I woke up Friday morning to the rattle of kibble being poured into Ginger’s bowl. I caught the aroma of coffee brewing and maybe a whiff of bacon frying. The remodel Harry’s crew had done a few months earlier had enlarged my barn-top home from a studio to a two-bedroom apartment. It was quaint and comfortable, but still small enough that any activity going on in the kitchen was bound to rouse a late sleeper.
The bedside clock read seven fifteen. Normally anything after six thirty was considered sleeping in. I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. On this last day before our trip, I wanted to do my routine chores. It was silly to think the llamas would miss me—that they could possibly care who tossed their hay twice a day—but I liked to think so.
I ran a brush through my hair and wandered into the kitchen. Nick stood at the stove in faded Levi’s and a navy T-shirt, keeping an eye on the bacon.
“Chores first … or breakfast?”
“Chores.” I yawned. “I feel guilty if I eat before I feed the livestock.”
“Work on that.” Nick pointed his spatula at me. “You do realize they don’t know the difference?”
“I know. But I noticed you always feed your dog before you eat.”
“That’s because she does know the difference. If I eat first, she’s right there, watching.”
“Good point, but I’m still going out. Back in a few.”
Outside, I tossed hay to the herd. While the llamas munched, I surveyed the pasture. All was well. Jack’s dozen turkeys were down from their roost, pecking and scratching. Native songbirds flitted from one majestic blue oak to another, competing for most melodious greeting of the day.
Back in the apartment, Nick had breakfast ready. Bacon, biscuits, scrambled eggs. I dug in, loving that he liked to cook. And that he didn’t distinguish between men’s and women’s work. Especially important when it came to his career. With a former fighter pilot like Rella as his co-pilot, he’d be in trouble if he had workplace gender issues. The thought of flying brought me around to our impending trip.
“Nick, I’m going to go up to the main house after breakfast to see if they’ve had any news about Paulo Ferrera’s medical status. We need to know if the hospital’s interpreter is back in town.”
“While you’re at it, ask if your mom got through to his parents about returning to the States with us.”
“That, too.” I crunched a bite of perfectly fried bacon.
“While you’re doing that, I’ll run Ginger into Timbergate. Her local trainer here is going to transport her down south to the academy, along with a few other canine students. Maybe you’ll know something by the time I get back.”
“I hope so. Did you already file a new flight plan?”
“Not yet, but I need to get that done as soon as we know for sure we’re leaving tomorrow.” Nick downed the last of his coffee and started to leave the table.
“Wait … sit for a moment. Okay?”
I saw misgiving in his eyes, but he sat. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. The spy thing. I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“In the past, you’ve come home from some of your flights looking as if you’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring. You always came up with a sketchy explanation. A hostile drunk in a bar, or a mugging on some dark street. Now I’m wondering if your secret agent work had something to do with the scrapes and bruises.”
“This is why I haven’t been more forthcoming before now.” Nick glanced at Ginger for a moment before he met my gaze. “You’re going to worry, and you’re going to ask a lot of questions I’d rather not answer.”
“For now, just answer one question, okay?”
“Maybe.” He leaned back with his arms crossed.
Not the response I’d hoped for, but I went ahead. “Are we a team?”
“That isn’t a yes or no question.”
“We’re either together, or we aren’t. Yes, or no?”
“You’re not playing fair,” he said.
“Yes, or no?”
Nick reached over and took my hand. He turned it up and kissed my palm, sending tingles rippling throughout my body. “Of course we’re together, but I’m not quite ready to involve you in something you didn’t sign up for. It could be dangerous.”
“Then promise you’ll fill me in when there’s something I need to know.”
“I promise,” he said. I wasn’t convinced his definition of need to know matched mine.
Nick loaded Ginger into his pickup and headed off to Timbergate. I walked up the lane to the main house, where Mom and Dad were having breakfast with Amah and Jack. I accepted a cup of coffee and the offer of a small helping of linguiça. Even on a full stomach, I couldn’t resist a few bites of the highly spiced Portuguese garlic sausage. It had been one of my favorite foods for as long as I could remember.
“Any news from the police or the hospital?” I asked.
“Some good news,” Mom said. “The interpreter is back, so we can start for home tomorrow as early as Nick wants to take off.”
“Good, he can file a new flight plan right away.”
“Where is he?” Dad asked.
“Taking his dog to town to catch her ride to school.”
Jack chuckled. “I hope I didn’t offend him with my teasing last night.”
“Nick’s not that sensitive. I doubt he gave it a second thought.” I stopped myself before I blurted out what Nick had told me about Ginger’s training and the dicey side of his work.
“Will you still be making an overnight stop in Boston?” Amah asked.
“We’ll drop Buck Sawyer off there and stay overnight. Nick’s flying solo, so we want him to be rested for the Boston to Horta leg of the flight. That’ll be almost another five hours.”
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. “That might work out just right,” Mom said. “Did you know Tony and Tanya are appearing in a play in Boston?” She was referring to my Grandfather Machado and his wife. They lived in New York City, but their flourishing post-retirement careers as character actors took them to professional theater companies throughout the Northeast.
“Amah mentioned it a few weeks ago. Bus Stop, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Our commercial flight from the Azores had a layover in Boston, so we were able to catch it while we were there.” Mom smiled, remembering. “Tanya’s role is the waitress, and Tony is the bus driver who flirts with her.”
“It would be cute to see them in those roles, but we won’t be able to catch it tomorrow. It’ll take around five hours to get to Boston. With the different time zones, we wouldn’t be there in time for the Saturday matinee.”
“Maybe you can go on the way back,” Amah said. “I know Tony and Tanya would love to see you.”
“That might work. I’ll talk to Nick about it.”
Grandpa Machado and Amah had gone their separate ways in an amicable divorce before I was born. They had each remarried, and the two couples remained good friends—something I had always admired. Grandpa and Tanya thrived in New York City. They loved city life as much as Amah and Jack loved country life. It gave the rest of the family wonderful opportunities to experience both worlds.
Mom and Amah cleared away breakfast while Jack and I went over the list of barnyard chores Nick and I usually covered for him. It made us feel less guilty about the disgracefully low rent we were paying. Those tasks would need to be done while Nick and I were gone. Between the small llama herd and the turkey flock, there always seemed to be something needing food or water. Or cages to clean or droppings to shovel and haul away. I suggested Harry be commissioned to take care of that task. Occasionally Jack had trouble with his back, and he didn’t need to risk throwing it out.
By the time we had that sorted out, I spotted Nick’s pickup driving down the lane toward the barn. Home from Timbergate without his sniffer dog. I was about to head to the barn myself when Mom’s cellphone chirped. Dad and Jack and I listened to her end of the conversation, which was brief.
“I see.” She nodded. “That’s good. We’ll keep him in our thoughts. Thank you.” She ended the call. “That was your boss calling from the hospital, Aimee.”
“Did he say how the patient is doing?” I asked.
“Still in a coma. The poor young man.” She met my father’s eyes. “We’ll have to visit his family when we get home, Lucas.”
“Of course. Their daughter is missing and their son is critically injured. Imagine how devastating that must be.” Dad glanced at me, as if to confirm I was safe and whole.
“Mom, I thought you were going to ask if they want to come back to the States with us,” I said.
“Thanks to Harry’s phone numbers, we did make contact, but the parents are distraught, as you can imagine. They were unable to decide about coming back with you and Nick. They’re still hoping their daughter will turn up there in the Azores.”
“Maybe a face-to-face visit will help them decide,” Amah said. Her next words were directed to all of us. “Once you reach Faial, please keep us informed here at home whenever you have news.”
“I promise,” I said. Mom and Dad nodded in agreement.
Jack emptied the last of the coffee into his cup. “Rosa and I will follow up on this end and reach you by cellphone if we hear any news about the patient.”
Back in the apartment, I filled Nick in on everything I’d heard at the main house.
He looked up from packing his duffel bag. “That boy’s still unconscious? Damn shame.”
“I know. Mom and Dad definitely want to visit his parents when we get to the Azores.”
“Should we go with them?” Nick closed his duffel and placed it near the door.
“I think so. It might ease the Ferreras’ minds to meet you if it turns out they want to come with us on our return flight.”
Friday evening, with Nick’s flight plan filed and our packing done, we shared a simple dinner of tomato soup and crab salad. We took our glasses of wine out onto the newly expanded deck overlooking the llama pasture. After a long day, it felt good to sit in patio chairs and unwind for a few peaceful moments watching the sun’s nightly glide path. It slowly disappeared, leaving the western horizon blazing a fire-tinged shade of pink and turning the mountains to the west into a deep purple silhouette. I must have sighed, because Nick asked if there was something wrong.
“I can’t stop thinking about the missing girl,” I said. “There are so many terrible scenarios running through my mind.”
He reached over to touch my shoulder. “We can’t control that right now, Aimee. Try to keep hoping for the best.”
“I’m trying, but a fifteen-year-old could be—”
Through an open window, I heard my cellphone ring, interrupting me mid-sentence. I headed inside and found a message from Cleo. Rare that she would call on a Friday night. We were the best of friends at work, but we seldom spent personal time together. She and her husband, Sig, had married only months ago, and they loved spending their leisure time with each other.
I answered with misgivings. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Can you talk?” Cleo and I sometimes had to discuss confidential hospital matters outside the workplace, so we were careful to keep those conversations private.
“I can. Nick’s outside on the deck. We just confirmed we’re flying out tomorrow morning. Is there something I need to know before we go?”