After about ninety minutes of bouncing around I came to two conclusions. First, I had no desire to become a rodeo bull rider and second, the co-pilot was a liar. We had experienced no improvement in the ride and a couple of sudden drops in altitude had garnered a collective gasp from our little band of terrified travelers. It was so noisy that conversation was out of the question, but I had looked toward PJ several times in an effort at some type of non-verbal communication. I attempted to project a face of confident concern, but the sheer terror I was feeling may have bled through. The fear I saw on her face did nothing to sooth my nerves.
Finally, in what seemed like the tenth hour of our two-hour flight the co-pilot told us that we would be landing in a few minutes. Between the heavy sheen of water on the windows and the black sky it was impossible to tell if we were over the waters of the Gulf or land. Regardless of our location, the prospect of landing soon brought some temper to my fear. I thought I sensed that we were descending, but with the continuous buffeting I wasn't certain. I kept expecting us to break out of the unrelenting turbulence like we had as we approached landing in Tampa.
We were being buffeted side to side when suddenly the roar of the engines increased appreciably and we began to climb steeply. The cabin exploded in light momentarily from a bright flash of lightening. I couldn't tell if the lightening had struck the aircraft or not. The cabin lights flickered and a woman seated a couple of rows behind us screamed and began to sob loudly. I looked toward PJ and found her looking directly at me. Her lips were taught in a grimace. She reached across the isle toward me and I reached out and took her hand in mine. Her hand was soft and warm. Our hands remained linked, neither of us moving to release our grip. Finally, PJ gave me a pensive smile and released my hand.
The co-pilot came on the intercom and told us that they had needed to abort the landing due to the deteriorated weather condition. Duh! He said that we were going to make a wide arc and land through an approaching break in the weather. I didn't know how I felt about that news. I wanted to be on the ground, but even a non-pilot could assess that landing under these conditions was hazardous, at the least.
As we passed the minutes being battered by Mother Nature my mind turned to my Preparedness Plan for Exiting this World. I heard that term once in church as a young boy and for some reason it stuck with me, although I had never seriously contemplated my own personal version until now. Little late, Jack. You may be able to identify the way you want to live your life and the accomplishments you want on your "bucket list," but it's a little late to do anything about fulfilling the plan. Still, thinking about the plan must count for something. I had just gotten finished listing all of the ways I would stay in closer touch with my family when the co-pilot interrupted my thoughts.
We were dropping very rapidly while still being buffeted from side to side. His words were confident, but chilling. "Ladies and gentlemen we anticipate a hard landing, assume the brace position. Assume the brace position. Brace, brace, brace." I was stunned, somehow even with all of my fear I had never contemplated hearing those words. I bent at the waist, put my hands behind my head and pulled my head down between my legs. Somehow I caught a glimpse of movement and turned my head to see PJ's hand waving in the center of the aisle. I reached out and grabbed her hand again. It was stupid, I knew it and she no doubt knew it, but if we were going to go down we were going to go down together.
I have landed many times in airplanes, some smoother than others, but none even close to this. We hit hard, very hard, and bounced like a dribbling basketball run amok. Repeatedly, we were slammed into our seats and then jerked down by our seatbelt. I tucked tighter and tighter to keep my head from bashing against the seat if front of me. Screams and cries from the passengers nearly overwhelmed the roar of the engines and the claps of thunder outside. The front of the plane veered from side to side, but each swerve became less pronounced and finally we were headed in a straight line as the bouncing subsided.
I knew that the co-pilot was speaking on the intercom as I raised my head and we taxied toward the terminal, but he might as well have been speaking a foreign language. I comprehended nothing beyond the fact that I was still alive. I turned toward PJ and she gave me a weak smile while mouthing the words, "That was sure a lot of fun."
I nodded and smiled back. We finally released hands.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
On less than stable legs we made it through the pouring rain into the terminal at Panama City. Well, I call it Panama City because that's the closest city to the remote airport, which is actually named Northwest Florida Beaches International Airport. I'd read that in the magazine I found in the seat back pocket during our stopover in Tampa. I also learned that it was located some 18 miles northwest of Panama City which meant it must be at least twenty miles from the nearest beach. That coupled with the fact that I seriously doubted it hosts any international flights will lead me to continue to think of it as Panama City airport.
We got inside the small, but bright and airy terminal, shook off like a couple of wet dogs, and found the car rental counter. The car was in PJ's name so she handled the paperwork. We hadn't spoken more that a couple of words since landing, so I was almost startled when she turned to me and asked for my driver's license in order to list me as a second driver on the rental. I couldn't put my finger on it but her voice just didn't seem the same. Her tone was more tentative than I had ever heard from her. I also noticed her hand tremble just a bit as I handed her my license. Well, one of us was trembling and I chose to think it was her. Truth be known it was probably both of us.
Thankfully, the rental car was parked only a few feet from the exit at the end of the terminal. A distinct advantage to small airports. As we were speed walking toward the car I said, "Why don't you let me drive. You're always doing the driving." Without a word she held the keys out to me. Once we were inside the car with our bags in the back seat I said, "I suggest you plot us a course to the closest place to get something to eat and a drink."
PJ looked at me with a wan smile and replied, "Yeah, I considered stopping right there in the terminal, but thought it would be in poor taste to drink in direct view of the car rental counter."
Following an app on PJ's phone we found a TGI Friday's. It was still pouring down rain with intermittent gusts of wind driving the rain sideways. Visibility was poor at best. I really wasn't looking forward to the ninety minute drive to Port St. Joe. The parking gods blessed us and I found a spot near the door to the restaurant and we made the dash inside during a slight lull in the storm.
I don't know if it was the stormy day or the near death experience, but I found the traditional red and white tablecloths and the aroma of fried food especially welcoming. We were seated in a booth along the windowed front wall where we could watch the driving rain. The second the waitress appeared at our table PJ ordered a glass of the house Chardonnay. To my chagrin they didn't have Landshark on tap or otherwise. I honestly don't know how they are staying in business. I told her to bring me whatever the most popular local craft beer was, in the large size. I guess I really need to learn about this craft beer craze, it doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon, as I had predicted.
I looked out at the driving rain and asked, "How far did you say it is to Port St. Joe?"
PJ massaged her temples, "Oh, hour or so . . . on a good day." Looking out the window she added, "Today, who knows." She looked at her watch and frowned. It was almost 4:00 p.m. Just then the waitress returned with our drinks and we ordered our food. PJ some type of grilled chicken salad and me a bacon cheeseburger. Our travels hadn't afforded the opportunity for lunch and I'd neglected to eat breakfast before meeting PJ at the airport. I was starving.
PJ closed her eyes as she savored a drink of her wine. My sense was that she was looking for the temporary deadening of hyper-sensitive nerves that alcohol can sometimes provide. She looked across the table at me and said, "I know that we are . . . or Freeman is . . . in the last week of this search, but I don
't think we can do any good today. I don't know about you, but I'm really shook up. By the time we fight our way through this weather to Port St. Joe, I couldn't do a decent job interviewing Debbie Chapman, even if we can locate her this late in the day. I think we should get a hotel here and drive down there in the morning. That gives us the day to find and interview her. I can have the travel agency change our reservation back to the last flight tomorrow. I just think . . ."
I held my hand up in a stop motion. "Don't say another word. You don't need to convince me it's the best decision. The last thing in the world I want to do is drive out into this storm. Besides, even if we get to Port St. Joe what time would we be trying to get back here? Who knows what's there for lodging."
I quit talking as a smile found it's way to her eyes and she raised her glass in salute saying, "Decided."
I asked, "What about Angela? Isn't she expecting you? Can she stay with her grandparents?"
PJ frowned and said, "Oh, that was this morning's battle. I knew we would be late tonight, so I told her I wanted her to stay with them. She threw a fit, telling me in no uncertain terms how she was far to old to need a babysitter and that she would be just fine staying alone."
I was surprised in the outcome and replied, "Oh."
A look of disappointment swept across her face and she said, "Jack, you'll never parent a teenager if you give in that easily." After a sip of her wine she continued, "The battle raged for twenty minutes, but in the end she gave in. I must admit I played to her heartstrings about her grandparents. I told her that they would think she didn't love them any longer if she refused to stay with them when I was gone."
"Wow, that seems like kind of a low blow."
"Says the guy who isn't raising a teenager."
Just then the waitress arrived with our food and we each ordered a second drink. Seemed like fearing you were going to die in a plane crash warranted two drinks with our late lunch. We ate in silence for several minutes while the rain continued to pound the window. We had finished eating and were nearly finished with our second drinks when I excused myself to go to the restroom.
As I returned to the table PJ was just finishing a call on her cell phone. She said, "Flight tomorrow is all set. Also, got us lodging at a Holiday Inn here in town. It's the only place the agency could find with a restaurant on the premises." Gesturing toward the window she added, "I didn't think we would want to go out into this mess for dinner later."
"Sounds like a plan to me. Given that we have rooms for the night, would you like to have another drink?"
"What I would really like Jack is a long hot shower. How about we find the hotel? It has a bar along with it's restaurant and I'll buy you another drink, but after my hot shower."
The rain continued to come down in torrents. Even with PJ directing me from the app on her phone I missed a couple of the turns and needed to backtrack. In an unfamiliar city I just kept finding myself in the wrong lane, and with the rain I couldn't see well enough to make quick lane changes. Finally, we found the Holiday Inn. PJ said she'd check us in while I parked the car. It didn't have a porte-cochère, so I dropped PJ as close to the front door as I could get without driving up onto the sidewalk. I found a parking spot that would afford me only a moderate drenching before I reached the door.
As I came sliding in the front door on my wet shoes carrying our bags, PJ was walking away from the desk with key cards in hand. She indicated the direction of the elevators and said that we were on the sixth floor. Once we exited the elevator, I followed her down the hall until she stopped in front of a door and inserted the key, obviously her room. Ever the gentleman, I carried her bag into the room. It was a modernly furnished, well appointed, room with a king bed. I set her overnight case on the foot of the bed and turned back toward the door asking, "My room close?"
PJ looked around the room and said, "What, you don't like it?"
Confused, I asked, "Oh, they're booked, so we're doing the same room thing again?"
PJ stepped forward and clasped her hands behind my neck pulling me to within inches as she whispered, "No, they have plenty of rooms available, but I chose to only book one." Her green eyes sparkled. "I told you I wanted to take a hot shower, I didn't say I wanted to take it alone."
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The recent rollercoaster that was my life just come out of another hairpin turn, in the form of a near airplane crash, and was climbing steadily toward what had to be the apex of this ride.
Since I first laid eyes on PJ, when she came into Cap's Place working on an investigation, I've fantasized about going to bed with her. No denying that the first desires were no doubt fueled by lust, after all she is one gorgeous woman, but as I've come to know her the lust has morphed into something different. Something I'm not certain I can define as of yet, but something I passionately desire to pursue.
For whatever reason it seems as if something is always interfering with the sparks that intermittently crackle between us. My failure to resist other opportunities that have been presented to me, is probably the most reasonable explanation. PJ is not a woman who is going to compete with someone else, and why should she, she's in a class unto herself.
Now, when I least expected it, she's saying she wants to take our relationship, undefined as it is at this point, to another level. I'm sure that's what she's saying, she's not a one night stand type of girl. I feel like I should pinch myself to make certain this is not a dream. If it is a dream, my subconscious is playing a cruel trick on me.
But it's not a dream. I can feel the warmth of her body against mine, the pounding of her heart. The subtle sweet scent of her perfume. The . . . what's that buzzing?
PJ pulls from my grasp and says, "Sorry, that's Angela. I better answer it." She's stepping back holding her cell phone. "Hi Honey."
PJ's face is immediately tense. "Honey, Honey, I can't understand you. Is something wrong with Grandma or Grandpa?" A long pause of PJ listening but not speaking. Finally she says, "Honey, I know it's terrible, but you need to stop crying, so I can understand what you're saying." Another pause and then, "That's better Honey, now tell me what happened."
PJ backs up and sits on the edge of the bed with the phone pressed to her ear. I can't hear what Angela is saying from where I am, but I can hear her sobbing on the phone. I know that PJ talked with her while we were having our late lunch, so whatever this is it must have just happened.
"Are you with Grandma and Grandpa now?" A pause and then, "Yes, we will talk as long as you want to. I'm sorry I'm not there, Honey, but we'll talk as long as we need to." PJ looks at me, frowns and shakes her head. "Just a second Honey, I need to tell Jack something, I'll be right back."
She puts her hand over the phone and says, "Two of Angela's girlfriends were killed in an auto accident this afternoon. I really need to talk with her. She's distraught, beyond distraught. I have to talk with her. I'm sorry." Her expression was pained.
I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder saying softly, "Of course you do. I totally understand. Angela needs her mother. How about I get another room? You really need to devote yourself to Angela tonight. I'll take a raincheck on the shower together."
Relief and sadness swept across her face as she rose and gave me a peck on the cheek. "You're a prince, Jack. Thanks for understanding." Reacting to the increased volume coming from her phone, "Yes, Honey, I'm back."
I turned, picked up my bag and waved as I left the room. Making my way to the elevator I contemplated how much is sucks to be a prince.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
As soon as we met downstairs Tuesday morning, I asked how Angela was doing. With the obvious concern of a mother who's child was going through a difficult time, PJ told me that she had talked with Angela on the phone for two hours the night before and nearly an hour again this morning. She said that the school would provide grief counselors for the students today and that she had encouraged Angela to attend a session. It was obvious that PJ was upset by the fact that she w
asn't present to console her daughter.
The hotel restaurant looked crowded and we expected that it would be slow, so we checked out and found a small cafe on our way out of town. Once we were settled in a booth and had ordered, PJ looked across the table and said, "I'm sorry about last night, Jack. I really am." Her voice carried more than a hint of sadness. I couldn't decide if her mood was the result of our missed opportunity or the impact of the pain she felt for Angela.
I smiled and said, "No worries. I got a raincheck, remember." She smiled faintly and nodded. I continued, "So, what's the plan for today?"
Refocusing on our mission seemed to lighten PJ's mood some. She said, "Like always, we'll fly by the seat of our pants. Make it up as we go along."
"You mentioned on the phone Sunday that you had both work and home addresses for Debbie."
Nodding she said, "Yes, well at least a work address as of the end of last year."
I speculated, "Sounds to me like somebody's gotten into an IRS database."
"Don't ask, don't tell. That's my motto."
"So, we'll just go to the addresses and see if we can find Debbie. Start at home or work?"
PJ considered my question. "We'll start at work. It's a real estate business, so if we don't catch her on the first visit she'll probably be less likely to avoid us than she might if we were poking around her home."
I was surprised. "You think she might try to dodge us? Why? None of Jessica's other friends have been hesitant to talk to us."
Her eyes narrowed, wrinkling her brow. "I've been thinking about Debbie Chapman quite a bit. I understand her leaving Pineywoods, who wouldn't? What doesn't fit for me is her lack of contact with anyone back there. Seems to me that if she and Jessica were such good friends she would have come back at some point after Jessica's death if for no other reason than to pay her respects to Amanda. Just seems strange to me."
Driven Be Jack_A Jack Nolan Novel Page 26
