The Flight Before Christmas Ch. 01

"What about the plane?"

"We'll send a specialist to check on a few things, but we might need to take it into evidence."

"Do you have any idea how long that'll take?"

"Are you in a hurry?" he asked.

"Not personally, but I've already inconvenienced this woman enough."

"I understand. We'll work with the county sheriff and see what we can do to get it moved out."

"Please!" Brenda exclaimed abruptly. "Don't involve him. I don't care if the plane stays there a year."

"Problem?" the agent asked.

"You could say that he's a bit of a sore loser. We … we don't get along very well," she answered.

The pause. Yet again.

"Okay, fair enough, ma'am. Mr. Carlson, again, we appreciate you sticking around for us, but there's no longer a need. We can have the Houston field office get in touch with you if we need anything we can't manage with a phone call."

"Sure thing. Thanks."

It was almost five o'clock.

As soon as the agents excused themselves and departed, I pulled out my laptop, activated the WiFi hotspot on my phone, and searched for flights from Lincoln to home in Houston. Seeing none available that day, I checked Omaha, too, with similar results. The last flight out of Omaha would be departing in only ten minutes, and I suspected it'd be an hour to drive there.

Instead, I reserved a seat on the first flight the next morning which would put me back home at 1:00pm.

"I put Stacie down for a nap," Brenda said as she sat across from me. Her eyes were still puffy. "She's not seen this much excitement in … well. A while."

I caught the gap again. There was something hiding in it.

"If I may ask, what's the deal with the sheriff? And why did he call you Mrs. Gates?"

"Oh. Sheriff Fatbert," she scoffed. "He's a good-for-nothing Barney One-Bullet. Most of his deputies, and I've probably met most of them, are all pretty understanding, but that asshat has had it out for me since …"

"Since what?" I prompted after the pregnant pause.

"Since I killed my husband," she answered.