Competition Can Be Murder (30 page)

“How do you feel, Ms. Parker?”

“Wet.” How do you think I feel?

“What happened out there?”

You want me to admit to losing a million-dollar aircraft at sea? Or shall I tell you what I really think, that a bunch of thugs aren’t above murder to get their way? “It was a harrowing experience.”

“Whose fault was it that your helicopter went down?” This from a BBC blondie.

Drake squeezed my shoulder. “We better get inside. No further questions,” he said, steering me gently and pushing a path through.

In the office, Meggie greeted me with a mug of hot coffee. I downed about half of it before peeling off my heavy survival suit. Underneath, my jeans and shirt were damp and I had no dry things with me.

“Let’s get you out of here before the authorities descend on the place,” Drake said. “Meggie, you ought to go on home, too. Do not say a word to anyone who asks you about this. I mean it. We’ve got to find out what really happened before a bunch of rumors start flying”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said.

Drake peered out through a slat in the mini-blinds. “Reporters haven’t gone away. Look, I’ll walk you both out to the cars. Don’t say a word and just keep going. Drive away. If anyone follows you, Meggie, I want you to call me.”

We switched off the lights, ignored the ringing telephone, and walked out as a group. The reporters were less friendly this time. Microphones jabbed at us and questions flew in loud self-important tones. Drake kept an arm around each of us females and steered us to the cars. We shielded Meggie as she climbed into hers.

“Drive fast, go straight home, and lock your doors,” he told her.

She nodded and raced her engine. We did the same and were somehow able to get away from the airport without one news van on our tail. I didn’t relax until we’d closed ourselves into our cottage. Drake picked up the phone as I hastened upstairs, shivering again from the bone-deep cold.

An hour later, after a long soak in the hottest water I could get from the old plumbing, I joined him downstairs. He’d put together a quick supper of soup and crackers, and I’d washed the seaweedy smell from my hair. I wolfed down two bowls of soup and a glass of wine and suddenly couldn’t keep my eyes open another minute. Drake tucked the covers around me and kissed me goodnight, saying he was too keyed up to sleep yet. I hardly heard the words as he gently closed the bedroom door.

I rolled over to find bright sunlight edging the drapes. I reached for Drake, not wanting to give up the warmth of the bed just yet. His side was empty. My eyes shot open. His side was still neatly made; he hadn’t come to bed at all. A jolt of alarm shot through me. No coherent answer came. I yanked on my robe and doubled-timed down the stairs.

“Coffee?” he asked. He stood in the kitchen in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday. Sun streamed through the windows, accenting the deep bluish shadows under his eyes.

I let out a large breath. “Scared me,” I said, “waking up like that.” I slipped into his offered embrace. “You okay?”

“Yeah, better now. Couldn’t stop thinking all night.” He reached for the carafe and poured me a mug of coffee.

I took it and watched him rub both hands over the dark stubble on his face.

“Aside from yesterday’s horrible experience, which is over with, by the way,” I said, “what were you thinking about that took ten hours to sort out.”

He turned away from me and opened the refrigerator door. “What I’m going to do,” he said. “Want some toast?”

“No, I don’t want toast.” I set my mug on the counter, harder than I intended. “What do you mean, what you’re going to do?”

He closed the door deliberately. “About the men who tried to kill you.” His gaze held steady, his mouth formed a grim line.

“Hon, this wasn’t personal. They weren’t after
me
. They want Air-Sea Helicopters to quit flying. They achieved that. They ought to be real happy right now.”

“So why didn’t they sabotage my aircraft? Why yours? Why did the guy corner you and threaten? Why did they lock me away, if not to get to you?” His eyes flashed, the green flecks sparking.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Pick on the weaker thread, maybe?”

A little of the tension went out of his shoulders as he reached again for his mug.

“So just what do you think you’ll
do
? Isn’t it really a matter for the authorities?”

“Apparently not. I called Alex, the cop that was with us, last night after you went to bed. He seemed surprised that I thought Brian’s shooting and your helicopter going down might be related.”

“What!”

“Yeah. They seem to see this . . . your accident . . . as an aviation matter, some malfunction of equipment. Brian’s is a murder and they’re working on that.”

“And they don’t at all make the connection between all the threats from the union guys and their very real hatred of the helicopter operators?”

“Two different things, he told me. Not to worry, the aviation authorities will make a thorough investigation, he said, and he’s sure Air-Sea’s insurance company will also get involved.” He topped off each of our cups. “They’ll all probably question you to death. It’s not going to be fun.”

“I’ll tell them exactly what happened,” I said. “Starting with the threats we got from the beginning.”

“You can expect to be picked apart, hon. Don’t take this too lightly. Especially when the insurance company comes into it. They’re not going to pay out nearly a million dollars without trying to wangle out of it first.”

“Will they bring the aircraft up from the bottom?” I asked.

“Don’t know. Might depend on how deep it is out there, how expensive an operation that might be.”

I caught sight of my reflection in the shiny window of the microwave. A deep furrow pulled my eyebrows together and my mouth was now set as grimly as Drake’s.

“Hey, let’s get on to something else,” he said. “Maybe we should go tour a distillery or something today.”

I nodded without answering.

“I gotta shower and shave,” he said. “I feel like dirt warmed over.” He gave me a quick hug and headed for the stairs.

I toasted a slice of bread and chewed on it while my mind chewed on everything else. There had to be some proof, something we could find that would bring Brankin and his thugs down once and for all. Only problem was, I couldn’t figure out how we’d do that without going back out to the rig again.

Then the phone rang.

It was Karen Swinney, calling to let us know that Brian’s funeral would be tomorrow. I jotted the name of the church and time of the service. I’d no sooner hung up than it rang again. I got it halfway through the first ring, assuming Karen had forgotten to tell me something.

“Ms. Parker?” The male voice sounded official. I knew I should have let the machine start screening the calls. I reluctantly acknowledged him.

“Charlotte L. Parker?”

“Yes. Who is this please?”

“I’m Hugo Fitzwater with the Civil Aviation Authority. I’ll need to meet with you and get a statement about yesterday’s incident. At your convenience, of course.”

Of course. Unfailing British politeness.

“Would this afternoon be all right?” Polite but firm.

I agreed and, given the choice between his downtown office and the Air-Sea offices at the airport, chose my own turf.

“One o’clock, then?”

It was nearly ten already and I decided it was about time I got dressed for the day. Back upstairs, Drake was just emerging from the shower.

“Guess the distillery tour’s off,” I called out. “CAA wants to see me at one. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

He stood in the bathroom doorway, towel poised halfway to his face. “Think you’re ready?”

“No. But then I can only tell him the truth, relate the experience. They’ll investigate, won’t they? Find out whether the ship was sabotaged or this was just incredibly coincidental timing?”

“Hard to say just what they’ll do. You know how I feel about bureaucratic jerks with power. I tell em only what they need to know.” He pointed his index finger skyward. “Remember, a bureaucrat is not your friend.”

I chuckled while I rummaged through the closet for some clean khakis.

“You know, I think I’ll wander over to the castle for a few minutes. I should check in and see how everything’s turning out with them.”

“Let me know what time you want to head for the airport,” he said. “Remember, we’re down to one vehicle this morning.”

“Why don’t you catch a little nap, hon? We can leave about twelve.”

I ran a brush through my hair and gave my lips a smear of color.

Sarah grabbed my hand, leading me into the entry. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so glad you’ve come. What on earth happened out there, dear? I tell you, I about went into shock when the story came on.”

“On? It’s on the news?” I should have figured. Whether I talked or not, those reporters were determined to say something.

“Oh, my, yes. There’s a film of Drake leading you through a crowd of people. Well, I wouldn’t have known it was you because you didn’t look so great, but they said an American woman pilot so I knew it must have been.”

I quickly recapped the basics, making light of the terror I’d felt as the aircraft sunk under my feet and skipping over the part where I’d been convinced I would freeze to death on the black ocean.

“Well, let me give you some tea,” she said, bustling me toward the kitchen. “I’ve just put the kettle on.”

“How are things going with Richie?” I asked, as we settled at the counter with tea in delicate china cups and slices of angel food cake.

Sarah raised her eyes, as if some god on the ceiling might give answers. “They’ll get no punishment, I’m sure, those boys. Robert doesn’t think we should press charges for the fire at the crofter’s hut. Said they were just smoking and it was an accident.” She took a tentative sip of her tea. “Already Alasdair’s parents have paid some kind of money to the family of the dead person whose finger was cut off, and kept the thing very hushed publicly. That young man is going to be trouble, you watch. They’ve been covering for him and getting him out of his little jams all his life. One day . . .”

“And Richie?”

“His cut’s healing, so well you’d hardly know it’s there, Elizabeth tells me. I worry for the boy, Charlie. It’s another case of discipline too little and too late. Edward simply won’t allow ‘the child’ to end up with a criminal record. ‘Child’ –hah! I tell them he’d better start learning some lessons the hard way. But they don’t listen to me. Think I’m just an old idiot.”

I laughed and patted her hand. “You’re no old idiot,” I said. “I think you’ve got the most sense of the entire bunch.”

“Oh! I nearly forgot, dear. I found a little something for you.” She hurried out of the kitchen and returned with one hand behind her back. “Since you refused payment for your services in locating Richie—”

“I really didn’t—”

“Since you won’t take money, I wanted you to have a permanent memento of Scotland. Something positive, that is.” She held out a flat box about twelve inches square, wrapped in an attractive blue and green plaid paper and tied with a fluffy red bow. “Go on, open it.”

I preserved the bow and the paper and lifted the lid. Inside was a wooden plaque with an intricate crest in pewter.

“It’s the family crest of the Clan Davidson,” she explained. “And on the back . . .”

I turned it over.

“. . . that’s a short history of the origins of your family name.”

I swallowed a lump. “It’s just beautiful, Sarah. Thank you very much.”

We finished our tea and I realized it was time for me to face the music. With a vague plan for dinner one night soon, several more ‘thank yous’ on both sides, and a firm hug, I left Dunworthy.

I sneaked a peek at my watch, under the edge of the desk. Two hours of questioning by the CAA man, Hugo Fitzwater, and my energy was flagging. We’d not covered any new ground after the first thirty minutes.

“And so, you don’t know whether it’s possible that someone might have tampered with your aircraft during the time you were at Rig 6,” he asked for the fourth time. His small blue eyes stared at the notepad on his lap.

“No, I don’t know it for a fact. It might have simply been a mechanical failure,” I said for the fourth time. Everything about the man, from his jowly round face to his white shirt that stretched to the bursting point over his round gut, was beginning to irk me.

“Had there been any unusual occurrences in the past few days?”

Unusual occurrences. Well, that might include a man dashing in front of Drake as he came in for a landing. It might include someone following me into the bathroom and whispering threats through the door. It could also include somebody luring Drake down a corridor, punching him in the face, and locking him in a closet. But we’d been over all that.

“Other than the things I’ve already told you about, I can’t think—” My breath caught and Fitzwater looked up at me. Oh my god, there certainly was something.

“Ms. Parker?”

“The flight manual.” I took a deep breath. “The JetRanger’s flight manual was missing one day. I had to wait while Meggie brought up the current weight and balance on the computer and printed me a new one. We never did find the original.”