“Sure. Pretty certain everyone within forty miles or so caught sight of that. Heard there was some sort of accident.”
“It was an airplane crashing down.”
“That so?”
“Not only that, but it looks like them Yamada boys stole Louis Thorn’s plane and was the ones to crash it.”
Joe Abbott frowns.
“I’m surprised you ain’t heard all about it, Joe,” Henderson says. “You working here at the bar, I’da thought you heard everythin’ first.”
“I been sick,” Joe replies, clearly irked by the glee Henderson takes in gossiping. “So you’re telling me the Yamadas passed on?” he repeats. Joe’s frown deepens, and Agent Bonner is interested to detect a flicker of surprised distress on the man’s face.
“Yes,” Bonner answers. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news about your neighbors.”
Joe Abbott stiffens.
“They weren’t my neighbors. I live here in town.”
“I just mean your fellow community members,” Bonner clarifies. He knows that, with the war on, even if Joe cared for the Yamadas, he won’t want to give that impression. Bonner changes tack. “But speaking of neighbors . . . mind if I ask you a few questions about the Yamadas’ next-door neighbors?”
Joe blinks, bewildered by the shift in topic.
“The Thorn family?”
“Yes. Louis Thorn in particular.”
“All right,” he replies, his tone unfriendly. “Shoot.”
“Louis Thorn says he was in here the other night, says he got into some kind of a fray . . . His whole face is busted up.”
“What’s your question?”
“Can you verify that? Do you recall Louis Thorn getting into a bar fight here?”
Joe’s eyes slide from Agent Bonner’s face to Deputy Henderson’s and back again.
“Sure,” Joe grunts finally, after a stoic silence. “I remember that. Big scuffle, and for no good reason, too. Don’t even know how it started, but lots of fellas joined in. I spent the rest of the night cleaning up their mess. But you know how it is. Boys’ll be boys.”
The tension thickens as Joe Abbott and Agent Bonner lock eyes with each other. Another agent watching from the outside might have later scolded Bonner for the manner in which he asked Joe the question—serving it up to him on a plate instead of trying to trip him up. But Bonner sees everything he needs to know right there in Joe’s uncomfortable expression.
“Say,” Deputy Henderson chimes in. “Old Whitcomb keeps pointing out how you’re real funny about Louis Thorn,” he continues, his eyes widening with fresh realization and the buzz of new gossip. “You’re thinking Louis Thorn might be a suspect in this crash?”
“I didn’t say that,” Bonner replies. “I only said Louis told me he got into a bar fight a few nights ago.”
“He did,” Joe Abbott affirms. With an air of finality, he grunts and reaches for the dishrag over his shoulder, wets it, and sets about scrubbing dirt off the wooden countertop—working his way down the bar and effectively ending his side of the conversation.
Bonner turns back to his beer and takes a long, deep sip, allowing the suds to wash over his upper lip. Eventually, he and Henderson carry on with their chitchat without Joe Abbott. They circle away from talk of the crash and the Yamadas to more benign topics as Bonner mulls over his case quietly to himself. He still can’t prove Louis Thorn’s bruises mean anything, but he is sure Thorn didn’t acquire them four nights ago in the saloon where Bonner now sits. The truth is often complicated and requires some coaxing, but if there’s one thing Bonner knows when he hears it, it’s a bald-faced lie.
26
Earl Shaw’s Flying Circus
Sonoma, California * July 4, 1940
By the Fourth of July, the barnstormers had made their way to the town of Sonoma. They secured a place to camp just north of the old Spanish mission, not far from the town’s main square, and borrowed a nearby field for their flying circus act. On the actual day of the Fourth, there was to be an evening festival in the town square, complete with fireworks. Hutch, Buzz, Louis, and Harry performed their stunts during the early afternoon, hoping to beat the late-afternoon heat. Bubbling with holiday spirit, plenty of townsfolk were in the mood for a ride, and Earl made sure to herd every last one of them over to Ava to collect their money. Once Hutch and Buzz had given their last airplane rides of the day, the majority of the spectators ambled off to eat a late lunch and nap in the cool shade of their homes before the celebration that evening.
Hutch and Buzz made up their minds to have a beer in town at the Toscano Hotel, a place that looked as though nothing had changed since California’s old stagecoach days. When Earl caught wind that the Toscano hosted a lively poker scene in the saloon downstairs, he decided to join his two pilots. Ava was left at the campsite with her mother. She had no idea where Louis and Harry had disappeared to.
“I heard there’s going to be a dance in the town square tonight,” Ava’s mother remarked.
“Yes,” Ava replied, “Louis mentioned it . . .”
“Oh?” Cleo said, aiming a knowing smile at her daughter. “Louis mentioned it?”
Ava squirmed. “He did” was all she said in reply.
“You know, I believe he’s sweet on you,” Cleo said, tickled.
Ava didn’t care for the teasing but kept her mouth shut. The truth was, Louis had done more than just mention it, he had asked Ava if they might go together, and she had agreed. Now she felt nervous about the prospect of going to the dance with Louis. On some instinctive level, she sensed that the fact that she had said yes to Louis had something to do with the fact that she’d gone flying with Harry. Nothing had happened, she reminded herself. And yet she felt curiously guilty that she hadn’t told anyone.
“Let’s decide what you’ll wear . . .” Cleo suggested.
Ava gave in and allowed her mother to help her wash up and pick out a dress.
* * *
A few hours later, as the sun drooped in the sky, a pleasant wind had begun to blow a little of the heat out of the Sonoma Valley. Ava stood outside, waiting for Louis to turn up. Her face was scrubbed, her shiny red bob was pinned in waves again, and she was wearing a light green dress her mother had insisted matched her eyes. As she waited, the jittery feeling from earlier returned again.
But her nerves vanished the second she saw Louis approaching the campsite. He was freshly bathed and dressed in a clean shirt and pressed trousers.
“Hello!” he called as he drew near.
He was grinning, and his smile instantly put Ava at ease. His bashfulness seemed tinged with a new hint of confidence as he looked at her with an admiring gaze.
“You look awful nice,” Louis said.
“Thank you,” she replied. “You clean up all right, too.”
He offered his arm and she took it. They set off in the direction of town, but they had only taken ten steps or so when Ava glimpsed a second familiar figure coming up the road. Harry. What was he doing here? For some reason Ava hadn’t expected Harry to return to the caravan before the big celebration in town. Now she saw he had been up to the same thing as Louis: He had bathed and was nicely attired with his hair neatly combed.
When Harry caught sight of Ava and Louis walking arm in arm, she saw him pause briefly in mid-stride. With a sinking feeling, Ava thought she understood why. But there was nothing else to do but to carry on, and so Harry did.
“Heading to the party in town, Harry?” Louis greeted him, seemingly oblivious.
Harry gave a stiff nod. Ava saw his jaw clench as he eyed the place where her hand rested in the crook of Louis’s arm. “Just thought I’d come see who else was going,” Harry said.
“Don’t look so glum about it, Crane!” Louis teased. “It’s supposed to be a party, after all.”
Harry forced a smile. “Truth is,
I hadn’t made up my mind. I might just stay in camp and get some rest.”
Ava was surprised he was bold enough to attempt the lie despite his neatly combed hair and pressed shirt and trousers.
“Aw, c’mon—it’s bound to be fun!” Louis said. He glanced around and, seeing the opportunity for a joke, pointed to where Ava stood beside him. “If you’re worried that the two of you will get to fighting like cats and dogs like you always do, don’t worry—I’ll do my best to keep ’er dancing most of the night!”
Harry looked at Ava for a moment. He smiled, but Ava thought she noticed a discreetly bitter tinge. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said.
Just then, Ava’s mother emerged from the caravan, dressed in a pretty white summer dress with fluttering sleeves, her hair shining in dark, glossy waves around her face and shoulders.
“Don’t we all look smart!” Cleo called, joining the gathering group. “Would you mind if I walked into town with the three of you? I think Earl’s still there—Buzz and Hutch, too . . . I haven’t seen any of the fellas all afternoon.”
They set off in the direction of town again, this time as a foursome. Louis led Ava on ahead, a bounce in his step. Harry politely offered Cleo his arm and they brought up the rear. Ava wasn’t sure if she was imagining things, but she thought she felt a pair of angry eyes on her back.
* * *
Most of Sonoma was nestled around the main square. The old Spanish mission bordered the far corner of the north side, while a grand movie theater presided over the shops along the east side with a majestic façade. A sizable green park made up the heart of the square, with a pond, topiary, elms, redwoods, and the occasional palm tree. At the center sat the city hall—a two-story stone building with a clock tower, arched porticos, and a roofline that bore vague echoes of the Spanish mission that stood just over its shoulder.
At the northern end of the park, a brass band was playing a jaunty tune while a handful of couples jittered and twirled on a makeshift dance floor laid out on the lawn. The smell of hot dogs and corn on the cob filled the air. Dusk was settling in and Catherine wheels showered onlookers with sparks that glowed electric as they whirred and spun. Children dared one another to run through the bright fiery cascades, and shrieked with laughter.
“Can I buy ya something to eat?” Louis asked Ava as they neared the tables of food.
Stomachs grumbling, the whole group of them picked out a treat, with Louis paying for Ava and Harry paying for Cleo. Ava watched her mother smile courteously at Harry as she thanked him. She wondered . . . what did her mother see when she looked at Harry? If her mother thought Harry was the one sweet on Ava, and not Louis, would she giggle and tease Ava the same way?
They walked around for a good thirty minutes or so, taking in the scene as they ate, self-consciously wiping kernels of sweet corn and watermelon juice from their faces. As he had promised, Louis asked Ava to dance. Her eyes flicked briefly to Harry’s face, but since walking into town Harry had refused to look at her.
“All right,” Ava agreed, and Louis took her hand.
Together, Louis and Ava danced a few unsophisticated fox-trots and even a jitterbug. Finally, Ava spotted the familiar shapes of Hutch and Buzz approaching the square. She and Louis took a dancing break to go say hello.
“Has anyone seen Earl?” Ava’s mother asked, a slight wrinkle creeping into her forehead.
“Last I saw, he was still in the saloon in the Toscano,” Hutch drawled, tipping his hat politely to Ava’s mother as though reporting to an Army sergeant.
“Don’t worry about Earl,” Buzz said. “He was up plenty of money last we saw him, so I expect he’s happy as a clam, and not about to throw in his hand anytime soon . . . He’ll be all right.”
Cleo didn’t appear soothed by this information. Buzz frowned, but then his face suddenly brightened as he thought of something. He fished in his pocket, produced a small stick of some sort, and, with the help of his lighter, lit up a sparkler. He handed it to Ava’s mother. “Here ya are—Happy Independence Day!”
The wrinkle vanished from Cleo’s forehead and she laughed as she accepted it, giggling with delight as the sparks shot out from her hand. She waved the sparkler around, making white, fiery shapes and letters in the inky darkness. Buzz fished out a few more sparklers and lit them up, handing them around.
“Somebody, ask me to dance,” Cleo said in a happy, breathless voice, wanting to sustain the feeling of good cheer once the sparklers had fizzled out. Buzz volunteered, spun her around once playfully, and led Cleo to the dance floor.
“We never seen you dance, Hutch,” Louis commented.
Hutch shook his head. “And you ain’t gonna. ’Fraid I dunno how. Never cared to learn.”
Louis was about to reply, when Ava spoke over him.
“We’ve never seen Harry dance, either,” she said in a flat voice.
“Say, that’s true,” Louis said. He tipped his chin at Harry. “You even know how to dance, Crane?”
“Sure I do,” Harry replied.
“Prove it,” Ava said. She surprised herself with the demand. Harry looked at her, perturbed and frowning, as though to say, What are you doing? But instead of backing down, Ava glared back at him and crossed her arms.
“I’d be happy to prove it, but I don’t see a girl to ask,” Harry replied.
“I’m right here,” Ava said. “I’m a girl.”
Harry looked at her but didn’t say anything.
Ava felt her cheeks color with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “I dare you,” she added for good measure.
“I guess they’re back to that old business again,” Louis said to Hutch. He shook his head and sighed as though burdened by the silly nature of their ridiculous contests, but there was a flicker of something else in it, too: a small shadow of suspicion.
Finally, Harry offered Ava his arm. They strode out to the dance floor and fell into a fox-trot. For the first minute or so they danced mechanically, and in silence. Ava worked up the courage to break the ice.
“Listen, Harry, I—”
“You might’ve told me,” Harry cut her off. He still sounded angry but spoke in a calm, even voice, as though confiding in her. “I’d have understood.”
“Understood what?”
“About you and Louis.”
Ava struggled to reply. Was there something to tell Harry about her and Louis? She didn’t know. She wanted to tell Harry what was on her mind, but it was all tangled up.
The fox-trot was ending. A new wave of music rose into the night air.
“A waltz!” Ava said. “I’m awful at the waltz.”
“It’s supposed to be the easiest.”
“Even so.” Ava shrugged.
She thought Harry might be done dancing with her, now that he’d risen to her challenge and proved himself capable. Instead, he gently offered his arms again and began to lead more carefully, making it easier for her to follow. Soon enough, Ava fell into the rhythm. Once or twice she found herself accidentally stepping on his foot.
“You’re in too much of a rush,” Harry assessed.
“Says the man who can’t wait to jump out of an airplane,” Ava replied, referring to Harry’s recent proposal to add parachute jumps to their stunt routine.
“Fair point.” Harry gave a reluctant chuckle and they waltzed on. But as she became more competent and there was less to laugh about, an awkward quiet settled between them. Ava tried to think up some conversation. Her mind drifted from barnstorming stunts to magic tricks; Harry did both with the same panache and gusto. It was clear he loved both activities with a pure and vigorous passion.
“What is it about magic and magicians that you’re so crazy about?” she asked in a friendly tone.
Harry shrugged. “I guess it is kids’ stuff. But a good magic trick is just like a good stunt.”
“How so?�
�
“Well, magic is all about how it’s performed—whether the fellow has what it takes to pull it off, to dazzle an audience and make them believe they’ve just witnessed something impossible. And an escape act—like the kind Harry Houdini used to perform—is a feat of agility, strength, and smarts, all rolled into one.”
He had relaxed and his earlier grievance was forgotten. Harry seemed lighter now, dancing with Ava and talking about his favorite things.
“And then there are the stage illusions, of course,” he continued. “Your average audience member believes he has seen real ‘magic’—something utterly inexplicable—but a clever man knows it’s all just a riddle, and if you have the patience and the smarts, you can puzzle it out. I like those, too—for the puzzle.”
Just then, Harry glimpsed something over Ava’s shoulder and froze for a beat. He clenched his jaw and tried to get back into the rhythm. Ava twisted around to see what he was looking at. Around the perimeter of the dance floor, a gaggle of women had gathered. They were pointing and staring, whispering in one another’s ears.
“Are they looking at us?” Ava asked, in disbelief.
“Yes,” Harry said. “We can stop dancing if you want to. Probably should, as a matter of fact . . .”
“But . . . but they don’t even know us!” Ava protested, indignant. “What business is it of theirs?”
Harry sighed.
“I’m afraid it’s the kind of thing that everyone makes his business, and always will be.”
He slowed to a stop.
“We oughta get back to the others. Besides, Louis will be anxious to dance with you again.”
Ava found herself sorry to end their waltz so abruptly. She wasn’t ready to let go of Harry’s shoulder as he pulled away, taking her elbow and gently steering her off the dance floor. Her mind groped wildly; there was something she wanted to say, if only her thoughts and words would take shape.
“Harry,” she began, hesitating. “You’ll take me up again, won’t you?” He didn’t reply right away, so she repeated her plea. “We’ll go flying together again, won’t we?”
Eagle & Crane Page 19