security cameras.”
“He’s been fixated on that phone all day since the cameras went online this morning,” Sullivan said. “And we were just around the corner at Café Pasqual’s. Luckily, the cops were sitting in front of the Chuck Jones gallery on Water Street.”
Carter turned to the Ferreras, “Basically, we were watching you guys on our phones. I know; we’re total creeps.”
“Well thank God for the creeps,” Matteo said. “And good thing the cameras have battery backup and infrared, because we’ve been in the dark most of the evening.”
“I don’t know anything about Miss Reece,” Diego finally said under his breath. “I would never hurt anyone. Ever.”
“We believe you, buddy,” Sullivan said. “And trust me, Mr. Grey and his big bad bear of a henchman over there are going to have a lot of explaining to do. I guess that shit works back in New York, but it’s not going to fly around here. And certainly not in our hotel.”
Both sets of brothers stuck around to give their statements to the arresting officers and then were allowed to go. As Carter locked up the hotel, Sullivan, Matteo, and Diego watched from the sidewalk as the Mallard Protection men were loaded into the back of a squad car and driven away.
“We never did get to eat and I’m starving,” Carter said as he rejoined the group. “Why don’t you two come with us and we’ll make it a foursome?”
And they did just that—after Sullivan called Skyler to update her on the unfortunate situation. He suggested that she might they to come up with a way to dismiss the rest of the Mallard crew post haste and Skyler readily agreed to start putting a plan into motion.
* * *
Skyler disengaged the call and picked up her glass of wine. “You simply will not believe what just happened at your new hotel.” She gave Brenda the run down of what she’d just learned from Sullivan.
“Alright,” the chef said as she topped off both of their glasses with what was left of a very fine cabernet sauvignon, a reserve from 2012 that Brenda found in a wine shop downtown. She’d never before tasted, or even considered, a New Mexican wine—every state in the union has at least a handful of wine making operations—but the cab, as well as the other selections from the Black Mesa Winery, were exciting her to no end. She made note of the wine on her phone and planned to feature some of the award-winning wines on all of her restaurants’ lists. “I guess we know what we need to do.” She took a large sip, savored the dry wine and its hints of black current and cherry for a moment, then swallowed. “We need to finish this delicious wine, then send that crew packing. This stuff’ll give us the courage we need. And I hardly feel guilty. What have they done, but make a complete mess of this entire, ridiculous situation? I think Georgia should leave a strongly worded Yelp review when she gets back.”
Skyler rolled her eyes. “Yelp review. You’re insane.”
“Well, people need to know, Skyler,” Brenda spit. “Several of my friends back in the city use Mallard. Trust me, this is going to get out fast and then Archibald Grey’s goose is really going to be cooked.” She swirled her wine around in the glass as she reflected on that for a moment. “I hate goose. I’ve cooked one. Total. They’re gross. Never again. Of course, the stupid birds deserve to be someone’s dinner, because they are such nasty, unfriendly creatures, but I just don’t like the taste or consistency. And now you know.”
Skyler sighed and shook her head. “If we ask these people to leave, then we’re right back to where we started—alone in a big scary house with an unreliable security system and no clue as to where Georgia is or who’s still lurking around out there.” She pointed toward the window and the pitch-black backyard.
“Forget that. Let’s go stay with Carter and Sullivan. They’re hoteliers; they’ll love a few guests. And we won’t be here being sitting ducks.”
“Or gooses,” Skyler said.
* * *
Georgia stumbled down the dirt road for what seemed like hours, but it was probably no longer than 30 minutes before she came across a dusty mailbox at the end of a well-worn driveway. With a new-found burst of energy, she navigated the tire rutted drive and came across a small bungalow. There were no vehicles on the property, but she banged on the front door.
Nothing.
The sunlight was all but gone and she couldn’t imagine another minute alone in the dark, so when she discovered that the door was indeed locked, she searched the porch for a hidden key.
Nothing.
The windows were all locked, too. A nearby howl—certainly a hungry coyote—forced her to grab a small decorative gnome from a flower bed and shatter one of the panes of glass in the door. She reached in and unbolted the door and let herself inside.
From the looks of the well-appointed, cozy space—essentially a large studio complete with living, dining, cooking, and sleeping areas along with a tiny bathroom off to the side—it was a vacation or second residence. She couldn’t readily find a landline telephone, but she did come across a thin plastic binder on the counter, written in both English and Spanish, welcoming guests to the vacation rental home. The interior pages included instructions on how to access the internet and how to operate the satellite television and security system. The text indicated that the four-digit code would have been forwarded to the guest prior to arrival.
“Security system,” she said out loud. She hadn’t noticed it when she entered, nor was there any beeping or loud siren. But to the right of the entry door she discovered the keypad. It was blinking red. She decided that was a good thing—she’d be saved.
Georgia found a bottle of water in the refrigerator and finished it in several fast gulps. She then searched one of the closets for something to wear; she intended to freshen up before the police arrived. She found a sweatshirt with a cardinal embroidered on the front, along with a pair of red bedroom slippers, among several items stored in a plastic bin on the top shelf, most likely the homeowners’ private stash, she decided.
As she was taking a bird bath in front of the bathroom sink, it suddenly occurred to her that the address of the rental house was on the front cover of the binder. Georgia sprinted into the main room and flipped the cover over.
Welcome to Flagstaff!
“I’m in Arizona?!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Skyler was giddy as she crossed the tarmac and approached the gleaming Boeing Business Jet. The customized 737 had been delivered to her new owner the summer before and was unpainted, save the familiar Martin Media double-M logo affixed to each side of the tail. The intense winter sun reflected off the silver fuselage, nearly blinding Skyler as she ascended the airstairs to the forward passenger door. She was met by a young, uniformed first officer who shook her hand and welcomed her aboard. After she removed her sunglasses and coat, the pilot closed a thin sliding door used to keep out the elements while parked on the ground.
“Mr. Martin is on a conference call in the rear of the aircraft,” the pilot said. “He’s asked that you wait for him in the main salon. It’s just beyond the crew area and the galley, through that doorway.”
“Thank you,” Skyler said. She marveled at the rich beige and jet-black interior. The light-colored carpet seemed like an unwise choice to her, but it made the cabin seem especially spacious. She stepped into the main salon, a space that spanned the width of the jet. Forward, a well-stocked bar was surrounded by six stools that were anchored to the floor. On either side of that, underneath the windows, were small tables with three club chairs situated around each. Further back, there was an enormous U-shaped leather couch with a low wood coffee table in the middle, with an intricate chess set on top and a silver vase filled with picture-perfect white roses. Ultra-thin television monitors and drink holders dotted the space so that each passenger could have entertainment, news, and cocktails at their fingertips at all times. In the rear of the salon, there was a large dining table with seating for eight people, a divan along the right side, and two doors on the back wall. She assumed one was a lavatory and that the other led to the space Foster was currently occupying.
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