by S. L. Menear
Good thing my uncle had given me two puppies. They could wear each other out while I organized everything.
I carried the food and pet dishes into the kitchen. After removing the stickers and washing the stainless-steel dishes, I poured filtered water into their drinking bowls and then filled their food dishes.
Following my scent trail, the puppies rocketed into the kitchen and misjudged their stopping distance. They slid across the tiled floor into the cabinets and rolled up into a ball of tangled limbs.
In seconds, they were back on their feet. I led them to the water bowls. “Thirsty?”
They lapped up the water, then sniffed the kibble and dived right in. The food was gone in record time.
I stroked their silky fur and scratched behind their ears. “I’m glad you have healthy appetites. Let’s have a look at the backyard now. And don’t bite the guard.” I led them through the great hall, out the terrace door, and onto the grassy back lawn.
They romped around, pooped, and then took a defensive stance in front of me when they spotted the guard rounding the corner of the house. They raised their hackles and snarled at him.
How adorable. They were protecting me.
I waved at him. “Just so you know, I have two dogs now.”
He tipped his cap. “I’ll watch where I step.”
Pratt and Whitney held their stance until the guard walked away. Such good doggies.
I herded them inside and called Gwen. “Come and see what Uncle Hunter gave me.”
“Just got back from Giorgio’s with salads to go with dinner. I’m pulling up in front now.”
I rushed to the front door with the puppies close on my heels and checked that Gwen’s car was parked before I opened the door.
Gwen took one look at the pups and shoved the bag of food into my arms. “Oh, my goodness, they’re sooo cute! Come to Auntie Gwen.” She kneeled on the foyer floor and opened her arms.
The puppies rushed forward and licked her face as she ruffled their fur and cooed to them like they were baby humans.
“I’ll take the food out to the terrace. Mike will be here soon with the pizza.” As I headed outside, Gwen rolled on the floor, giggling, with the puppies climbing over her.
When I returned to the kitchen to grab plates, flatware, and wine glasses, Gwen rushed to help and almost tripped over the dogs.
“I’ll get the chardonnay out of the fridge. Have the puppies eaten?” She opened the door to the big refrigerator.
“They’ve been fed, watered, and walked. They should be good for a while.” They tugged on my shoelaces as I carried everything to the round terrace table.
Gwen uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. “What are their names?”
“The male is Pratt, and the female is Whitney.” Both dogs looked up at me upon hearing their names.
“Pratt and Whitney? Isn’t that the name of an aircraft engine manufacturer?”
“Yes, they make my favorite airplane engines.”
“You named your dogs after an aviation company? Seriously?” She shook her head.
“I happen to love their engines, especially the old radials. They make such a wonderful sound.” I took a sip of chardonnay.
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Pratt and Whitney aren’t dog names.”
“They’re actually half timber wolf and half German shepherd. That means they’ll be bigger and smarter than regular shepherds.” I patted their cute little heads. “Won’t you, my darlings?”
They wagged their tails and licked my legs. The doorbell rang, sending a booming instrumental rendition of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” through the house. I laughed. “The puppies will learn Viking classical music every time the doorbell rings.”
Gwen jumped up. “That must be Mike. I gave him your new gate code. I’ll let him in.” She trotted through the terrace doors, and the dogs stayed with me.
A few minutes later, she returned with Mike carrying a big pizza box and a six-pack of cold beer.
Gwen gushed, “See? Aren’t they cute? You’ll never guess what she named them.”
He set the beer and pizza on the round, glass-top table and ruffled the pups’ fur. “Knowing how Jett loves old aircraft, she probably went with antique airplane names, like Stearman and Waco, or WWII fighters, like Spitfire and Bearcat.”
“Nope, I named them Pratt and Whitney.” The puppies looked at me when I said their names. Such smart ones.
He laughed, despite his attempt at maintaining a cool attitude toward me. “Well, I hope you named the female Whitney.” When he said her name, the puppy licked his hand.
I grinned. “See? She already knows her name.”
Mike cleared his throat and put on his serious face. “Gwen told me you have some new evidence regarding the mayor’s murder.”
“Got it last night at the Banyan Harbor Inn. Hang on while I get the pictures I printed.” I headed for the study, and the puppies bounded after me.
When I entered the room, the dogs rocketed past me, misjudging their speed, and slammed into a brass etagere. The collision rocked the shelves and caused the plastic model of my parents’ Gulfstream jet to fall to the oak floor and break where the tail attached to the fuselage.
The dogs froze, sensing they’d done something wrong.
I picked up the two pieces of the broken jet and felt a chill shoot down my spine. My breath caught as I stared at the model. This can’t be another coincidence.
My dogs cowered, not realizing my distress had nothing to do with their innocent accident.
“It’s all right. I’m not angry.” I patted their cute little heads and gave myself a moment to recover from the shock of seeing the tail come off my parents’ airplane again. I set the pieces on the desk. “Pratt and Whitney, come.”
When we returned, I heard Mike say, “Look at them. They stick with Jett like glue. I thought you said she just got them a couple hours ago.”
“Her Uncle Hunter gave them to her this afternoon after she went for a ride with Pierce Lockwood in his fighter jet.”
I dropped a handful of pictures in front of him. “This first one is Dolores Delgado smooching with Andy Carrigan in a secluded spot at the restaurant.”
The puppies rubbed against my legs. I snatched up Pratt and held him on my lap, and then I handed Whitney to Gwen. Content, the dogs curled up and immediately fell asleep.
Mike sat straighter as he studied the picture. “This certainly complicates things.”
“You have no idea.” I explained the pictures of the three guys who’d been watching either Dolores or Andy.
“I know who they are,” he said. “The guy with no neck is a low-level mobster who works for Manny’s silent partner, Vito Giordano. The other two are private investigators.”
I tapped another photo. “And here’s one of Brenda Carrigan with Manny Delgado near the docks.”
Gwen joined in, “Looks like a lot of inter-marital fooling around.”
“Andy stopped by our table and asked me if I’d testify in court for his divorce.”
“Who were you with?” Mike popped open a beer.
“Pierce Lockwood. He told Andy I didn’t need to testify because my statement is in the police report.”
He frowned. “You should steer clear of Lockwood. The guy’s a player.”
“We’re just friends. I’m not up for dating right now.”
“Seems like you’re spending a lot of time together for just friends.” He arched an eyebrow.
I crossed my arms. “Why would you care? This is the first time we’ve had a real conversation in six years.”
“All right, you two,” Gwen said. “We’re getting off track.” She lifted the box. “Pizza anyone?”
“In a minute.” Mike sounded curt. “Was there anything else, Jett?”
“Yes, something big, and I’d appreciate it if you’d take me seriously, both of you, because this is important to me.” I took a deep breath and fidgeted with my wine glass. “Last night, I had another
sleepwalking dream. Mom led me to the study and may have showed me that my parents’ plane crash wasn’t an accident.” I bit my lip. “They were murdered.”
His jaw dropped. “Your mother? Murder?”
Gwen nudged him. “Actually, that was the real reason we were on her terrace the other night. Her mom led her there in a dream, and Jett didn’t have her key. Then the guard showed up.”
“You’ve seen your mother twice in dreams?”
“I’ve had three dreams about my parents.” I described seeing their plane crash in the Bahamas and everything that happened in the study last night and a few minutes ago. “I think my mother is showing me they were murdered.”
“She could be right, Mike. Why else would Jett dream these things?”
He focused on me. “I don’t know. I can’t help wondering why you didn’t have the dreams two years ago.”
“I was too distraught to be open to dream messages right after their deaths.”
“Okay, but why wait two years?” Mike sat back and crossed his arms.
I blew out a sigh. “Maybe their deaths are somehow connected to the mayor’s murder.”
Gwen took a sip of wine. “Did the authorities send divers to the crash site?”
“No, the Bahamian government doesn’t investigate private aircraft accidents. They did autopsies on the pilots, but that was because Hunter paid divers to retrieve their bodies along with my parents. My uncle identified the bodies and warned me not to see my parents like that. And forget about the FAA and NTSB. They only investigate foreign crashes if a U.S. airline is involved.”
Mike sipped his beer. “No one investigated why the plane crashed?”
“No, but if the jet had gone down in shallow water, the locals would’ve picked it clean. The ocean floor at the crash site is at a hundred and seventy feet.”
“I recall you saying you’ve gathered intel for a lot of SEAL missions. Any chance you could get a few of them to dive on the wreck and check it over for you?” Gwen asked.
“Good idea. My SEAL friends are expert divers. They’ll know how to spot evidence of an explosion. And I know a lot about airplanes, thanks to my uncle. As far as the authorities are concerned, it’s just another wreck on the bottom. They won’t care if we dive there.”
“How much dive experience do you have?” Mike asked. “That’s way too deep for a sport dive.”
“I’ve been diving with my uncle since I was twelve. I’ll be fine with a SEAL for a dive buddy.” I sipped chardonnay and gazed down at Pratt, who was sound asleep on my lap.
Gwen nudged me. “You should ask Hunter to go with you.”
Mike said, “Better yet, have Hunter dive with the SEAL while you watch the boat.”
I smiled at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were worried about me.”
His face flushed, and he checked his watch. “I should go. Lots to investigate. Enjoy the pizza.” He grabbed the pictures and left before I had a chance to respond.
Gwen grinned. “Mike still loves you.”
“Right. That’s why he left without eating dinner or finishing his beer.” I opened the pizza box. “More for us. I’m starved.”
Gwen petted Whitney, who was sound asleep on her lap. “You’re going to need someone to look after the dogs while you’re away. A kennel might be too traumatic, and I have to work.”
“I need a live-in dog nanny. I don’t suppose you know any?”
“No, but I can run your final applicants through the police database. Better check the Internet for dog sitters and get cracking on setting up interviews for tomorrow.”
“What if the nanny sees me sleepwalking? I don’t want Valhalla labeled a weirdo’s house.”
“Ask the applicants how they feel about paranormal stuff. Say you’re just trying to get a feel for their personality. See what they say.” She bit into a slice of pizza.
I laughed. “Yeah, that won’t sound strange or anything. I think I’ll reserve that conversation for the person I like the most.”
“When you have the list narrowed down to a few, call me. Hopefully, they’ll have clean records.”
I took another slice of pizza. “Hey, I forgot to ask. Any news on your promotion?”
“Yep, my detective shield will be awarded on Sunday, and that just happens to be when Aunt Liz and Uncle Clive are arriving from England. I’m supposed to meet them for cocktails and dinner at The Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, and they asked me to bring you.”
“An evening with the Duke and Duchess of Colchester? Count me in.” I raised my glass. “Cheers!”
Eleven
I posted the dog nanny job on several Internet sites after dinner. The responses were quick. A good salary and free room and board in an oceanfront castle turned out to be a big draw. I had five interviews with the best prospects set up starting after lunch the next day.
I decided to hire the pet nanny before calling my uncle about the possible murders. As he’d predicted, the puppies spent the first night in my bed. They only needed two nocturnal trips outdoors. Despite the sleep interruptions, I slept more soundly with two warm, furry bodies snuggled against me. They filled a deep need I hadn’t realized had been missing. And the big house didn’t seem empty anymore.
After Pratt and Whitney had their morning meal, I took them out back for a run, then played with them inside and familiarized them with the first and second floors. The huge ground-floor ballroom, similar in size to a basketball court, would be an ideal place for the dogs to play fetch and catch frisbees on rainy days. Tall windows on three sides let in plenty of light, and the smooth oak floor gleamed through a heavy coat of clear varnish. I ran the dogs through some obedience drills and decided I’d save the third and fourth floors for another day.
Pratt and Whitney snuggled next to me on a cordovan sofa in the study and fell asleep while I made phone calls. I wanted them rested so they’d be back to full energy when the interviews started.
My first call was to a SEAL I’d worked with many times in Afghanistan. Snake Sanchez was a tall Texan with short brown hair, hazel eyes, and hard muscles. Like every SEAL I’d ever met, he was good-looking, sexy, and brimming with male bravado.
“Snake? Hi, it’s Jett. I’m calling from sunny Florida.”
“Jett, how the heck are you?” he answered, his voice deep with a Texas twang.
“Fine, but I need your help.” I explained I had uncovered evidence my parents may have been murdered. “I want to dive on the crash site and see if the jet was sabotaged.”
“They crashed two years ago. Tropical storms and hurricanes go through there every year, so the bottom could have changed since then.”
“I know, but I still have to look. This is important to me.”
“How deep is the crash site, and how strong is the current?”
“It’s at a hundred and seventy feet in calm, crystal-clear water. It’s not far from Freeport, but it’s well east of the Gulf Stream.”
“We’ll use trimix in our scuba tanks so we can stay down long enough to do a thorough search without having to worry about narcosis, but it won’t be easy. The wreckage could be buried in sand, or a hurricane could’ve moved it.” He hesitated. “Look, I know you’re a licensed pilot, but if you really want to know what happened, you’d better bring an expert airplane mechanic.”
“My uncle is a former Navy fighter pilot who operates his own aircraft restoration and maintenance facility. He knows airplanes inside and out, and he’s an experienced scuba diver.”
“Perfect, then find a good equipment source. Money isn’t an issue for you, so I’d rather use a local dive shop you trust and include one of their best people to make sure the dive operator in the Bahamas does the trimix correctly when they fill our tanks.”
“Pura Vida Divers on Singer Island has an excellent reputation and top-notch people. My uncle and I have taken many of their dive charters. I’ll set everything up through them. We’ll have reliable equipment and a tec diver with us who’s
done plenty of dives on trimix.”
“My team is on call right now, but I have a few days off next week. Make all the arrangements, I’ll fly down from Virginia Beach, and we’ll shoot over to the Bahamas.”
“Thanks, Snake. I’ll send the company jet, and I’ll owe you for this.”
“Grill me a big ol’ juicy ribeye, supply me with plenty of cold beer, and I’ll be happy. See y’all next week.”
Elated, I did a fist pump before I called Pura Vida Divers and explained what we needed. I waited while Andrea checked with the manager.
“No problem, Jett, as long as everyone is trimix certified. We have everything you’ll need, and Justin Newton is Advanced Trimix and Full Cave certified, a PADI Master Scuba Diver Trainer and a PADI Tec Deep Instructor. He’ll see to it you get the right trimix in the Bahamas and the proper air tanks for decompression on the ascent.”
“We’re all trimix certified, and we want full face masks with comms so we can talk to each other during the dive. And be sure to include your best dive computers.”
“Since you’re planning to go deep, we recommend two dive computers for each diver.”
“Okay. Count on four divers, including Justin. Ask him to bring everything to Vann’s Flight School and Maintenance Facility in Aerodrome Estates at nine o’clock Wednesday morning. We’ll fly to Freeport in a private aircraft and then take a chartered live-aboard dive boat to the crash site south of the airport. We might stay a day or two.”
Next, I booked a dive boat in Freeport that had everything we’d need, including four private cabins. I hoped I’d find a dog nanny during the afternoon interviews so I could call my uncle and convince him to dive with me in the Bahamas. I remotely opened the gate and left it open for the interviewees.
The doorbell played, and both puppies sprang awake.
“It’s okay, my darlings. No barking. I’m expecting someone. Come along and be nice.”
I strode to the entrance, and the dogs trotted beside me. They sat and waited when I opened the door.
A young woman, barely twenty-one, with long stringy hair and wearing torn jeans and a Taylor Swift T-shirt, stood outside holding her cell phone. She was thirty minutes late.
