The Underground Lady (19 page)

"There are some background checks we need to do. Earl Sanders, Gerald VonHorner, they fit the profile. We need to know about the other players – the animal hanger, the lawyer, the banker, and let's not forget a Naval Aviator."

"Well, you are right about one thing, the stakes just got a lot higher."

It was dark now, and there was nothing more we could do at the airport. We headed for the cottage.

"You need to put locks on these hangar doors."

"Never saw a need, until now. If someone wants in, you can't keep them out."

"True, but at least you'd know they'd been there."

Checking the mailbox on the gravel road in front of the cottage, I found a package from the FAA Office in Jackson. It was the report on the investigation of the missing PA-18.

While I built a fire, Hebrone opened and read the file, which was an inch thick.

"This is bureaucracy at its worst. Form after form filled out by different investigators, all saying the same thing – nothing. The aircraft remains missing and the investigation is still open."

"I expected as much, but we needed to see it. Are you ready to go to Rose's?"

"What do you intend to do about the engine on the Stearman?"

"I'm going to call Earl Sanders."

"What if he's involved?"

"He's not."

"Take me to the girls."

When I returned after dropping Hebrone off at Rose's house, I dialed Earl Sanders' number. Annie answered. She put Earl on the line.

"Someone tried to kill me today. Poured water in the oil tank of the Stearman."

"Did the engine seize?"

"No, and I'm fine, thank you."

"I know that. You wouldn't be calling me, otherwise."

He had a point.

"What do I need to do to the engine?"

"Where did you come down?"

"Managed to deadstick back into Union International."

"Always the comic. You did good getting back to the airport."

"Hebrone was flying."

"I should have known. You probably wouldn't have made it."

"Funny."

"I'll bring a mechanic up tomorrow. We will flush out the engine, add fresh oil, do a test run, then a compression check. Shouldn't be a problem. How high did the temps go?"

"To the redline."

"Well, the compression check will tell us if there's any damage. How long till overhaul?"

"Over a thousand hours. You coming with the mechanic?"

"Yes. I haven't seen your farm, be a good opportunity."

"Yeah. I'll give you the fifty cent tour."

"Okay. And, Jay…"

"What?"

"I'm glad you landed safely."

"Thanks."

After hanging up the phone, I sat for a moment thinking about Earl Sanders. We'd been friends for a long time, and I was ashamed of doubting, even for a brief moment, his wishing to harm me. It was simply necessary to list all the people who could remotely be responsible and eliminate them, one by one. I picked up the file from the FAA, and read each report, hoping to find something that had been overlooked. There was nothing. Where the hell was that airplane?    

***

I awoke rested in a pleasant place, an easy place. A place I had chosen for myself. Rolling over in the bed, I noticed the smell of the air that was sometimes dusty, sometimes flowery, depending on the humidity. If the window was open, the way the curtain fluttered seemed like the skirt of a young woman walking. There is a validity in the premise of the importance of place.

After a quick shower, I drove to Rose's. We had a meeting with Avis Shaw's widow this morning. As I hoped, Shack was there, and I gave him the file from the FAA to read. B.W. sat in Sunny Pfeiffer's lap at the kitchen table, causing me a pang of jealously. I thought of black stockings and legs that transcended flesh and became art. Made me hold my breath and held me riveted by her boldness.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Jay, isn't this weather wonderful?"

"Yes, we never have bad weather in the south, just inappropriate clothing."

Rose laughed. "Okay, boys and girls, let's get going. The widow lady awaits."

Avis Shaw's widow, Opal, invited us inside the modest home. She was a neatly dressed, silver-haired lady, small of stature, and weighing less than a hundred pounds. Though obviously poor, her house was neat and clean. She offered coffee and calmly asked why we were here.

Rose introduced us all and after the ritual of condolences for the loss of her husband, said that Sunny's mother had disappeared twenty-five years ago, and that recently Avis had sent a letter saying he knew she had been murdered.

Opal Shaw put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, my goodness. I don't know anything about this. What did you say her name was?"

"Hadley Welch," Rose answered. "She lived on the farm next to mine. Owned a business up in St. Louis, and flew her own airplane."

"Her own airplane, yes, I remember that. Avis did some dirt work for her, built a pond levee, and cleaned off some creek banks. He talked about the airplane. It was so unusual in this part of the country. I think he even did some grading on her landing strip. But that was a long time ago."

"He sent me a letter a month ago," Sunny said. "Did he know he was ill, Mrs. Shaw?"

"Yes, it was his heart."

"Do you know a man by the name of Gerald VonHorner?" I asked.

"VonHorner? No, and I never heard Avis mention him."

"What about Peter Pushkin, the bank president from down at Decatur?"

"Oh, yes, a nasty man. We had to sue to get our money for some work."

"Your husband never mentioned Pushkin and the Welch woman having anything to do with each other?"

"He would have no reason to know about anything like that."

"The lawyer Charles Collinswood helped you get your money from Peter Pushkin?"

"He's a nice man. I never heard anything about the missing woman, your mother or any other man." She looked at Sunny.

"Two more names, Mrs. Shaw – Raymond Spruance or Earl Sanders. Do either of these names ring a bell?"

"I've never heard of either of them."

"One last thing, do you have any idea why your husband would send a letter to this woman saying her mother was murdered?" I pointed to Sunny.

She looked at Sunny, and tears formed in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, my husband was very ill in the last year of his life. I wish I could offer some explanation, but I can't."

We left Opal Shaw to her grief.

Chapter Fifteen

As we passed the turnoff to the airport, I saw a Cessna 206 pass low overhead on a base leg for landing. "That's Earl Sanders and his mechanic. We'll drop you ladies off at the house and come back to the airport."

On the way from Rose's, Shack said, “I heard you had a little problem yesterday. Sunny said you lost some oil?"

"Someone sabotaged my airplane, poured water in the oil tank. It turned to steam and blew the cap off, siphoning six gallons of oil out in less than a minute."

Shack didn't say anything. I could see him in the rearview mirror scratching his chin and looking out the window.

"Shack…?"

"My friend, Ralph Henderson, was a mechanic in the Army, worked on helicopters."

We pulled into the airport. Earl and his mechanic were standing beside the Stearman.

"You don't have locks on these hangar doors?"

Earl introduced his mechanic, whose name was Aaron Crosby. I did the same with Shack and Hebrone.

While the mechanic, with Shack watching with interest, flushed out the oil tank and poured in fresh oil, Earl, Hebrone, and I stood off to the side.

"I know you had to wonder, Jay, for obvious reasons, but I would never do something like this to you, even if I had killed Hadley Welch – though I did not."

"It embarrasses me to say it, but yes, your name came up, among others. If, for one second, I thought you were capable of this, you wouldn't be here."

"I understand."

"You have to admit, it is an unusual way to screw up an engine."

Earl crossed his arms, scuffed the ground with a toe. "No, not really. I've known of a couple of cases, and my mechanic is well aware of the consequences of water in the oil tank."

Hebrone said, “I learned in the seventies."

"Why does everybody but me know about this?"

"It might be that you don't like to get dirt under your nails, bend wrenches?"

"I never could understand why anyone would rather work on them, than fly'em. Or strap on a parachute and jump out of a perfectly good running airplane."

"We're ready to run it," the mechanic hollered.

After five minutes of running the engine with the mechanic making me nervous standing behind the spinning propeller examining the radial engine, he motioned for me to shut it down.

"There are no leaks. We brought a portable air-compressor. It will take about an hour to run a compression check to see if there was any damage to the cylinders. I don't think there is, but it really should be done. I'm going to need some help."

"I'll be happy to lend a hand," Shack offered.

"Me too," Hebrone said. "Why don't you give Earl a look at your farm? Introduce him to Rose. Everybody needs to know her."

"Good idea. We'll be back in an hour or so."

Rose was cordial to Earl, but standoffish. She'd heard his name mentioned not only by Hadley Welch, but also as possibly being involved in our engine problem. Sunny was friendly.

Later, at the cottage, Earl said, “I've got to bring Annie up here. She would love this place."

"Great. If you fly, I'll pick you up at the airport. We'll grill some red meat, and let you enjoy the country life."

"What happened to Hadley's home? I saw it from the air many times. It looked like a nice house."

"Rose said it burned, not long after she went missing. You really didn't have an affair with her, did you?"

"It was tempting. We were both attracted to each other, but I loved my wife too much to jeopardize our relationship."

"Yeah, that's what Annie told me. She said you even talked about it, as did Hadley. I admire that in you, old son."

Earl looked strangely at me. "They ought to be through with the compression check by now."

The mechanic pronounced the Pratt and Whitney 450 horsepower radial engine fit for duty. They loaded up their equipment and prepared to leave.

"I won't charge you for the new oil cap, but the rest, you'll get a bill."

"I'm going to hold you to bringing Annie up for a few days of country living."

"It's a promise."

We watched the Cessna 206 take off from the little grass runway. "Please, God, do not let his man be involved with anything bad concerning Hadley Welch," I said to myself, as we headed for the little cottage in the woods.

Shortly before we turned off the blacktop onto the gravel road leading to the cottage, my cell phone rang.

"Jay, it's John Adams. My daughter just called with the ballistics on the S&W Combat Masterpiece. It's clean. Originally purchased by a Meridian police officer named Moulds, in sixty-nine. There were three sets of prints on the weapon; Gerald VonHorner, Opshinsky's, and a woman by the name of Kien Phuong, D.O.B.: 29 April, 1957. Last known address was Port Lavaca, Texas. She has no record."

"Why was she fingerprinted?"

"First time was by INS. Applied for citizenship. She and her parents immigrated from Saigon. There is a large community of Vietnamese in Port Lavaca, it's a big shrimping area."

"The second time?"

"Routine job application as a flight attendant with American Airlines."

"Okay, High Sheriff, thanks for the info."

"My pleasure. Keep me in the loop."

Shutting the phone off, I told Hebrone and Shack what John Adams found out.

"VonHorner met Kien at American Airlines. It could have been during the time he was involved with the Welch woman. He probably bought the pistol from the Meridian policeman while working for Sanders during his furlough. Gives us good reasons to keep both of them on the radar."

Hebrone was right. Everything pointed to VonHorner. The question is what could he have done to Hadley Welch, what was his motive, and where are the body and airplane? Besides doing background checks on Collinswood, Pushkin, and Raymond Spruance for mechanical aptitude, which really didn't matter, as they could have hired someone to pour water in my oil tank, there wasn't much left to do. We had to be careful, though. There could be a fallacy in the assumed premise.

"Shack, we need to talk with Ralph Henderson."

"He should be back tomorrow."

As we pulled into the driveway, Rose and Sunny were making themselves at home on my porch. B.W. was playing in the cypress glider, rolling over and over like some big kitten.