Gray Mountain: A Novel(105)

“How’d you find him?” she asked.

“The guard who arrested me Sunday night gave me his name. Turns out Mack, the guard, is a pretty great guy. We had beers late Monday night, me buying of course, and Mack gave me the dirt on Brad. Brad’s back in Charleston now. I found him last night, and, in another bar, we had some drinks. I’m detoxing tonight so don’t offer me anything.”

“There’s not a drop in the house.”

“Good.”

“So, your theory is?”

“My theory is that this mysterious passenger waited until the right moment, opened the door of the King Air, walked about thirty yards in the darkness, straight to Donovan’s Cessna, and in about twenty minutes loosened the B nut. Then he backtracked, climbed into the King Air, and was probably watching when Donovan showed up around 10:15 for his departure. After that, he kicked off his shoes and slept until sunrise.”

“Sounds impossible to prove.”

“Maybe, but I’m getting there.”

“Who owns the King Air?”

“A charter service out of York, Pennsylvania, a company that does a lot of business with coal companies. The King Air is the workhorse in the coalfields because it’s durable, has a nice payload, and works off short runways. This company has four available for charter. There are plenty of records so we’ll soon know everything about the flight. Brad says he’ll give an affidavit, though I’m a little worried about him.”

“This is incredible, Jeff.”

“It’s huge. The investigators will grill the owners of the plane, the pilots, the passenger or passengers, and whoever chartered it for the trip. We’re getting closer, Samantha. It’s an unbelievable break.”

“Nice work, Sherlock.”

“Sometimes you just gotta get yourself arrested. You have an extra quilt somewhere around here?”

“They’re all layered up on the bed. That’s where I was, reading.”

“Was that a pickup line?”

“We’re already picked up, Jeff. The question at the moment is sex, and I hate to tell you it’s not going to happen. Not the best time of the month.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I guess. Then why don’t we just cuddle and share body heat and sleep together, I mean, you know, actually sleep?”

“I suppose that will work.”





33


She had no idea what time he left. When she awoke, a few streaks of morning light penetrated the blinds and windows. It was almost 6:00 a.m. His side of the bed was not warm, as if he’d been gone for hours. Whatever. He lived in the shadows and left few trails, and that was fine with her. He carried burdens and baggage she would never understand, so why bother? She thought about him for a few moments, as she peeked from under the quilts and watched damp clouds follow her breathing. It was cold out there, and she had to admit she longed for his warmth.

She also longed for a hot shower, but that would not be happening. She counted to ten, threw off the covers, and raced to the coffeepot. It took forever to brew, and when she finally had a cup she crawled back under the covers and thought about New York. Her plans were to polish up her response to Andy and e-mail it first thing. Was it too pushy, too demanding? She was, after all, unemployed and he was offering a wonderful job. Did she have the right to nag about her associates and clients, about Mr. Nick Spane, and the dimensions of her new office? Would her deferment scheme please Andy, or irritate him? She wasn’t sure, but Andy had a thick skin. If she didn’t assert herself in the beginning she would certainly get run over later.

She skipped the cold shower and did a bird bath with lukewarm water in the sink. With no court appointments on the calendar, she dressed quickly in jeans and boots, flannel shirt and sweater. When she was properly bundled, she looped her satchel over one shoulder, her purse over the other, and left for work on foot. The air was crisp and still, the sun brilliant as it rose. It was a beautiful winter day, with snow still untouched in thick drifts against the houses. Not a bad way to get to work, she thought, as she walked through Brady.

On the negative side: In New York she would be packed into a subway train, then jostling through heavy foot traffic. Or perhaps sitting in the back of a dirty cab, waiting in traffic.

She spoke to Mr. Gantry as he fetched his newspaper off the sidewalk. He was pushing ninety, lived alone since his wife died last year, and in warmer weather had the prettiest lawn on the street. All snow on his property had been meticulously scraped and shoveled.

As usual these days, she arrived first at the office and, as the intern, went straight to the coffeepot. As it brewed, she tidied up the kitchen, emptied all the wastebaskets throughout the place, and straightened magazines in the reception area. No one had ever told her to do these things.

On the positive side: In New York, Spane & Grubman would pay someone else to do such chores.

On the neutral side: Samantha really didn’t mind doing them, not here anyway. She wouldn’t dare do them at a real firm, but at the Mountain Legal Aid Clinic everyone pitched in.

She sat in the conference room and watched the early traffic on Main Street. Now that she was planning to leave, she was astonished at how fond of the place she had become in three short months. She decided she would postpone the discussion with Mattie and wait until she knew more about Andy’s offer. The thought of telling her she was leaving so soon was unsettling.