Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (3 page)

I studied the terrain as we flew, thinking about the veterans in Nashville and their reactions to my announcement that we had purchased them a new van. Their thanks had been heartfelt and exuberant, though with the dignity one would expect from a group of retired military men. They had excitedly offered to take me for a spin in the new vehicle, take me to lunch, take me back to the veterans’ center and give me a tour. But I had cited a prior commitment and sent them on their way, grinning as they sped from the cemetery toward the car dealership.

Thanks to the foundation, I often had the opportunity to feel benevolent because we regularly gave out substantial amounts of money to all sorts of different groups. I often thought of my job as a dream come true—difficult and challenging at times, to be sure, but also incredibly rewarding.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Startled, I looked up to see a flight attendant standing in the aisle next to me. She held onto a drink cart and waited expectantly. I ordered a ginger ale and lowered the tray in front of me as she efficiently assembled my drink and then gave it to me along with a napkin and two packs of peanuts. Once she was gone, I checked my watch.

It was time to call Tom. Time to reconfirm our meeting.

I used the phone in the seatback in front of me to dial his cell phone. He was expecting to hear from me, because we always talked at the end of a case. This time, however, the conversation would be brief. This time we would be able to continue it in person.

“Let me guess,” he said as he answered. “You’re calling from the back half of the plane, aren’t you?”

“Come on,” I said, smiling. “On this flight first class costs almost fifteen hundred dollars more than coach. That much just for a bigger seat and little more personal attention? I don’t think so.”

“Oh, Callie,” Tom said. “Will we ever get you to appreciate the perks of your position?”

“Yeah, here’s a perk,” I said. “Now we have fifteen hundred extra dollars to give away to some group that really deserves it.”

“Fine,” he said, laughing. “Let’s move on.”

“Okay.”

We discussed again the details of our meeting. I double-checked the terminal and gate number, and I told him that so far my flight was right on schedule.

“I’ll be heading to the airport myself in about an hour,” he said, “so it looks like we’ll be together soon.”

For some reason, just hearing him say those words gave an odd flip-flop to my heart.

“Anyway,” he continued, “you can give me the details when we meet, but just tell me quickly about our boys in Nashville. Were they pleased?”

“Extremely,” I replied, and then I went on to briefly describe the presentation of funds. Tom especially liked the personal touch I had added in a burst of inspiration. Prior to meeting the men at the cemetery this morning, I had bought a CD of classic military tunes, which I then delivered to Henderson Motors.

“When the van starts up, they’ll hear ‘Stars and Stripes Forever,’” I said, grinning. “I think they’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Perfect!” he cried. “I wish we could be there to see that.”

“They seemed like such nice men, Tom. I’m glad you decided to spend the thirty thousand on a new van for them. That used one they wanted looked pretty road-weary to me.”

“You did a great job, Callie,” he said. “As usual. I just hope it wasn’t too hard of an assignment for you, considering the nature of their mission.”

Tom was aware that, as a widow, I still didn’t handle funerals and funeral-related things very well. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him that this assignment had not been difficult for me at all, primarily because thoughts of meeting
him
were foremost in my mind, precluding other negative associations.

“So what’s next for me?” I asked.

“Well, that depends,” he replied, and I could hear papers rustling in the background. “I’ll bring along several choices for you. You can take your pick. There’s an inner city elementary school in California that wants to start up art and music programs. Pretty straightforward.”

“Sounds good.”

“We’ve also got a group of doctors down in Texas who run mercy missions into Mexico. It looks like they’re asking for money for medical supplies and travel expenses.”

“Okay.”

“Finally, there are some Bible translators based in Boston. They’re doing some good work there. I’ve read about them.”

“They all sound very interesting,” I said, eager to look at the applications.

“I still have a few things I want to check on first,” he said. “But I should be ready to give all the paperwork to you by the time I get there.”

I swallowed hard.

“So I guess this is really going to happen, huh?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager. Knowing someone so well—and yet not really knowing him at all—was a very difficult position to be in. “How will I recognize you when I see you? Will you be wearing a red carnation?”

He laughed.

“Good idea!” he said. “No, wait, forget the carnation. I’m going to get a red mum.”

“A mum?”

“Yeah! I’ll be the one wearing the giant red mum on my lapel.”

“You’re going to sit in the Executive Club wearing a giant red mum?” I teased. “Yeah, right. I dare you.”

“I take that dare,” he replied. “You just wait and see.”

Three

The Reagan National Airport was busy but not unmanageable, and since I had packed light, I didn’t need to visit baggage claim. Instead, I pulled up the handle of my carry-on, secured my briefcase to it with a strap, and rolled off in pursuit of the Executive Club.

I made a detour to the ladies’ room first to check my hair and makeup and clothes one more time. I had already brushed my teeth on the airplane, but I wanted to take one last look to make sure everything was just so. Today I had worn my favorite Ellen Tracy suit, an azure wool blend people often said accentuated my blue eyes. Now, as I studied myself in the mirror, I thought that might be true.

With my long brown hair and high cheekbones, I wasn’t a raving beauty, but I wasn’t exactly unpleasant-looking either. I wore my hair pulled back, and I had added an Hermés scarf at the neckline, which softened the look of the suit and showed off the slight tan I had acquired in the last few weeks while on vacation, prior to my trip to Nashville. All in all, I thought, stepping back from the mirror, I looked okay. Better than okay. I looked ready for an important encounter.

I reached the next terminal and went to the gate area where Tom had said I would find the unassuming door that led to the Executive Club. Until I went to work for the foundation, I didn’t even realize that airports had executive waiting rooms. But once I began traveling extensively on business, I found them to be well worth the annual fee. Placed discreetly near the boarding areas, these rooms offered an alternative to the noisy, uncomfortable seating sections around the gates and provided instead quiet, roomy places to work or relax during layovers and long delays.

I had never been to this particular Executive Club, but they were all pretty much alike: luxurious, comfortable, low key. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

At the front desk, I handed over my bags and showed my membership card. Then I strolled to the main part of the room.

It resembled a nice, well-lit lounge, with large, plush chairs arranged in groupings around low coffee tables. Off of the main room were several smaller rooms. Some had desks, computers, and phone connections, and one had a conference table. I gave the place a quick scan but didn’t see any red mums or carnations—or anyone who looked as though he was waiting for someone. Suddenly, it struck me how odd it was that I had no idea what Tom looked like. I may have spoken to him a thousand times on the phone, but I’d never seen a photo nor even heard a description of him.

According to my watch, I was a few minutes early, so I took the time to get a soda and a bowl of pretzels. Then I chose a chair in a small, empty seating area and sat down to wait.

I had only been there a few minutes when I got a text message. Taking out my phone, I saw that it was from Shayna Greer, a young woman I had been helping through a ministry of my church in my spare time. The message said, simply,
Call me! Its urgent!

“Not a good time, Shayna,” I whispered to myself even as I pressed the button to call her back. Shayna was a sweet girl, but she was in the process of trying to pull her life together after a stint
in a drug rehabilitation center, and it seemed everything related to her was one crisis after another.

“Callie?” she said as she answered the phone.

“Yes, it’s me. What’s up?”

She sobbed loudly into the phone.

“It’s Eddie Ray!” she cried, referring to an ex-boyfriend who had only recently reentered her life. “He’s missing!”

“Missing?”

“We had a big fight last night. He ran off mad, and he still hasn’t come back.”

I exhaled loudly and looked at my watch. It was already 1:15; Tom was late, but I knew he would be here any second.

“How can
I
help, Shayna?” I asked, trying not to sound exasperated. “I’ve told you before, you’re supposed to call your sponsor or your social worker when something like this comes up. I’m here to help you with work-related issues
only.”

“I know,” she said, crying. “But I didn’t want to talk to them. I wanted you.”

I looked around the room, wondering why people with such complicated personal lives always seemed to seek me out. Maybe it was from my years as a private investigator. Perhaps I gave off the vibe of someone who was used to handling other people’s problems.

“Don’t you think he just went somewhere to cool down?” I asked evenly. “Running off mad seems to be his pattern, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s different this time,” she said, sniffing now. “Something’s wrong.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my eyes.

“How is it different?”

“Because he never came back this morning. He always comes back. I went looking for him, and it turns out he never showed up at Stinky’s last night either.”

“You’ve lost me, Shayna.”

“That’s where he goes to sleep whenever he’s mad at me. Stinky’s got an enclosed back porch with a cot in it, and he lets Eddie Ray sleep there whenever he wants.”

“Did you talk to this ‘Stinky’ person this morning and ask him if he saw Eddie Ray last night?”

“Yeah. He said Eddie Ray was in the bar for a while, but he doesn’t know where he went after that. I talked to, like, ten different people, and that’s what they all said.”

I glanced up, watching a group of businessmen enter the club. At first, I was afraid that Tom might be among them, but then I realized that they were all in their 50s. One of the few things I knew about Tom was that he was in his early 30s, like me.

“Isn’t it possible,” I asked, lowering my voice, “that Eddie Ray left the bar with another woman, and that’s why nobody will tell you where he went?”

She was quiet for a moment.

“I guess,” she said softly. “But I don’t think so. He may not be the best boyfriend in the world, but as far as I know he’s never cheated on me.”

I had to stifle a groan. It seemed that among the long list of Eddie Ray’s sins, infidelity wasn’t among them.

“Look,” I said, trying to make my voice calm. “This really isn’t a good time for me now. You’re still going to meet me at Advancing Attire at five o’clock, right? We can talk about it more then.”

“I can’t wait that long. I’ll go crazy!”

I glanced at my watch and calculated. Tom’s flight was at 2:15, so that meant he would probably want to go to the gate a little before 2:00. If I got out of here then and drove straight home, I could make it to Advancing Attire by 3:30.

“Let’s move it up then,” I said. “How’s half past three?”

“Okay,” she whimpered. “But, Callie, what if something’s really wrong?”

“We’ll deal with it at that time,” I said. “I promise.”

I managed to get Shayna off the phone, but I couldn’t help being upset by her timing. Then I realized I was allowing her emotional meltdown to radically infringe on my special moment. Wishing I had waited before I called her, I slipped the phone into my jacket pocket, closed my eyes, and forced myself to calm down. Shayna’s problems with her boyfriend would still be there later. For now, I had more important things going on.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a beautiful blonde woman walking purposefully toward me. She was dressed impeccably in an elegant, understated suit that looked like Armani. She had long legs, a knockout figure, and a humongous diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.

“Kelly?” she asked. “Kelly Webber?”

“Callie,” I corrected, standing up. “I’m Callie Webber.”

“You’re waiting for Tom?”

“Yes.”

She came to a stop in front of me and smiled, flashing perfect white teeth.

“I’m so glad I found you,” she drawled in a slightly southern accent. “He said to look for a lady with her hair in a bun, so that’s what I did.”

I blinked, feeling vaguely insulted, though I wasn’t sure why.

“Where’s Tom?” I asked, apprehension tingling at the back of my neck.