I started to offer to handle that part of it, but realized that she really wanted to buy some time. This was the kind of thing that would haunt her late at night, for more nights than she wanted to think about. For now, social interaction might stave off the demons.
We’d just finished putting the food on the table when the male hoard descended, bearing a pile of savory meat and the laughter of a carefree day. After everyone had taken seats, Sam called the group to attention.
“To life,” he said, “to love, and to a terrific set of friends. You all hold special places in our hearts.”
Rachael nodded agreement and glasses clinked around the table. I caught Ron’s eye and realized he wanted to say something, but he held off until we’d all loaded our plates with food and the serious appetites became somewhat sated.
“I have some good news, too,” he finally announced. “Kevin Pierce has been arrested on charges of arson, breaking and entering, malicious destruction of property, and attempted murder, two counts.” He gave a triumphant smile.
“Malicious destruction of property?” I asked. I’d told Ron about the knife on the floor but that there’d been no damage to the balloon.
“The bullet holes. The jerk actually admitted to firing those shots but said he wasn’t trying to kill anyone, just to harm the balloon and scare Rachael. Breaking and entering was for the incident here at Sam’s garage. Even though Kevin got his knife back, his prints were all over the door frame and some of Rachael’s other equipment in the garage. The investigators also got great sets of sooty prints off Kevin’s truck. Kevin and the other guy, Roger Gibson, were neatly placed at the arson scene because of ashes in the truck that match those from the cabin.”
“What about this Roger Gibson, who’s he?” Rachael asked.
“A good candidate for America’s Stupidest Criminals, I’d guess,” he said. “Guy’s got a sheet that goes back years, lots of petty smash and grab-type stuff. He gets arrested, does a few months and comes back for more. Lived down the street from Kevin and they hooked up over beers at some bar in the south valley. Guess Roger talks more intelligently when he’s had a few, ’cause he convinced Kevin he was the man for the job, vandalizing the balloon and putting another scare into Rachael.”
“So, what’s going to happen to them now?” I asked.
“Roger’s pleaded to some stupid little count in return for telling all the juicy details. Kevin, he’s got some hot lawyer. Guess they’re selling their house to afford him, which leaves Liz living with her mother.”
“Oh boy, I bet she’s loving that.”
“Yeah, well, the best part is that even the pricey lawyer hasn’t managed to get Kevin out yet. The more he blabs, the less the attorney can do for him.”
I pictured Kevin with his scroungy hair and that repulsive little beard-thing. Scraps of his braggadocios comments to Rachael and me, as he tied our hands and planned to kill us, came back to me. I hoped he kept up the bragging through his whole jail time and right into the state pen.
Rachael piped up. “The good news is that there wasn’t any damage to the balloon. Thanks to my wonderful crew,” she tilted her head toward their end of the table, “they’ve pulled the balloon out of the bag and we’ve examined every inch of it. The bullet holes still make me fighting mad, but she’s structurally sound and ready for the flight. We checked over the other equipment, too, and wiped off the fingerprint dust the cops left behind.”
“So, you’re going for the record?” Ron asked.
“Oh, hell, yes.” She laughed with more carefree warmth than I’d ever heard from her.
Chapter 28
November 15th. With little fanfare, no reporters, and a very subdued Grayson Fairfield on hand, we met at the Moriarty airport, a little town on the east side of the Sandias, away from Albuquerque’s bustle and traffic.
Justin ably directed the crew members in the duties they already knew well. Ron, Sam, Drake and I, along with Grayson, looked on. The FAA man was off to the side with Rachael, going over the use of the barograph, that sensitive instrument which would record her flight. We’d heard through the grapevine that Liz’s record had been certified at 33,428 feet, a bit less than she’d claimed upon her triumphant landing. Rachael felt confident that she could beat it, but nothing’s certain in this game.
Sam kept a watchful eye on the sky. Earlier, just before sunrise, a layer of high, thin clouds had moved over the mountains and they’d now scattered. That seemed worrisome to him, something about potentially high winds aloft.
“Once the guys get the envelope inflated and it’s standing upright, he’ll place the barograph inside,” Sam said, nodding toward John O’Malley, the FAA designee.
Sam walked over to the back of Rachael’s new truck and sorted through the equipment lying on the tailgate. She was already wearing her parachute, something she’d confided that she was terrified of using. “I’m going to float down with the balloon unless there’s absolutely no other choice,” she’d told me. Now, Sam picked up the oxygen tank and hooked it into its bracket in the gondola. He hooked up the lines and checked them.
Rachael rechecked everything around the truck, making sure she hadn’t left anything crucial behind. She climbed into the gondola and submitted to Sam’s strapping the oxygen mask around her head and placing her warm knit cap over the straps. She pulled the mask aside just long enough to give him a kiss, then waited as the FAA man set the crucial wooden box in, next to her feet.
“Give it a little tap with your foot when you reach the top,” he said, “just to make sure it registers.”
“Radio check,” said Sam. They went through a minute or so of verifying that the equipment worked.
The rest of us doled out hugs and squeezed her hands before backing away. Just as we did, a news van from Channel 6 roared up.
Sam’s face hardened as he realized who it was. “Keep that guy out of the way,” he shouted as the reporter and cameraman bailed from the van.
I turned to Ron who turned to Grayson.
The banker shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t let the event go unrecorded,” he said.
I wanted to slap him on Rachael’s behalf, but restrained myself. Drake approached the newsmen and, with his usual diplomatic calm, assured them that they could get better shots by staying back. Before they could argue, Rachael blew a gloved-hand kiss to the crowd and hit the burner.
I watched in awe as the balloon climbed quickly. This was no leisurely drifting voyage over the crowded balloon field. Fuel consumption was everything here, the goal being to get as high as possible as fast as possible. Within seconds, Sam had the crew loading the inflator fan and other little items into the truck. Minutes later, the balloon had become a dot in the sky and we were on the road, four vehicles full of us. We stopped at the interstate, watching the dot grow smaller by the minute.
“No sense in heading out yet,” Sam said. “Until she starts back down we won’t know how far away she’ll be.”
The balloon faded from sight. A tiny contrail formed as the craft entered the frigid air above twenty thousand feet. I thought of Rachael’s fear of having to use the parachute and sent up a silent prayer for her safety. Sam became very quiet, never taking his eyes off the little wisp of white vapor.
“She’s probably switched to the second tank now,” he murmured. “Time, someone?”
Justin, who’d set his watch to keep track of elapsed time, read it off for Sam.
I could almost see the calculations run through his head. Rachael could use about three-fourths of her fuel going up, reserving one fourth for coming back down and landing. Sam, of course, knew all this in gallons and elapsed time but only the news reporter was brave enough to interrupt him to ask about it. For his trouble, the man got a curt, “Later.”
Radio static came over Sam’s CB and he asked her to say again. More static.
“Let’s move!” Sam shouted.
He and the crew piled into the pickup truck. Drake and I, Ron and the FAA guy belte
d ourselves into my Jeep, Drake at the wheel. The reporter in the news van tried to push ahead but eventually made himself content with staying behind us, followed by Grayson alone in his Mercedes. The man had been a pain from the start, and I wondered whether Ron was truly getting the promised fantastic mortgage rate in return for putting up with him.
Drake ably managed to stay behind Sam along the Interstate. We pulled over from time to time, as the crew watched the balloon once again become a dot, then a shape. “There she is,” Drake said, breaking into my thoughts.
I looked out to see Lady Liberty’s beautiful red, white and blue design, as she floated ahead of us, about a half mile away. Somehow, when I hadn’t been paying attention, we’d exited off the interstate and were now on a paved two-lane heading south. Sam roared along the road, not wanting to lose sight of her at this crucial juncture. Drake barreled forward, staying with him until Sam whipped to the side of the road and stopped. Luckily, the reporter was also on top of things. I glanced back nervously to see him slam on the brakes just in time. Grayson wasn’t so lucky. He ended up roaring past and stopping in front of Sam.
Rachael and her airy craft floated about fifty feet off the ground, east of our position. I wanted to edge her to the right, to make the balloon land on the road ahead of us, but unfortunately they don’t work that way.
Sam rolled forward again, edging around Grayson’s car, and cruised until someone pointed out a farm road. He took it and one of the crew guys jumped out to open the gate. He closed it again after the four vehicles had pulled through. Sam waited for him, then raced off in a cloud of dust. The balloon was to our right and the wind had begun to pick up. She wouldn’t be able to hold it inflated on the ground.
We lost sight of Sam momentarily in the swirling dust. Seconds later, though, we caught a glimpse of the truck and saw Rachael’s crew running across the open field. Sage and prairie grass tore at our legs as we ran toward the downed balloon.
Rachael greeted us with a huge grin and tried to hug everyone at once.
“Over thirty-four, maybe closer to thirty-five,” she said breathlessly. “I’m sure I got at least that high.”
John pulled the barograph from the basket, looking it over and flipping a switch to deactivate it. The little instrument had done its job, now it was up to the Fédération to certify the results. He carried it to the Jeep and set it carefully on the back seat just as Grayson pulled up in the car that hadn’t been able to keep up with everyone else.
He joined his sister and seemed genuinely happy about her success. Champagne appeared from a cooler and spurted brilliantly for the news camera. Rachael got the traditional christening from the first bottle and conducted an amazingly composed interview with bubbles of foam dripping from her face.
I stepped away from the hubbub for a minute. Kevin, in jail and probably facing serious time, all in the name of taking the spotlight, and that only for a short time. Liz, who’d held the world altitude record for only a month. I wondered if she felt it was all worth it. And me. Drake and I had talked about managing to be home together more.
Drake and Ron, both with cameras, snapped about a zillion pictures; the crew guys took swigs of champagne from the bottle; Sam, ever watchful, made sure the equipment was all put away before he let anyone have much to drink.
Rachael came over to me once the news team had gotten enough for their thirty second spot. She hugged me tightly and whispered, “Thanks, Charlie. You know I wouldn’t have been here today to do this, except for you.”
I, of course, teared up and we held our embrace a moment before each of us could take a deep breath.
“I started out doing this,” she said, “because it was a challenge, like climbing the Colorado fourteeners, something I thought I’d enjoy just for the pleasure of doing it. But you know, things changed along the way. Gray started that stupid publicity campaign and I began to hate the whole project. Didn’t even want to do it for awhile. Then the threats. Part of me wanted to quit—several times, in fact. But a big part of me knew that I couldn’t give in. You can’t let bullies call the shots and that’s just what I would have been doing. They threaten me, I quit. Give them just what they wanted?”
“You’d never do that,” I said. “Does it sound too corny to say that you have that all-American spirit?”
She chuckled. “I don’t mind if it’s corny.”
A car pulled up just then. Grayson’s Mercedes. None of us realized that he’d left. He stopped behind my Jeep and Bill Fairfield stepped out. Rachael tensed.
He walked over to us, his eyes steady on her.
“Shall I . . .?” I began.
“No, stay,” she whispered. “I’m not ready to be alone with him.”
“Rachael, I can’t expect everything to suddenly be all right between us,” he said. His voice was surprisingly quiet. I think she’d expected a politician’s bold oration. “I just wanted to come out and tell you how proud I am. I know I never gave you a fair shake as a kid. I didn’t see you as ambitious enough, wanting to achieve enough. And I should have paid more attention to the things that were going on with your mother. Maybe I could have protected you.”
She started to say something but he stepped in.
“I was wrong.”
After ‘I love you’ those are probably the most powerful words a person can say. Harder to say, in fact, than words of love. I turned away to give them a private moment but Rachael gripped my hand.
“Yes, Dad, you were. I never had your ambitions and I still don’t. This wasn’t something I did for the fame.” She pointedly looked at her brother. “I did this for me. Just to know that I could.”
Bill looked like he wanted to come closer, to hug his daughter, but he hesitated.
“I was wrong about a lot of other things, too. When you were a kid.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I only thought about my own goals and I’ve been so sorry I didn’t see beyond them. I didn’t treat anyone well, including your mother. It’s largely my fault that she ended the way she did.”
Rachael simply nodded. Grayson stood stock still, disbelief registering on his face. Much family history was being clarified in these moments and he clearly was having a hard time taking it all in. I felt decidedly out of place but Rachael kept her grip on my hand until Drake walked up.
“Trouble?” he asked.
Rachael smiled up at him with the grace of an angel. She took my hand and placed it in his. “No, no trouble. In fact a lot of old trouble has gotten better.”
As Drake and I turned to walk away, I heard Rachael’s voice. “Better, I said. Not gone, not perfect. But maybe we can work on that. I misjudged you in a lot of ways, too.” I sneaked a peek backward to see that she’d placed her hand on her father’s shoulder.
It had been a memorable month, in all ways.
Books in the Charlie Parker series:
Deadly Gamble
Vacations Can Be Murder
Partnerships Can Be Murder
Small Towns Can Be Murder
Memories Can Be Murder
Honeymoons Can Be Murder
Reunions Can Be Murder
Competition Can Be Murder
Balloons Can Be Murder
Obsessions Can Be Murder
Gossip Can Be Murder
Books in the Samantha Sweet mystery series:
Sweet Masterpiece
Sweet’s Sweets
www.connieshelton.com
Balloons Can Be Murder: The Ninth Charlie Parker Mystery Page 22
