Gloria was in the kitchen when I walked in the door. Matt was sitting in his high chair with a bib tied around his neck and something green on his chin. His high chair tray looked like a vegetable garden battle field. I gave Gloria a kiss and took off my jacket.
Gloria stirred something in a pot on the stove, set the spoon down and turned to me. “So why is Clay flying to Denver?” she said.
“You remember Harry Fleming?” I said. “He was that bus driver who had a contract out on him and we managed to get him out of town a while back.”
“Harry,” Gloria said, “sure, I remember. What about him?”
“That’s who Dad is going to see,” I said. “Seems ol’ Harry wrangled himself some high-paying, prestigious job in Denver and invited Dad up there for a week to show his appreciation for all we did for him.”
“And what did you get out of saving Harry’s life?” Gloria said.
“I got Dad out of the office for a week,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but sometimes he can get, oh, what’s the phrase I’m looking for? Let’s just say that a little Dad goes a long way when he starts telling me some of those stories from when he and grandpa ran the agency. Know what I mean?”
“I think I do,” Gloria said. “But he’s such a dear that I just let him tell me anyway, whether I’ve heard them before or not.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” I said. “I told Dad I’d drive him to the airport tomorrow morning so he wouldn’t have to pay for parking his car in the lot for a week.”
“When does his flight leave?” Gloria said.
“Eight-fifteen,” I explained. “He has to be there by seven-fifteen, which means I’ll have to pick him up by six-fifteen. I’ll be very quiet when I get up at five-thirty.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you in the office after Mrs. Chandler gets here,” Gloria said.
“Thanks for helping out, Gloria,” I said, and kissed her again.
“Glad to do it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll even get a chance to use some of my Tai-Kwon-Do skills. I sure don’t get to use them around here. But I have to say, Matt’s becoming a worthy adversary.” She smiled at me and winked.
“Give him another couple of months,” I said, “and he’ll kick your ass.”
Gloria turned her attentions back to the pot on the stove. We finished dinner and spent what little quality time we had left before I had to go to bed. I was up at the ass-crack of dawn and silently got dressed, tiptoeing out of the bedroom and out the front door. I was twenty minutes early and that meant that I could stop for a quick breakfast before I had to pick up Dad. I stopped at the fast food place on Sunset and had a plate of pancakes with sausage patty. Even after I’d read the free newspaper there, it hadn’t taken me as long as I thought it might, and I was still five minutes early when I rolled up in front of Dad’s house.
I wasn’t about to annoy the neighbors by blowing my horn at that hour, so I stepped up onto Dad’s porch and rang the bell. Dad already had his coat on and his bags packed and was ready to hit the road.
“Good morning, Elliott,” he said cheerfully. “How’s the family?”
“How can you be so cheery this early in the morning?” I said. “I can’t even be civil at least until the sun comes up.”
“It’s all in your outlook, son,” Dad said. “You’ll get back what you give, so come on, give me back some of my cheer.”
“Stuff it, Dad,” I said. “Just let me wake up first, will you?”
We drove the rest of the way in relative silence with just an occasional comment or two between us. I stopped in front of the terminal and stayed behind the wheel while Dad unloaded his luggage from the trunk. He set the suitcases on the sidewalk and bent over the window on his side. I pressed the button and the window came down.
“Thanks for the lift, Elliott,” Dad said.
I yawned. “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’d help you with the luggage, but this isn’t a parking zone. Take care and I’ll see you in a week. Say hi to Harry for me.”
“Fred,” Dad said.
“Huh?’ I said and then remembered. “Say hi to Fred for me. And don’t forget to call me when you get there so I’ll know you made it safely. Bye.”
Dad grabbed his luggage and headed into the terminal while I pulled out into traffic and drove back to the office. I’d probably get there with a half hour to spare but that was all right with me. It would allow me another thirty minutes of shut eye on the leather sofa before I unlocked the office door and started my day.
Clay Cooper managed to get his luggage to the check-in counter in plenty of time before his flight was scheduled to leave for Denver. The clerk took his ticket and gave him a boarding pass, along with claim tickets for the three suitcases he checked. Dad looked at his boarding pass and then back at the clerk.
“Pardon me,” he said. “I think you gave me the wrong ticket. I’m going to Denver. This one says Flagstaff.”
“That’s right, sir,” the clerk said. “The Denver flight is not non-stop. There’s a stopover in Flagstaff at Pulliam Airport to switch planes and pick up more passengers before they continue on to Denver.”
“Since when did this happen?” Clay said. “I thought I read that Denver was a non-stop flight.”
“It was,” the clerk said, “but the regular airline that services that route is out on strike. You’ll get to Denver, but it will just take an additional seventy-five minutes from what the schedule says. I’m sorry, sir, but this is your only option, aside from taking the bus, which would put you in Denver sometime tomorrow.”
Clay sighed. “I suppose,” he said and walked to the waiting area.
Clay sat looking out the window while he waited for his flight to be called. He watched as jet after jet took off and landed on the runway just outside. He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock and there was still no plane parked outside the window. A few minutes later a plane taxied to a stop just outside. Clay noticed that it was a twin-engine prop plane that looked to be a couple of decades old. It immediately brought to mind images of Ricky Nelson’s ill-fated DC-3 that crashed, ending Nelson’s life and singing career.
Clay turned to the man sitting next to him in the waiting area. “Is that our plane?” Clay said.
“Only if you’re flying to Flagstaff,” the man answered.
“It looks pretty old,” Clay said. “Is it safe?”
“Sure,” the man said. “I’ve flown in those twin-engine prop jobs before. They’re not as fast and smooth as the jets, but they’ll get you there in one piece.”
Clay looked around the room. There were about twenty other people all waiting to board the plane. “Are all these people flying to Denver, too?” he said.
“No,” the man said. “They’re all flying to Flagstaff. You have to switch planes there to continue on to Denver.”
Clay sighed. “Well, thank goodness for that,” he said. “I can’t imagine taking that thing all the way to Denver.”
The man laughed. “Is this your first time on a plane?” he said. “You look as nervous as a pregnant fox in a forest fire.”
“No,” Clay said. “I’ve flown plenty of times before. Just never on an old prop plane like that one.”
“It’s really not that old, as planes go,” the man said. “It’s probably no more than twenty years old. Lots of life left in that old tub.” He laughed.
Just then the voice came over the loudspeaker. “Passengers for Flight six-thirteen to Flagstaff now boarding at gate twenty-seven.”
“That’s us,” the man said, getting up from the chair.
Clay followed the man to the counter where an agent took their boarding passes and directed them to the plane. The man ahead of Clay found his seat in the first-class section while Clay walked back to the coach section and took his seat over the left wing. He looked out the window but could only see the top of the wing surface. He settled back into the seat and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it to Elliott, but he was still tired. At least he c
ould get some more sleep on the way to Flagstaff.
He had just about nodded off when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Clay looked up to see a stewardess pointing to his lap. “You’ll need to buckle your seat belt, sir,” she said.
“Huh?” Clay said, a little groggy. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He buckled his seatbelt and closed his eyes again. Once again he had come to the edge of sleep when the seat next to him jostled him awake. Someone had sat down next to him. He turned to see who was making such a fuss in the next seat. It was a woman, perhaps in her mid-forties with blonde hair and a creamy complexion. She wore slacks and a blouse with a sweater over it. Folded over her arm was a longer coat. She smiled when Clay turned to face her.
“Hello,” she said, politely and then turned back to face the front.
“Hi,” Clay said before he found himself at a loss for words.
The captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight six-thirteen to Flagstaff. I know this is probably not what you expected, but as some of you may have heard, the regular airline that services this route is on strike and we’re filling in for them. Our flying time to Flagstaff will be one hour and ten minutes. Enjoy your trip and thank you for flying Northeast Airlines.”
Clay knew that the normal flight time was forty-six minutes, but since this was not a jet capable of flying at more than four hundred miles an hour, the three hundred eighty-four mile trip would take a bit longer. He hoped Harry, or Fred would know of the delay and wait for him at the Denver airport.
Clay closed his eyes and nodded off once again. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when he felt the hand on his shoulder again. He sat upright and looked to his right. The woman next to him looked a bit concerned.
“What?” Clay said. “Is something wrong?”
“I think you were having a nightmare,” the woman said. “You were talking in your sleep, mumbling something about Ricky Nelson.”
“Oh,” Clay said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just that I didn’t get a lot of sleep before I had to be at the airport so early this morning.”
“You should have probably gone to bed earlier,” the woman said. “I did and I feel refreshed and relaxed.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” Clay said. He stuck his hand out toward the woman. “By the way, my name’s Clay. Clay Cooper.”
The woman took his hand and gave to two short pumps and released it again. “Bonnie Damrow,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Clay. So you’re going to Flagstaff?”
“Actually, I’m going to Denver,” Clay said. “I thought this was going to be a non-stop flight.”
“Small world,” Bonnie said. “I’m flying on to Denver, too. I have a meeting with my lawyer at three o’clock this afternoon.”
“Oh oh,” I said. “Is he posting your bail?”
Bonnie didn’t laugh. She just looked at Clay from the corners of her eyes.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s my warped sense of humor. It often gets me into a lot of trouble.”
“No,” Bonnie said, shaking her head. “It was funny. I just wasn’t expecting it. Actually, I’m meeting with my lawyer to draw up papers of incorporation for my business.”
“Really,” Clay said. “What kind of business are you in?”
“I make custom jewelry,” Bonnie said. “When I started, it was just me on the kitchen table. That was six years ago. Today I have seven employees and a three thousand square foot building. I ship jewelry all over the world.”
“That’s great,” Clay said. “It must be satisfying to know so many people want your product.”
“It really is,” Bonnie said. “What do you do, if I may ask?”
Clay pulled out leather case and showed Bonnie his I.D. and shield.
“You’re a cop?” Bonnie said.
“Private,” Clay explained. “My father started the business right after the war and I took it over in the eighties. My son runs the business now with his wife. I just help out when they need an extra body. Mostly I’m semi-retired and loving it.”
“And I’ll bet you wife is like most wives of retired guys,” Bonnie said. “They all complain that they don’t get the house to themselves enough of the time. Am I right?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Clay said. “My wife died eighteen years ago. She was hit by a car.”
Bonnie laid a hand on Clay’s arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea.”
Clay laid his hand on top of hers. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “I’ve been single so long that sometimes even I forget what it was like. What about you? Does your husband have anything to do with your jewelry business?”
“No,” Bonnie said. “We got divorced several years ago. I guess he didn’t want to compete with my jewelry business. Last I heard he was living in Venice with some twenty-three year old art student. More power to him.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re bitter,” Clay said.
“I was when it first happened,” Bonnie said, “but it didn’t take me long to realize that feeling like that wasn’t good for my health. Besides, I discovered that I really enjoy living by myself. No one to clean up after, no one snoring in my ear and no one telling me how to behave and what to do. I wish he’d left me years before he did.”
“I guess what you’re saying is that when life hands you lemons,” Clay said.
“You make lemonade,” Bonnie said, smiling now.
“So you say you’re going to a meeting with your lawyer in Denver,” Clay said. “Then what were you doing in Los Angeles?”
“I had a meeting with a jewelry distributor,” Bonnie said. “They want to sell my jewelry in one of the major chains out here.”
“Isn’t that marvelous?” Clay said. “You’ll be the richest person in the graveyard.”
“How’s that?” Bonnie said.
“It was something my dad used to say a lot,” Clay explained. “Whenever he’d meet someone who was more focused on work and making a buck than they were on enjoying life. I never forgot that.”
“Interesting,” Bonnie said. “I guess I never thought of it like that.”
“And you know,” Clay said. “So far no one’s found a way to take it with them. So whatever fortune you make will probably be left to your heirs. But at least you can say that you worked hard and made a lot of money.”
Bonnie got a distant look in her eye. “That’s true, isn’t it, Clay?” she said.
“And you look like you’ve got another fifty years in you,” Clay said. “That is, if you live to be eighty.”
Bonnie beamed. “Aren’t you sweet?” she said. “Just how old do you think I am?”
“Sounds like you’re at least thirty,” Clay said. “Did I guess too high?”
Bonnie grabbed Clay’s arm and squeezed. “No, you didn’t,” she said. “You’re right on the mark.” She lied and smiled to herself at the thought of someone guessing fifteen years too low. It was flattering, but she guessed that he was saying it as a come-on, and she didn’t mind.
“Really?” Clay said.
“Close enough,” Bonnie said. “Let’s leave it at that.”
The flight to Flagstaff was over before Clay knew it. He’d become so engrossed in conversation with Bonnie that he hadn’t bothered to look at the time. The plane began to descend and Clay could feel the wheels drop and lock into place. The stewardess came around and collected the little plastic drink cups and reminded everyone to sit upright and buckle their seat belts for the landing. Clay and Bonnie complied and a few minutes later the plane was taxiing toward the terminal.
Bonnie stood, retrieved a small carry-on bag from the overhead compartment and started up the aisle. Clay followed close behind, having no carry-on luggage to worry about. The both stepped off the plane and down the rolling stairway, out onto the tarmac.
Clay took the small bag from Bonnie. “Here, let me carry that for you,” he said, feeling like a schoolboy carrying a girl’s books for her. Bonn
ie handed the bag to Clay and then locked her arm around his as they walked into the terminal. A quick look at the arrival and departure board told them that the connecting flight to Denver would be leaving at gate four in thirty-five minutes.
“Would you like to get some coffee?” Clay said, gesturing with his chin at the airport coffee shop.
“Why not?” Bonnie said.
Clay found a booth near the window that looked out onto the terminal waiting area. “We’ll be all right here until they call our flight,” he said.
The waitress came and took their order, returning in a minute with two cups and a coffee pot. “Would you like anything else?” she said.
“Nothing for me?” Clay said, waving her off and then looking at Bonnie. “How about you?”
“No thanks,” she told the waitress, who turned and walked away.
“I hope the plane to Denver is not the same size as the one we just got off,” Clay said.
“It’s not,” Bonnie said. “It’s smaller. It only seats eight plus the pilot. No in-flight movie, no refreshments, no annoying stewardesses pointing with two fingers toward the exits in the event of an emergency. Just the bare essentials.”
“How long a flight is it in one of those puddle jumpers?” Clay said.
“Well,” Bonnie said, “a full-sized airliner can usually make the four hundred seventy-eight mile trip in an hour, give or take ten minutes. Now our plane, on the other hand, is rated at around two hundred fifty miles per hour. Add eight passengers and luggage and we might get two hundred flat out of it.”
“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Clay said.
“This isn’t my first trip, Clay,” Bonnie explained. “And the regular airline that services this route has been on strike for the past four and a half weeks. I’ve made this trip half a dozen times since then. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a clue.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 251