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The Problem with Accidents

By: Dorothy McFalls

February 2004

Dorothy McFalls [dorothymcfalls@att.net] lives in a small island community in South Carolina and has been writing non-fiction for more than six years as an urban planner. She has recently given up her career to pursue her first love, fiction.

Jason Cavendish was dead, and no one seemed surprised. The reckless pilot for Happy Skies Airlines finally did it. He finally killed himself.

It had been only a matter of time.

The other pilots, especially those who knew him well, thanked God that Jason hadn’t nose-dived a commercial jet into that South Carolina swamp. He killed no one but himself when he pushed his small Piper Cub into a fatal maneuver.

They’d shrugged, grieved a little, and moved on. This was a matter for the FAA--an open and shut case of operator error.

So what was I doing here, standing in the middle of a busy airport terminal, feeling my breakfast bubble up at the sight of all these people willing to trust the physics of getting a pile of steel into the air and keeping it there?

I was here because of her.

Across the noisy terminal stood a small blonde dressed in the royal blue that the Happy Skies stewardesses made famous. She fidgeted, her gaze flitting from tourist to businessman.

In search of me, I suppose.

A stray curl kept intruding in her search. Every few seconds, she’d swipe at the offending hair and turn her head.

She wasn’t rich. I’d done the regular background research on her and knew just as much about her, the client, as I did about Jason Cavendish, her brother. Despite all I knew, I found her to be much more a mystery than the case. But since she’d produced the hefty retainer fee I charged--in cash--here I was.

A harried businessman slammed into me. The attack blindsided me, my attentions had been far too focused on my client, Felicity Cavendish. Startled by the punch to the ribs, I swung. Luckily, I managed to call off my fist as soon as I realized I wasn’t in any real danger and barely touched the man.

He gushed an apology.

I did the same.

The last thing I wanted to find in an airport was trouble. There was enough to worry about in these places, no reason to add to the stress.

“Miss Cavendish,” I said when I finally made it safely to the other side of the terminal.

She stared at me cautiously. Her sharp greenish-gray eyes traveled my five-foot, somewhat stocky frame. We hadn’t met. She’d only dealt with my secretary, Marge.

I could see by the crinkling of her nose, she found me lacking. She was probably wondering whether she’d just wasted her savings on my retainer.

“You can’t be Rex Grainger,” she said, a lilt of doubt rising in her voice.

I get that reaction a lot on first meetings, so I wasn’t offended--not really. When you have a reputation of being a fierce, take-no-prisoners private eye, people expect you to look the part. Shame on me and my small body.

No one wants a squat, slightly balding man for a hero.

I’m okay with that because I know, looks or no looks, I can get the job done. So when she asked who I was, I simply ignored the implied jab and got to work.

“You say your brother was murdered?”

She shuddered at the crass way I introduced the ugly topic. I’m the kind of guy who peels a bandage off with one clean pull. There’s no pussyfooting around with me. Besides, perhaps I wasn’t feeling too sympathetic to a woman who’d asked me to meet her at the last place I’d want to be and then glare down at her nose at me like I was a slug or something.

“I get paid by the hour, I don’t want to waste your time,” I explained somewhat coolly. “Why do you think he was murdered?”

She sighed and straightened her shoulders. The curvy piece wasn’t going to break under my pressuring, a promising sign.

“Jason wouldn’t have pushed his Piper Cub into a fatal stall. He knew the plane’s limits. Sure, he liked to fool around. But he was never reckless.” She said the word, reckless, like it were a contagious disease. “He knew how far he could go without getting into trouble.”

“What if he wanted trouble?” I asked, playing devil’s advocate. All part of the job, of course.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Miss Cavendish, that I’m going to be digging around in your brother’s life. You might not like what I find.”

“My brother wasn’t a saint, but he kept clear of anything illegal. And he was happy. He wouldn’t willingly crash a plane. Even if he weren’t happy, he wouldn’t do something so stupid.”

“I’m not here to argue with you. Fact is, we don’t know what happened. You say he was murdered. FAA says the crash was pilot error. I’m saying, we don’t know. You need to be prepared for whatever I find. I won’t lie to you. I won’t shelter you from the truth. It’s best to be prepared. Are you still sure you want me to do this?”

“He was murdered,” Felicity insisted with dogged determination. Her eyes sparkled with anger. “I can’t prove it, but I know it.”

I glared, not quite sure how to respond. If she knew what had happened, what did she need me for?

Her features crumpled under the strain of my scrutiny. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she whispered a strangled oath.

Okay, perhaps I was being too harsh with her. I know her type. Pretty, busty, and filled with a bloated view of her own self-worth. But that was no reason to be mean.

I held out my arms and she collapsed into them like a rag doll.

“Jason, he-he was so innocent. And h-he was all I had.”

I rubbed her back and made some sounds that in retrospect seem rather foolish. But she appeared to take some solace in my behavior, so I’m not complaining. A lesser man would have also taken advantage of the moment to explore some of Felicity’s luscious curves.

Saint that I am, I set her on her feet and handed her the starched linen handkerchief I keep in my pocket for just these occasions.

Well, perhaps I’m not quite a saint. I did have to think about taking the high road before actually acting on the idea. Who cares though? The end result was the same.

“Blow your nose now like a good girl,” I said. “I’ve got work to do if I’m going to figure this all out within the next few days.” I gave a quick glance around the crowded airport. Several pairs of prying eyes were watching us. “Is there some place private we can go? I need to know about all of Jason’s friends and enemies.”

* * * * *

“So you’re Rex Grainger?” The private mechanic Jason used to service his plane, Joe Pinter, wiped his greasy palm on an equally greasy rag and stuck out his hand for me to shake.

My left eyebrow rose--I swear--on its own, as I considered actually touching my hand to this dirty six-foot five muscle-bound man who missed his calling. Clean him up and he’d make a high-priced model.

“Well, yes,” Joe said somewhat sheepishly when he realized I wasn’t going to shake his hand and risk ruining my hand-tailored suit with some sort of airplane grease. He jammed his hands into the oversized pockets of his gray jumpsuit. “Felicity said you’d be coming around to ask some questions. Think she’s a little nutty, pressing the issue and all. But it’s her brother, and she’s got the looks to get away with a little bit of nuttiness.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, my stubborn eyebrow still elevated.

Joe leaned forward. “I mean she doesn’t have to worry about wasting her savings on your fee. She has the means to replace the cash you’re going to siphon out of her bank account.” He pantomimed a curvy outline of a female body in the air. “She knows how to use what she’s got to get what she wants.”

“Hmmm,” I groaned, wondering whether it was jealousy that led him to make that ugly accusation about Felicity...or the truth. “Did you happen to date her?”

“Nope.” His eyes turned to the tall metal ceiling. “I don’t have the kind of money laying around to keep a woman like that happy, if you know what I’m saying.”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyhow. People seem to get put at ease when I pretend to understand them completely. “So you took care of Jason Cavendish’s Piper Cub? What kind of condition would you say the plane was in when he took it out for that last flight?”

“What are you trying to say?” His meaty hands came out of his pockets and curled into a pair of menacing fists. “I keep all the plane under my care in tip-top shape. I won’t tolerate anyone suggesting otherwise.”

Although I could take him in a fight, I had no desire to let the situation spiral into something so untidy. I held up my hands like a weak shield in front of me. “Joe, Joe, I wasn’t saying anything about your work. Planes get old. Their owners push them too hard in flight, don’t you agree? Then it’s up to you to put the pieces back together. I’m just trying to get a complete picture here.”

My quick backpedaling worked. Joe shrugged and pulled a greasy hand through his thick hair. “Sorry, I’m just a little touchy. The FAA investigators tore through here acting like I’d done something wrong. This might be a small operation, but I take pride in my work.”

“I’m sure you do. So, tell me about Jason’s Piper. He flew it hard, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he pushed all his planes. But I kept them humming like Porches so he never had to worry. Not that I had to do much with his Piper Cub.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’d just bought it from Lyles Ward. And Lyles hardly ever took that bird for a ride. When he did, he used a velvet hand on the stick. The plane was practically new.”

“It was?”

“Yep.”

“Could someone have tampered with the plane? Done something that the FAA wouldn’t be able to find after the crash?”

“Nope.” Joe returned to work on the small twin-engine jet behind him, obviously believing the conversation good and done.

* * * * *

If no one could have tampered with the plane, a fact I wasn’t convinced was true, then I had to wonder whether someone had tampered with Jason. After a thorough examination of the autopsy records and a rather harsh grilling of the coroner, I felt pretty confident that Jason hadn’t been drugged. His health had been excellent at death. Strong heart, good pair of lungs, and a fit body that could easily run a marathon.

So if his plane had been perfect and he’d been perfect, there was no reason he should be dead...unless he did make a fatal error in judgment and actually did crash his plane...or unless...

“Rex Grainger.” I held out my hand to Lyles Ward, a fellow pilot and former owner of Jason’s Piper Cub. The one with the velvet hand. I have to say his handshake did feel uncomfortably similar to squeezing an overcooked noodle. Never did like a man with a weak hand. His chin wasn’t too strong either, but considering my own situation I never use a man’s looks to judge him.

“Ward,” he said. “Lyles Ward.” His gaze narrowed until his dark eyes looked downright beady. “Heard you were poking around the airport.”

“Yep,” I said. And waited. I wanted to hear where Lyles was going to take the conversation. Sometimes I find all sorts of gems by just keeping my mouth shut.

Lyles was seated on a high leather appointed barstool in The Air Room, a popular aviation bar filled with the scent of bittersweet cigar smoke. A half empty frosty beer glass sat on the oak bar in front of him. He released my hand and turned back to his drink, briefly checking his watch in the process. It was a gold Rolex, the kind with diamonds embedded around the numbers. Impressive.

“You’re wasting your time, of course,” he said after taking a quick sip of his drink. He leaned against the bar, the stereotypic picture of the relaxed and cool pilot. “Don’t get me wrong. Jason was a great guy, but he was a hotshot in the air. Hated to fly with him. Never knew what was going to happen. He might pull on the yoke and make a quick turn just to get a feel for the air pressure underneath his wings.” He shook his head slowly. “Pilots like that always end up dead.”

“Everyone ends up dead eventually,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you get my point.” Lyles shrugged. “At least he didn’t take a plane filled with passengers with him on that last joy ride of his.”

I crawled up onto the barstool next to his, ordered a scotch and water, and copied his relaxed posture. “Why do you think his sister would suspect foul-play then?” I asked.

Lyles chewed on his blond mustache for several minutes. “Denial?” he said, shrugging lazily. “Felicity thought the world of Jason. Perhaps she couldn’t imagine him screwing up so badly that it would actually get him killed.”

“Perhaps.” I was beginning to wonder the same thing myself. There wasn’t much evidence to suggest anyone actually harbored ill feelings toward the slightly hazardous pilot. “I was talking with Joe Pinter this morning. He services your private planes, right?”

“Yeah.” Again with the shrug. “Joe’s a good mechanic.”

“He said you sold Jason the Piper Cub he was flying when he crashed. Is that true?”

Lyles’s lazy shoulders stiffened. “What are you suggesting? That I knowingly sold him a defective plane?”

Hmmm...I hadn’t thought of that. “Did you?”

“Hell, no.” He gripped his beer glass and glared at me. “You can go back to Felicity and tell her straight out that I had nothing to do with her brother’s death. I know she blames me because of the plane. But you tell her that I wouldn’t have sold the damn bird to Jason if she hadn’t badgered the hell out of me.”

“She did?” I tilted my head and tried out my compassionate-understanding expression. Even though I practice this look in the mirror, the darn thing rarely works. This time I lucked out. Lyles’s shoulders dropped a good inch.

“You know how women are,” he said. Another shrug accompanied a huff. “Do this, do that, help my brother. Blah. Blah. Damned expensive bother, dating. I wouldn’t do it if I weren’t so attracted to a woman’s more positive attributes.”

“You and Felicity are dating?” She hadn’t said a word about that. I planned to scold her but good for holding back important facts.

“Were.” Lyles sighed. “She dumped me for some jerk the day before Jason’s accident.” He took a deep swallow of his beer. “Bought her everything she wanted. Sold Jason my plane on credit even though I knew he didn’t have the money to pay me back. And still she dumped me. Me! I’m a damned good catch. I’m the one who cuts the cord with relationships, not the woman.”

His face turned blotchy as his finger thudded against the bar top. I definitely hit a sore topic. I like those, so I continued to prod.

“It sounds like she played you for a fool. Money, a pretty face, a flashy career, do you think she saw you as an interesting new toy or something?”

The blotches on his face darkened. “It’s not like I was looking to marry her or anything,” he said with a sneer. “I knew her track record. I knew she handled men like they were dogs on a very tight chain. I just thought I could control her.”

“But you couldn’t?”

“Not with Ned Kirkland dangling his millions in front of her nose.”

“Ned Kirkland?”

“The guy she’s dating now. He’s some new importer in town. I think he had some deal in the works with Jason. That’s how Felicity and Ned met...through Jason.”

“No plane, no girl, you must have been pretty upset with Jason.”

Lyles shrugged. “More so at Felicity. She’s the root of all evil, not her brother.”

With all this new information coming at me, I needed time to soak it all in. Besides, it was getting late and a man with a face like mine can’t afford to miss a minute of beauty sleep. I laid several dollars on the bar to pay for my untouched drink and slid off the stool.

“Just one more thing,” I said. Curiosity was nagging the heck out of me on something Joe Pinter had said. “If someone wanted to tamper with Jason’s plane before takeoff would it be possible? Or would Joe catch it?”

“Joe tell you it was impossible I suppose?” His shoulders moved up and down again. “It’s not. Jason would leave the plane sitting out on the tarmac for an hour or more before takeoff. Anyone with clearance could get out there and messed with my poor Piper Cub.”

“Why do you suppose Joe would say otherwise?”

“Money.”

“Money?”

Lyles turned his sharp gaze on me. “He and Jason gambled all the time. Only, Jason knew what he was doing. He rarely lost. Joe owed Jason a small fortune. I know when I was trying to get some money out of Jason for my plane he was, in turn, calling in his debts. I’m sure he was pressuring Joe for his money. If Jason’s accident turns out to not be an accident, I think Joe would become suspect number one. Money was tight for him. He could lose his business if his gambling debts ever came back to haunt him. Joe would do anything to keep that from happening.”

“Anything?” My stubborn eyebrow rose.

“Anything.”

* * * * *

The next morning I met with Felicity Cavendish in a cozy coffee shop located in the downtown. It was the kind of store with frilly café curtains hanging on the windows and flowers on the tables. The heavy aroma of coffee brewing was strong enough to let me forgive the shop’s fluff. I gave Felicity a once over--she was wearing a tight white two-piece suit that displayed a healthy portion of her long, bronzed legs and a sumptuous peek at her full, round breasts--and I slid into the booth beside her.

“I have an appointment with Ned Kirkland at ten,” I said, searching her hazel eyes. They looked more silver than green this morning.

“Ned--?” She paled slightly. Not exactly the reaction I expected. “How did you--?”

“I’m an investigator. I investigate. That means uncover secrets, you know.”

“But-but Ned has nothing to do with--”

I held up a hand. “Let me be the one to determine who does and doesn’t matter in this case. That’s what you’re paying me for, my expertise. Remember?”

She glanced down and ripped the tiny napkin on the table between us to shreds. “I just don’t think you should worry Ned with this. He’s a busy, busy man. He doesn’t need distractions.”

I put my hand over Felicity’s busy fingers. “I know you’re dating him. I also know he and Jason were working on some kind of business deal. Why don’t you tell me about it? That way I won’t have to waste this busy man’s time asking about mundane details.”

She stared at my hand covering hers and then looked up. The fire had returned to her eyes. “You don’t need to patronize me, Mr. Grainger,” she said and drew her hand away. “Ned just wanted Jason to fly some cargo around. Jason had done a few deliveries. The pay was good and what with buying that new plane and all, Jason needed the extra money.”

“Deliveries? What kind of deliveries?”

Felicity fiddled with her tall caffe latte, turning the glass around several times. “Oh, I don’t know, the usual kind of cargo I suppose.”

“Ned is an importer. So was Jason flying cargo in from another country?”

She gave the glass another half turn. “I suppose.” She looked up again. “Look. This doesn’t have anything to do with Jason’s death. And I don’t want you bothering Ned. Since I pay your check, I think I have the right to stop you from keeping that appointment.”

If there was one way to lock my determination into high gear, it was to tell me back off. Felicity wanted me to steer clear of Ned Kirkland; well then, experience had taught me that was just where I needed to be.

Ten o’clock rolled around as I stepped into the brass elevator in an expensive office building. The directory on the main floor listed Ned’s office under the heading, Kirkland Importers LLC. The doors pushed open onto the eleventh floor. Kirkland Importers occupied the entire floor. A pretty young woman sitting behind a broad oak receptionist’s desk and juggling the phones and a pile of paperwork managed to greet me warmly.

I smiled and leaned toward her. Her brown hair bounced with a life of its own. Her pink lips were glossy. Her eyes bright and intelligent. Not much in this office would get past such a woman.

A potentially valuable source, I told myself, though I knew what I was about to do had been triggered more by the very male blood pumping in my veins than by a sense that I should suffer for my job. I reached in my pocket and handed her my card.

“Rex Grainger,” she read aloud. The sound of my name on her lips resonated through me. Jeez, she was a doll and I needed to get a grip. “Mr. Kirkland is expecting you.”

“Thank you.” My voice sounded slightly strangled. When she reached for the phone to announce my arrival, I stayed her hand. “I bet you see everything that passes through these halls, Miss--?”

“Bellflower,” she supplied.

Bellflower...a name that suited her willowy body perfectly.

“I was hired by Miss Felicity Cavendish to piece together the events leading up to her brother’s death. Jason Cavendish, did you know him? See him coming to meet with Mr. Kirkland, perhaps?”

Miss Bellflower licked her lustrous lips and blinked those bright eyes as she looked at me with a new light. Her gaze fell on the slight bulge in my coat where my Colt .45 was holstered. She licked her lips again, propped her elbows on the desk and leaned forward.

“You a private detective? A P.I.? I’ve never met a real one before,” she said breathlessly.

I blinked with feigned disinterest--a technique likened to feeding a fish on a hook some line before actually trying to reel it in--and pointed to my card.

“Rex Grainger, private investigations,” she read aloud and then mouthed one silent word, “Wow”.

“Jason Cavendish?” I said.

She blinked several times, her gaze bouncing from my concealed gun back to the card I’d handed her. “Jason...”

“Cavendish?”

“Miss Cavendish’s brother. Of course I know him.” She leaned her chin on her hands and blinked again. “He came in here with his sister several times. He seemed like a nice guy. He always smiled and thanked me for being so polite. Not at all like his sister.” Miss Bellflower shot a nervous glance down the empty hall and lowered her voice. “Miss Cavendish is trying to get me fired. She says I’m incompetent and rude. I’ve never been rude to her. I’m tempted mind you, but I like working here. I can’t say I like her.”

I gave Miss Bellflower a wide smile. “She’s obviously jealous. You’re here all day with Mr. Kirkland. A pretty flower smiling at her man. It’s enough to make any woman worry.”

“Me and Mr. Kirkland?” Miss Bellflower laughed. “You haven’t met him, have you?”

“No.” But I would, so I didn’t dwell on that comment. “Did Jason ever come to meet with Mr. Kirkland alone?”

Miss Bellflower scrunched her brows in the most adorable expression as she considered the question. “I think so.” She opened a large appointment book and flipped back several pages. “Even if someone arrives without an appointment, I still jot it down.”

Beautiful and clever--my perfect woman.

“Yes,” she tapped her finger against a certain day on the page where Jason’s name had been written in pencil. “I remember now. He demanded to see Mr. Kirkland. Seemed to be upset about something. He stormed out after the meeting. Mr. Kirkland followed not long after...he, too, was in a royal snit.”

“Really?” I lost my interest in flirting as I started at the day her neatly manicured nail was resting on. This fantastic argument happened the day before Jason’s death.

A pretty damning coincidence, if you were to ask me.

“I think I better talk with Ned Kirkland now.”

* * * * * *

Ned Kirkland was about an inch shorter than myself, just as bald, and though probably thirty pounds heavier, shared my impeccable taste in fine clothing. Against my own better instincts, I took an instant liking to this Ned Kirkland and praised Felicity’s discerning taste in men.

Ned Kirkland gushed a welcome and trimmed a winning smile as he offered me a seat along with a frothy cappuccino. This guy was fast becoming my best friend. We chatted about this and that, a technique I used to put my sources at ease. Yet, this time I actually enjoyed the conversation. He did a good job at putting me at ease.

I leaned back in the soft desk chair and happily sipped my richly flavored cappuccino while listening as Ned debated the pros and cons of betting on the local university basketball team this season.

I think I was in love.

For a while I’d completely forgotten my purpose. He was the one who mentioned Felicity and brought me back to my senses.

“She’s a sweet girl,” he said with that great big grin of his. “Losing her brother crushed her. I can understand why she’d want to poke around and find out what happened.”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat and set the cappuccino on a side table. I had a job to do. “She seemed a little upset about me speaking with you,” I explained. It never hurt to smooth the waters after doing something the client had expressly objected to. “She says you and Jason had minimum contact, but still, I would like to piece together his last couple of days.”

“Sure, sure,” Ned said and waved his hand. “I completely understand. Fire away with your questions.”

I chuckled like a ninny. That smile of his was quite disarming. “Well, then. Well, did you happen to meet with Jason that week before his death?”

With his gleeful expression still intact, Ned thought about the question for a few moments. I was about to point out to him that Miss Bellflower had noted the meeting when Ned answered, “No...no, I don’t think so.”

No one was perfect. A little more than a month had passed. A meeting could have slipped anyone’s mind. So I decided to help. “Perhaps Jason came by without an appointment?”

He fell silent for a few more moments. “No.” He shook his head slowly. “He always came with Felicity. He never came here on his own.”

Okay, that struck me as odd. I believed Miss Bellflower’s notations in the appointment book...and the vivid way she remembered the heated argument. Those weren’t the kind of things that would easily slip a person’s mind.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I thought you and Jason were forming some kind of work relationship. Surely you would have met with him without his sister being around.”

Ned shrugged and reminded me suddenly of Lyles Ward nonchalantly dismissing Jason’s life.

“I’m sorry,” Ned said. He rose, clearly indicating the end of the conversation. “There was no business relationship between Jason and this company. Between you and me, he wasn’t a very good pilot. Not even for Felicity would I employ an accident waiting to happen like him.”

* * * * *

After talking with several more acquaintances of Jason’s, I got the feeling that his death, if not accidental, was connected to one of these three men.

Joe Pinter owed Jason enough money to bankrupt his business. Lyles Ward was angry about the callus way Felicity had used him then left him for a richer man. And Ned Kirkland, a man whose bold lies broke my heart, had ended a rocky business relationship the day before Jason’s death.

I scratched my head as I wandered through the noisy airport in search of Felicity. Even she didn’t appear innocent in all this. If she hadn’t hired me to look into a death that on the surface appeared to be a clear-cut accident, she’d top the suspect list. Jason was spending money faster than she could squeeze it out of her men. This breakdown between Ned and Jason could have threatened what Felicity saw as a very lucrative relationship. I’d already seen firsthand the fire in her when it came to protecting what she had.

She wasn’t a woman to cross.

But she also wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t murder her brother, get away with it, and then call me in to investigate. Would she?

I said no. So that left the three men’s guilt in question. But which one should I suspect? The problem with accidents was the long line of unanswerable questions that always get left behind. I’d studied Jason Cavendish’s flight history. Sure, he took risks, but he never had an incident logged against him. Until the fatal day, his record was clean.

That information told me nothing. Accidents are unplanned...and can happen to anyone. Was Jason’s death an unfortunate accident or was it something else?

Who knew? I might spend years on this case and never know.

Still puzzling over the questions gelling in my head and wondering what I should tell my client, I asked at the Happy Skies Airlines ticket counter for Felicity. The not quite so happy clerk jerked her thumb toward the security desk on the other side of the terminal. “I think she’s out in the private hanger. You need a security pass to get there.”

Following the routine I had the day before, I charmed the guard while flashing my private investigator identification. She quickly scanned the list and found my name. With a quaint smile she handed me a guest badge and pointed out the direction I should take.

The weather outside was atrocious. A dying hurricane was passing through heaping buckets of rain on the city. I huddled underneath a black umbrella and despaired that the driving rain and deep puddles were ruining my custom-made leather shoes and hand tailored pants. I wasn’t even thinking that I might be stumbling into a scene when I tossed open the door to the private hanger and darted inside.

“What do you mean you’re taking care of things?” Hearing Ned’s less than jovial voice surprised the heck out of me. What in the world would he be doing here?

I ducked behind a stack of crates and held my breath, waiting to hear if anyone noticed my less than stealthy entrance.

“I mean that jerk doesn’t have enough information to piss on, much less point a finger at you or me, or anyone for that matter. I did my job. You just have to sit tight and keep your mouth shut.”

It took me a while to recognize that second man. His voice sounded different, gruffer. But I hadn’t spent hours listening to tape recordings of people trying to disguise their voice for nothing those first few years of my practice. That second man was definitely Lyles Ward.

“I didn’t want you to do anything. Why did you have to kill him?”

Bingo.

Did I mention luck is always an important element in investigations? Ask any police officer. He (or she) will always mention the element of luck.

Putting myself in the right place at the right time has become something of an art form for me. I leaned back against a crate and crossed my arms, waiting.

“His sister pushed me,” Lyles said. “She pushed and pushed and pushed. I couldn’t stand it. I was going broke trying to keep her happy...and then you came to me with your little jobs. Jason warned me that you were smuggling goods. He said he was going to the cops. I couldn’t have let him do that, now could I?”

“Damn you! I could handle a little heat. The cops don’t scare me. Bottom line, I don’t kill people. It’s a bad business practice. With this private dick poking around, my associates are now asking questions. Was it murder? Did I kill my deliveryman? Now I’ve got a problem because of you.”

Lyles laughed. It was a smug, I’m-better-than-you sound. “You actually thought Jason’s death was an accident, didn’t you?”

Ned. Good old, friendly Ned. From the tense silence that followed, I had a good feeling that Ned would back me up and provide a second witness to this bold confession. I drew out my Colt .45 and stepped out from behind the crate.

“How did you do it?” I asked Lyles as I leveled the aim of my gun on his chest. “Did you tamper with the plane on the tarmac just like you said?”

Both men jumped at the sound of my voice. The patter of rain on the metal roof had drummed out most of the sounds in the hanger. My arrival came as a complete surprise. Maybe that atrocious storm was a blessing after all.

Ned’s arms rose in the air and his sociable smile pursed his lips. “Let’s talk about this. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I’m sure we can too,” I said, keeping my gun aimed on the killer, Lyles. “You corroborate what I heard and I’ll give a nice spin to your smuggling business to the cops.”

Ned’s smile faded. “Can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” I said all friendly-like. “I’ve got a bit more evidence than Lyles here thinks. In fact, I was pretty much ready to pin the crime on you, Ned. You see, you shouldn’t have lied to me when I asked you about your business with Jason. Your sweet secretary, Miss Bellflower, was only too accommodating with information. She gave me a copy of the checks you paid Jason.”

Ned’s smile sank into an absolutely ugly sneer.

“I’ll corroborate you’re story.” Felicity stepped out from behind a plane on the other side of the hanger. Her eyes were smudged from the tears she’d let fall, though she’d pulled herself back together. “Let’s leave Ned out of this.”

A shower of relief washed over Ned and his pleased expression returned.

“No can do.” I couldn’t turn a blind eye like that.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Felicity said, her voice as hard as concrete. “Joe...”

A sharp pain broke through the top of my head. I remember my knees hitting the pavement.

That’s all.

My next memory was of a sweet nurse fluffing my pillow and her rather...um...let’s just say I had quite a lovely view until she realized my eyes had opened.

Timing as an art form. You should try it.

My head was still splitting and when I blinked I thought my eyelids might crack. Yet, I happily laid there grinning like a fool while this gentle nurse tended to my needs while cooing softly like a dove.

I completely lost this bliss when Felicity paraded into the room. My muscles bunched up prepared to defend myself.

“Who attacked me?” I asked.

Felicity did her best to look contrite. “Lyles Ward has been charged with Jason’s murder.”

“Who did you pay to attack me?”

“The police says the case against him is solid. Once they knew what to look for, the FAA investigators found some pretty damning evidence. The stick froze mid-flight. That’s why Jason crashed. He couldn’t control the plane.”

“Felicity, I don’t care about any of that right now. You put me in the hospital. I’m hurt and mad. Just answer my question.”

She swallowed hard. I noticed then, she was wearing a new dress. It looked very sexy, showed much of her long legs. I wasn’t impressed.

“Joe,” she said finally. “Joe Pinter swung a wrench and hit you in the head. But don’t get him in trouble,” she rushed on to say. “He was only doing it because I begged him to. He has a crush on me you know.”

“I know,” I grumbled. “Damn my luck, you’ve charmed nearly every man in this city.”

“But I haven’t charmed you.”

“I find violent women a real turn-off. Women who protect criminals don’t rate high either.” My temples were pounding hard enough to make me wonder if my head was bouncing. “I suppose Ned Kirkland is no longer anywhere to be found?”

Felicity shook her head and looked truly sad. So friendly Ned left her behind. Probably took his riches with him without sparing her a cent. Good. That was one thing I could feel good about with this case.

“Get out of here then,” I said, cruelly. “You’ll get my bill. Hospital expenses included.”

I stared at the ceiling steaming over the events and how this one ended. I’d been stupid to not watch my back. With the loud rain in that hanger an elephant could have snuck up on me and stomped me to bits. I was lucky to be alive.

Whoopee, lucky me.

“Mr. Grainger,” the pretty nurse poked her head in the door. “There’s a Miss Bellflower in the waiting room who’s anxious to see you. She’s been here ever since EMS brought you in.” The nurse grinned. “She seems terribly concerned. Would you like me to let her in?”

Miss Bellflower concerned about my health?

Whoopee, lucky me!

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