The Flight Before Christmas Ch. 02

"Wait. Not just yet," she said, seeking and finding a kiss. We spent a few lovely quiet minutes in the garage.

"I've gotta say, I don't mind being in this kind of debt," she said with a grin.

Stacie had already deposited a set of double-six dominoes on the kitchen table and was turning them face down.

"Decaf?" Brenda asked as I took a seat.

"Yes, please. That'd be perfect."

She started a pot, then sat next to me at the table as Stacie showed me how to shuffle the twenty-eight-piece set of "dominodes ."

"Pick seven. It's cheating if you peek at them before you do," she said, wagging her finger quite seriously at me.

I couldn't help but grin. I randomly chose my set.

"Since you're the guest," she said dramatically, "you get to go first."

I selected one of my seven at random because I wasn't sure what the rules of the game would be. Heck, my opponent was only four, so I knew it couldn't be too complicated.

I placed the 3-2 on the table. She added a 2-4 against it, two-to-two.

"Like this?" I asked, adding a 3-5 to the opposite end of my first.

Brenda left the table after the coffee brewer beeped. I watched as she poured two cups. Then, she reached into a cupboard and withdrew two bottles. One of her hands held a bottle of Baileys, the other a bottle of Kahlúa. I pointed subtly leftward.

After the cups were poured, Brenda sat next to me. I felt her place her hand on my leg. Nothing tawdry or anything, but she situated her own against mine and simply stroked her fingertips from my knee to a few inches higher on my thigh. Her actions weren't abrupt or uncomfortable at all. They were tender, and they were very, very, welcome. I no longer chided myself at how my body reacted.

I rubbed her opposite shoulder gently with my arm around her to let her know I was enjoying her being very much within my personal space. When she rested her head on my shoulder, I realized we were in a mutually safe space.

"Stacie, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you may," she replied.

"May? Wow. You are such a well-spoken and polite young lady. I'm curious, how did you earn the nickname 'chigger?'"

Brenda giggled when her daughter groaned.

"Ask my mom."

"We start cutting sod for market in the very late winter to early spring. That was about the time Stacie had learned how to run. I could barely keep her out of the field. I mean, when spring fully sets in, it truly is gorgeous and lush out there if I'm doing my job well. I refuse to apply pesticides for environmental reasons, so she got a bit chewed up, and the nickname was born."

I smiled. The nickname was apt in more metaphorical senses, too.

I won the first match, which entitled Brenda to challenge me. She won that round, so her and her daughter played next. Brenda won over Stacie, so she and I played again. Brenda beat me by a long mile. I still had six dominoes in my hand when she'd completed her own.

"Okay, kiddo, it's time for bath and bed." Brenda nudged her daughter and received no argument.

I started putting the dominoes back in their tin.

"I'll be back in a sec," she whispered to me before she walked her daughter up the stairs.

I spent the time out in the garage looking at the car and the tools in the incredibly well-outfitted chest. Brenda's father obviously loved his hobby, and I didn't want to even come close to dishonoring his legacy by botching the completion of his project.

When Brenda discovered me in the garage, she asked, "You're not planning on staying up all night out here, are you?"

"The thought did cross my mind, but no."

"Come on. Maybe we can find something to watch on TV."

I smiled and followed her back inside. As she flipped through the DirecTV listings, I booted my laptop and re-engaged investigator mode.

She watched and I listened to the TV for a few hours. The ten o'clock news played as I'd run probably the hundredth query in my database. Though Brenda had given me dozens of angles and suggestions to try, I was still as empty-handed as I'd been when I started. I had nothing. Sensing my frustration, she rubbed my back with her hand.

"You're tired. Your brain has shut down. Give it a rest and sleep on it."

She gave me a tender kiss, flicking the tip of her tongue on my upper lip. I gave it a gentle suckle. I felt no need to rush with her. I was content to let the music play.

It was close to midnight when my hostess took her leave and went upstairs. I settled into the comfortable sofa and was asleep in no time at all.

The next two days were a whirlwind as Brenda and I worked together trying to zero in on the culprits that'd brought me down in her yard. I enjoyed goofing around with her and her daughter, as well as finishing up the car. An almost perfect balance was struck.

Sheriff Fathat remained a pest. A half-million-dollar aircraft making an emergency landing in his jurisdiction must have been much too exciting for him to bear. Brenda caught him snooping around a couple of times, and I managed to catch him prowling around the airplane trying to snip a swatch of the parachute. Perhaps he wanted a souvenir for some epic story in which he'd played not a single role.

I assessed the Camaro's engine after I'd carefully replaced the missing bits and pieces. Honestly, I wasn't sure it'd run, considering I had only the barest hints of its condition based on the boxes which had been collecting dust for several years, but I did what I could.

The engine was lacking oil and coolant, and the fuel system had been completely purged. The entire vehicle was bone dry which gave me hope there wouldn't be problems related to old gas varnishing the carburetor or pump.

When I ducked inside to tell Brenda my plan to visit an auto parts store, Stacie asked if she could go with me on my errands. She'd apparently become bored helping her mother who was working in the kitchen making their entire house abound with the scents of delicious baked goodies. Brenda nodded vigorously in approval of Stacie's request, and I was more than happy to oblige.

It made me chuckle because I couldn't possibly understand that maybe Stacie was a bit "in the way" of her baking. Besides. I didn't mind the idea of having Stacie along to keep me company.

After I double-checked the engine's specifications online, we departed. At the auto parts store, I selected a jug of oil plus one extra quart, air and oil filters, two jugs of premixed coolant, a battery, and a set of eight premium spark plugs. I also added a basic belt tension gauge to my cart, then deposited all my selections at the checkout counter.

As the clerk started ringing me up, he said, "Did you hear about the plane crashing outside of town?"

"Who hasn't?" I vaguely said, keeping an eye on Stacie who was running her fingers through the deep treads of an off-road tire on display by the windows.

"I know! The sheriff was in here yesterday to buy some washer fluid and wiper blades. He was talkin' all about it. He said the pilot was some goofball Texas idiot who ran out of gas." He laughed. "I can't imagine how anyone could do something so dumb."

"Oh? Is that so? Neither can I," I stoically replied.

It was a worthless conversation other than the fact it reminded me I also needed washer fluid. I bought a gallon of that, too. A $260 payment had us out the door and on to the grocery store. All I needed there were three gallons of distilled water.

Seeing the price on the shelf of $2.17, I laughed.

I asked Stacie, "Why do you think groceries are more expensive in little towns? This would cost me less than a dollar back home."

"I don't know. Is it too much?"

Her expression seemed odd. She almost looked concerned, not simply curious. I wondered if such worry crossed her mind frequently, perhaps when asking her mother for a special treat or something.

"Nah, it's just strange is all."

As I navigated the parking lot toward the street, I caught sight of a florist on the opposite corner of the intersection. I drove us there where I considered three arrangements and asked Stacie to choose one for me. She picked the one in a vase bearing a pastel-printed nativity scene.

I also bought a single long-stemmed rose.

We returned, having been gone just shy of two hours.

I noticed a car in the driveway which bore government plates.

I deposited everything I'd purchased, except for the florals and water, on the workbench, then followed Stacie inside the house.

Special Agent Tucker was sitting at the table with a cookie in his hand. He stood on seeing my entrance. Of course, his presence prevented me from an appropriate presentation of the flowers, but the surprise was not lost on Brenda. It wasn't lost on Agent Tucker, either, because his brows arched in curiosity.

I deposited the jugs of water in the pantry, sat the vase on the table, then handed Brenda the rose. She took it with both hands and gave me a subtle smile and wink. When I turned to shake hands with the agent, I felt her hand on my butt. It wasn't an accidental brush; it was a full-on pet. I almost jumped at the unexpected contact but simply looked back over my shoulder and grinned at her.

"What's the word, Agent Tucker?"

"The contractor the bureau uses for recovery and transport needed me to snap a few photographs of the plane so they can plan their work. Miss Mays invited me in after I finished. Her gingerbread cookies are insanely good. Anyway, I figured you'd be back in Houston by now," he said with another eyebrow arch.

"Nah, not yet. Bre⁠—Miss Mays invited me to spend the holidays with her and her daughter. I'm earning my keep by finishing some repairs her late father had started on a Chevy but wasn't able to complete."

"Oh? A project car?" he asked with sudden interest.

"A 1986 Camaro Berlinetta."

"Nice ! Mind if I take a look?"

I did, but it wasn't up to me. I looked over his shoulder to Brenda who was behind him, tapping her watch and waving her knife-edged palm horizontally by her neck.

Cut it short was the message I wordlessly received.

"Agent Tucker, I appreciate your interest, but I didn't mean to distract you. How can I help you?"

"Well, the contractor said they're going to have to send a trained crew out here to dismantle the wings, load it all onto a trailer, and haul it in."

"Oh. That makes sense. Do you have any issues if I move it to a place not so out in the open? It's attracting riffraff from time to time."

"Shouldn't be a problem. We've collected everything we can so far. The rest will have to wait until it's brought into evidence."

He washed down the rest of his cookie with the milk he'd been served, then stood to leave. Brenda and I followed him outside.

"Oh! I almost forgot this," he said after he'd opened the door to his sedan. "We got in touch with the FAA's registry people. The information wasn't online yet because of how recent the transaction was, so they had to pick through some paperwork to find it. That plane was re-registered barely two months ago.

"I contacted the prior owner who lives in Washington. He informed me, and I also verified it with the FAA's AMCD that he's permanently grounded due to medical issues. That's why he sold the plane. He offered, very agreeably I might add, to forward me copies he'd made of all of its service records. He sounded extremely proud of how he'd maintained it.

"All that to say I'm fairly confident he isn't involved in this mess of yours."

"You're right about that. It is, rather, was in beautiful shape," I said.

Trying my best to sound neutral and not too excited, I asked, "Who owns it now?"

"A paper company."

"What? Like office supplies or napkins?" Brenda asked.

"No. A company which seems to exist only on paper. I've spent the last two days trying to track it down, but with Christmas only a few days away, people are already on vacation and not answering phone calls."

"What's its name?"

"I had to jot it down because it's really strange," he said, fishing his phone from his coat. He swiped a few times and said, "Uh … Racotlik won ," he said, pronouncing the last word like wahn .

"That is a weird name. Spell it out?" I asked as I opened the notepad app on my phone. I typed as he spoke.

After he bid us both happy holidays, he departed.

Brenda said, "The way he pronounced it sounds Asian. Won is Korean currency, but the first part sounds like gibberish. Is any of that something we can dig into?"

"Maybe. Let's go find out."

We walked inside, and I immediately typed a global search for the name. I didn't remember ever having any dealings with anyone in Korea or any Korean nationals in the US, so I wasn't surprised to get absolutely nothing.

"Another dead end?" Brenda asked.

"Not yet it isn't. This kind of thing is right up the alley of one of my researchers," I said.

I called the white hatter.

"Hey, Benny. I need a favor. Yes, I know, and I wouldn't be calling if it weren't important. Tell Penny I'll bring her a bottle of her favorite wine when I get back in town. Make that two bottles. I need you to see if you can dig up any specific details on a company which is holding the registration on the airplane that tried to kill me," I requested.

"I'll give you the detes later, but yes, it's beginning to appear it was no random mechanical problem. It's become personal. All I have is a name. Racotlik won."

He commented about the unusual name.

"I know, right? I'll spell it phonetically. Ready?"

He read it back.

"Yeah. That's what the FBI guy said. I owe you big. But please don't let it take too much time away from Penny and your boys, okay?" I concluded.

"Oh! Last thing. I want you to run a background check on someone. I'll text the name and date of birth to you when we're done. I only need a red or green light."

He acknowledged with a final question.

"I might be doing exactly that. It depends. Thanks, Benny. Truly. I'll be sticking around here for a few more days at least."

He cautioned about the holidays interfering with expediency, so I added, "I know, I know. It's a lot. Three bottles."

I disconnected the call.

"Go wash those grody hands. Dinner's almost done," Brenda ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," I said like the scolded schoolboy.

I went back to the garage and washed them at the utility sink with a couple of pumps of the orange scented pumice scrub.

The dinner Brenda prepared was both filling and absolutely delicious. It almost sent me into a warm, carbohydrate-induced coma.

After Stacie had been given her bath, she and I played a few rounds of Chutes and Ladders while her mother cleaned up dinner before being shuffled off to bed.

Brenda and I settled onto the couch together.

"You didn't tell me you discovered a person of interest," she said.

"Huh?"

"You asked whoever you were talking to a little while ago to run a background check on someone. You found a name?"

"Oh, that? Nah, it's not anyone involved in perpetrating this scam."

It was the truth in whole, but a lie of omission because I'd asked Benny to run a deep-level background check on a woman named Brenda Emily Mays of Seward County Nebraska, born 1986.