That afternoon in the library seemed endless, probably because it was my last workday before starting my vacation. My boyfriend, Nick Alexander, and I had been set to fly my parents back to the Azores on Friday morning, starting with a flight to Boston. From there, a five-hour Atlantic flight would take us to the island of Faial.
Now, with my mother acting as interpreter, our departure plans were temporarily on hold. For Nick, a corporate pilot for a billionaire philanthropist, the trip would combine business and pleasure. His boss, Buck Sawyer, had business interests in Boston and had already agreed to arrange his meetings so he could be dropped off there while Nick and I continued on to the Azores with my parents.
The Cessna Citation we were using was one of Buck’s fleet. It seated eight passengers, in addition to the two seats in the cockpit, so there was room for everyone. I hoped we wouldn’t be delayed for long. Nick and I had our hearts set on spending some quality time together. After a prolonged breakup followed by an on-again off-again reconciliation, Nick and I had finally gotten back together. That was almost three months ago. Since his job kept him away so often, we rarely had more than a few days at a time together.
We first met on a gun range, where Nick was a volunteer instructor. I fell for his smiling blue eyes and fair hair the color of summer wheat, but more than that, I loved his hands. I still get a rush thinking about that first lesson, when he taught me how to squeeze a trigger. Slowly and gently. It’s a wonder I remembered anything he tried to teach me that day.
I reluctantly dragged my thoughts back to the present and how much I looked forward to spending an entire week in the Azores with Nick. I could almost taste the Vinho Verde, a tender and delectable green wine, and the buttery and spicy cheeses, made from the milk of the world’s most beautiful and pampered cows. Together with the mild, temperate climate and the passionate sounds of Portuguese Fado music, it promised to be the perfect romantic getaway.
I had expected to finish packing after work, but my last update from Quinn changed everyone’s plans. The gunshot victim was out of surgery, in the ICU, and in a coma. The coma was an unexpected complication, but every effort was being made to discover its cause.
That news led to a hastily convened meeting around a wrought-iron, glass-topped table in Amah and Jack’s rustic, open-beamed family room. Dinner was courtesy of Colonel Sanders. Six of us gathered there at the Highland Ranch in Coyote Creek, a ranching community a few short miles from Timbergate. The group consisted of Mom and Dad, Amah and Jack, and Nick and me.
With my grandparents’ consent, Nick’s two-year-old Chesapeake Bay retriever, Ginger, rested on the floor next to her master’s chair. This doggy intrusion had caused Amah’s peevish Maine Coon cat, Fanny, to retreat to the highest shelf on their wall of bookcases. Ginger lived with Nick and me in a recently expanded and modernized apartment above my grandparents’ llama barn. Our cozy home sat just far enough down the lane from the main house to allow us privacy, but close enough for us to be there for my grandparents if we were needed.
I had lived there alone for several months, rent-free, doing chores involving the llama herd and occasionally ranch-sitting. When Nick moved in with me, we insisted on paying rent. Amah and Jack liked having us close, so they reluctantly agreed, rather than see us move to an apartment in Timbergate. Although tall, lanky Jack and petite, energetic Amah were more active than most people in their mid-seventies, we did our best to relieve them of the physically demanding chores the ranch required.
Just as we were finishing our fried chicken, biscuits, and corn on the cob, Harry showed up with his girlfriend, Rella Olstad. The woman had caused a breach in my relationship with Nick in the past, but that misunderstanding had been sorted out by the time she began dating Harry. Rella and I weren’t close, but we got along okay, despite her being a statuesque blonde and a former fighter pilot who currently worked alongside Nick on a somewhat regular basis.
“Who wants the last drumstick?” Harry asked.
We all knew he wanted it, so no one spoke up. Between his day job as a busy architect and his volunteer work three times a week teaching jujitsu at our local dojo, Harry managed to turn a lot of calories into muscle. People sometimes assume Asian men are shorter than average, with slender builds. Not Harry. He passed six feet at seventeen and kept going for a couple more inches. As far back as high school, women found his striking Asian and Portuguese features captivating. Rella was no exception.
Nick and I both spent a lot of our spare time at the dojo, but we always seemed to be a degree or two behind Harry when it came time to test for a higher black belt rank. We were both at third degree. Harry had been one of the youngest in our national organization to reach fourth. Dating Harry had apparently prompted Rella’s renewed interest in the gentle art. I’d seen her at the dojo a few times. A first-degree black, she wasn’t bad, if a little rusty.
While Harry and Rella were eating, Dad mentioned that he and Mom had been asked to postpone their return to the Azores until the return of the hospital’s interpreter, who was fluent in Portuguese. The hospital needed someone who could communicate with Paulo Ferrera’s parents in the Azores.
“We were assured it wouldn’t take more than a day,” Mom said, glancing at my father.
I hoped that was true. The trip to the Azores was to be my first vacation since starting the job at TMC last August. Only ten months ago, but so much had happened during that time, it felt like years.
“Mom had a great idea,” I told Harry. “We’re going to see if we can work out a visit with Paulo Ferrera’s parents while we’re in the Azores.”
“It won’t be a big deal to revise my flight plan.” Nick turned to me. “Aimee and I were already planning to spend time on Pico, so we’re okay with that, right?”
“Of course. We can’t pass up an opportunity to offer them our sympathy and support.”
“I wish we could do more,” Mom said.
“You know, there might be something more.” Nick excused himself from the table, pulled out his cellphone and walked outside to make a call. Ginger padded along with him.
Harry glanced at Rella. “Do you know what he’s up to?”
“He’s probably calling Buck.”
“Rella, will you be going along to the Azores as copilot?” Amah asked. As Buck Sawyer’s second pilot, Rella was affected by any plans that involved Nick and/or Buck. She and Nick sometimes flew together if the flight was extraordinarily long and complicated. Other times, they took turns.
“Not this trip.” Rella smiled at Harry.
Which meant Rella was catching a full week of time off. Her romance with Harry was still blooming, so I imagined the two of them would make the most of it.
Likewise, Nick and I had hoped to enjoy our first romantic island vacation together after returning my parents to their home in Horta. That was before the shooting incident involving the young Portuguese man with the missing sister. We had planned to enjoy an entire week of everything the islands had to offer. Romance and relaxation were foremost, but also on my list was the opportunity to visit the Horta Public Library and Regional Archive. I was eager to learn more of the history of my father’s side of the family.
Nick was looking forward to sailing, fishing, and a day hike on Mt. Pico, which I’d agreed would be a shame to miss. I’d heard all my life about the generations of Machados who had made the nearly eight-thousand-foot climb a family tradition. On my last visit, more than a year ago, there hadn’t been time to fit it in.
Nick stepped back inside with Ginger heeling near his left leg. He sat and signaled to her. She dropped down, resting her snout between her paws.
“Okay, folks, here’s the plan,” he said, giving the dog an approving scratch behind her ears. “I just spoke with Buck. If the Ferreras are able to make the trip, we can offer to bring them back to the States with us on our return flight.”
“Then they can be here with their son.” Mom clasped her hands together. “That’s a wonderful idea. If I can get their contact information from the hospital or the police, I’ll call them right away. We want to give them as much time as possible to make arrangements. I hope they have passports.”
Jack broke in to ask one of his, as always, practical questions. “Nick, do you want Rosa and me to watch your dog while you’re gone?”
“Thanks for the offer,” Nick said, “but Ginger will be in boarding school while we’re gone.”
Hearing Nick say her name, the dog raised her head from her paws and looked at him expectantly. He reached down and stroked her fur, quietly saying, “Ginger, stay.” With that, she emitted a sigh and lowered her head again.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “That dog spends a lot of time at school. She ought to have a PhD by now.”
My father came to her defense. “Hey, she’s a bird dog breed, but from what I hear, she doesn’t chase your turkeys. Or your llamas, for that matter. I’d say that’s two points in her favor.”
“That’s right, Lucas.” Amah turned to Nick. “But you know, Jack has a point. By now, your pretty dog should have acquired lots of skills. What sort of things is she learning?”
Nick’s face took on a trace of color. “Nothing special, really. Obedience. How to retrieve, of course.” He seemed evasive about his dog. Knowing him, I figured there was a reason. I made a mental note to ask him later, and then shifted the conversation back to the business at hand.
“Mom, did Quinn say he’d contact you as soon as the interpreter gets back?”
“Yes, honey. They have my cell number and I gave them yours, too. And Jack and Rosa’s landline here.”
Jack glanced at Amah. “Too bad you never learned to speak the language.”
“I agree, but back when I was a child, my parents were first-generation Americans. They saw the difficulties my grandparents had learning English as immigrants. All they wanted was to fit in and for their children to be considered American in every way.”
“I hate to break up the evening,” I said, “but Nick and I should go out to the barn and finish packing. Mom, will you and Dad be ready if we’re able to take off early Saturday morning?”
Dad answered for her. “We’re ready right now. I want to get back home to Horta before I have to start canceling next week’s classes.” He taught jujitsu at a dojo in Horta several times a week.
“And I promised the Horta Hospital I’d be home on Tuesday.” Fluent in English, Portuguese, French, and Hindi, Mom was a huge help as an interpreter at Hospital da Horta, where tourists and the yachting set contributed to the diverse population of patients.
“Wish I was going with you,” Harry said. He glanced at Rella, who had barely spoken during the entire conversation. In our family of talkers, Nick had learned to jump in when he had a chance. Rella, not a big talker to begin with, wasn’t often heard from at our table.
Harry realized too late that he hadn’t included her in his wish to go with us. An awkward moment, but they were still in a new relationship. Maybe he thought it was too soon to invite her to visit the home of his ancestors.
“Wendi, how soon will you try to contact the Ferreras?” Amah asked Mom.
“As soon as I get a phone number from the hospital or the police.”
Harry held up his phone. “You might not need to wait for that.” Harry could use the Internet in ways that were beyond my comprehension. As a teenager, he’d dreamed of working cyber-security for the CIA, but he’d left that career path behind when he became an architect. At least, that’s what everyone in the family thought. I wouldn’t put it past him to be living some sort of double life.
“Try some of these numbers, Mom.” Harry handed her his phone.
“They’re six hours ahead of our time here in California,” Mom said. “It’s nine o’clock here; that’s three in the morning there. I’ll wait until at least midnight our time.”
“How did you do that?” Jack asked Harry.
“Took a minute to find a phone directory for Madalena. It’s the main city on the island of Pico. There are several Ferreras, but one of them is bound to be the right family.”
“I’ll be damned,” Jack said.
Harry blushed. “Anyone could do it.”
Sure, Harry. Anyone working for the CIA.