Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) Page 6

  “Are we ready to load?” Maggie asked, as she walked in carrying their baggage.

  “Yes ma’am, we are ready to roll. You can stow that gear while I release the tie ropes.”

  Once Maggie was inside and settled, Max began the pre-flight procedures and, within six or seven minutes he instructed, “Buckle up, here we go.”

  He activated the boathouse door opener, and once the vertical stabilizer of the Beaver C2 was clear of the overhead, he gave a running shove to the pontoon supports, and the floatplane drifted back and out into the daylight. Max jumped onto the left pontoon and stepped up into the pilot seat. The automatic boathouse door closed as the whining engine starter spun the propeller for three revolutions. Then, with ignition activated and throttle half open, it sputtered into a full roar. Blue-grey smoke blew past the pilot’s door as Max pulled it closed and locked. As they taxied out on the river surface Max noted the wind direction on a marker buoy. He nosed the floatplane into the wind. Both he and Maggie were pressed back in their seats as they surged along the water and rose noisily, but smoothly, into the early afternoon air.

  Flying in the reverse directions and altitudes of their arrival pattern, Max turned to a 250 degree heading and followed a route parallel to the coast. After 15 minutes of this, he climbed the floatplane to a 1500 ft. altitude.

  “We should be over US waters now,” he said to Maggie over the radio intercom. Maggie nodded and gave a thumbs-up sign. Max was reassured as he looked through his side windscreen and noticed a US Coast Guard ‘Cutter’ with the familiar red, white and blue markings, trailed by a white wake, as it patrolled the ocean waters off the coast of Maine.

  “That’s a welcome sight,” he said to himself as he turned the floatplane northwest. He keyed the intercom and told Maggie that they were going to stop off in Bar Harbor, Maine.

  “Have you ever been there?” he asked.

  “No, I haven’t, but I’ve always been curious about that area. It seems so quaint judging by the ‘down east’ jokes and stories that we hear,” Maggie answered. “I’m in the mood for a day or so of fun.” Max glanced over and noticed a hint of that after-hours smile beginning around the corners of her mouth. The large earphones she was wearing over her wavy auburn hair, with the reflections of the sunlight shining up from the ocean surface, gave her a dashing, adventurous kind of look, he thought.

  Max had climbed the Beaver C2 to 3000 ft. elevation after the turn toward Bar Harbor and the sight of the seaward islands off the Maine coast came into view.

  “We have to look for an island shaped like the letter Y,” he directed. “That will direct us to the main portion of Bar Harbor. Then we fly due north to a point at the end of Main Street where we can set down and taxi up the inlet to a dock operated by Jacques, an old college buddy. We called him ‘Jock’ in school,” Max noted. “We can tie up there and get the rest of the aviation fuel that I need to get this plane back to USAP.”

  “I left my car in Lyme, Connecticut, did you forget?” Maggie asked, incredulously.

  “Of course not, I’ve got that covered. In the aft storage there’s a parachute you can use as I fly low over Lyme on the way back.” Max lectured with an all-business attitude in his voice. “Just make sure that you put your car keys in the jump-suit.”

  For a few seconds, a stunned Maggie just stared at Max with an astounded and incredulous look on her face. Then she realized that he had caught her drifting along, thinking about the night before, and consumed with the drama and intrigue that Max had been living with since he joined the USAP Partnership.

  “Max! You son-of-a-bitch! Here I am thinking about what you’ve been going through with all this spy bullshit! I’ve been going along with everything you asked because I thought it was pertinent to your job…” Maggie trailed off as she realized she had over-reacted a bit.

  “Oh-oh, the radio mike was on. I hope nobody heard that,” he said. Then he broke out in a loud laugh that he couldn’t stifle any longer.

  After reacting for a second or two Maggie looked at the radio switch and realized it was correctly on intercom. She twisted in her seat and gave Max a sharp punch on the shoulder.

  “Whoa, easy there, I’m the only one here that can fly this plane,” he kidded.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re getting back to being yourself,” Maggie said. “It’s about time you loosened up. I was actually considering how risky it would be for me to use a parachute, you jerk! You’re going to pay for that, big time.” Max just looked at her with a wide, goofy smile.

  The tension over the prior two days had broken. Both Maggie and Max knew it was going to be a fun trip from this point on.

  Max cut back on the throttle as they descended to 500 ft. and flew at that level until he saw the dock. The Beaver shuddered as the pontoons made contact on the choppy bay waters. As he taxied the floatplane toward the dock Max called his friend’s number on his cell phone. ‘Hello’s were exchanged and Max gave a quick re-cap of where he was. Jock, who wasn’t at the dock, told Max he’d make a call and have the dock manager throw out some tie lines to secure the floatplane. A floating dock along the north side of the main pier proved to be perfect as they were waved in and then hooked by the dock manager. After ten minutes of shutting down and tying up, Max and Maggie climbed up to the main dock and walked with George, the dock manager, into the office area.

  Jock was unable to meet with them but recommended that they stay the night at the Bar Harbor Grand Hotel, and recommended ‘Jed’s Pub’ a ‘shabby-chic’ café nearby, where he would make a reservation for them. Max described the plan outlined by Jock to Maggie and she nodded in agreement. With that, they thanked George and took their tote bags on the short walk to the Grand Hotel.

  The recommendation from Jock proved to be a door-opener of great proportions at the hotel. Jock (Jacques) apparently had significant influence there. The ‘room’ Max and Maggie were given, for a minimal charge, turned out to be an extravagant suite at the penthouse level.

  “He must know somebody here,” Max remarked, as they stood on the south facing balcony. “Look, there’s the Beaver,” he said, pointing down at the dock where they had moored.

  “Don’t tell me that’s Nova Scotia,” Maggie said, pointing out over the bay to the southeast. Max wasn’t sure. The Nova Scotia main island was some 150 miles away.

  Jed’s Pub was a perfect match for Maggie and Max. They enjoyed a leisurely dinner and both agreed that it was a major improvement over their weird experience in Nova Scotia. Max indicated that he had decided to ask for any input, relating to the previous evening’s ‘adventure’, that he might gain from his USAP crowd when he arrived back at headquarters.

  The excellent recommendation they had gotten from Jock was surprising to Maggie but she realized that since he was a long-time friend of Max, he obviously chose of the type of place in which he would accommodate important people in his life. She placed Jock up near the top of the list of people she could get to like.

  The atmosphere, the seafood dinner and the Martinis were all perfect, as was the remainder of the evening back at the penthouse suite at the Grand Hotel.

  After a leisurely stroll around the scenic Maine seaport on Sunday morning, the ‘Max and Maggie tour’ was complete. They mutually agreed that it was time to pick up their laundered clothing items and check out of the hotel. Max texted a few words of appreciation to his friend Jock and they walked to the dock for the flight home. The fuel tanks on the floatplane had been topped off and Max settled the tab with the assistant dock manager. The take-off and flight back to Lyme was uneventful. Max did not disturb Maggie when he noticed that the drone of the engine had lulled her into a nap. He made a mental note however, to remind her for future reference, that sitting in the co-pilot’s seat of an airplane in flight was much different than riding in the front passenger seat in a car, and dozing was not recommended.

  After taxiing to the river docking station, and before Maggie got out to retrieve her car, Max called Tweed Airp
ort in New Haven to reserve an overnight docking spot at their now-operational float plane facility. The couple exchanged ‘bye-for-now’s with a plan for Maggie to pick Max up there. Driving off toward route I-95, she waved to Max from the car window as he lifted off from the river and banked the DHC2 in a southward turn. She had a feeling that he might be the first to reach their meeting point.

  Chapter 11

  At 9:00 A.M. sharp on a Monday morning in early October, Marshall Real Estate Services was open for business. The owner/operator of the company was in the building. ‘The staff’ Jessie Knowles was not, however, on the premises.

  Maggie had been in her office since 7:30 AM following her week-end jaunt with her VIF (Very Intimate Friend) Max Hargrove. She was catching up on her scheduled tasks and planning her day of appointments, visits with clients and cold calls for new contacts. She was relaxed and had a contented mind-set up until now. A check of the office phone showed two missed calls from the previous Friday, one at 3:50 PM and one at 4:10 PM. She recognized the caller’s number on the 4:10 call as one of her lender clients, so she was waiting to check with her young ‘office manager’ for the explanation as to why the calls were missed.

  The wall clock showed 9:18 AM and Jessie had not appeared this morning. Maggie was concerned and, at the same time, irritated. Jessie had gained her confidence as being reliable and trustworthy. Maggie began to wonder whether she was that way during instances when ‘the boss’ was away. She called Jessie’s cell phone and, while it was ringing, Jessie came rushing in through the office door, flushed and panting.

  “Maggie, Hi!” she blurted out. “Sorry about being late, my car had a flat tire. I called Triple-A and they came and put the spare tire on.” Maggie returned the greeting and asked Jessie if everything was okay. Nodding in the affirmative, but with no further details, Jessie reached her desk. As was her usual routine, she immediately checked the office phone for calls and messages.

  “There are a couple of calls, do you want me to return them, or would you rather do it?” she asked, hoping that Maggie hadn’t noticed the times.

  “See what the 3:50 call from Friday is about and I’ll call the other,” Maggie responded in a business-like manner. Jessie, flabbergasted at being caught being absent before closing time on Friday, tacitly went about returning the call.

  Maggie could sense that Jessie, with this tense demeanor, was out of character. It might be because I am being stern with her coming in late and leaving early on Friday, she thought silently. Ordinarily she would have gotten a phone call from Jessie with an explanation as soon as she walked into the office, or else, it could be something personal. Thinking it might be a personal matter, Maggie decided to give her some time to bring it up on her own volition.

  Around 10:15 AM, as Maggie was preparing to leave for a meeting on her appointment schedule, Jessie approached her.

  “Maggie, could I have a quick word, or two, with you before you go?” she asked. Maggie agreed, since she had ten to fifteen minutes leeway.

  “What is it Jessie? Is everything okay?” Maggie asked. Jessie went on to say that a man had called for ‘Ms. Marshall’ around 12:30 PM Friday and insisted on stopping by the office. When Jessie explained that her manager was not expected back until Monday, the ‘gentleman’ became belligerent and insisted that he knew the office address, and would be stopping by at 4:00 PM, and he would be expecting to meet with her ‘boss’ at that time. Alone in the office, with nobody else expected to be there in case the ominous-sounding visitor came by as he had threatened, Jessie, at around 3:30 PM, began to panic. She had rationalized that the best resolution to the dilemma would be to lock the office and leave early.

  “Well, you probably made the right choice,” Maggie consoled her. “We could report this to the authorities but they will need some type of identification. Did the calling number show on the phone when you picked up?”

  “I didn’t notice at the time,” Jessie admitted. “I was kind of nervous, I guess. But as I drove to my apartment I had the feeling that a car with a man driver was following me, so I decided to detour to my boyfriend’s house. That way if anybody was following me they wouldn’t have my address. Thinking back, I’m sorry that I didn’t leave you a note, but who would have thought I would have a flat tire this morning.”

  Maggie had to leave for her appointment. She gave Jessie the benefit of the doubt, consoled her, and told her to get the caller’s number if he calls again. “Politely indicate that you will leave the message, and call me right away.” Maggie instructed, as she left the office.

  The day was ordinary as Maggie went about following her schedule. There was no drama beyond that which had occurred with Jessie earlier that morning. The thoughts relating to the ominous caller, however, swirled through the background of her mind, off and on. The thoughts had immediately sprung into vivid reality when, having stopped for a late lunch at her usual eating place in East Wayford, her friend, Jerry the proprietor, gave her an odd message. A man had stopped in and asked if she had been in lately. Jerry sensed that the stranger didn’t know Maggie personally so he played it carefully. First, he asked who was asking. The man explained that Maggie didn’t know him but that he had important information for her. He left a card with his cell phone number and asked if Jerry would see that Maggie got it when she came in next. The card showed ‘Richard L. Spader, Private Investigator’.

  After her lunch at Jerry’s Jug, and while on the way to her last appointment, Maggie checked in with her office. She was informed by Jessie that the same man had called again. This time she got his name. It was Spader. Maggie calmly thanked Jessie, indicating that the call would be returned and that Jessie could rest assured that it would be taken care of. Maggie began to develop a feeling of being stalked.

  That evening Maggie called Max at his Lakeside apartment.

  “How was your first day back at work Max? Did you have a hangover from the Nova Scotia trip?” Maggie asked. Max answered in the negative, and indicated that some mystery still hung in the air but that he couldn’t go into it further. Maggie went on to tell him about the ‘Spader’ person and how he had badgered Jessie. Max suggested that, if she agreed to meet with the strange inquirer, she could play it safe by setting up the meeting at the East Wayford Tennis Club where she and Max were members. There would be friends there to keep an eye on the situation.

  “Thanks for the suggestion Max, but I think I can handle myself quite well, thank you,” she said with faked haughtiness.

  “I think you handle yourself quite well also, babe!” he countered as they shared a laugh.They both had things to ponder as they bid each other goodnight.

  From her office on Wednesday morning Maggie returned the call to Mr. Spader. The call receptionist forwarded it to a cell phone, and a meeting with Spader at 3:00 PM that afternoon was agreed upon. Maggie’s question as to the purpose of the meeting had been flagged off with, “not to be discussed over the phone.”

  After her afternoon appointments had been completed, Maggie left word with Jessie that she would be meeting with Mr. Spader at the East Wayford Tennis Club restaurant. She instructed Jessie to call her cell phone at exactly 3:15 with an ‘urgent message’ which Maggie could use for an excuse to leave. She felt that it would be enough time to hear what Mr. Spader had to say.

  Maggie arrived at the club early and had time to chat with some fellow members, friends that she and Max had known for some time. Having been asked to make up a foursome in a tennis game, she declined, explaining that she had arranged a meeting with a ‘strange man.’ The friends, accustomed to her relationship with Max, kidded her about the ‘date’, telling her that they would be keeping an eye on her so that they could report it to Max when he came to the club.

  “Please do,” she responded. “That is the main reason I arranged the meeting here. I have no idea who he is and what his game is. All I know is that he scared the hell out of Jessie, my secretary, last week, threatening to arrive at my office while I was away.” M
aggie then asked the bartender to seat them in a separate but conspicuous table when the man named Spader arrived.

  At 3:05, Richard Spader walked into the club lounge and asked the bartender for Maggie. Seated at the far end of the bar sipping her ginger ale, Maggie signed her tab and remained seated until the tall, rather heavy-set man dressed in a wrinkled sport jacket and khaki leisure pants approached her.

  “Are you Margaret Marshall?” he asked. When Maggie acknowledged that she was, he continued. “This is for you,” he said, extending a business-sized white envelope to her.

  Bemused at the abruptness, Maggie opened the envelope and stared at the contents. It was a summons to appear at 8:30 A.M. in Superior Court, New Haven, Connecticut on October 21, 2010.

  “What the h…,” she stammered.

  “Good day to you, madam,” said the stranger, as he turned on his heel and exited the club lounge.

  Maggie was stunned, to say the least. Racing thoughts coursed through her brain. She wondered if this was connected to her trip with Max. After all, they did enter and exit another country. Did someone forget to include her on the pre-arranged customs by-pass or was the summons business-connected with Marshall Real Estate Services? Off hand, she didn’t recall having any personal conflicts, nor was she aware of any complaints having been lodged against her. One thing was obvious, Maggie needed some legal advice.

  With no further appointments scheduled, Maggie decided to stop by Eugene VanDyke’s office on her way back to her apartment. ‘Gene’ VanDyke was the most capable, and the most trustworthy attorney that she knew. He was the mayor of their small town, a part-time occupation which allowed him adequate time to maintain a law practice. He specialized in business law but would represent friends and acquaintances when requested, conferring with other lawyers in cases that were beyond his area of expertise. Maggie and Max had seen Gene in action and both agreed that they would prefer to be represented by him, rather than be up against him, in a legal dispute.