So that was Noah's source and, as both of us knew, automatic and immediate grounds for dismissal. “Can you prove it?”
“After Iraq, I did some flying for Special Ops in South America. Down there, if you made it fine, if you didn't you crashed. My proof is what I'm seeing all over again in Brad.”
“Thanks, Mad Dog. I'll look into it.”
“He keeps it in his locker.”
I bounced my pencil up and down on the desk. “Okay,” said, wanting him to leave so I could think about this next fire I would have to put out.
He stood with hands on hips, seething. “You got an extra key to get in, if not I can jimmie it for you.”
“I got it,” I said, figuring the source of his anger was more likely the smaller share of the work orders.
“You gonna look now?”
I sighed, reached into the desk and pulled out a second set of little brass keys. He almost stepped on my heels in his eagerness to follow me into the locker rooms. The lockers were numbered in black and marked with pilot and crew names on duct tape. I found the key and opened Brad's. Inside was a wadded up brown lunch bag, a pair of dirty socks and an old flight book. I opened the brown paper sack and found a bottle of Ibuprophen. Opening the bottle revealed exactly what was marked on the outside—Ibuprophen. No white papers, no odd shaped pills of any kind. I groped into the corners, daring to touch the dirty socks, and then pulled my hand out and closed the door with relief.
“The sun's coming up. You got peaches to do, right?”
“It could be in his car.”
“The lockers are our property, cars aren't. So, unless you have evidence that I can actually see, you've got work to do and I need to go see about getting this cast off my foot.”
The pinched set of his mouth gave me pause. I might yet have to fire Brad, and business would suffer if we lost another one. “Sit down a minute?”
He huffed out a breath, as if now I was now wasting his valuable time and slouched in the metal chair next to my desk.
“You said you were in South America?” I asked, changing the subject.
His big freckled hands locked together on his knees. “Yeah, six years ago.”
“What do you know about smuggling?”
It wasn't about Brad and how to get rid of him, but it was a start. “Not as much as the opportunity allows. Think about it, a smuggler in a car gets pulled over, he runs for it, and if they don't catch him, all he loses is his car or truck. A pilot lands, gets picked up, loses his plane or somebody else's very expensive airplane, his license and his freedom. No amount of money could make me want to run that risk, no sir.”
I picked up a letter opener and twirled the blade on the tip of my finger. “So you've never been tempted.”
“Sorry, Lalla. I know where this is going and I know my job here is dependent on your good graces, but I really don't want to get involved with bad mouthing another operator.”
But he didn't mind badmouthing his competition at our business.
“Then Machado's still in the Aero Ag business?”
Mad Dog struggled up out of his chair, gave his bum knee a squeeze and sighed. “Yes, he's still in the business. Now if you don't have any more questions of me, I got work to do.”
Knowing that neither Mad Dog or Noah would be satisfied until I fired Brad, I said, “I'll set up Brad's yearly exam tomorrow. It comes with a drug test, so if you're right about him, do you have anyone in mind for a replacement?”
His sandy brows tucked together in an artificial expression of perplexed disappointment. “Why, you of course.”
“Yeah, sure I will, but not for couple of weeks.”
Mad Dog gave me a lazy, if somewhat predatory smile and walked out the door whistling. Noah was right to call him opportunistic. If he couldn't tie me and the business up in one nice package, he'd work hard to keep me on the sidelines and replace Brad with himself.
Dinner with Garth was the last thing I felt like doing. But with the specter of my father's involvement looming over me, I needed some answers. Besides, I could only dodge the deadly duo at the police station for so long before they pinned me to the wall and demanded more tidy tales.
“Come on in, Darlin’,” said Garth, waving at me from the door of his road warrior. “Sure glad you decided to call,” he said, reaching to pull me up into the motor home. “I'm running a bit behind. Got cornered by my shop manager and we've been at it since noon. It's all good news though, and now that you're here, my day is perfect.”
He drew me over to a corner set up as an office, complete with computer, printer with FAX, and phone. “My partner transfers the spread sheet to me by e-mail,” Garth said, combing back his dark hair with the blunt ends of his fingers. A curl had escaped to lie on his high forehead and for a moment my fingers itched to draw it back.
“Lookee here,” he said, draping an arm around my shoulders to draw me closer to the screen, “this tells me who buys tires and how many scheduled truck repairs we got for the week. And when it exceeds our monthly projection,” he punched a key and fireworks sparkled onto the screen, canned applause and some singer warbled, “Thank God for a country boy!”
Though the whole thing was cheesy, I still nodded and smiled. He grinned as if he'd caught me staring at more than the computer. I blushed. Guilty as charged.
He slid his hand along my back, idling it at my bare shoulder, then reluctantly removed it. “If you don't mind waiting for a few minutes?” he said, rubbing a hand across the five o'clock shadow.
I nodded and swallowed hard trying not to stare at the tight gluts in his faded jeans as he moved to the rear of the motor home. I could hear an electric razor making lawnmower sounds over his five o'clock shadow. Water ran for a minute, then he moved from the bath into his bedroom.
A full length dressing mirror on the outside of his bedroom door was tilted open and I peeked as he took off his shirt, lifted a muscled arm to roll on deodorant, and then slipped a dark blue knit shirt over a well-defined chest. I liked the way the muscles moved across his back and I licked my lips and thought, ‘So what if watching him made my mouth go dry and my heart rate kick up a notch? Did he think his sexy smile, twinkling brown eyes and great body was going to bowl me over? If so, I might just let him. I hadn't had a date, much less one that might involve getting laid, in longer than I could remember. He was tempting enough to make me forget all the real reasons why I was here. So, what was the worst that could happen——our reputations shot to hell?’
I tore my eyes away from the object of my growing lust and ran sweaty palms over the armrest of the chair. For something to do, I stuck my fingers down the sides of the cushion and felt around. I found two old peanuts, some sandy lint and a small metal key. It was the right size for the door to his motor home and I was about to say something when he walked down the hallway. “Thanks for waiting.”
I fingered the key, and since he was preoccupied tucking the shirt, I pocketed it and stood up. Yup, he sure did clean up good. “Which one, do you think?” he asked, holding up a buttery soft suede jacket and a blue blazer.
Well, as Garth would say, “bump-my-ass-and-call-me-an-Okie.” But, nothing about Garth Thorne reminded me of any Okie I'd ever met. The guy looked like he just stepped out of a glossy page from a men's magazine.
Forgetting all about the purloined key in my pocket, I said, “Too hot for a jacket and too nice for the restaurant I had in mind. The place is pretty much come-as-you-are.”
He tossed the jackets on a chair, grinned and said, “Then I'm all yours for the night.”
I stood up, and in the cramped space between us, he reached across to open the door and our bodies collided. My blood pressure took a jump. There I was, sophisticated ex-New York model, standing dry-mouthed and giddy, waiting for the possibility he might bend down and touch my lips with his.
My breath was coming in rapid little chuffs and an unaccustomed pink galloped up my neck to bloom my cheeks. I felt like a teenager on a first date. Our eyes
locked, and as the seconds stretched into a warming heartbeat, I stood close enough to gaze into the gold ringed, deep brown depths of smoky, darkly lashed and seductive eyes. It would have all been oh so right, if I hadn't noticed that instantaneous and quickly snuffed flash of superior male confidence; the one with just the slightest touch of cruelty around the edges. Over the years I'd been tripped up by enough dangerously handsome brown-eyed men to have memorized the moment and the look.
With a sigh of regret, and before I entirely lost my senses, I turned the knob on the door handle and stepped down. A warm breath of evening air whispered across my cheek, icing down the last tremors of my foolishness. In the murky and darker corners of Garth's expression, I'd clearly seen all I needed to know about Garth Thorne. I could see that he'd already determined that his flirtation with me was intended for his advantage.
Never mind the logistics between New York and Oklahoma, I understood men like Garth because I'd worked with them, dated them, and in two cases married them. The end result was that I also got this one very powerful rule: she who rules home court advantage wins.
I smiled all the way to the truck. Garth hummed softly at the passing scenery while the little key I'd palmed lay warm and forgotten in my pocket.
twelve
We got as far as the stop sign to the freeway, but instead of taking the on-ramp, I made a left and pulled into Roxanne's. Since I'd already crushed the illusion of any blooming romance between us, my intention was to see if Boyd Lincoln was in his usual seat at the counter and could ID Garth.
Garth nodded at the heavy droplets trickling down the inside of the café windows. “Darlin’, I'm sure the food is good, but you don't have to go cheap on my account.”
I smiled, unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door.“This was your aunt's favorite diner, and mine too. Come in and meet the owners, I'm sure they'd like to offer you their condolences.”
Without the least bit of reticence on his part, he hopped out and followed me into the café.
Inside, I momentarily tensed, waiting for the pitying glances, but it was dinner time and the place was full up with itinerant truckers and tourists, not locals. I relaxed.
“How do, Miz Leonard,” Garth said, his eyes twinkling as he took Roxanne's big hand in his as if it was dainty and small.
Roxanne didn't roll her eyes, or sneer, or anything. She did, however, gently remind me of the reason I was going on this impromptu date. “I'm awfully sorry about your aunt. She was a really sweet lady.” She eased out of Garth's handshake and said, “You'll want to say hello to my husband, Leon. He's over there putting out the pies. Tell him to cut you a slice. Go on, you're young enough not to let it ruin your supper.”
She gave him three steps out of hearing then shot me full of holes. “Don't tell me you're going out on a date with that man.”
Now that I'd made up my mind about Garth, I wasn't about to let any hormones get in the way of my investigating, so I was indifferent to her insinuations. “Not really. Well, dinner, but don't worry, I'm working here. So, is he the guy Boyd Lincoln saw or not?”
I was watching Garth out of the corner of my eye. He was passing the time making small talk with Leon while tasting the lemon meringue. Garth said something and the two men laughed.
Roxanne followed my gaze. “You'll have to bring him back when Boyd is here. He saw him, not me. I gotta say one thing for him, he's about as cute as they come. Reminds me of my Leon, before he started eating his own cooking.”
Giving her a reassuring hug, I said, “Don't think I don't get what your implying, Roxy. Trust me, I can handle this guy.”
She pulled back from the hug, holding me by the elbows and whispered, “That's what you said last time you brought a hunky man to my place, and look how that turned out.”
I tipped my forehead to hers and replied, “I promise you, I got it.”
“You be careful, girlfriend,” she said quietly, and then went over to join her husband.
“What'd you say to Leon that got to his funny bone?” I asked Garth when we got in the truck.
“I told him his lemon meringue was so light it should get him a green card right through to Heaven.”
Barring Roxanne's warning, I relaxed. Since I'd never encountered one before, I guess he could be a sociopathic serial killer, but it was more likely I was right about him. He was right behind our pilot, Mad Dog, in the running for opportunistic womanizer. That didn't mean he didn't also murder his old aunt, but my instincts told me it was less than likely.
Settled into a booth at the steakhouse, I peered hopelessly at the tight little script on the wood board menu. “I forgot how dark it is in here.”
“It's a plot, you know. We can't read the damn things in this light so we'll gratefully order whatever they tell us is ‘special’.”
He put down his own billboard-sized menu and pulled out a pair of half-glasses. “Here, try these. They're just drugstore cheaters, but they do the trick for me. This place oughta give ‘em out at the door.”
“Thanks. I thought I was going blind there for a minute.” I should've been grateful for the glasses, but instead I felt self-conscious and every bit my age.
He didn't seem to notice. “I know it sounds corny, but you look cute in glasses. Mentioning glasses, did I hear you were right when you said my aunt was going blind?”
“Yes, she depended on the bus or somebody gave her a ride to Roxanne's.”
“ I remember playing with the colored ink stamps she used for Bingo.”
“She read the menu with a magnifying glass. Maybe she did the same with Bingo.”
He pushed his menu away, signaling his impatience with the subject. “I'd rather you told me about you. Is Lalla your given name or does it come in a longer version?”
“You'd prefer Eula May? My big brother called me Lolly-Pop, but my mother put a stop to that when I was nine. Aunt Eula May is my father's aunt. I guess they were hoping the old girl would leave me her oil stock. Aunt Eula May, being on my father's side, is ten years older than my dad, and will probably outlive all of us. Every September, she drives all the way out here from Brownsville, Texas and gets in our hair.”
“And you're a pilot. It's not every day I meet a beautiful woman who can fly airplanes. You really like those flying tin cans?”
“I sort of fell into the job more from need than inclination. I got my pilot's license at eighteen, and, well, one thing just led to another.”
“Now don't go makin’ it sound like. nothin’ Darlin’. I've seen those guys working, looks dangerous to me.”
“It can be. Every year at the national convention, there's another empty seat.”
“Empty? As in dead? Then, why do it?”
“I haven't for the last couple of months. I still have my A&P, that's the mechanics license to work on them, and I don't mind getting my hands dirty, so at least I have a job.”
“You still use those old bi-planes?”
“The Stearmans? I suppose someone does. We now use the Grumman model G-164 Ag-CAT and it is a bi-plane. They carry the bigger loads. With suburbs eating up all the farmland around here, some applicators find Helo's quieter. They're expensive, but they don't get complaints from irate housewives for noisy planes interrupting their soap operas. The hours are long, the work is dirty and the pay seems to get smaller every year.”
“So, what keeps you here?”
“Me? To tell you the truth, I sometimes think I'm just on a long rubber band. I always seem to go only so far before I bounce back to this ranch. I came home after a disastrous marriage and an unremarkable career in New York, thought I would jump back into the job as an Ag-pilot. Now I've got this leg in a cast, so, at least for now, I'm grounded.”
“Kids?”
“No,” I said, reprimanding myself for automatically glancing to his ring finger. “I never had much luck finding daddy material. And now it's a little late.” I was thinking of the photo from a couple of days ago. Gap toothed and in pigtails with the line und
erneath that said, Lordy-Lordy! Look who's forty!
Garth smiled, nodding attentively to the annotated version of my life's story. Either he'd swallowed Valium before our date or he was fascinated.
“I have called my father by his first name since I was eleven. At first just to annoy him, and then it got to be a habit. My mother died of cancer when I was eleven and my older brother was killed in a motorcycle accident when he was twenty-seven.” All of which was true, except how my mother died. But ,that secret stayed hidden, in much the same way I wasn't about to tell him tomorrow I'd be reporting this conversation with a police detective.
We idly chatted about nothing until the bill came and he reached for it.
I said, “Sure you don't want to split that?”
“Not a chance,” he grinned, laying a credit card onto the tray. When the girl came back, he signed the tab and said, “It's a business expense, courtesy of Four Corners Truck Stop and Repair. Too bad you got a hitch in your get-along. I sure would enjoy takin’ you for a whirl around the dance floor. Another rain-check?”
“Even without a cast on my foot, the only stepping I'm likely to do is on your feet,” I said, looking at my watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I've got an early morning.”
Our evening ended up back at his RV, with Garth collecting my hands from the steering wheel and holding them between his big paws. “Wouldn't you like to come in?” he asked, his intentions obvious.
I could smell his aftershave and the undertone of maleness that made me feel like a twelve-pointer on opening day of hunting season. “Can't. Sorry. Got an early morning crew to get out, remember?” But, I let him hold my hands.
“Sure I can't convince you to be a bit late?” he murmured, his breath closing in on my neck.
“Sorry, I said, allowing his mouth to scatter light kisses along the tender skin. He got as far as my ear before I found my breath again. “Not unless you want a herd of irate farmers knocking at your door at three a.m.”
I said that? Oh, well, we both knew what would come of it if I got out of this truck.
A Dead Red Cadillac Page 10
