The Underground Lady (26 page)

"It would be better if you are not involved." There was a calmness in his expression that was scary. He had a way about him when things were about to turn deadly that reminded me of grizzly bear's seconds before they attack. It's a palpable aura that one can almost reach out and touch, though you know there is nothing you can do to change the circumstances.

"Make it clean."

"Yeah."

Back inside, I examined Pussy Galore carefully. There were no broken bones or missing teeth. She didn't appear to have a concussion, though she was still addled and frightened. She had bitten her tongue and there were deep cuts on the inside of her mouth, but nothing that needed stitches. Her eyes were already swollen almost shut. The beating would affect her for weeks.

At the moment, I was more frightened for Hebrone than for this poor woman.

After about a half hour, with Rose and Sunny fussing over her, she seemed to awake as from a terrible dream in which there was no escape, no relief. She held one hand up from the couch, palm up, and stared into it as if within it was her salvation. She held it out to me as if to show me and I would understand. There was an opening in her soul and perhaps she saw with some new clarity how life truly was for her.

Sunny worked hard to assure her that things would work out. There was a job waiting at one of Upton Pharmaceutical's companies located nearby, or if she wished, there were other cities where she could move.

An hour later, all three left to go to Rose's house, where she would stay until decisions were made for her future. Alone, I could only wait for the fax from the Air Force.

By four p.m., I'd not heard from Hebrone or the ground penetrating radar report, and my angst for both was growing exponentially by the minute. Unable even to read, I built a fire and stared at the flickering flames as if in them some hidden truth would emerge. All I saw was wood changing form, proving again what my physics professor taught, that nothing can be destroyed, just altered. That reminded me of a line Hemingway wrote in
The Old Man and the Sea.
In the story, after the old man Santiago had killed the giant marlin and was towing it back to harbor, the first shark attacked, and he wished now that he had never hooked the fish.

"But man is not made for defeat," he said, “A man can be destroyed but not defeated."

The fax machine made its ugly noise. I went and watched a cover sheet run off, followed by the outline of my back eighty. One spot on the photo showed an elongated, rectangular anomaly near the first creek. Rose and I had stood on almost the exact same spot when we walked over the land with the deputies and jail trustees. I did not need the GPS coordinates to locate this area.

Picking up the phone, I dialed Shack's number. "Can you bring your backhoe in the morning? I think we've found Hadley Welch's airplane."

"I'll be there before seven."

Deciding a strong drink was in order, I poured a water glass full of Jack Daniel's and ice, and took it out on the porch to stare savagely over the darkening, soothing fields and trees until I found a place for my outrage. A rage tugging and prodding at me like a burn healing too tight over a joint. A rage brought on by a dead woman whose body we may be on the verge of finding, a beaten woman whose only sin was helping us, and a close friend who could be doing something we might all regret. I felt responsible because it was on account of me that he was here.

Then I thought that this was Hebrone Opshinsky. He was too smart to screw up. Yeah, too smart. I suddenly grinned, and my rage ceased. Hebrone Opshinsky would do some terrible things, had done some terrible things, but he was never stupid. I would not want to be Charles Collinswood, Attorney at Law, tonight.

Locking up the cottage, I went to Rose's house. It may be necessary for me to stay the night if Hebrone didn't show.

Meeting me at the door, Rose said, “She's fine. B.W. is soothing her. It's as if he knows she's been hurt. Seeing how the animal reacted to her brought a smile to her face. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Rose. He's really an amazing cat."

"You're an S.O.B."

"I still love you."

She turned and huffed her way into the living room.

Pussy Galore sat on the couch holding my cat. She seemed fragile, wrapped in a robe. Only the dark discoloration of her swollen eyes marred a skin so perfect it seemed oddly false. An alien covering. She smiled, not quite looking at me, but off to the side. It seemed a smile of pain directed at herself. Her hands trembled a little, and she spilled a few drops of coffee from the cup she was holding. I watched her empty the cup in a single gesture, the brusque, brief movement of her hand made it look like the gesture of some solemn pledge.

She rubbed B.W., who sat in her lap looking intently at her. She raised her head a little – there was no perceptible change in her posture. I saw the look of a peculiar panic growing in her eyes, as if she wanted to turn the violence of her emotion into a fog screen that would blind her to reality, and that her blindness would make reality cease to exist.

Her eyes moved to mine as if it was an involuntary and unstoppable attraction. In a voice that had a breathless tone, and a drop toward a whisper, she asked, “Hebrone…did he come back?"

"Don’t worry about him. I've known the man a long time. Things will be fine."

She closed her eyes, relaxing, and giving up. She seemed to have an odd indifference as if she suddenly wanted nothing but the comfort of surrendering to helplessness. B.W. jumped from her lap and came to me.

Rose motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen. Sunny stayed with Pussy Galore.

"So, what about Hebrone?"

"I don't know, Rose. We'll have to wait and see."

"Will he kill Collinswood?"

"No."

"Then he could get into a lot of trouble."

"More than he would if the man ended up dead?"

"But the lawyer could be in a mess for beating the girl."

"That's probably what Hebrone is discussing with the man at this very moment."

"I could kill him myself for doing what he did to that girl."

"But you're not a murderer."

"You don't know everything about me."

"No, and I don't want too. I know you stopped Shack from killing Ralph Henderson."

"I didn't want to lose a good neighbor."

"Yeah, right."

A car drove into the driveway and shut its lights off.

Peeping out the kitchen window, I fingered the magnum in my jacket pocket. One person exited the vehicle. It was Hebrone. Thank God.

"How's the girl?" He asked, walking through the front door.

"She's fine. How do we stand?"

He stared at me with eyes that had a peculiar look burned into them. I'd seen that look in the eyes of seasoned Airline Captains who'd fought blinding snow storms, heavy ice, strong crosswinds on dark foreboding nights when a safe landing was in doubt. I'd seen it before in his eyes when he'd killed to save my life.

Pulling his coat off and hanging it on a rack beside the door, he said, “He took his beating like a man. Like Henderson, he needed some things pointed out to him. How life can become painful. He paid attention. Claimed he went into a jealous rage, did something he ruefully regretted. There will be no further contact with her."

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I ushered him into the living room where Rose, Sunny, and Pussy Galore waited to hear.

Later, we gathered around the kitchen table while Miss Galore rested. Laying out the ground penetrating radar report from the Air Force, I pointed out the rectangular anomaly.

"This has to be the area Avis Shaw saw that day he realized his equipment had been used. The fresh turned dirt and the debris piled on top."

"You think my mother's airplane is buried there?"

"Yes, I do."

"But that doesn't look like the shape of an airplane."

"Hebrone thinks, and I agree, that the wings were removed, placed alongside the fuselage. An experienced mechanic could do it in a couple of hours."

"You think my mother is inside the airplane?"

"I don't know, Sunny. But, yes, I think she is."

Rose said, "Didn't Henderson say VonHorner's wife hired him to scare us off? She couldn't have removed the wings from the airplane, dragged it to a hole she dug with a bull dozier?"

"No, but her husband was/is an aircraft mechanic. He could have easily done it."

"But why? Why did this happen?"

"We don't know, Rose."

"I just hope it's not a hole where someone buried a herd of cattle that had to be destroyed due to some disease."

Sunny stood up, went to the sink. "So what do we do, now?"

"Shack is bringing his backhoe in the morning. We'll see what the anomaly is, what lies buried beneath."

Rose stood. "I don't feel safe tonight, but there's not enough room for Hebrone to stay at my house." She looked at Sunny, then at me. "I'll go and stay with Jay. Put the girl in my bedroom. Hebrone can use the couch, he's used to it by now."

Sunny grinned. "I could stay with Jay, Rose. We could play poker, see how he would bet the straight flush."

"You look after Miss Galore. Jay doesn't need to be playing poker tonight. He needs to be rested for tomorrow. I'll see that he gets that rest. Right, Jay?"

"Yes, mother."

Chapter Twenty-one

Rose and I sat in front of the fire at the cottage sipping a 1975 Quady Port and nibbling on Stilton cheese. I knew she liked port, and I wanted to see how the case in my cellar was aging. The dregs left after decanting the bottle were an inch deep. I shook them out into a small bowl and put them in the refrigerator to spread on toast like butter in the morning.

"Sunny Pfeiffer has a thing for you. Do you intend to sleep with her?"

"I've told Hebrone and I'll tell you, I don't get personally involved with clients."

"You're a fool."

"I've been told."

"You two would make a good fit."

"This is not up for debate, Rose." Irritated, and to get her off my back, I added, “I want a younger woman, one not so – complicated."

"Well, Leicester, remember this, a seasoned sled slides better than a green one."

I had no come back for this.

"My God, this wine is wonderful." She held the glass up to the fire. "Where did it come from?"

"California. Made by a genius who took his wine making the wrong way. Instead of continuing to produce port, he opted to make other sweet wines that were, in my opinion, crap. A great loss for the port lover."

"You are always the purist."

We were silent for a time. I thought how sad it was that Andrew Quady didn't make this fortified wine any more, but how happy I was that a case lay in my cellar. It was enough to last my lifetime.

"What did Hebrone do to the lawyer?"

"Taught him some valuable life lessons."

"He's a smart man, Hebrone Opshinsky."

"Yes."

"But he's deadly."

"Maybe we should get some sleep?"

***

Gusting wind woke me. It was still dark, and I knew the dream would not go away. They sometimes have a long life, dreams. They have an odd durability for something not quite real. Closing my eyes, I listened to the dry leaves rattling in the oaks, and the blades on the porch fans protesting the wind. A cold front was approaching from the northwest. Digging a hole in the ground with heavy rains coming would not be a good thing.

It was useless to try and sleep, so I got up, peeked in on Rose who was snoring peacefully, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. The clock on the stove read five a.m.

"You screamed out during the night."

"Rose, I'm sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"I always get up at five o'clock. It's an old habit left over from milking cows. Women chasing you?"

"Friends dying in airplanes."

"Looks like rain coming."

"We're going to have to hurry with the dig. The weatherman says the front will be here by four this afternoon."

I made toast and spread the purple Quady dregs on the bread. It tasted like grape jam. Rose tried some and approved.

At six-a.m. car lights flashed out at the tree line. Rose peered through the window into the dark. "That's Shack with the backhoe. Hebrone and Sunny are turning onto the terrace row. Let's go dig up an airplane – we hope."

***

Pussy Galore remained, resting and recuperating, at Rose's house. We had no reason to think she would be in any danger. Hebrone assured us that Charles Collinswood was under control, and I believed him. Something nagged at me about her being alone, though, but pushing the feeling aside, we proceeded to the spot of the anomaly.