by Julie Hyzy
“Easy,” I said, not knowing if she could hear. I had the presence of mind to wrap my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse was weak, her breathing labored. “You’re okay,” I lied.
Muffled noises from above. I disregarded them.
A kick to my side I couldn’t ignore. Still on my knees, with my back to the rest of the cabin, I twisted. Pinky had regained control. She brandished the gun above me while the rest of the passengers watched like an audience frozen in terror.
As my hearing began to return, I made out what Pinky was saying. “Back up, back up. Get away. Get back.”
She kicked me again. “You, too.”
“But what about—” As I turned to the injured woman, the words died on my lips. The hand grasping at her neckline fell to her side, limp and lifeless. The ragged movement of her chest ceased. Her eyes went still and blank. Half open, half closed, they made her look like a sneering mannequin. Desperately, I repositioned my fingers in a futile search for a pulse. Nothing. I tried again, this time pressing hard against her carotid artery. No beat, no life. “Evelyn!” I shouted, as though I could wake her.
Pinky raised her voice: “Get up. Look what you made me do.”
Though shaken, I was unharmed. I grappled to my feet, facing her. “You killed her.”
Her face betrayed her fear. She was as shocked by what she’d done as I was. Before I could get another word out, however, she’d shoved the still-smoking gun into my breastbone. I could feel the heat, smell the acrid residue. I didn’t look down even as she pushed me backward, my heels bumping against Evelyn’s still form as my shoulder blades hit the wall. “You did this,” she said. “You stupid idiot.”
She realized that her back was to the rest of the group one split second after they did. Adam, Bennett, and Matt had started for her. She waved the gun in a semicircle, forcing them to retreat.
“See? See?” Pinky rasped. “I told you not to mess with me. You all did this to her. It wasn’t my fault. You tried to trick me, and now one of you is dead.” She grabbed my hair with her free hand and forced me to my knees. “Any of you makes a move and this one is next.”
My hearing had returned enough to know that the plane’s cabin had gone silent at her pronouncement. All I could make out were soft sobs and hiccups of fear, but I couldn’t tell who they came from.
“Now.” Pinky took a deep breath in a studied attempt to settle herself. “Unless you get me off this plane safely and without any cops around, more of you are going to die. Is that understood?”
Chapter 15
THE ENTIRE SHOOTING COULDN’T HAVE taken more than thirty seconds. Forty-five at most. On my knees, my back to the aisle, wedged between Pinky’s legs and Evelyn’s lifeless form, I bit my lips hard, doing my utmost to maintain control. My body rebelled. Shaking harder than Bootsie did when we went to the vet, I probably would have sunk to the floor had I not been held upright by my hair.
A sharp noise from the front of the cabin—metallic and fast—caused Pinky’s grip to tighten, and the hot pain in my scalp brought tears to my eyes.
A male voice behind me. “What’s going on here?”
The instant Pinky let go of my hair, I dropped my hands to the floor and crawled to the window, twisting to see the co-pilot’s stunned expression. He’d startled Pinky enough that she’d lowered to a crouch and now held the gun in both hands. “Don’t move,” she said.
His lips formed silent words in an attempt to speak. A detached part of my brain recalled his name. Robert. He could manage only fragments at first: “We heard a . . . What did . . .” When his gaze lit upon Evelyn, his eyes grew large, his mouth dropped open.
With enough of a head start, and the gun back firmly in hand, Pinky had the advantage. “Shut up,” she said. “It wasn’t my fault.” She angled herself so as to keep me and Robert in her sights. We were the only two close enough to make a move on her, something I wasn’t steady enough to attempt.
Comprehension began to dawn on co-pilot Robert. His face changed. Brows dropped low over suddenly steely eyes. Resolve took over for confusion. “Give me that,” he ordered, reaching for Pinky’s gun.
She jumped back.
“Do not,” came a voice from the rear of the plane. Rudy’s. He stood. “The pilot will be calling to find out what is wrong. On the intercom.” He pointed to the work area at the front of the plane. “You must not shoot the co-pilot, or we could have danger.”
Pinky smiled at Rudy then, an arrogant, self-satisfied smile. It was the weirdest feeling watching her take all this in as though enjoying herself. “Well, then, we ought to tell him everything is all right back here.”
Rudy hesitated.
“Take care of that, you hear? Tell the pilot that everything is fine and dandy back here.”
He lurched forward, looking unsure.
“Go on,” she said, waving the gun. “What are you waiting for?”
Co-pilot Robert was across the aisle, standing in front of my original seat. In order to make it to the head of the airplane, Rudy would need to pass between Pinky and Robert. Could I attempt to wrangle the gun from Pinky using Rudy as a distraction? I wasn’t confident in my abilities on that score. We’d seen how well that turned out.
Would the co-pilot make a move? The look on his face made it clear he was trying to make sense of all this. “What do you want?” he asked in a soothing voice. “Maybe I can help.”
Rudy advanced two steps.
“Fat chance of that,” Pinky said. Her body language told me she was feeling stronger again. She’d drawn herself taller and dropped the second grip on the gun. “I’m in enough trouble for screwing this up already.”
“From whom?” I asked.
Rudy passed in front of Robert. Pinky turned to answer me. “You’d be surprised—”
Robert lunged for the gun, pushing Pinky’s arm—and aim—upward. Mercifully, the firearm didn’t discharge. Surprised by the attack, she spun as she fought back, screeching and clawing as he gained control of the weapon. Using arms, legs, and fingernails, she dug at him as I leapt into the fray and tried to pull her down.
One step ahead of me, Rudy grabbed Pinky and slammed her against the fiberglass wall, causing the gun to pop out of her hand. If this had been a movie, she’d have been knocked unconscious. Instead, she rolled onto her hands and knees, crawling like a robot doll to the weapon, now inches from Robert’s shoe.
Rudy wasn’t finished. He reached down and grabbed Pinky by the head, spinning her upward to her feet.
I heard the crack when her neck broke. Quiet, yet profoundly loud even over the din, it was a sound I knew would haunt me forever.
She dropped to the floor. I didn’t need to check for a pulse. Instinctively, I looked at Evelyn. Two women rendered suddenly lifeless, both now no more than rag dolls.
Noise burst around me in relentless explosions. I was vaguely aware of Bennett pushing his way through the frantic group, making his way to my side.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t look up. “Gracie, are you all right?”
“We’ll never know,” I said, still staring at Pinky. “We’ll never know who she was working for. Not anymore.”
There were cheers, cries, applause. Co-pilot Robert and the rest of the passengers congratulated Rudy on rescuing us from Pinky’s inexplicable wrath. I shut them all out.
Bennett put his arm around my shoulders. “Come sit down.”
I pointed to Evelyn. “Why did she panic? We were so close.” I finally met Bennett’s sympathetic gaze. “We could have stopped Pinky. I felt it.” I swallowed past the rising heat swelling my throat. It hurt. Everything hurt. “Without anyone getting killed.”
“I know.” He tugged gently. “Let’s get you away from this.”
I had to ask. “Did I cause this?”
“No.�
�� There was no hesitation. He stepped back, grabbing both of my shoulders, holding me in place with his penetrating gaze. “You did everything to stop this from escalating. Pinky, whoever she was, is responsible for this tragedy. No one else.”
“But . . .” my voice was near whispering, “you said yourself that I always drum up trouble.”
“Gracie.” The stare grew ever more forceful. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“How did she get the gun?” This time my voice cracked. “I’m the one who checked her purse. Did I miss it?”
“Of course not. She must have had it on her person.”
“I should have been more thorough.”
“Come on.” With no more fight left in me, I allowed myself to be pulled along through the celebrating horde. We were jostled and bumped as the SlickBlade people high-fived one another. I looked back. Two people who had been alive an hour ago were now dead.
My limbs practically collapsed beneath me as Bennett sat me down. He took the seat closest to mine, leaning forward and clasping both my hands in his warm ones. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.
“I don’t think I can.” Adrenaline that had kept me going—and kept me alive—was melting away now that danger had passed. My strength dissolved as instantly as cotton candy in a downpour, rendering me loose, unsteady.
“Close your eyes,” he said again as he released me and eased back. “I won’t leave. I’ll watch over you. Try to relax.”
• • •
I AWOKE WITH A JUMP, MY FEET HITTING THE floor as my fingers gripped the armrests. Half standing, disoriented, I scanned my surroundings. “Where am I?” Blinking myself into alertness, my mind registered that I was aboard a plane in flight. That my heart was heavy. That something had gone terribly wrong.
In a flood of awareness it all rushed back to me. Pinky. Evelyn.
I sat again, possibly even less composed than I’d been a second earlier. “No,” I heard myself say. The word bubbled up from deep within, unbidden.
Bennett was at my side in an instant. “The altitude shift must have woken you. We’re landing.”
Still gripping the sides of the chair, I tried to see what was happening in the rest of the compartment. Everyone from SlickBlade had returned to his or her seat and Rudy was up front, talking on an in-flight phone. Bennett filled me in. “The pilot has radioed ahead, and the authorities will be questioning us all before we disembark.”
I took a shuddering breath.
“I’m glad you were able to sleep a little,” he said.
“Did you sleep?”
He smiled. It was the first light moment I’d experienced in many hours, and the sight of his weary grin took my breath away. “I dozed. You were up there in the middle of it all, Gracie. It was too close.”
I leaned my head back. It had been too close. For both of us. “What if the police can’t find out who Pinky was working for?” He opened his mouth, and I knew it was to chastise me about keeping my nose clean. I interrupted before he could utter one word. “The police will do their best but right now it’s all tied up in a bow: a murder, a guilty party, and a hero who saved us all. To them, this is a closed case.”
I knew that the moment we were back at Marshfield, I’d pull Frances and Tooney in and enlist their help. My heart swelled for a moment, in anticipation of being home among friends—if you could count Frances as such—where familiarity could help me regain my equilibrium. The lightheartedness was fleeting, however. Too much had happened too fast. And I’d been part of it all. Yet again.
“I can’t help thinking that this is all my fault.”
Bennett was silent a moment. “No, it’s mine. If Pinky had been successful in drugging my food, Evelyn might still be alive.”
Appalled, I said, “You can’t think like that.”
“Don’t you see? That’s how you got involved in the first place: protecting me. If you’re going to blame yourself, then I must share culpability.”
The two women accompanying SlickBlade began complaining the moment the aircraft’s wheels touched down. “It’s bad enough we had to ride with dead bodies,” one of them groaned. “Now we’re stuck sitting here until the police let us go.”
Her companion nodded. “Ridiculous.”
I didn’t think it was ridiculous in the least. Just the opposite. I was disappointed to discover that my concerns had been justified; the authorities seemed to accept that they’d been presented with a fully encapsulated crime. I wouldn’t say they were derelict in their duties, but I would say that they seemed pleased that this one would be wrapped up by the time the shift ended.
Pinky killed Evelyn. Rudy killed Pinky, protecting us. How much clearer could it get? Case closed. I held out hope that Detective Williamson, a fiftyish, flat-nosed fellow, who wore a weathered trench coat à la Columbo, might dig a little deeper. Although we’d garnered the FBI’s and CIA’s attention, Williamson—a homicide detective in Charlotte—was the designated point man.
During my interrogation, conducted in a small room in an administrative section of the airport I’d never encountered before, he asked me about the drugs I’d seen Pinky add to Bennett’s plate. Leaning back against a blue plastic chair that squeaked, he studied me as he pressed for answers as to why I thought Bennett may have been targeted. Across the small table from him, I kept my hands folded in my lap and wished to heaven that I had answers. I did my best to suggest—without appearing as though I was trying to do his job—that Pinky’s background might be worth a look.
“Do you have any idea what her real name was?” I asked him. “I mean, who was she?”
His head had been bent as he scratched notes in a battered book that had to be as old as his coat. With a weary look and a crooked grimace, he sucked in a deep breath. “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? We’ve got the flight’s manifest but other than the name Priscilla Edgewater from Brooklyn, New York . . .” He held up a hand. “Yeah, we’ve run a background check. So far we’re coming up empty.”
“You mean she doesn’t have a criminal record?”
“I mean we can’t find her. Name’s probably an alias.”
My stomach dropped. “There has to be some way . . .”
His frown softened. “Don’t give up hope yet. She’ll be fingerprinted. If she’s in the system, we’ll have a better chance of discovering her identity.”
“And if she’s not in the system?”
He went back to scribbling notes. “Makes my job harder, is all.”
“But you will continue to investigate?”
His sharp glance made me worry I’d overstepped my boundaries. “What do you think?” He leaned forward, both elbows on the Formica table between us, notebook in one hand, pen in the other. “I’ll be frank with you, Ms. Wheaton. We may never find out why this Pinky person wanted your boss dead. We’ll do our best to reconstruct where she came from and what she was doing on that flight, but when the killers get killed themselves, the truth often dies with them. I’m not going to give up today, tomorrow, or the next day. I’ll track this down as far as I can take it, but I want you to keep in mind that we may hit a brick wall.”
Wasn’t that encouraging? “Thanks,” I said.
We went over a few more details, and he released me.
I shook his hand. “If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”
His mouth twisted upward at the corners. Not a smile—I got the impression this guy never cracked loose—but acknowledgment. “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Wheaton.”
Back in the private lounge area the charter company had designated for us, Williamson summoned Jeff for his turn. Drunk or sleeping for the bulk of the trip, he’d be a whole lot of help. I made my way over to Bennett. He’d gone through his interrogation right before me.
“Are you in a rush to leave?” I asked. I g
lanced up at the clock on the blue wall above the swishy doors and realized we’d landed more than two hours ago.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Couple things are still bothering me.” I indicated the other passengers still in the waiting area: Adam of SlickBlade and his bandmate Matthew, with Millie resting on her haunches next to him. Everyone else had taken off. Airport security had been kind enough to bring our bags here, saving us the added headache of having to locate them after the long ordeal. “I’d like to ask them a few questions.”
“Go ahead,” Bennett said with a squint. “As long as you tell me what you discover.”
“Deal.”
As I made my way toward Matthew, Adam sauntered over to intercept. “That was one heck of a trip, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“Roughest flight I’ve ever been on.”
Wasn’t that the understatement of the year?
“My heart goes out to that woman Evelyn,” he went on. “She deserved better.”
“Do you know if she has family?” I asked. “This is going to come as a real shock to them.”
He wagged his head. “No idea.”
Adam shuffled in place, clearly believing he needed to continue the conversation. On a whim, I decided to include him as I cornered his bandmate. “Do you mind if we ask him”—I pointed to Matthew—“about Pinky? I got the impression he didn’t know her very well, and yet they seemed to be traveling together.”
Delighted to be of assistance, Adam joined me as I crossed the small lounge. Waxy smells of floor polish and fast food combined in this fundamentally utilitarian room. Faux leather seats were littered about the area in attached groups of three. Matthew slouched in the center seat of one of these groups, head dropped back facing the ceiling, one leg crossed over the other. If it weren’t for the hand holding Millie’s red leash, the fingers of which were tapping out a rhythm only he could hear, I’d have believed he’d fallen asleep.
Adam and I sat on either side of him, our weight causing the connected seats to wobble. Matthew sat up quickly. “What happened?” he asked, looking alarmed. “Did they call me?”
