Her ears perked up. “Guy?”
“Well, it’s not like that but … he’s a friend of Jack’s. He was at the house helping chop wood for winter.” I saw again the blue eyes and dark hair, the dimple in his cheek. “He is really good-looking.”
“Oh?” She leaned forward.
I sat back and held up a hand. “But you know. I’m not looking. I have Derek. Kind of.”
Bobbie sniffed.
“But Jack’s friend—his name is Michael—is very nice. The kindest face. Of course, I … well … but probably not my type.” I shook my head but stopped, remembering again the warmth of his hand in mind, his strong arms.
“I think I’m hearing way too many ‘buts.’ It sounds to me like he made a deep impression.”
“He has a little daughter he takes care of. Elizabeth told me he’s an architect. He’s athletic.”
Bobbie shook her head in mock seriousness. “Oh, definitely not your type. And what type was it you liked?”
“Oh stop. Anyway, I have Derek.”
Bobbie rolled her eyes.
“Well, I’m just saying that’s the longest list of positives I’ve heard out of you about any guy till now.”
The waitress set club sandwiches and steaming bowls of soup in front of us. “Let’s just forget about it.” I waved my hands as if to erase the picture in my head. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
“Whatever you say. I want to show you a lamp in the store next door, but I may get them Angela and James throw pillows.” She pulled out a catalogue. “Now tell me which of these you think would look good in their apartment. I think I can still get them in time if I order them online.”
Between bites we looked at various colors and fabrics in the catalogue until I noticed a man at a table across the room acting strangely. His ball cap was tugged low over his eyes, but he looked oddly familiar—the scruffy charcoal beard, the short stocky build. I was pretty sure I’d seen him before. The sandwich on his plate was untouched. His blank, dull stare was unnerving. He kept running his hand across the table’s edge, pressing down hard until his knuckles whitened.
I narrowed my eyes. “That man. He’s staring at me. He creeps me out for some reason.”
Bobbie turned around to look. “Which man?”
“The one in the corner with the torn pants,” I whispered.
“What a weirdo.” She took a second look. “Wait a minute. I’ve seen him. He was outside the airport by the door when I picked you up. Kept muttering to himself and pacing around. He’s pretty strange.”
Why was he here? Where had I seen him before? And why had he been hanging around the airport? Slowly a light dawned. He resembled the night guard I saw sleeping in the airport lounge. Could it be him?
The odd man still stared, stroking the table nonstop like he was trying to rub the finish off the top. Halfway through our lunch, he suddenly darted from his chair, knocking his plate to the floor. He stalked toward the door. The waitress watched, dismayed as he stormed from the room, his bill left unpaid.
“What is his problem?” Bobbie said, staring after him.
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to find out.”
We finished our meal, and I was just pulling out my credit card when Bobbie said, “Seriously, Jenna, my cat keeps better care of her nails than you do. Before the wedding …”
“I know, manicure,” I said, hiding my nipped nails.
“I’ll get you a deal with Nicole in my salon. Make an appointment,” she said emphatically.
A
Mark had spent a few days at corporate headquarters. By the time he got back into Missoula that afternoon, I had a long list of questions for him. I bumped into him as he arrived at Gate A. “Do you have time to go over a few things with me?” I asked. “Or do you need a few minutes to get some coffee?”
“Actually, I’m OK,” he said. “I had a cup on the plane. Or at least I’m wearing the one from the plane.” He said in annoyance as he brushed at his pant leg.
“Yeah, it’s always bumpy coming back into Missoula.”
“Can’t you do something about that?”
I laughed. “I’ll look into it.”
“Give me just a minute to get organized, then come to my office.”
When I walked through his door, his briefcase lay open on the desk and he was sorting through a stack of papers and folders. A small doll dressed in a perfectly detailed Native American costume poked out from under the stack.
“Now you are into dolls?” I kidded him.
“Picked it up for the girls,” he said, extracting the doll from the pile and setting it beside a picture frame with a photo of his family at Disneyland. The radio behind him squawked and a voice broke through. “Mark? This is Kristin. The cargo door on this plane is jammed again and I can’t get it shut. Can you remind me how to … ?” The voice trailed off.
Mark picked up the receiver. “Check and make sure one of the clips on the net is not getting caught. If that’s not it, then just wiggle it. If you still have trouble, just call maintenance.”
“Oh, there it goes. Thanks,” she said.
Mark turned to his computer screen. “Almost finished here,” he said.
“So how are things in St. George?” I asked.
“Well, the weather is just gorgeous in the land of red bluffs and blue skies. The heat has abated and the golf links called to me as I gazed out of the window during my meetings,” he said wistfully. He glanced at the doorway as a bag dropped from a disembodied hand into a pile with a thud. “How’s it been going here?”
“Good. For the most part my team is doing great. Passengers have been a challenge a few times. You know how that goes.” He nodded his head and I went on. “We had a real winner the other day. A passenger insisted we let him strap his cello into the seat next to him, all for the price of one ticket. I think he even had named the thing. But generally, things are going well.”
I paused, remembering again the fierce-looking man I saw the other day at the restaurant. “Hey, what about that security guard? The one that I told you was sleeping in the lounge upstairs? I think you said you’d talk to his boss about that.”
“Yes, I did. He was fired over a week ago. Why?”
I shifted in my seat. “I saw him today. It was weird. He was at Paradise Falls when I was there with my friend. He was acting very strange. He kept staring at me, then rushed out of the place. I’m sure it was the same guy, but he wasn’t wearing a security uniform. And then my friend said she saw him when she picked me up for lunch today. He was hanging out in front of the building.” An uneasy feeling came over me again as I thought of the man.
Mark looked concerned. “I don’t know. Maybe he was just picking up a friend, but I’ll check on it.” He penciled a note, then flipped through some papers, stopping to hold one up tantalizingly in front of me. “There’s still this job opening in Hawaii. Calvin called me again and said he’d like to have you apply. I asked him how big a bribe he’d give me to let you go. You thinking about applying? Are you interested in a move?”
I paused a moment. What held me here? Derek? He was in and out of the area. Was it a good idea to make life plans based on the shifting sands of that relationship? Family of course held me here or kept me coming back, but of course I could fly home for free. Maybe Mark was right—lush green paradise, the sound of the ocean rushing to the shore. What the heck, I thought. I could at least apply and see what happens. I took the paper from his hand and slipped it onto my clipboard.
He smiled conspiratorially. “Well, let’s go over your list of concerns,” he said.
I left Mark’s office, and when I came around the corner toward the ticket counter, I knew immediately that trouble was brewing. The passenger had his back to me, but there was an unmistakable tone in his voice that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
“I don’t care what it says in your computer, you get me on that plane!”
As I came closer, I saw the man�
�s face flame red as he swore at the agent behind the counter.
“You guys overbooked the last flight and I have been waiting around this stinking airport for two hours,” he spat.
I stood a few feet away, observing the scene. I knew Leslie had worked for the airline for seven years. She was as self-assured as they come, but she was starting to get rattled. “If you’ll just calm down, I will try to help you, sir,” she said.
“I am so sick of your incompetent, unprofessional service.” He struck his fist on the counter. “I have to be in Las Vegas tonight. If you don’t get me on that plane now, you will be hearing from my lawyer.”
Something about the man’s rumpled clothing led me to believe that he wasn’t inclined to retain a lawyer.
He waved his fist, punctuating his accusations. “I booked the flight for this afternoon three weeks ago,” he was screaming now, “and you can’t tell me that you,” he punched a fat finger in Leslie’s direction, “can’t control how many people you book.”
Leslie opened her mouth to speak, but the man suddenly shoved a pile of heavy suitcases that were heaped near the desk. The stack went over like dominoes and a case marked “Moose Drool” flew onto the conveyer belt behind the counter, just missing a coworker’s leg. I heard the unmistakable sound of smashing glass and watched as a blood-red stream of wine mixed with brown ale oozed over the belt and onto the floor. It looked like there had been a murder.
Everyone froze. Leslie’s mouth hung open. The other check-in staff members and two of the workers behind the counter next to ours stopped, eyes as big as saucers. The man swore again, spun on his heels, and stomped into the waiting area.
Leslie collected herself and addressed the line of astonished travelers. “Alrighty then,” she said cheerfully, her voice rather thin. “Next please.”
Instantly, I had my cell phone in my hand, dialing security. Adrenaline flooded my system. What kind of nut was this guy? I quickly told the security guard what had happened as I watched the man pace in a circular pattern around a section of chairs. Before long, I saw two uniformed guards approach him, grasp him by the arms and escort him firmly toward the door marked security. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I went behind the service counter and looked at the sticky mess. “Are you all right?” I asked Kevin and Leslie.
“Sure, you betcha,” Kevin said, raising his eyebrows.
“Leslie, will you go over to security and help them fill out a report? I’ll take over here. Kevin, will you call maintenance?” He nodded.
I was checking in the next two passengers when I looked up with surprise to see Michael further down the line. A broad-shouldered man wearing a beige sport jacket and carrying a briefcase was at his side. I looked down quickly, focusing on printing tickets. I wondered why it was so warm behind the desk all of a sudden. And my mouth was feeling a little dry.
“Hello,” I said to Michael when the woman in line in front of him gathered her carry-on and left.
“Do you remember me? I’m Jack’s friend, Michael.” He held up the wounded thumb. “I was the patient.”
“Of course.” I found myself shuffling and reshuffling the papers on the desk. I felt a little short of breath.
“How are you, Jenna?” he smiled.
“Fine, thanks.” I cleared my throat. “Well, actually we’ve had a bit of excitement here. A passenger was a little put out.” I gestured toward the oozing, brown stain on the wall and floor. “He decided to christen the conveyer belt.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, trying to look sorry but suppressing a grin.
“It happens.” I forced myself not to fiddle with my collar. “Are you flying today?”
“No, not today. This is my friend Cody Davidson. He just flew in from Houston and his luggage seems to be missing.”
The man beside him nodded and pulled a claim ticket from his pocket.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me help you with that.” As Michael’s eyes rested on my face, I felt the color flood to my cheeks. I took a deep breath. “What was your flight number?” I asked his friend. He gave me the number, and I entered it into the computer, then picked up the phone. As I waited for an answer, I tried to forget that Michael was standing so close, so close I could smell his cologne.
“So, are you visiting long?” I asked Cody.
“Just for a few days. I have a lecture to give over at the university. Michael said he could put up with me for a while.”
After a few minutes of conversation on the phone, I narrowed my eyes. “Well, this doesn’t look good. It seems your luggage ended up in Alabama.”
They looked disappointed.
“Let me see what I can do.” I thumped away on the keyboard. “Actually, we’re in luck. I can arrange for your bags to get on a couple short flights and they should be here by eight o’clock. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do.”
Cody sighed in relief.
“That will be just great. I didn’t really want to have to loan him my toothbrush,” Michael said. “That will work out fine. We have some things to do at my office and we’ll stop by this evening. Will you be here?” he asked hopefully.
“No, I’m done at six.”
“Well, I owe you a lunch or something,” Michael said.
“It’s really no problem.”
“Come on,” said his friend, smiling. “If you don’t let him at least buy you some pie, he will be consumed by guilt all day because he made you work so hard.”
I laughed.
“Lemon meringue,” Cody continued, “That’s his favorite. They got that here at the restaurant?” he asked, looking toward the café.
Michael reddened but looked hopeful. I noticed the slight cleft in his chin, his clear eyes shining through dark lashes.
“I do have a break at two,” I said, my voice sounding far away.
“I’ll stop back by,” Michael said. He backed away, twisting his magazine in his hands nervously. “Two o’clock then,” he said.
As I helped the next customer with his ticket, I watched the two of them out of the corner of my eye, until I lost sight of them as they turned the corner by the gift shop.
Chapter 11
dc
I shuffled through papers at my desk, looking at the clock every few minutes as two o’clock drew near.
“You OK, Jenna?” Leslie asked. She was flipping through the screens on the computer next to me. “You are going to chew that nail right off, kiddo.”
I stuffed my hand into my pocket. “I’m fine.” I drummed the fingers of my other hand on the counter.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I bit my lip. “Hey, I’m going on break. I have to meet someone.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Anyone I know.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Someone important?” she probed.
“I … uh. I gotta go.” I grabbed my purse, checked my hair in the mirror that dangled on the back of the door, and left for the airport restaurant. It was just a piece of pie, I kept telling myself. He was just being gracious. It meant nothing. Just a friend of my cousin’s, I insisted. I straightened the collar on my jacket and wondered how someone so quiet could be so intriguing.
Michael was waiting for me at the entrance to the restaurant when I arrived. He held a suede jacket that he kept switching from one arm to the other until he saw me. When he spotted me, he stepped toward me, nearly tipping over the “Please seat yourself” sign.
“Hi,” I said, finding myself a little short of breath despite the fact that the restaurant was just a few steps away from my office.
“Hi,” he said, smiling. “Death by Chocolate.”
“What?”
“Death by Chocolate Pie,” he explained. “It’s the special today.”
“Oh,” I laughed. “I’m a sucker for chocolate. But you really don’t have to do this,” I protested.
“It’s OK,” he said with a short laugh. “Let’s sit over by the window.”<
br />
We slipped into a booth overlooking the runway. An Alaska plane was being refueled on the tarmac. Golden tamarack trees peppered the mountain slopes in the distance. Beside us a fire danced in the stone fireplace beneath a hewn-pine mantel.
The waitress, a shriveled-looking woman with a cheery smile, brought us water and menus.
I hid my head in the menu for a moment, then looked up. “I think I’ll just have the chocolate pie. After all, how could I resist that?”
“Me too,” Michael said.
“What, no lemon meringue?” I asked with an arched brow.
“Today, I’m living dangerously,” he said.
The waitress collected the menus and went to the counter. We spent a long moment avoiding each other’s gaze until I cleared my throat and said, “So, I’m sorry about the luggage.”
“Yes, thanks for your help. Cody would have made a poor impression at his lecture after sleeping all night in his suit.” He smiled, showing the dimple in his left cheek nestled in the deep shadow of his dark, close-shaven beard.
“Oh, of course, it was nothing,” I mumbled. His eyes were so blue. I twisted my napkin. But he’s Jack’s friend, I told myself. He’s just Jack’s friend.
“So, how did it go with the conveyer belt clean up? And what exactly was that customer so angry about?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
“He said he bought a ticket online for a flight to Las Vegas, but Leslie couldn’t find him in the system anywhere, and there were no open seats on the next flight out. Apparently, he was not happy about that.” My face began to burn under the glow of his gaze. The napkin started to shred to pieces, so I hid my hands under the table. “So, you went to school here with Jack at the University of Montana?”
“Yes, just for a year. I started at U of M and then transferred over to the architectural program at Montana State. Graduated about eight years ago. Jack and I were on an intramural basketball team here and we had a few classes together. We stayed in touch even when I was out of state. He’s been a good friend.” He paused. “A really good friend. Both he and Elizabeth have helped me out a lot.”
Heartbeat of the Bitterroot Page 7
