9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  "It's been a lot longer for me, but it seems like there've been quite a few changes. Just wondered if those changes might be more than cosmetic."

  "Elliott, you thinking I've neglected the business, too?"

  "I think since the surgery, you haven't been as hands on as you have been in the past," Elliott answered leaning forward, resting his crossed arms on the table. "And, yeah, I have questions about the day-to-day operations."

  Andrew's neck and face reddened and sweat popped out above his white brows. "I trust Nelly. He wouldn't make decisions without first runnin' 'em by me."

  Elliott sent Andrew a piercing stare. "Are you sure about that? Have you seen the books or talked to your CPA?"

  "What're you gettin' at, Elliott? Are you sayin' I've lost control?"

  "After being at the office today, I'm wondering if you're being kept in the loop."

  "There's something else," Graeme said. "It's been ten months. Why is the NTSB dragging their feet in finalizing their report? Have they found something else?"

  Andrew acknowledged Bridey's raised eyebrows. "Is this what you've been beatin' around the bush at these last few weeks? Hell, woman, you need to spit it out. You know how thick-headed I can be." He gave her a reluctant smile and a look that belied his gruff tone. She patted his hand before he continued.

  "Well, no man wants to admit he's been bamboozled. Sometimes he has to be hit over the head. What do you boys suggest we do at this point?"

  Graeme slanted a glance toward his older brother. "Elliott and I haven't talked specifics, but I thought, since we're all share holders, we could request an audit. While that's in progress, Joe could find out about the NTSB investigation."

  Elliott stared back. "You don't want much, do you?" After a minute or two, he spoke to Andrew, "It should work. I'll get in touch with Mike, Law and Katie so we have a quorum for the audit. Graeme'll talk to Maggie since she votes for Andy. The attorneys can handle the rest."

  "That might work." Andrew mirrored Elliott with his forearms braced on the table. "Consider this, though. It might work better to have a man on the inside. Graeme, have Webster call me."

  "I'll do that, sir."

  While Bridey answered the phone sitting on the buffet, Andrew traced the criss-cross pattern on the tablecloth with the handle of his coffee spoon. Finally, he pushed the arm chair away from the table and stood, his hands braced against the table's edge.

  "I want you both to know I trust you infinitely more than anyone outside the family. I also don't want to believe Nelson or anyone else at Southern Star would harm the company. So, in case Nelly isn't involved, I'd like you to keep this on the down-low."

  "Yes, sir," Graeme and Elliott answered in unison.

  Andrew kissed Bridey on the top of her head on his way out of the room. She hung up the receiver and turned to face her sons.

  "That was Maggie. She's to meet me in town, but she can't get that old truck started." She stacked plates, cups and silverware on the corner of the table for Vidalia before asking, "Graeme, could you help her get to the event planner's showroom? I have two other stops before that appointment or I'd take her with me."

  "Happy to." He watched her disappear through the double doors as Elliott eased up beside him.

  "She's about as subtle as a Mack truck, isn't she?"

  "Yeah," Graeme chuckled. "I'd almost forgotten how she likes to meddle."

  "At least now you can show up at Maggie's legitimate-like and not have stupid tacked on your forehead."

  In the old days, he would've chased his brother either up the stairs or outside to the barn for a remark like that, but he couldn't deny the truth. He'd been looking for an excuse to go see Maggie today. Heading up to brush his teeth, his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. Amanda's name registered on the caller ID and, although he knew he should answer, he let it go to voicemail.

  * * *

  Maggie shook her head. She could try to crank the engine a few more times, but ultimately she'd end up calling the man she’d dubbed the ‘dynamic mechanic’ to bail her out. She swore the truck was human, and female, instead of a 1961 Chevy.

  The last time Maggie’d had the truck in the shop, Harlan had told her the engine needed a tune-up. But she’d hedged her bets hoping to wait until she got her job back so there'd be a substantial addition to her all but non-existent bank account. Now it appeared she might not be afforded that luxury. Plus she'd promised to meet Bridey and, since she wanted to get back into the family for her son, she needed to make it happen. Plus, she really wanted to see the plans for the Labor Day shindig.

  Resigned, she climbed down from the truck cab, blotted sweat from her upper lip then walked to the front, popped the latch and raised the hood. Resting her hands on her jeans-clad hips, she perused the area in and around the engine looking for any part that appeared non-functioning. She’d seen Wyatt jiggle this and tap that no less than a thousand times. Surely, she could figure something out.

  After a minute or two of staring at metal and wires, Maggie saw nothing she thought she could make work. Deciding to try starting it one last time, she slid in behind the wheel, crossed her fingers and whispered one of Andy's favorite phrases of late, “Come on, Dudley, you old rusty bucket.”

  She gripped the wheel with her left hand, pushed in the clutch, then turned the key and floored the accelerator. The engine sputtered. The body bumped and bucked. Everything shuddered, then silence. All it produced for its efforts was a cloud of bluish-gray exhaust that poured profusely from the tailpipe, cloaking the cab.

  “You’re going to flood her.”

  Startled, she jerked around to see Graeme surrounded by the dissipating exhaust, arms outstretched with his hands braced against the driver’s door.

  “Oh, for Christmas sake,” Maggie scolded as she massaged her neck. “You just scared me into next year.” Frowning, she asked, “What?”

  He coughed and fanned the fumes away from the opening with his hand.

  “I said, you’re going to flood her.”

  "I know that, but I've done everything I know to do."

  Without another word, he stepped to the front of the truck and peered under the hood.

  Maggie’s patience deserted her as she watched his hands through the slit between the hood and the body. This was typical of the way events in her life seemed to go these days; someone always right there ready to take care of her. While she knew she was being irrational, she’d fought hard for her independence since Wyatt’s death and, dammit, she wasn’t going to lose ground now. She might need help, but she wanted to be the one to request it.

  Her initial idea, upon leaving the cab, had been to give Graeme a piece of her mind. She hadn’t asked for help but, if she needed it, she had a phone and the ability to use it. Then, as she reached the front fender, reason mellowed her too quick temper. He was, after all, only being nice and, she'd bet, been sent here by Bridey. If by some chance he was able to get the truck started, her practical side argued, she would save the price of a tow.

  “Thanks,” she said joining him under the hood. “I appreciate you looking, but I have a mechanic I can call.”

  “And you may have to,” he said, grinning over at her. “Just give me another minute before you call out the troops.”

  Maggie cringed as he stretched his designer-shirted arm across grimy hoses and grease covered parts. When he popped the top off one of those parts, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “Look, laundry isn’t my strong suit, and it might be cheaper for a tow than to replace your stained shirt. So, if you’d --"

  “Do you have an emery board, or maybe a matchbook?”

  “There might be something in the glove box,” she answered with no small amount of curiosity. “How will that help?”

  “If you have what I need, I’ll show you.” He looked up at her like a parent would to a slow child. “Oh, and bring a flashlight, too.”

  Maggie fumed all the way back to the passenger side of the truck, muttering
, “Condescending, demanding S.O.B.”

  She chastised herself over her attitude while digging under the seat for the flashlight. Long ago she’d learned not to question the events that could change one’s life. Even though Wyatt’s loss was still a mystery, along with her being accused of supplying him with the drugs that caused his death, she had to accept those facts and move on.

  When she’d had her own questions about Wyatt’s crash, Nelson Widmore, temporary CEO of Southern Star Airlines, had discouraged her inquiries at every turn. Finally, when the NTSB denied her written request for information about the investigation, she’d thought that was the end.

  Now a possible answer to her problems stood right under her hood. If she approached him right, Graeme might be able to help her find out what happened to her husband. His brother.

  “Hey, how’s it coming back there?”

  “Yeah, okay, just a second.” Stretching her hand further under the bench seat, her fingertips grazed something she didn’t even want to think about just before she grabbed hold of the flashlight. The tattered remains of a matchbook came out with it.

  Holding the light where he directed, Maggie watched him go to work. “What are you doing?”

  “I think the engine’s hard to start because the points in the distributor are covered with a glaze. I’m using the striker pad to sand as much of it off as I can.” Snapping the cap back on, he straightened and pulled a folded, ironed handkerchief from his left rear pocket. Wiping the grime from his hands, he flashed her a wide, easy grin. “Hop in and see if she’ll turn over.”

  “Really?”

  “We won't know until you give her a try.”

  Maggie tried once again and, after a token protest, the old truck belched out another blue-black cloud but kept running.

  “I thank you, sir,” she offered with a smile after he lowered the hood and stepped back to the driver’s door. “You really helped me out. Now I can keep my appointment in town.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Say, after I meet with Bridey, I promised to stop by and check on the Dine-In and Bigger Jigger. Want to join me for a burger?” Maggie asked. “I owe you that much.”

  "Sounds like an offer I can't turn down. Four o'clock okay?"

  "Perfect. See you then."

  Maggie waved goodbye then turned on the AC and, when it spewed cooler air, she rolled up the window. She had no idea how to broach the subject of Wyatt's overdose, but Graeme had loved his brother, and maybe he wasn't satisfied with the answers they'd been given anymore than she was. Buoyed by her lightened spirits and the cooler air, she pulled the battered classic pickup out onto the main road, chugging and sputtering her way toward McTiernan.

  Chapter 8

  Graeme pulled into the parking lot between the bar and the diner fifteen minutes early. He found Maggie's truck parked closer to the front door of the Dine Inn. At least she'd made it this far without breaking down.

  He hoped her day had gone as well as his. He'd talked at length with Joe Webster about his suspicion of problems at Southern Star. Joe said he'd call in a favor to get a preliminary report from the NTSB and coroner. The plan would be to coordinate his info with Elliott and the attorney, then put answers to any questions with the airline.

  Lowering the windows an inch or so for the heat, he shut off the engine and mentally prepared for the blast of furnace-like air to hit him in the face. Once inside, it only took until his eyes grew accustomed to the darker interior to feel the effects of the air conditioner. He'd be happy when his shirt no longer stuck to his back.

  "There you are," Dinah said cheerfully. "Maggie told me to keep an eye out for you." She grabbed a menu off the counter then seated him in a booth by a window. "She'll join you as soon as she's finished talking to Harry. Can I get you something cool to drink?"

  "Sweet tea would be good."

  "Sure, I'll be right back."

  He looked around the diner while he waited for his tea and Maggie. The old diner looked much the same as it did when Maggie and her mother moved to McTiernan. Maude Canady owned the place back then. She'd taken in the recently widowed Nancy and her thirteen year old daughter, had given them a place to live and Nancy a job. The soda counter, where he'd first seen Maggie, still garnered a lot of interest.

  He recognized several people sitting along the counter and at various tables. A handful appeared to be frozen in time, from when he'd last seen them ten years ago. One individual stood out as he perused the rest of the room. Trevor Riordon sat on an end stool with a coffee cup and pie slice in front of him. He spoke to a man seated on his left but, when Maggie walked past, he stopped her by resting his hand on her waist.

  Graeme already had no use for the man and now he liked him even less. He snagged Maggie's attention with a wave, standing until she excused herself to join him at the booth. They both sat about the same time Dinah brought his tea along with an extra glass for her.

  Maggie thanked Dinah then asked him, "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  "You look a little strange."

  "Probably the heat." He took a long swig of his tea in an effort to cool his irritation as well as his body temperature.

  "I'll buy that," she agreed while squeezing a wedge of lemon into her tea. "It takes a while to dissipate the heat."

  He took in her crisp appearance and her last statement and found no connection between the two. Compared to most of the people he'd seen today, she looked fresh as spring. That sounded corny even to his ears, there was no way he'd say it out loud.

  "So how was your day? I assume the truck got you everywhere you needed to be."

  "The day was good." She sipped her tea and opened a package of saltine crackers. "You know, I think Dudley just needs to feel the love."

  "Oh, so my size twelve on her tailgate, as you drove out this morning, had nothing to do with it?" His wink elicited a giggle from her.

  "You didn't," she said sternly in an obvious effort to sound offended.

  "Desperate measures were called for."

  "Hmm. Well, as to the rest of my day, the plans for Bridey's celebration are going great guns. I'm fascinated by all that's required to get one of these huge fandangos up and running."

  "I'm sure it's harder than it seems. She's such a dynamo she makes it all look effortless."

  "True, but with all the mountains of notes, diagrams and maps, I'm amazed everything comes together."

  Dinah came back to take their order and refill their glasses then left them alone.

  "What else did you do?"

  "Well, I went before the hospital board this afternoon."

  "And?"

  "I got my job back."

  Graeme took her hands in his and squeezed. "I'm proud for you, Maggie." He would've expected her to do cartwheels at the news, but instead she appeared less than enthused. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

  "I suppose, but . . ."

  "But?"

  "That's a big three letter word isn't it? Oh – here's our food."

  Harry brought out their burgers and fries with a chocolate malt that he set in front of Maggie. "I fixed this for you, Missy. I remember how you used to like 'em."

  "That's sweet, Harry. I haven't had a malt in so long. Thanks."

  "You're welcome, and when you finish eatin', you can go on home. I think we'll be fine this evening."

  "Good, I'll do that," Maggie said, as Harry did a mini-bow and disappeared into the kitchen. She took a bite of a fry she'd dipped into the malt, closing her eyes in dietary bliss. When she opened them again, Graeme watched her so intently, she felt the heat from his stare. Clearing her throat, she asked, "How was your day?"

  "Decent."

  They ate in companionable silence for a time. When he finished, Graeme sat back in the booth and pushed his plate to the side.

  Maggie finished her own and wondered if she dared ask him the question he'd denied her last night. Deciding he could only say no again, she squared her shoulders and forge
d ahead.

  "Graeme, do you really think Wyatt could kill himself and take a chance on endangering the lives of others on the ground by crashing the plane?" She first thought he hadn't heard her when he didn't answer right away. She wasn't even sure she'd spoken out loud. Her voice sounded so faint it might've come from some distant corner of the room. "You knew him as well or better than anyone. He wasn't like that."

  "I didn't want to believe it, still don't. But truth is we hadn't been close in a long time."

  "Who --" She'd almost blurted out, "Whose fault is that?" Taking a second to steady her voice, she continued, "There has to be a better explanation. Something that's been missed. I thought you'd want to help get to the bottom – that's why I called you and left messages."

  "I didn't get them. I only recently found out, I'm sorry, Maggie."

  "I knew you were out of the country for a while. Andrew eventually shared that you'd been wounded, except . . ." She swiped an errant tear. "I needed you." Suddenly, the room was too close. People had started to listen to their conversation. She grabbed her keys and her purse. "I'm going home. You're welcome to come with me."

  "Sure." He stood and followed her.

  Outside the diner, she explained, "I knew people were starting to eavesdrop and I didn't want to air dirty laundry in front of them. They've had enough fodder in the last year at the expense of the Bennings."

  He walked with her to her truck and opened the door. "Yeah, our family troubles will be hanging out on their lines in the morning."

  Maggie climbed onto the seat and turned the key. Nothing. Resigned, she handed Graeme the flashlight when he reached inside, then waited as he worked more magic under the hood. She wondered if she was getting punchy when she thought of those same hands working magic on her equipment. She shivered in spite of the temperature when he told her to try again. The engine started but ran worse than it had all day. He came around and opened the door.

  Holding out the keys, he said, "Here, take the Suburban and follow me to your house. I'll look at it tomorrow or get one of the hands to."

  "No, I can drive my own --"

  He cut her off with a nod toward patrons exiting the diner then grinned mischievously and whispered, "Remember the laundry."