He spread his hands and looked at her with pleading eyes, his cheeks burning red. "Look, I can't tell you how sorry I am any more than this!"
"Well, well!" She stood and looked at him with her hands on her hips. "That's quite a coherent speech from you!"
"I'll clean up, Laurel, I swear!"
"Yeah, I think you'd better." She nodded slowly. "In fact I think it's time we both cleaned up."
"Do you want to keep fucking?" he asked, making a half-hearted attempt to grope her breast.
She batted his hand away—then reached and took hold of it. "I don't know, Dave," she said, feeling tired. "We'll have to see." Sighing, she closed his fingers around her breast against her better judgment and he massaged it with a look of kindled eagerness. Her nipples began to crinkle and her breasts to throb under his touch, but when he made to embrace her she pushed him away. "Get out of here, Dave. Go on; go find some work to do. Help get the lounge ready for Greg's birthday party or something."
"What about us, Laurel?" His words came out in a near-moan.
"I'll see, Dave." She looked at his woebegone face and felt pity enough to touch him briefly on the cheek. "Ask me again on Thanksgiving, okay? Now go on, scoot!"
With a hangdog look he turned and limped out of the office, closing the door quietly behind him. Alone at last she stretched and twisted, working out the cramps and strain engendered by the late night, and felt some of the tension drain out of her mind and body. As she straightened up, she looked at the file box placed neatly and unobtrusively at the end of the shelf. She smiled. At least she had souvenirs of this time, including the latest and, possibly the best. Returning to her work, she felt happier knowing she had at last got a good image of Martin Grey's hunky body. If his red-headed shiksa wouldn't let him go, she would have that much consolation.
* * * *
A quarter hour passed. Mack checked her map and GPS indicator. "We should be coming up on Canning's Vale any minute."
"I'm not sure what we'll see." Martin looked down at the landscape passing several hundred feet below, a montage of rocky outcrops, dark, bare deciduous trees and patches of firs. A small lake gleamed blue in the rays of the low sun, a white rime of ice growing out from its shore with the onset of colder weather. "There aren't any roads here."
"You won't find many anywhere up here in the mountains," Mack said, her head moving as she kept an eye on the peaks to either side. "You get the odd logging track, or a trail leading to somebody's cabin retreat." She pointed ahead. "This is it; Canning's Vale."
The Piper soared over a ridgeline and the valley opened up before them, a U-shaped stretch of level ground running for a mile between wooded peaks over 3,000 feet high. Another small lake gleamed on a plateau further along from the end of the ridgeline. The rest of the terrain was flat and covered with firs and secondary growth.
"Not somewhere I'd put down on today!" Mack muttered, peering at the ground. "Guess either the Parks Service has been busy, or Ma Nature did it all by herself."
"Mack, take away the trees and the undergrowth; would you've been able to land a biplane here?"
"Yep; no doubt about that. The ground looks level enough." She pointed at the peak at the other end of the valley. It looked like a sugar loaf looming larger with every moment. "In a modern aircraft that'd spoil any approach from the northeast, which is where this pilot would've come in if he flew from Canada. In a biplane, no problem! Wait one, I'll take her up; we'll get a better look."
She poured on the power, hauled back on the wheel and the Piper surged upwards, the peak dropping away until it lay harmless beneath them. Mack circled over the valley and the peaks, her quick, professional eyes taking in the terrain.
"This is looking good," she said at last. "See that long stretch there, just to the north?" She pointed to a long deep-cut valley full of pine trees. "The line's straight north-south apart from that dog-leg, which is of no account if you're flying high enough. Follow that line and it takes you past that peak and into a good long approach run into the valley. What's more important, the wind would be good for taking off for the return trip. They didn't have turboprops in those days. No use flying in if you aren't going to get out again." She grimaced. "At least, this guy would've planned on flying out again."
"And at least we know roughly where he is." Martin nodded. "Mack, could you fly over the valley again, as low as you can? I'll see if I can spot the bluff Minotti talked about."
"Okay, I'll run in from west to east like we did on our first pass. You know, I still can't believe I'm getting navigation data which was passed by a ghost!" She laughed. "Just goes to show, I guess. Here goes…"
The Piper's nose went down and the sound of air rushing past the fuselage increased in volume and pitch. Occasionally a buffeting wind would hit the aircraft, making it jerk and bounce. Martin held onto his seat. Even Claudia looked thoughtful.
"Relax!" Mack looked back at them and smiled. "It's just a bit of turbulence off the slopes. We'll be through in a moment." Dark forest seemed to reach up for them and Martin unconsciously braced himself. "You're doing fine for a first-timer," Mack reassured him. "At least you haven't tried to get out! Keep your eyes peeled now, kids; we're coming up on the spot and you won't have long to look."
Martin pressed his forehead against the cold window of the side door and scanned the rushing land below.
Claudia did the same the other side. "There's the bluff!" she called, pointing and accidentally banging her fingertip hard on the window.
"Do you see a cave?"
"No, nothing," she said, rubbing her finger.
Gravity claimed them as Mack brought the wheel back into her belly and they roared up and over the ridge. "I'll make an east-west pass then we'll have to head back to the barn." She nodded towards the north. Black clouds were looming on the mountainous horizon. "Looks like our Canadian friends are sending us some more snow."
The final pass showed nothing more, and Mack guided the Piper up to a higher altitude. "I hope that helped you, guys," she said, her eyes running over the instrument panel. "It's the most you'll ever see from the air."
"It's fine, Mack, and thank you for your help," he said. "If we're to recover the remains of Gerry, and John Gottlieb, we'll need to go in on foot anyway."
* * * *
A wild party seemed to be in full swing when they returned to the resort that night. Someone had fixed the colored lights along the walks to the cabins and combined with the gently falling snow they gave a festive, almost Yuletide look to the scene.
Joanne Ashby came down the stairs from the offices when they entered the reception hall. She held a wine glass in her hand and looked flushed, whether from the warmth or the wine Martin couldn't tell.
"Hello, Joanne, having a bit of a celebration?" he asked, stamping the caked snow from his boots.
She swiped her brown hair back over her ears and grinned. "Yeah, Mr. Grey, it's Greg's birthday. What with there being no guests, Bruce, ah, Mr. Baker said we could use the main bar tonight." She waved her glass, the red liquid slopping over the rim. "Some of us started early!"
"Good." He looked up the stairs. "Is Bruce in? We'd better let him know we're back."
"Oh, er…" Joanne glanced back up the stairs and moved slightly as if to block them. "He's kind of busy right now," she said, smiling brightly. "Hey, did you guys make that flight this morning?"
"Yes, we passed over here on the way back."
"I thought I heard something. Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I think so, but I'll need to speak to Bruce about it."
Martin made to move past her and Joanne stumbled on the step. Wine splashed over his sleeve and she put her hand to her mouth. "Oops! Sorry, here, I'll wipe it off."
Claudia pushed her hand aside gently but firmly. "It's okay; I'll sponge it off later."
"Joanne," Martin said softly. "Is there some reason why you're trying to stop me from going upstairs?"
"Uh, no," she said, her smile glassy
. He caught the whiff of alcohol and semen on her breath. Claudia glanced at him with a pained expression, and he knew she'd smelt it too.
At that moment Bruce appeared on the landing and peered down at them. "Hey, Martin, Claudia!" he called, walking down and tucking the tail of his shirt into his pants. "How's it going?"
"Fine, thanks."
Joanne gave him a quick nod and scooted downstairs.
Martin watched her go then turned to Bruce. "We're not interrupting anything, are we?"
"No, no!" Bruce grinned. "Nothing to worry about." He leaned closer. "Joanne's had few; she's a bit tight, if you know what I mean. She was in the office just now and spilled wine on my pants. I had a spare pair in the office closet so I changed into them. I guess she was trying to protect my modesty." He noticed the dark stain on Martin's sleeve. "I see she got you too!"
Martin inspected the damage. "Yes."
"Come and join us for a drink! We'd love to hear about what you've been doing today."
* * * *
They made their way to the party and found Gerry propping up the bar, ignoring and, of course, being ignored by the crowd of resort workers.
"Hello, Gerry, how're you?" Martin asked quietly.
"Ashide from being dead, ya mean? I'm fine," he replied with a lopsided smile.
After a moment's hesitation Claudia held out her hand. "Hi, Gerry."
Gerry looked at her, blinked, smiled, and they shook hands. "Hi, Miss Mackenzie!" He beamed at Martin. "You got a nice girl here, mister!"
"Thank you, Gerry." She grinned. "It's always nice to have a sincere compliment from a gentleman. And my name's Claudia."
"Claudia." He blinked at her owlishly. "My li'l girl had red hair like you. Got it from her grandma."
"That's nice, Gerry. You miss her, don't you?"
"Yeah. I miss 'em all." Stretching out one unsteady finger he attempted to run it down the side of a beer glass on the counter before him. The digit passed through the glass and into the beer. He sighed. "I miss a lot o' things, Claudia. I sure would like a beer after all that whiskey."
"What'll it be?" the barman asked.
"Beer, please," Martin replied.
"Coors Light for me," Claudia said.
"Beer for me too," Gerry said, and sighed. He leaned on his folded arms and watched morosely as the barman popped the cap on a bottle and poured the golden liquid into a glass for Martin. "Jeez, that looksh sho good!"
Martin looked round. Bruce was engaged in animated conversation with Laurel a few feet away, their heads close together so they could hear each other over the raucous music blaring from the stage. Laurel wore a fiery red dress with a fair amount of her generous cleavage showing and there was a natural grace in the way she moved. With the subtle make-up she wore she certainly didn't look her age.
He reached over and tapped Bruce's arm to get his attention. "Did you bring the bottle of old Scotch down here?" he asked.
"With this crowd drinking like there's no tomorrow? If I left a bottle of kerosene around they'd drink it. No way would I waste good booze on this bunch! Why do you ask?"
"Gerry's here."
"What?" Bruce looked around, unnerved. "Where?"
Martin gestured. Laurel squinted then looked at the spot out of the corner of her eye. "I can't see anything," she muttered. "After last night, I'm really glad of it! What's he drinking?"
Bruce looked askance at her and turned back to Martin. "He's not going to cause trouble, is he?"
"I reshent that, feller!" Gerry growled, standing up. He swayed visibly, and then with great dignity, he drew himself up. "I am going to dance," he announced, and wove an uncertain path onto the dance floor.
"I don't know how, but it's possible he's managed to extend the range he can move away from the bottle," Martin said.
"You know, that has got me worried!" Bruce said, drawing Martin aside. "You don't think he's gonna move in here, do you?"
"I don't think so, although…" He hesitated. "There have been cases where sprits have followed families from house to house."
Bruce groaned. "Oh, brother! Martin, I'd appreciate it if you could clear this up, ASAP."
Martin looked across at the dance floor, where Gerry was doing his best to follow the motions of the bobbing, twisting crowd. A faint complaint along the lines of "What kinda dancing do ya call this?" carried on the air amidst the music.
Bruce muttered something to Laurel, and headed for the door. Laurel turned to Martin and smiled. "Want to dance?"
He looked at her.
She laughed pleasantly and raised her hands as she addressed Claudia. "Don't worry, honey, I promise to keep my hands to myself!"
Claudia gave a half-smile. "Go ahead, darling," she said to him. "I need to visit the girls' room."
She headed away around the edge of the crowd. With a smile Martin followed Laurel onto the floor and began to bop as best he could to the music. Gerry floated past, shaking his head and looking annoyed. He mingled with and even passed through some of the dancers, who added a brief shiver to their dance steps and looked around for the draught.
"How's the search going?" Laurel asked in a half shout, leaning towards Martin. He caught another waft of her perfume.
"Progress is being made, as my old driving instructor said before he had his heart attack."
She laughed and slapped his arm. "You're a funny guy under that staid Brit exterior!"
"I have my moments. Did you sleep well last night?"
"Like a log. I'm really grateful for what you did for me—and Dave, too."
"You're welcome."
She gave him an appraising look. "It's a real shame you and I can't get together."
He merely smiled and shrugged. "As I said, I'm spoken for, Laurel."
"Okay, no problem," she replied with a wink. "Let's change the subject. How did the air search go today?"
"We found a place called Canning's Vale where the ghost landed the aircraft, but it needs to be approached on foot. Our pilot said even a helicopter couldn't set down nearby."
Mercifully the music ended. Laurel took his arm and led him from the floor. "When are you thinking of making the trip?"
"Soon." Martin looked at Gerry, who was leaning on the bar once more, listening avidly to the conversation of the two girls standing next to him. "We owe it to Gerry Maguire to see he gets a decent burial—and soon."
"Oh, I agree. You'll need to keep an eye on the weather, though. It's so changeable at this time of year." Laurel gestured to the snowfall beyond the sweep of the bar windows. "The forecast is for a gradual thaw after today. Next week, the real snow could hit. I reckon if you don't move soon, it'll have to wait until next year."
She leaned closer. "And between you and me, I don't see Bruce paying your retainer until next spring. He has to justify the costs to his partners, and I hear things are getting kind of squeaky between those three. Now," she said, picking up her purse from the bar-top, "I'm going to the ladies room. Wait around and you can buy me a drink."
Martin bowed and she laughed and pushed her way through the crowd. He looked around the crowded room. Claudia was nowhere in sight.
* * * *
Claudia paused near the foot of the stairs to the gallery and pretended to check her lipstick in her compact. Using the mirror to scan the reception area, she ensured the coast was clear before tucking the compact in her pocket and hurrying upstairs. Once across the gallery she was out of sight of the reception hall and anyone who might be there; the offices lay on either side of the passage, their glass partitions dark. She smiled; perfect!
Making her way to Laurel's office, she listened at the door before trying the handle. The door opened onto the dark office, and she left it ajar to allow light from the passageway to illuminate the room.
"Now, Laurel, let's see just what you're up to in here!" she said quietly to herself.
Moving carefully in the half-light, she examined the desk and the floor around it. Nothing presented itself bar the usual cl
utter of a busy office. The splitter box had a red light shining on the small control console, which presumably meant it was on standby. Cursing her lack of technical knowledge she left it alone, turning her attention elsewhere.
A drum of blank recordable CDs stood near one edge of the desk, along with a small pile of jewel cases and a labeling pen. The PC on the desk had a DVD re-writer drive installed, which puzzled her.
"Why do you need DVDs in an office, Laurel dear?" she asked the empty air.
Rubbing her chin, she turned and looked along the shelves nearby, her gaze questing for anything which might stand out from the norm. A few file boxes, which showed traces of dust when she tentatively dabbed her fingers on the tops of them. The box at the end was dust-free; so was the shelf in front of it.
With a quick glance at the door, she took it down. A white label on the top bore the words 'Dave's bonus,' which made her blink as she thought of the relationship between Laurel and Dave. Placing it on the desk, she opened it. A neat row of DVD cases filled most of the interior. Taking one out at random she examined the title in the light from the passageway.
"B and J, 8/20." She slipped it back in place. "Not very edifying!"
The floor vibrated as the music changed to a heavier dance number in the hall below. A glance at her watch showed she would soon be missed. After a moment's thought, she closed the file box and headed out of the office, closing the door behind her. The reception hall was still clear, so she dashed outside and placed the file box in the car.
Martin would not be pleased, but her instinct was screaming that the find was significant.
* * * *
"Busy night," Gerry said, leaning on the counter beside Martin.
For perhaps the twentieth time Martin had to remind himself that Gerry was a spirit. Writing up his notes after the case was going to be a task-and-a-half. "Greg seems to be a popular guy from the number of people at this party."
"Yeah." Gerry grimaced. "Although this sho-called mushic would give me a headache—if I had a head to ache. And ya call that dancin'? It's epilepshy set to music!"
Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky Page 12
