Exit Row (5 page)

T
HEY MET AT
a sports bar near the airport, which Rosa Cooper complained had all the ambiance of an old sock. The same baseball game played on every mounted screen. Fiona was the last to arrive; she hurried over to the large corner booth under a blue-and-orange Mets banner.

Maggie shifted on the leatherette seat to make room for Fiona, her freckled face shiny in the glow of a red glass candle holder. “This is wonderful. I
never
get out.” Then her expression clouded. “But there's something I have to tell everybody now that you're here.”

Rosa put up a hand, her arm jingling with intricate silver bracelets. “Let her order.”

Fiona glanced at Maggie, but she seemed content to keep her news to herself. What had she been going to say? Had she heard something on the news on her way to the restaurant?

Because everyone was drinking beer, she ordered a Blue Point ale.

“I still don't know why we're here,” Greg Sanderson said to Rosa. “Do you always pick up people waiting for planes?”

He meant it to be funny, but nobody laughed. Fiona turned to Maggie. “What were you going to say?”

“Well, I'm not sure what it means,” she said, playing with her glass. “But just before I left for here, this woman called me. She said she was from a hospital in Denver and that my father had had a slight stroke on the plane. He's okay now, and they're putting him on a flight to me in a day or two.”

Fiona reacted first. “But that's wonderful!” It was, wasn't it? It was the last thing she had been expecting Maggie to say. “It means he isn't missing anymore.”

“It's good news for everyone, isn't it?” Maggie's large green eyes scanned the table.

“Of course it is. It proves nothing sinister's going on,” Dominick said. He was still wearing his work clothes, dark green cotton pants and shirt with his name embroidered in yellow on the pocket. “I knew there had to be a logical explanation. It's Eve playing one of her tricks.”

“Wait a minute,” Greg said, his voice demanding. “Did you get the name of the hospital?”

“I—no. I didn't think about that. I was so happy I didn't think about anything else.”

“Of course you didn't,” Fiona said in her defense. But there were still problems. In the late afternoon, she had called
Gusto!
to see if they had heard from Lee.

They hadn't. He had sent some early photos to make sure they were acceptable, but the editors needed the images directly from his camera. Once they had them, they would Photoshop the models into the Southwestern scenery. The days of flying crews to exotic places was over—at least for
Gusto!

“He said he would stop in today,” the fashion editor had told her, perplexed. “When do you think it will be?”

“Lee was supposed to take the photos to the magazine today,” Fiona told the group. “Even if he was avoiding me, he wouldn't blow
them
off.”

“Maybe he's just not that into them either,” Greg said.

“ ‘Not into them either'? Not into them?” Her fury startled everyone. “How do you know what he's into or not? You don't even know him—or me!”

“Keep your shorts on, I didn't mean—”

“I'm sick of people coming up with dumb explanations. Look at the facts: Five people coming to New York get on a plane in Taos and are never heard from again. They never call with any explanation. Okay, Maggie's father,” she said, conceding. “That's still four who are missing. So where the hell are they?”

“Coral's in Mexico with her mother,” Dominick said.

“Dimitri's just an asshole.”

But Rosa gave her head a vigorous shake. “No, she's right. This is inexplicable. Susan Allmayer would never act like this.”

“I feel like I'm sitting around doing nothing while Lee's in trouble somewhere. Something happened, I know it! It's not the plane—the FAA said it landed in Denver—but are there always people missing like this? I don't think so!”

“What are you going to do?” Rosa asked.

“I don't know. But I can't do anything here. At least out there, I could get the authorities involved.”

“Would you really go?”

“Flying's no big deal for me. I've got tons of miles.”

“If you went, you could stop by Susan's to see if the neighbors know anything.”

Greg leaned back in the booth and grinned at Fiona. “Our woman in Santa Fe.”

“You want me to find your friend?”

“Sure. And stop global warming while you're at it.”

They left the bar and said good night in the parking lot.

Fiona decided that the meeting had been useless.

T
UESDAY MORNING
F
IONA
was back at Islip MacArthur Airport, arranging frequent-flyer tickets on Voyager and Day Star. The flight to Denver was full, and Voyager upgraded her to first class.

She stowed her bag in the roomy overhead compartment. It held nothing more than jeans, a sweatshirt and several T-shirts, running shoes, underwear, and a nightshirt. She was wearing her usual traveling outfit: a navy top with tailored khaki slacks and matching jacket. The heaviest things in her bag were her laptop and several books. She was bringing
Examination in Blood
by Susan Allmayer,
Out of Africa
by Isak Dinesen, and a library copy of
Beauty
Can
Hurt You
.

It was not until she was settled into her leather seat that she realized the irony of the Dinesen book. Karen Blixen's lover, Denys Finch-Hatton, had died tragically in a plane crash at the height of their love affair.

She had brought it because of the African connection. Lee's dream was to go back home to South Africa and photograph everything, from its staggering beauty to the poverty that remained, then publish it in a book. He and his brother had inherited their grandparents' farm north of Johannesburg, and he'd pointed out that he and Fiona could live there free.

“How long?” she asked.

“A year?”

“God, no. I grew up on a farm, remember?”

“But this is beautiful country. How long, then?”

“Two weeks?”

He'd laughed and hugged her shoulder.

But they already had a wonderful life in Brooklyn, friends to hang out with, restaurants to try, work projects they loved. When they moved in together, it would be perfect.
If
they moved in.

She'd had an odd phone call when she was packing. When her phone started playing “La Marseillaise,” she'd run over to the desk, sure that it was Lee.

She saw from the caller ID that it was Dominick Basilea.

“Hi, Dominick. Listen, I'm sorry I yelled at everybody. It was just—”

“Never mind that. I'm calling to see if you'll do something for me.”

“Sure.”

“If I send a photo of Coral to your phone, could you swing by the house in Taos to see if she's there? I'm sure she won't be, but as long as you'll be around there . . . You are going, aren't you?”

“I thought her mother had taken her to Mexico.”

“Yeah, well, when I got home, there was this voice-mail message from Eve. She was calling Coral to see if she'd gotten home okay. Like she
had
put her on the plane. Now I don't know what to think. I mean, I think it's still a trick, but . . . ”

“What do you want me to do if I see her?”

“Don't do anything! Just call me. I'll take it from there.”

What was this about? Why wouldn't he want her to pick up Coral and bring her home?

He gave her the address, and Fiona assured him she would do as he said.

S
HE SWALLOWED A
Dramamine and shifted the tiny pillow under her head. All she wanted to do was sleep. But as soon as they were in the air, flight attendants were coming by with headsets and eye shades and pouring mimosas from glass pitchers. Mimosas! Fiona no longer expected any extras on domestic flights, but first class was evidently another world. And she hadn't had her orange juice for the day.

T
HE
D
ENVER STOPOVER
was chaotic. The connecting Day Star flight was in a far part of the airport, down an escalator to a ground-level area where passengers were waiting for the shuttle to take them out to the plane.
No wonder Lee missed the flight
, she thought crossly, then reminded herself that he had now had two days to find the gate.

When they reached the plane in the middle of the tarmac, Fiona was shocked by how small it looked. Not as small as that flight to Key West once, when they'd asked the passengers how much they weighed and told them where to sit, but this plane could not have held more than twenty-five or thirty seats.

“I thought it would at least be a jet,” Fiona said to the older woman sitting beside her on the aisle.

A flight attendant making sure their seat belts were fastened overheard her. “Taos doesn't have runways long enough for jets. And actual flight time is not much more than an hour.”

“Were you on Sunday's flight?”

He touched a tiny mustache that made him look like a Mexican film hero. “Which one?”

“The morning flight from Taos to Denver?”

Why did his eyes widen? But then he smiled. “Sunday's my day off.”

“How many people does this plane hold?” she persisted. She looked around at the blue seats and yellow headrests.

The attendant waited as if to see whether there was a point to her question. When she didn't say anything else, he said, “These planes are really very safe. And today's a beautiful day.”

He moved past them awkwardly, as if in pain.

The grandmotherly woman, pushing out the frontiers of a peach pantsuit, leaned toward her. “Feeling nervous, hon? Want some gum?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Opening a huge black purse, the woman offered her a selection. “Wrigley's Spearmint, Dentyne, Doublemint, or Juicy Fruit. I think there's some Bubble Yum I keep for kids.”

Fiona laughed. “You're a walking candy store.”

The woman opened the mouth of the bag wider and turned it toward her. “Tums, Maalox, Dramamine, Kaopectate, Rolaids, aspirin, Lactaid, and breath mints. I don't cross the street without my supplies.”

“Wow. I don't know, I'll take Spearmint.”

The woman rooted around and handed her a white pack. “Keep it. It's not my favorite.” She smiled sympathetically. “This your first flight?”

No, about my five hundredth.
“It's just, you hear so much about accidents with small planes like these.”

“Well, like that nice boy said, it's perfectly safe.” But then she cocked her head. “I understand there was some trouble a few years ago. I don't know what happened.” She looked as if she wanted to settle in and chat, as if it was how she had planned to entertain herself during the flight, but Fiona felt too exhausted to go on talking. Besides, she needed to keep watch out the window. This was the same route the plane had flown Sunday. She doubted there would be anything to see, but if there were . . .

Removing the silver foil from the piece of gum, she stared at the tarmac as the plane began to move.

“Have you ever been out West before?” her seatmate asked, persistent.

“California, of course. And to Santa Fe twice, but by way of Albuquerque. How about you?”

“Oh, gracious, I live in Phoenix. But not in the summer—no thank you! I stay up in the Rockies. I'm visiting my daughter and grandkids in Chimayo for a few days.”

Fiona nodded and then turned toward the window to watch the takeoff.

When they were airborne, she waited until the surrounding buildings had faded away and then stared down at a wilderness. The plane passed over a slope with green growth that looked like the lion on a heraldic crest. The lion gave way to suede squares and tan rectangles, and then they were moving through skimpy cloud puffs.

When the clouds spread out thickly like her aunt's quilting batting, she turned away. Her seatmate had just been handed a napkin with a tiny muffin and a glass of orange juice. Fiona accepted the same and turned back to the window.

Suddenly the terrain was visible again. This earth looked baked, crossed occasionally with lines that had to be roads. A few more patches of green appeared and stretched into the stick figures of a kindergarten drawing. Gleaming bits of metal winked at her, shocking her into alertness. But what might have been debris from a downed plane was only silo tops, set in the ground like studs in jeans.

Now her seatmate was snoring softly, and Fiona felt her own eyes close. She gave her head a shake. It hurt her neck to keep looking down, but she wanted to see everything she could. A curving tan road divided into triangles looked like a variegated snake. The land was mostly empty. Flying over Long Island at this height, you would see miniature parking lots and the turquoise ovals of pools.

When they were coming in low over the Sangre de Cristos, she caught sight of a smaller aircraft moving across the parched ground. It kept pace with them exactly—a ghost plane.
Lee's plane.
Then they were descending to the ground and there was the usual rush of air, the flaps on the wings standing up to slow the momentum. As the two planes merged, she realized she had only been seeing their shadow.

But the idea of a ghost plane haunted her.

L
ANDING IN
T
AOS
was like entering a foreign country. Mountains crowded the tiny airport. Fiona moved across the landing strip, but she could see no public transportation. Most of the other passengers were still clustered around the back of the plane where their luggage was being unloaded, and her seatmate had been joined by a young woman in jeans and a plaid shirt, holding the leash of a golden retriever puppy.

The terminal itself was no more than an afterthought, a building set in the middle of a dusty field. She made her way into a large room and looked around. A tropical fish tank, pressed against wood paneling, had nothing living inside. There was a row of several small offices: Payless Car Rental, Helicopter Mountain Trips, and Day Star Airlines.

At least she could rent a car here. There was Dominick's mission to carry out in Taos, and she had already decided to stop at the hospital, Holy Cross, to make sure Lee had not ended up there without identification. At the Payless cubicle, she rented a silver Sentra with front-wheel drive, refusing extra insurance and a GPS that cost nine dollars a day. Then, palming the car key, she went into the far cubicle that had “Day Star” painted on the window in yellow.

Again she was blindsided by fury, remembering what the FAA rep had said about Day Star's equipment. This hole-in-the-wall airline had no business risking people's precious lives by putting them in jeopardy. Why weren't there laws about companies like them?

An Indian woman—or possibly Mexican—her hair in glossy braids, looked up.

Fiona didn't smile. “I'm looking for information about a passenger. He was supposed to be on the Day Star flight between here and Denver last Sunday.”

The woman, wearing a name tag that identified her as Beatriz Twelve Trees, stared back at her. Was it the same wariness verging on panic that she had seen in the flight attendant's eyes? Maybe this woman did not speak English. Fiona paged back to her rudimentary Spanish.
Hasta la vista, baby
.
“El avión. Cualquier problema?”

The woman's mouth turned down. “Sometimes the planes run late because of the rain. But these planes run fine.”

Ah. “No problems on Sunday? I know the flight was late, that they had to stop and refuel or something. That's what the cowpoke on the flight from Denver said.”

“Cowpoke?”

“Never mind. I was just wondering if anything else happened on the flight. If any of the passengers got sick or anything. If anything unusual happened.”

“These planes run fine.” She said it firmly.

Hola?
For this she'd flown two thousand miles? “Well,
gracias
.”

Obviously this young woman was not in the loop—if there was a loop. She thought about asking to speak to someone else, but then decided they would only tell her the same thing.

A
S SHE CROSSED
the waiting area in the direction of the restrooms, Fiona thought about her FaceTime conversation with Lee on Saturday evening. She had turned on her phone and there he was, sun-bleached hair tousled, blue eyes welcoming.

“I spent the day at Georgia O'Keefe's Ghost Ranch. Interesting place. I'll send you the shots I fancy.”

“Did you take any inside the house?”

“A few for myself.”

“Those are the ones I want to see. I've never been inside Ghost Ranch. You needed an appointment a month in advance, and I never got around to that.”

He laughed. “Patience isn't your strong suit.”

“Listen, I think I found the perfect apartment! It's in a brownstone—someone from the magazine is moving out. It's on the ground floor, and it's even got a garden out back. Just for us!”

“And how much is this Eden going to set us back?”

He laughed when she told him.

“We can do it,” she said insistently. “Where are you eating tonight?”

“Anywhere close that doesn't take too long or cost much. What about you, my sweet?”

“A Lean Cuisine pizza,” she admitted. “But I'll make up for it tomorrow night.”

“You never told me where we were going. Can I guess?”

“No! I want it to be a surprise. A welcome-home surprise.”

It hadn't been, of course. Something so simple as a celebratory dinner together hadn't happened.

She wondered drearily if it ever would again.

T
HE RESTROOM WAS
basic: plain white tile, but clean. The ache that hovered around her stomach signaled the arrival of her period later this week. Her face in the mirror over the sink looked tired. Wisps of dark hair were coming loose from her braid. Was this no more than a wild-goose chase?

As Fiona crossed the room go out the back, she glanced at the Payless office and stopped dead. Standing at the counter, her back to Fiona, was Beatriz Twelve Trees. She was talking earnestly to the young woman who had handled Fiona's car rental. Heads bent together, they were looking at something on the counter between them. Fiona didn't think it was a take-out menu.

What if she went over there and walked in to see what they were doing? She could say that she couldn't find the car, couldn't get the door open, anything. She had every right to be in there. As she started toward the cubicle, the blonde looked up and froze. A moment later, Beatriz whirled around and gave her a dark stare too.