Grace Takes Off

by Julie Hyzy

  A set of male hands clapped his shoulders from behind. “Easy there, Jeff. We’ll get you settled.”

  The guy behind Jeff poked his head around. “Hello,” he said. All I could think was that these two patronized the same wigmaker. Their faces were completely different, but their hair was identical. “Don’t mind my friend here. He’ll be asleep inside of five minutes.” To Jeff, he said, “Easy does it, buddy. One foot in front of the other. Yeah, there you go.”

  I watched the two men navigate an unsteady path between us, and found it curious that the helpful friend had a pair of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

  Bennett leaned forward, sending me a look that communicated his intense displeasure. I held up both hands in supplication. What could we do? We were the guests in this situation. If Bennett didn’t have a commitment for the next day, we could have begged off and tried to secure alternate transportation. But that was not an option.

  The next through the door was a giant of a man. Tall and muscular, with a creased, pockmarked face, he was at least thirty-five years old, maybe more. He had sweat-flattened dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck and a vaguely familiar face. He wore expensive jeans and carried his black wig down by his side like a briefcase. The glittering diamond stud in his ear had to be at least two carats. He was flanked by two women, who were having a discussion between themselves, chatting and gesticulating in front of him as though he weren’t there. The women were dressed more appropriately for the weather in skimpy pastel tops, pale capris, and high, strappy sandals.

  The passage wasn’t wide enough for them to come through as a threesome, so the big fellow allowed the two women to enter first. They gave us a passing glance, but didn’t miss a beat in their conversation.

  Their companion smiled at me, then at Bennett. “Hi, I’m Adam. But most people call me Slick.” He reached to shake Bennett’s hand.

  “I’m Grace,” I said as he shook my hand. The light was beginning to dawn. “You were playing at Troppo last night, weren’t you?”

  His craggy face broke into a smile. “You caught the show? Awesome.” He looked up to where Jeff was being tucked into the seat behind me. “You hear that? This lady here was at the dance club last night.” To me, he asked, “What did you think? You like our sound?”

  In my peripheral vision, I could see Bennett’s confusion. “To be honest, I spent most of the evening upstairs.” Adam’s face fell, so I quickly added, “But for the time I was down on the main floor I thought you were great.” It was the truth. I’d almost said as much to Irena last night. “You had quite a crowd there,” I said. “Lots of dancing.”

  Adam looked as though he wanted to say more, but the last of the group jostled in behind him, led by a gorgeous collie that pranced onto the plane, straining against its collar. At the other end of the leash was yet another black-wigged man. Older than the two young men behind me, closer in age to Adam, he called to his eager pooch, urging the dog to heel. Clamped to the man’s arm was a tightly packed woman who wore too much eyeliner and too little blouse. The narrow walkway didn’t allow the three to walk abreast, so when the dog finally did heed its master, the woman was required to step back to allow the duo to proceed first.

  The man stopped to coo softly to his dog, patting its side, saying, “There’s a good girl. We’re here now. Time to relax.”

  He couldn’t see the daggers of resentment the woman shot the dog, who was behaving exactly as one might expect, pawing the ground, panting, glancing around at her new surroundings with happy, doggie expectation.

  The man greeted us with a big smile. “That’s right,” he said, pointing at Bennett, “we’ve got guests on this leg. Millie, say hello.”

  Judging from the look on Bennett’s face, he thought the woman’s name was Millie, but as became apparent a split second later, the guy had been talking to his dog. Millie frisked forward, her gorgeous coat practically sparkling in the light, and placed a long white paw on Bennett’s lap.

  Grinning at the pooch’s friendly demeanor, Bennett took the paw in his hand and said, “Hello, Millie.”

  The man introduced himself as Matthew, and the woman who’d boarded with him watched this little interplay with what could only be described as hot, molten loathing.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Matthew asked in a proud papa voice. Before Bennett could answer, Matthew turned to me, almost shyly. “Hello.” He introduced himself and his dog, and seemed surprised when his companion elbowed into the small space between us.

  “I’m Pinky.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her name didn’t match her face. She had the brand of sass I’d expect to see in a dive bar: beer in one hand and a cigar in the other, hurling insults at the young guys playing pool all the while hoping one might ask her to join them.

  She had a weathered, puffy look about her, and I got the impression that she was biting the insides of her cheeks. Her anger wasn’t directed at me but at the poor dog, whose eyes were considerably more friendly than Pinky’s. “We’re the last to board because she”—Pinky flung her hand in Millie’s direction—“needed to make a stop, if you know what I mean.”

  Not knowing what else to say, I shrugged. “Better out there than in here.”

  Matthew smiled. “See, that’s the kind of attitude I like,” he said to Pinky before moving deeper into the cabin and tossing another comment over his shoulder. “I think maybe you made a mistake joining us. Get with the program, Pinkster, or you’ll never make it in this group.”

  She mouthed, “Pinkster?” and tightened her lips, but didn’t say a word. I swore her cheek biting intensified.

  Evelyn took a position at the front of the cabin and clapped her hands to get our attention. “Now that everyone is aboard, I’d like to go over a few guidelines before we take—”

  She stopped mid-sentence as a man appeared behind her. Dressed in a navy-blue jacket with matching slacks and the sort of buttons and pockets you’d find on a uniform, he carried a duffel bag over one shoulder and took in the limited surroundings. I guessed him to be about forty-five years old, handsome, with a full head of dark hair and a dazzling smile that he used to his full advantage. “I am sorry to interrupt,” he said in a deep Italian-accented voice as he extended his hand to Evelyn. “I am Rudolfo.” I didn’t think it possible, but his smile widened. “You may call me Rudy.”

  Evelyn was a full head shorter than our newest arrival, but that didn’t stop her from adopting an authoritative voice. “You must have the wrong airplane,” she said, gripping his upper-arm sleeve with one hand as she tried politely to navigate him back out the door. “This flight is full.”

  He didn’t budge. “You misunderstand. I am here for service.”

  “Excuse me?” Evelyn said with a skeptical lilt. “Service for what?”

  Her efforts to escort him out hadn’t done much good, and he stepped into the widest part of the cabin, where we could all see him and hear every word of the conversation. “I have been contracted to accompany you. To assist.”

  Evelyn blinked a couple of times as she processed this. Her head tilted. “There’s been a misunderstanding,” she said. “Obviously.”

  “No misunderstanding.” He held a finger in the air as though suddenly remembering something. He dug into the pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out a folded set of papers. “Here are my orders.”

  Evelyn’s body language was like that of a feral cat’s facing an adversary. She puffed herself up to her greatest height, clearly wary of this stranger, yet poised to strike if he continued to threaten her authority. She took the pages out of his hands and scanned them quickly. As her shoulders relaxed, she began to frown. “Well,” she said briskly, “it seems as though your story checks out. You’ll understand if I call the office and verify.” She didn’t phrase it as a question as she moved for the phone.

  Rudy appeared m
omentarily perplexed, though not the least bit put out. “You wish me to begin preparation for takeoff?”

  Wound tight already, Evelyn didn’t like being interrupted from her call. She held up a finger and spoke through clenched teeth. “Just. Stay. Right. There.”

  Rudy faced us, smiling. “Hello,” he said while Evelyn completed her call. “You are going home?” He barely waited for our acknowledgment before continuing, “This airplane visits your North Carolina and also New York, yes?”

  I exchanged a glance with Bennett as we both shrugged. Up to this point we hadn’t known the plane’s ultimate destination. “We’re getting off at the first stop,” I said. “Charlotte.”

  Evelyn returned to tap Rudy on the shoulder. I could tell from the consternation in her eyes and the tight set to her smile lines that she was following orders she didn’t agree with. “Welcome aboard, Rudy,” she said. “I didn’t realize that you and I were going to be a team.” She pointed to the rear of the plane. “Why don’t you get yourself settled in the crew area in the back galley, and I’ll be with you just as soon as I finish going over safety protocols.”

  Rudy’s wide smile was back. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Evelyn caught my eye. “The more the merrier, I suppose,” she muttered.

  I watched Rudy make his way to the rear of the plane, wondering what was up with that.

  Chapter 9

  AFTER THE PILOT AND CO-PILOT CAME through to say hello and to assure us of a safe flight home, we were off. The guy with the drumsticks had pulled them out and maintained a constant, albeit quiet, rhythm on his thigh, nearby pillows, whatever he had handy. Bennett tuned him out, and I was surprised to find the patter rather soothing. Drunken Jeff managed to remain sound asleep—as evidenced by his cabin-shattering snores—but only until we reached an altitude where seat belts could be undone.

  Awakened by the pilot’s announcement, he gripped the back of my seat to pull himself up to standing. I turned to see his florid face hovering over my headrest. “Where are we?”

  His warbling cry and yellowed, bloodshot eyes told me he hadn’t actually sobered up yet.

  “Sit down,” Adam called from farther back. “And be quiet. I’m trying to read.” I twisted to look. Adam leaned back in his oversized chair, one arm braced behind his head, his free hand holding a fat hardcover, reading glasses perched on his nose. If I didn’t know he was the leader of a rock band, I would have taken him for a dad on vacation, or a college professor enjoying a little downtime.

  Rudy hurried over to Jeff, easing the bewildered man back into his seat as his companions laughed among themselves then resumed whatever quiet conversations they’d been enjoying before the interruption.

  Evelyn came around behind Rudy to talk to me and Bennett. “We’re serving dinner on this flight, as you know.” She handed us each a printed menu card from a small stack she held close to her chest. “We have a wonderful menu, and all I’ll need is for you to make your preferences known.”

  She started to move to address the next row of travelers, including Jeff, but held up a finger as though suddenly remembering. “I have food allergy information on file for most of the group, but I don’t have that information handy for either of you.” She wagged her finger at us. “Be sure to let me know soon.”

  Bennett was way ahead of her. He tapped the menu. “I can tell you already that I don’t want asparagus.” Continuing to tap, he added, “I think I’ll enjoy this pasta primavera, but without the asparagus.”

  “Got it,” Evelyn said, jotting down a note. “Anything else?” She looked to me then back to Bennett, who had relaxed again.

  “That’s it,” he said. “I’ll eat almost anything else.” One brow arched. “Almost. But asparagus?” He shook his head, frowning. “Won’t touch the stuff.”

  “Millie won’t eat asparagus, either,” Matthew chimed in. Hearing her name, the collie regarded Matthew with devoted dark eyes. He and most of the others had taken spots on the long sofa. Matthew stroked the dog’s back with obvious affection, talking about her the way parents often brag about their kids’ antics. “You should see her pick the pieces out and drop them next to her food bowl.” He laughed. “It’s hilarious.”

  Pinky had separated herself from the group by taking a seat beyond the sofa. Although I could tell that she had been listening in on the conversation, she stared out the plane window with an expression so forlorn that it was obvious she wanted to be anywhere but here.

  Matthew rubbed Millie’s face. “You know exactly what you want, don’t you, girl?”

  Millie barked in happy response. Pinky sent the dog a scathing look of contempt before resuming her lonely gaze.

  “You feed her table food then?” Bennett twisted his chair all the way around. “Is that healthy for a dog?”

  “Yeah,” Matthew assured him. “Only the best for my girl here. Organically grown, pesticide-free. I want to keep her around for a good, long time.”

  I could have sworn Pinky snorted at that. Matthew must have heard it, too, because he turned to her briefly before returning to our conversation. “So what do you do back in North Carolina?” Matthew asked us. “Are you two, uh, together?”

  Bennett told Matthew all about Marshfield Manor and how I’d been hired as assistant curator just over a year ago. He left out any mention of the murder that saw me promoted from assistant to full curator and estate manager, but he gave a succinct overview of our tourist business and hinted about the treasures we shared with visitors.

  “I’ve heard of Marshfield,” Matthew said. “Been meaning to visit there, but haven’t gotten around to it.”

  Matthew told us that SlickBlade had been contracted to open for a big-name group at an upcoming concert but declined to mention the group’s name.

  “You’re not into heavy metal, are you?” he asked.

  “Not especially. I’m more classic rock. Some heavy metal is okay—”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. That’s why there are so many varieties of music out there. Not everything appeals to everyone. You’d probably be surprised to find out that I enjoy operettas, wouldn’t you?”

  I was.

  “Gilbert and Sullivan,” Matthew said. “Can’t get enough of them.”

  Delighted to discover a fellow fan, Bennett jumped into the conversation and soon the two men were discussing their favorite productions and even occasionally singing a lyric or two. I listened, joining their animated conversation from time to time. Behind us, Adam read, Jeff tried to go back to sleep, Pinky fumed, and the other travelers chitchatted among themselves. Through all of this, Evelyn made sure our drinks were refreshed and that we had all the snacks we needed. She went out of her way to see to everyone’s needs, quietly reminding Rudy that he was on board to work, not to socialize.

  The cheerful cabin steward had been finding plenty of opportunity to stop by and talk with the two women who’d come on board. Although I hadn’t learned their names, I knew that they were part of the band’s crowd. They weren’t cruel, but it was clear they had no interest in befriending Pinky, who had apparently latched onto soft-touch Matthew at the very last minute. Once aboard, however, her interest in the musician had dwindled, as had the group’s interest in her. Maybe she’d seen this as an opportunity for a cheap ride home. I couldn’t decide what her story was, and truth be told, I didn’t care.

  “May I get you another?” Evelyn asked Bennett with a wide smile as she pointed to his nearly empty glass. “We still have a long ride ahead of us.”

  Bennett picked up what was left of his Manhattan, drained it, and handed the glass to her. “One more,” he said. “It’ll help me sleep. After dinner I’ll be dead to the world.”

  I winced, hoping no one noticed. Referring to death so lightly always sent a zing up the back of my neck. Personal quirk.

  Evelyn winked. “You’ve
got it.” She turned to me. “Another lemonade?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Pinky spoke up. “I could use another drink.”

  I didn’t make it a habit to monitor another’s alcohol intake, but I was pretty certain Pinky had downed her third, and was now requesting a fourth. Maybe she’d been thirsty and had been enjoying lemonade, too, but the woman’s glassy eyes made me doubt that. Evelyn plucked the proffered glass from her chubby hand and asked, “Death in the Afternoon, right?”

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “That’s the name of the drink?”

  Pinky glared. “Don’t get so high and mighty. I’ll have you know that Ernest Hemingway invented it. He named it after one of his books.”

  “Oh,” was the best I could manage. “And is it any good?”

  “It’s powerful,” she said, “and doesn’t make my brain foggy the way whiskey does.”

  “Good to know,” I said politely, but she had already returned to staring out the window. I shot Bennett a “Whoops!” expression, which Matthew also caught. He waved a hand as though to dismiss my concerns. For two people who’d arrived together, they hardly behaved like a couple.

  Delicious scents wafted our way from the rear of the plane—dinner would be served in less than an hour—and Matthew decided that it would be a good opportunity to allow Millie to visit the area of the plane that had been identified for her special needs in flight. He excused himself. Pinky watched them go, readjusting herself in her seat, looking as though she might need to use the human facilities herself.

  I crossed the aisle and pulled the hidden jump seat out from the wall in front of Bennett. Evelyn dropped off his fresh Manhattan. Finally alone, he and I would be able to talk privately—relatively speaking—for the first time since we had arrived at Villa Pezzati. Without hesitation, I pounced on the big question that had been troubling me since our visit to his friend’s in-house gallery the day before.