The Underground Lady (Book 8 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series)

by JC Simmons

  She raised her head to look at me. I saw that time had gently touched her face and had begun to tug at her throat, but her faintly pinched face seemed like an angel in the company of a sinner.

  "So how is it that you know Rose?"

  "She was a friend of my mother."

  "You were six years old when she disappeared."

  "My grandparents, who raised me after Mother went missing, also knew Rose. We would come and visit once a year. I've kept in touch because I like her."

  "The check you gave me for the retainer was drawn on a bank in New Orleans. Is that where you live?"

  "No, that's just one of my businesses."

  "One of them?"

  "Rose really didn't tell you about me?"

  "She said she would in due time, and with her that could be anywhere in the next hundred years."

  "For the moment, let's leave my life out of the equation. Like Rose said, in due time."

  "I like to know who I'm working for."

  "Please…"

  "Okay, for the moment."

  Her presence beside me sustained an elusive feeling that there may be an opening into another dimension. One with more future than the world I knew. Her head was bowed over her empty hands as if she was trying to figure out some mathematical equation.

  Soon we crossed the north end of the Meridian airport. Sunny looked intently at the Air Guard Boeing 707 tankers parked on the ramp. A smile crossed her face.

  "I remember this airport. My mom brought me here many times to watch the airplanes take off and land. She really did love flying. It probably killed her. I guess you could say she loved it to death."

  We parked in the small lot beside Sander's Flying Service and walked into the Fixed Base Operation. Annie Sanders was behind the counter.

  "As I live and breathe, it's Jay Leicester, God's gift to aviation. Good to see you." She came around and hugged my neck.

  "Morning, Annie. This is Sunny Pfeiffer, Hadley Welch's daughter."

  "Lord, girl, you haven't changed much since you were six years old, maybe a little taller. I know you don't remember me, but it is good to see you again." Annie turned to me. "Earl mentioned you may come by to talk about Hadley going missing, Jay, but he didn't say anything about little Sunny coming with you."

  "He didn't know, Annie. Where is he, by the way?"

  "He's out in the hangar. I'll page him."

  Earl walked into the lobby and his eyes went directly to Sunny. "It can't be, Hadley's daughter, little Sunny Pfeiffer? You look just like your mother." He shook her hand. "I've thought of her almost every day for the last twenty-five years, always wondered what happened. I'm glad you're looking into it again. If anybody can find out, it's this man." He looked at me for the first time. "Hello, Jay. Good to see you. Y'all come back into my office. We'll have some coffee and we can talk."

  As we started for Earl's office, I noticed Annie looking at him with the strangest expression. I could not read what it meant, but my first impression was that it had something to do with Hadley Welch. Annie caught me looking and dropped her eyes, feigning paperwork. Did Earl have an affair with Hadley Welch? Was Annie jealous? It had all been so long ago.

  Earl was nearly sixty years old now, but he still had curly black hair with no gray, and a ruddy complexion. At six feet in height and around one hundred and ninety pounds, he still appeared in good physical shape. In junior college, he was voted "Little All-American" as a running back, and was sought after by most major colleges in the Southeastern Conference. Instead, he opted for a career in aviation, married Annie, and went to work as a co-pilot for Eastern Airlines, a national carrier that folded after some serious financial blundering. After Eastern went belly up, Earl came back to Meridian, his hometown, and started his flying service. Over the many years we have known each other, I had never seen him so much as look at another woman. I would have to ask Annie what her expression meant, but I also had no idea how to broach the subject.

  In his office, Earl propped his feet on his desk. "How can I help you?"

  "To start with, tell me about her ability as a pilot? How well could she manage an emergency? Did she panic easily?"

  "I know what you are getting at, Jay. If you cloned Amelia Earhart, Poncho Barnes, and Jackie Cochran, you'd have Hadley Welch. As a stick and rudder gal, I've never seen anyone better. In all of the simulated emergency landings I put her through, she never panicked, and always put the airplane in a position for a survivable outcome. She would not stall or spin the airplane straight into the ground, if that's what you're getting at."

  "It would explain why the wreckage was never found. It wouldn't make a pile half the size of a round hay bale, and if it went in in a remote, heavily forested area, it would be impossible to see from the air."

  "She didn't lose control and spin the airplane into the ground." Earl put his feet on the floor, sat up in the chair.

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I just know her ability. Wouldn't have happened."

  "Would you have any theories about my mother's disappearance, Mr. Sanders?"

  "Please call me Earl. No, I don't have a clue. That airplane did not crash anywhere between Union and Meridian. I've been over every inch of that country from the air. I would have found the wreckage."

  "Yes, he would have." Annie had been standing at the office door. She turned and walked away.

  "There was a rumor that the airplane was spotted down at Wiggins, and even on Chandeleur Island."

  "If that were true, Jay, the airplane would have turned up by now, don't you think?"

  "One would assume so, but when Cessna and Piper ceased production after the liability insurance fiasco, a lot of people were dismantling them and sending them overseas for the high price they were bringing."

  "Maybe, though I doubt it. The paperwork was pretty strict."

  "You taught my mother how to fly?"

  "Yes. She was the best student I've ever had. She had a true passion for flying. Every aspect of it excited her to the depth of her being. She reminded me of that man sitting beside you. He, at one time, had that kind of passion for all things aeronautical."

  Sunny Pfeiffer turned and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. There was a disconnect between the smile on her face and the disbelief in those green, sparkling eyes.

  "The PA-18 you sold her, was it a new airplane?"

  "We ordered it directly from Piper. In fact, Hadley and I went to the factory and picked it up. She was the first and only one ever to fly it."

  "You and Hadley Welch went to the factory in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania?"

  "I had one of our charter pilots fly us over in a company plane. Annie went with us and flew back with our pilot and I flew back with Hadley. That wasn't unusual – we did it with several customers. Back then Piper, Cessna, Mooney, Beech, all little aircraft manufactures allowed pickup at their factories. Our customers enjoyed touring the assembly line and seeing how the airplanes were put together."

  "We need to talk with John Roberts."

  "Let me call him." Earl reached for his phone. "Maybe he can see you today."

  Sunny got up and went to a photo hanging on the wall. "Is this my mother and her airplane?"

  Earl nodded. "John, Earl Sanders. I've got someone in my office that wants to talk to you." He handed me the phone, went over to where Sunny stood looking at the photo.

  "Hello Meridian, Southern eighteen forty one off Laurel inbound, squawking 1200. We have information Oscar and are running late."

  "I'll be damn, I'd recognize that voice anywhere. Jay Leicester. You were always running late. How are you?"

  "Fine, John. If you've got some time this morning, I'd like to pick your brain about a little airplane that disappeared off your scope twenty-five years ago."

  "The only civilian airplane I ever lost. I remember it like it was yesterday. Hadley Welch, beautiful young woman, hell of a pilot. Earl taught her. I don't think I can be of much help, Jay, but come on by, say around one
o'clock. Earl can tell you how to get to the house. I'd meet you somewhere, but I'm wheelchair bound."

  "Not a problem. We'll be there at one."

  "We?"

  "I have Hadley Welch's daughter with me. Is that okay?"

  "Sure. Look forward."

  Hanging the phone back in its holder, I went and looked at the photograph. The woman standing beside the propeller of the yellow cub was a mirror image of Sunny Pfeiffer.

  "Why is John in a wheelchair?"

  "He had a hip replaced. The wheels are temporary. You can't keep old Roberts down for long."

  "Okay. Is there anything else you can think of that could help us?"

  "I can only tell you what didn't happen to that airplane, not what did. Good luck, Jay. I want to be the first to know if anything turns up. Sunny, it was good to see you. I hope you find out what happened to your mom."

  "Thank you, Earl." She hugged his neck.

  Out in the lobby, Sunny excused herself and went to the ladies room. I walked out the door leading to the ramp, and stood looking across the two runways. The morning was peaceful, orderly, and the air around me seemed but a gauzy curtain that would part with little effort, if I were to just lift my hand, revealing all that had happened at this airport over time. Everything would be there, just beyond the thin curtain.

  Someone touched my shoulder. It was Annie Sanders.

  "There was a man in Hadley's life. Find out all you can about him."

  "Who, Annie?"

  "No…you find out all you can." She turned and went back inside the Fixed Base Operation.

  It was almost noon, and we had an hour to kill before meeting with John Roberts. We stopped at a motel restaurant that I'd eaten in before, nothing fancy, but decent food.

  Seating ourselves, a waitress came over. She smiled, exposing neglected teeth that were crooked, gapped, and yellowed from years of cigarette smoke. They reminded me of the gravestones in a forgotten cemetery. She looked like she ate what she served, her body rounding out in middle age. She had a pouchy face with red eyes and hair like an abandoned floor mop. She was friendly, helpful, and we had the lunch special that she recommended. It turned out that the food was still as good as I remembered.

  "I noticed some tension in Annie Sanders. You think it had something to do with my mother and her husband?"

  "You got that, too, did you? Very astute."

  "I have my moments."

  "You are more than you wish to appear to be."

  Sunny Pfeiffer looked at me, and of the six universally recognized facial expressions – fear, anger, surprise, disgust, sadness, and happiness – I saw five.

  "My mother and Earl Sanders?"

  "I've known Earl for a long time. He's not the type to fool around on his wife."

  She looked at me again, and I could see the thought process going on behind those green gemstone eyes like the workings of a fine Swiss clock.

  "Annie said there was a man in your mother's life. Do you have any recollection of who it might be?"

  "No, no one comes to mind, but then I was only six years old."

  "She said we should find out all that we could about him."

  "She didn't say why or who?"

  "I gathered it was not her husband, but she was serious enough that it makes me think it could somehow be related to your mother's disappearance."

  "How do we find out about this person who was supposedly involved with my mother that you are so sure wasn't Earl Sanders?"

  "No clue. It could be romantic or business related. At any rate, it's time to go see the aircraft controller who was the last person to talk with your mother."

  I didn't want to tell her that after today, she wouldn't be involved with the rest of this investigation.

  ***

  It was a neat house set in a quiet neighborhood. We rang the bell, and the door was opened instantly by a woman who was the mirror image of Barbara Bush, even down to the silver gray hair and three strand pearl necklace.

  "You must be Jay Leicester. John is expecting you. Please come in."

  She escorted us into a sunroom where a silver tray was set with tea and cookies. John Roberts sat in his wheelchair with a green and black blanket over his lap and a copy of Death in the Afternoon by Hemingway. He had a barrel-shaped body with tiny, close-set eyes. His long, sharp nose resembled an eagle's beak – with all apologies to the eagle. He had always been a big man, though not as big as me. His warm, friendly smile assured me that all was well with him.

  "It's good to see you, John."

  "You, too." His grip was firm and sincere. He looked directly at Sunny. "My God, you brought Hadley Welch with you."

  "John Roberts, meet Sunny Pfeiffer, Hadley Welch's daughter."

  They shook hands.

  "You are the spitting image of your mother."

  I thought the same about his wife and Barbara Bush, who had served the tea and left us alone.

  "Let's talk about the morning her mother disappeared. Were you working alone that day?"

  "I was working approach control alone, the tower boys were upstairs. Her voice was as familiar as yours, and her call sign, I knew well. She trained here with Earl in the PA-18. There was no panic in her voice. She seemed to have forgotten something and wanted to return and land. She just wouldn't answer after that final transmission. I instinctively knew something was amiss. There were so many possibilities, radio failure, an engine running rough, leaving her no time for chitchat, some control problem that kept her busy. But for her to simply vanish, I have no explanation."

  "How soon did you sound the alarm?"

  "Immediately, that's standard procedure. Better safe than sorry."

  "You think there's a transcript still around?"

  "Should be, they are not supposed to ever destroy them. Check with the tower chief, man named Paul Bradford. He should be able to help."

  "Okay, John. We won't keep you any longer. It was a pleasure. Take care of the hip."

  "Yeah. We are both getting old, Jay. You and I. There are not many who share our memories and silences. And of them, few are the men they used to be."

  Sunny set her teacup on the silver salver, bent down and hugged John's neck. "Thank you for the kind words about my mother."

  "Yes, she was a lot like that one." He pointed at me. "They both had what Hemingway wrote about – 'grace under pressure.' I've seen this one come into Meridian with an engine shut down; no muss, no fuss. I've worked him around summer squall lines when other carrier pilots turned and ran for cover, and heavy icing and low ceilings, always calm, never rattled. In an emergency, emotion is not an antidote for trust and experience. I'd rather fly on an airliner with the seasoned old veteran captain who I detested at the controls than my friend and drinking buddy with less experience aloft, and a tendency to panic. I may not enjoy the trip, but my chances of arriving safely at our destination would be greatly improved."

  "You think my mother had that Hemingway thing?"

  "She did."

  "Goodbye, Mr. Roberts."

  ***

  We drove up Highway 19 toward Union and the cottage, a different route than we had previously taken. Sunny didn't seem to notice. She appeared deep in thought. I reached my right hand over and traced a question mark on the center console.

  Sunny watched the movement. "Why would Annie Sanders be so secretive about some man involved with my mother?"

  "I will figure out a way to broach the subject with her."

  She slid over to the door, turned sideways and looked at me. Out the side window behind her, cattle grazed in open fields and young pine trees on the nearby highway right of way raced past. "So you have this 'grace under pressure' thing?"

  "I don't think anyone truly knows what they will do under circumstances where life is threatened and the outcome is in doubt. We all hope that we'd do the right thing."

  Her green eyes were expressionless and looked into a void only she could contemplate.

  We pulled into the drive of Ros
e English's farmhouse. Sunny reached for the door. "I'm going to stay for another week and work with you to find out what happened to my mother."

  "No. From here on out, I do this alone. If you want me to continue, fine. If not, I'll tear up the check for the retainer, and we'll call it off. That's the way it has to be."

  Anger ran through her like an electric current. She turned the anger against herself, taking her ponytail and pulling at it as if she wanted to tear it from her head. She pulled it so tight I knew it had to hurt. "Fine, then you continue on alone." She got out and slammed the door.

  I watched her disappear into Rose's house, leaving me to contemplate people's lives. It seemed to me that the older I get, the less I really understand about the intricacies and frailty of the human psyche. I drove to the cottage and a big Siamese cat named, B.W., who couldn't care less about what I thought.

  Chapter Five

  The phone woke me from a deep and dreamless sleep. Sunlight slanted weakly into the room, cold, and hazy, casting an oblong patch of light between the bed and the window.

  Rose English's voice resounded through the receiver. "How do you look at life, Leicester?" She never called me by my last name unless she was mad.

  "With the innocence of a fresh laid egg."

  "Have you ever been told that you possess a rare ability for complicating your life? An astounding ability."

  "I haven't even had coffee."

  "Then get your butt out of bed and come to my house. I'll make you some coffee. We have to talk."

  "Sunny Pfeiffer?"

  She hung up the phone. Lying back on the pillow, I thought that this was going to be a fun morning.

  B.W. jumped upon the bed, then eased up on my chest and stuck his head close to my mouth. "Well, old boy, you want to go pay another visit to Rose? Looks like we have incurred her wrath. Women. Love'em."

  After a quick shower, I called the tower chief at the Meridian Airport and told him who I was, what I needed, and that John Roberts gave me his name. He was extremely helpful, telling me that those transcripts I wanted were kept in Atlanta, and that an Accident/Missing Aircraft report would be on file at the local FESDO, (Federal Aviation Flight Standards District Office) in Jackson, Mississippi. After giving me the pertinent telephone numbers, he asked if I was the same Jay Leicester who flew for Southern Airways back in the eighties. I said that I was, and he asked if I remembered a pilot named Asa Bradford, also with Southern. I told him that Asa had in fact been a classmate of mine during initial training at Southern. Asa was Paul Bradford's brother. Small world. He informed me that Asa was now a Captain on a Boeing 747 flying out of Seattle to Hawaii and back with Northwest Airlines, the company that had absorbed Southern after it merged with Republic.