The Flight Before Christmas Ch. 02

Hearing the odd utterance herself made her laugh hard. "Thanks !" she repeated. Her face had blushed a little. That was cute, too.

"Okay. Let's see what happens. I'm searching for any parties in or near Bozeman, Montana, or Louisville, Kentucky, with a net worth in excess of a million. It's a guess, but I think a mil would be a requirement to own a plane like a Cirrus, plus looking for any cases where I'd caused any party to lose more than $600K, a generous amount for the plane out there."

I clicked the magnifying glass icon. It took less than a second to receive the "No matches" message.

"Zilch," I said.

"Maybe you're being too specific. Maybe they were banking on the insurance payout, too," Brenda suggested.

"Good point."

I deleted a few clauses from the query. "Well, here's two."

I double-tapped the first record to bring up the details.

"Nah, no way. I met this guy. Dumber than a fence post. No way he could have orchestrated something so complicated," I said, closing the window.

I selected the second result.

"Huh. Nope here, too. This lady barely lost anything as a result of our research. Most of the challenges her attorney leveled were sustained."

"Mommy? What's for dinner?" the little girl's voice spoke behind us.

"Oh, snap ! I lost track of time, baby. I'll figure something out," Brenda said as her daughter walked around the side of the sofa.

"You know what? I definitely owe you two dinner. What's your favorite restaurant?" I asked Stacie.

"Dairy Street!" she quickly answered.

Brenda looked at her daughter for a few seconds and chuckled. "I wouldn't mind it either."

"Well then! Because the House of Mays hath provided a wayward traveler hospitable accommodations instead of hastening him into a barn, it shall be my honor and pleasure to proffer ye ladies a dinner at Dairy Street. I shall entreat the establishment's servants to provide whatever thou chooseth," I emoted. "Or whatever is on their menu," I added in my normal voice.

"Huh?" Stacie said with utter confusion painted all over her face.

"I'd love to take you both to Dairy Street."

"Mommy? Please?"

Brenda nodded at her with a smile.

"Thence, now? Hence, now? I don't know the old English, but conveyeth thyself to mine chariot!"

Stacie stared at me in even more severe confusion. Though she tried to whisper, of course I could hear her question. "Mommy? What's convayit ?"

I laughed and grinned at Brenda's daughter. "It means move , kid. It means we go to my car and go out to eat," I said in my ordinary Texas accent.

"Yay! I need to dress and get my shoes!" she screeched happily as she ran back to the stairs.

Of course, she was already dressed, but in the pajamas in which she'd awakened that morning. After all, why would anyone care if jammies were the outfit of the day in their own home?

"Will you keep an eye on her if she comes back down before me? I'm not going out looking like this," Brenda asked.

"But of course , madam."

I didn't know what 'like this' meant because she looked pretty damned good to me.

She laughed at my butler-speak. "Thanks," she said, piercing my eyes in a gaze which instinctively ratcheted my pulse. She kissed my cheek again before she went upstairs herself. I watched her as she walked away. Her hips were so beautifully animated. She shot an unexpected glance over her shoulder, catching me staring at her sashaying backside. It earned me a surprising giggle.

I found myself immediately thinking, Oh, my word. What the hell? Did she just give me a little  flirt?

"Holy crap," I muttered under my breath with a grin.

The day we'd spent … yeah. It had done something to me. She had actually knocked me out a little. She'd shared her life experience to someone who only amounted to a basic stranger. Yes, it hit me in the heart. I despised the fact that she and her child were subjected to such duress.

Was I only feeling sorry for her? Was there something truly there, or was I grasping at straws because of what had happened over the summer?

That was the very question I was considering when her daughter reappeared.

"Where'd my mommy go?"

"She went to get ready, too."

"Can you help me?" she asked, holding out her shoes. I smiled and accepted them.

She sat on the ottoman and presented her left foot.

"Don't know how to tie them yourself?"

She simply shook her head.

"Okay, watch carefully," I said, propping her foot on my knee and slipping the shoe onto it.

I'm right-handed. I knew Stacie was a lefty when I watched her eat her pancakes that morning. Facing me transposed my hands, so she'd see them as a left-handed person would. Lucky coincidence.

I said slowly, "Over, under, around and through, meet Mister Bunny, pull and through."

"What?" Stacie said, never taking her eyes off my actions.

"I'll show you again. Give me the other one."

She did, and I repeated the poem I'd learned in my own childhood as she watched intently. She reminded me of a friend's eldest daughter. Her name was Jordan, and she was about the same age as Stacie.

"Huh⁠—Oh! Bunny ears! May I try?"

"Of course," I answered, untying and removing her shoe which I put in her hands.

She replaced it on her foot.

"Over … under?"

"Yeah."

"Around … then …"

"Through here," I said, guiding her little fingers. "Right. Through."

"Meet Mister Bunny … pull," she yanked awkwardly then groaned, "it didn't work!"

"Yes it did," I said, tugging more firmly. "Your hands just haven't practiced enough yet. Watch me," I said as I untied my own shoe.

"You'll soon be able to tie them even with your eyes closed," I said then repeated the mantra, tying my Nike blindly. "Try one more time."

She began again, ending with "Meet the bunny … pull it … through."

"Good. Now pull these parts of the ears a little tighter. Yup! Just like that."

"Mommy! Mommy!" she yelled in glee when she noticed her mother standing behind the couch. She'd been there watching. I hadn't seen her there. "Mr. Todd showed me!"

Both ladies were beaming with pride.

"Would you look at that! I'm so proud of you, chigger! Now, go get a warm cap from your drawer," Brenda said.

As soon as Stacie ran up the stairs, Brenda stepped closer.

She watched me for a few moments, then said, "I'm sorry, Todd."

"What's to be sorry for? She needed a little help with her shoes. No biggie."

"Not that. This."

She drew in a quick breath, grasped my hip with one hand and the back of my neck with the other. She stepped closer and placed her lips on mine.

Oh holy hell, they were so soft. They tasted of coconut.

I sighed deeply when it was over as she rested her forehead against my shoulder. The scent of her freshly applied perfume met me. Her arms were holding me close.

As she withdrew, I whispered with closed eyes, "That was quite … pleasant."

When Brenda heard little feet scuttling down the stairs, she quickly released her hold, stepped away from me, and sniffled nervously. I sensed she didn't want an awkward scene playing out in front of her daughter. When she looked up at me, she had to have seen the pleased look in my eyes.

"Pay me back later?" she whispered with a shy grin.

I nodded with a smile.

She grabbed a spare booster from the garage as we exited the house. She secured it in the back seat of the Enclave and buckled Stacie in. I held open the front passenger door. Brenda brushed her fingers across mine as she entered. I closed the door for her, then climbed in the other side.

"Okay, my queens for the day, direct me!"

Brenda chuckled and pointed. "That way."

"Chicken fingers await !" I sang melodically as I began the fifteen-minute drive.

After we ordered, Brenda asked her daughter to choose a table. Stacie scooted into one of the benches, and I pivoted to sit on the opposite corner so her mother could sit either next to or across from her daughter.

"Sit next to me?" Stacie asked.

There was no way on Earth I could refuse her request, so I accepted her invitation willingly.

Her mother sat across from me, put her palm up to her face and silently mouthed, "That's new."

My eyebrows arched in honest surprise.

Brenda and I chit-chatted as Stacie colored a paper placemat with the four crayons provided with it. A lot of our back-and-forth was strategizing ways to narrow down possible matches in my case histories. Our number was called, so I left my seat to go fetch three meals. I brought the trays back, and our conversation continued.

I felt Brenda's foot nudge mine under the table. It wasn't exactly an invitation to play footsie, but I welcomed the proximity and contact. I moved my other to the opposite side of hers and simply held her booted foot between mine.

Brenda asked me to pass her the pepper shaker. When I did, I brushed her palm with my fingers.

"When are you returning home?" she asked.

"I have a reservation for a flight out of Omaha to Houston at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Oh," she said, turning her eyes down to her tray.

"I haven't paid for the ticket yet," I added.

"Oh?" she said again, looking back up at me.

"What is Houston like?" Stacie asked before she took a careful bite of a hot, crispy chicken strip.

"It never gets this cold, but summers are usually sticky and humid. It's a big, big city with a lot of things going on. I live in a suburb called Katy."

"Like a girl's name?"

"It's spelled like it, but it came from the initials of a corporation."

"That's really weird," she rightly observed, continuing her meal as she colored.

Brenda and I ate, continuing to strategize, until Stacie had finished her dinner. She caught her mother's attention. She picked up her tray and bobbed her head toward the trash receptacle.

"Go ahead, hon," Brenda said.

After she stepped away, I whispered to her mother, "She's a smart kid."

"You've somehow endeared yourself to her," she said, protectively watching her daughter's every move as she spoke.

"I think that's gone both ways."

I reached across the table and took Brenda's hand. "Same goes for you."

"Todd, how on Earth is it possible you're not already married?"

"Um … that's a little personal, isn't it?" I asked but kept my tone neutral. I didn't want her to feel threatened by my sensitivity to her question.

"Seriously?" She laughed softly. "After I told you why I'm not?"

"Touché," I answered just as her daughter returned to her seat. "I tried. Twice."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The first didn't take in the normal way, and I ran away from the second one before signing the dotted line, so to speak."

"I'm truly sorry."

"Don't be. My first … um … echo x-ray," I said in code around the little one because I didn't want her to know we were talking about matters pertaining to failed marriages.

Brenda nodded in acknowledgment, easily catching my meaning.

"I know it sounds strange, but we're still very close friends. We simply jumped in too soon. We were too young. It started out in high school. We went to the JOP when I was twenty. She's a year older. Neither of us were truly ready. We just sort of agreed to shake hands and part ways after about two years. She and her current husband have a daughter the same age and every bit as smart as Stacie."

"I guess it could be worse, huh?"

Comparing my story to hers, she was absolutely correct. My ex and I parted as true friends, not as combatants.

"My second was a disaster in the making. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention to what was going on. I should've noticed⁠—well, she had something going on on the side. I discovered she was … uh … very, very close to someone else only four days before we were to sign a certain certificate."

"Ouch," Brenda subtly said with a visible shudder.

"Yeah. I sort of hid under the bed for a while after it happened."

"Were you hiding from a monster?" Stacie asked.

"That was only a metaphor, but yeah. Sort of. But just like your mom helps you when you're troubled, I have friends and family who help me, too."

Stacie smiled and gave me a kiddie-hug.

"Don't try to hide under the couch. I tried. There's no room."

I laughed at her innocent, childlike advice. "Thanks for the warning."

Our dinner came to an end. I put on my coat then helped Stacie into hers as Brenda threw away our service items. I assisted Brenda with her topcoat when she returned, pretending to smooth it by stroking her shoulders and back softly. I felt her playfully bump my hip with hers as we walked to my rented SUV. Stacie walked ahead of us a few paces as we watched out for crossing cars.

After Brenda buckled Stacie in and shut her door, she said, "You said 'corporation' and 'metaphor' when you answered her questions. Do you think she knows what those words mean?"

"Maybe not, but she's smart. I don't want to talk down to her."

Brenda's smile was so warm and sweet.

"Todd, do you have to be home tomorrow?"

"No, not really. My business closes up shop the last two weeks of the year. If there's an emergency, I can usually work remotely almost as effectively."

"Do you have plans for Christmas?"

"My would-be bride and I were going to be in Grenada these two weeks, so … no. I don't."

"It happened recently?"

"Yeah. Back in June."

She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a tender, supportive, and comforting hug.

"It's entirely up to you. Stacie and I wouldn't mind a change of pace. You're welcome to spend the holidays here. It's definitely not Grenada, because the forecast is showing a pretty good chance for a white Christmas. I'll bet you don't get many of those in Houston, do you?"

"We had one back in 2004, which is the only one I remember."

She chuckled dryly. "White Christmases are special, but I'm getting tired of having to use a snowblower. I doubt you even own one, so count yourself lucky."

I walked Brenda behind the tail of the SUV where I was certain her daughter couldn't see us. I lifted her chin with my hand and kissed her.

"Now you owe me," I whispered with a smile.

Stacie, having had a tasty dinner, chit-chatted about all kinds of random things during the drive back to their farm. I was happily listening to every word, but I think her mother felt I thought her a bit of a pest. I absolutely didn't.

"Mr. Todd, do you know how to play match ends?" she asked as we exited the SUV at their house.

"Does it involve playing with fire?" I asked her quizzically which made her mother playfully admonish me by smacking my arm.

"You play it with dominodes . Want to play me?"

"Sounds like fun," I agreeably answered.

"Huh-uh, young lady. No games until after your chores are done."

"Mom!" Stacie began to argue, but Brenda brought a gloved finger to her lips.

"All you need to do is neaten up your room. If you get right to it, it won't take you any time at all. You've still got an hour or so before bedtime."

"Yes, Mommy," Stacie said resignedly as she entered the house through the garage door.

"What's under there?" I asked, motioning toward a tarpaulin-covered vehicle I'd noticed on our earlier exit.

"It was my dad's. He liked working on cars. It's a Camaro."

I tugged at a corner of the cover. "May I?"

"Sure. I haven't seen it in a couple of years myself."

I slowly and carefully pulled back the tarp. My mind reeled when I recognized the distinctive ebony black and gunmetal gray two-tone paint scheme. It held an absolutely pristine glossy finish.

"You don't know what you have here, do you."

She laughed. "Again, a Camaro ," she repeated, emphasizing the word as if I hadn't heard it the first time.

"This, Brenda, is a classic. This isn't just any Camaro. It's a Berlinetta. I think it's an '86."

I checked the VIN plate to confirm it was, indeed, the 1986 model-year with the 305 engine.

"These didn't sell very well because of horribly targeted marketing. It was taken off the market after barely seven years. 1986 was its last model year. The rarity has made them really hot in the restoration and collector's market. Does it still run?"

"I have no idea. My dad was in the middle of some repairs when he got sick. He wasn't able to finish them," she said, pointing to a workbench.

I stepped to the bench to see what was there. A rusty water pump was sitting next to dusty ACDelco boxes containing a new one and an alternator. A couple of cardboard sleeves held a set of belts.

"Do you mind if I look under the hood?"

She laughed. "Be my guest."

I popped the latch, climbed out, and carefully opened the hood, making sure it wouldn't strike the garage door above.

The car had been impeccably maintained. The engine had been degreased and steam-cleaned not long before it'd been stored. The radiator and surge tank were both empty. The hoses all seemed to be fairly new. The alternator, water pump, and belts were absent, of course, and the battery was missing. The tray and cables looked as if they'd been recently replaced because they still had their protective rubber boots on them. I suspected at least a partial engine rebuild had been underway and almost completed.

The dipstick came out dry. I looked underneath and saw an empty pan below the engine, hinting that the plug was absent. I wouldn't be able to tell for sure unless it was propped up on stands where I could climb underneath it.

A check of the Camaro's tail end revealed a modified exhaust. My mind was doing somersaults and backflips. I clapped my hands like a giddy schoolboy.

"What would you say if, to earn my keep and all, I said I'd like to finish it up and see if I can get her running again? This is an absolutely beautiful car. Your father obviously loved working on it."

"It's a 1986? That was the year I was born, which means it was fifteen years old when he taught me how to drive."

I absolutely loved working on older cars. Unfortunately, newer ones have so many electronics and such tight quarters it makes them a chore rather than a joy to work on, but the Chevy 305 LG4 was, and still is, an incredibly easy engine to maintain. Then, it hit me.

"Whoa. You're thirty-one?"

She grimaced a little. "Yeah, why?"

"I seriously thought you were maybe twenty-five," I said, honestly.

She laughed. "You have a weird way of complimenting a woman."

"I meant … I just …" I stammered. "I'll stop talking now," I said sheepishly.

She laughed a little more at my self-admonishment but offered me a sweet smile to soften it.

"Well? Are you keeping your age a secret?" she asked.

"Oh. Thirty-four."

"I seriously thought you were maybe forty," she said with a cheeky grin.

I laughed at her playful barb. I was finally zeroing in on her subtle yet keen sense of humor.

"If it's something you'd like to do, I admit I'd love to hear it run again," she agreed. "Um … I don't think you're expecting to finish it up in only a few hours. Does that mean you're accepting my invitation to spend the holidays with us?"

"Yes." I nodded. "I think I'd like that. Thank you for the invitation."

She smiled. "Just … please, do me one favor?"

"Anything," I said.

"Tell me when you think it's ready to start up. I'd like to be the one to do it and hear if it still sounds like I remember."

"You've got yourself a deal!" I said excitedly.

She nodded. "Let's get inside. Stacie might be tearing the place apart."

I followed her, but she stopped abruptly.