34

Alison hung up the phone. Mike promised the police would be finished with her car by Saturday. He’d pick her up tonight in time for the ball.

She frowned.

That sounded way too much like a date for her peace of mind. Not to mention what other people would think. She shook her head. Too late, though. They were both committed to this investigation now.

Maybe thinking of this evening at the ball as part of her investigation would help her get through it. Like Val, she wasn’t so big on socializing with these society movers and shakers. Some of them were nice, regular people, like Hilary. Many of them were not. A picture of Natalie rose in her mind.

“Ugh!” She shook herself free of the image.

Even before coming to know Christ, and she was faithfully working her way through the Bible, she’d known it was wrong to value or devalue someone because of the house they lived in or the car they drove.

Or, the color of their skin.

Glancing out the window, she caught sight of Miss Lula raising Cain with the party rental deliverymen. If anyone should be on the Weathersby board, it should be Lula Burke, whose family had served the Weathersbys and knew more about its history than anyone else living.

Nate McLawhorn had taught his daughter one thing if nothing else—to see beneath the surface. Miss Lula, the housekeeper, was “good people,” he would’ve said. But in this world, housekeepers, white or black, didn’t serve on boards.

They scrubbed them.

Goodness—as she was learning over and over in these last troubled months—had little to do with money or position and everything to do with the heart.

She smiled as she watched Miss Lula directing the traffic of tents, tables, and chairs. The rental company had erected an open-air outdoor dance pavilion along the side lawn. Another nearby tent was being set up to accommodate the caterers who would serve food to Raleigh’s glitterati. White wicker chairs and tables sprinkled the landscape.

Ginny marched her little troop of fourth graders, their eyes as round as saucers, past the hordes of docents stringing white lights around the bushes and the perimeter. “Like Christmas!” one little boy shouted.

Erica corralled her restless grade-school charges past Polly and the garden docents creating colorful garden centerpieces for each table of eight.

Alison pushed her bangs back with one hand. And here she was, stuck inside with Ivy’s to-do list. How she wished she were part of their fun.

But no rest for the weary. Ivy, like the wicked stepmother of Cinderella fame, seemed determined to keep her nose to the grindstone. She smiled at her own whimsy. She must stop with the Cinderella analogies. A psychologist would have a field day with that one.

Humming the theme from The Wizard of Oz, she replaced the Cinderella folktale with another one. The image of Ivy in a witch’s hat distracted her for at least five minutes until she heard the tiny peal of her cell phone.

Leaving her happy contemplations of houses landing on Ivy or better still, the possibilities of water melting Ivy altogether, she dived into her desk drawer and caught it on the last ring.

There was a hesitation before the caller realized he was live and not on voicemail.

“Alison?”

It was Dennis Scott, Frank’s flying buddy and sometime copilot. The last time she’d heard from him was when Dennis had bought the Piper Cub.

“Yes, Dennis.”

His voice warmed. “I’m so glad I caught you. I wanted to thank you for introducing me to the Lawrences at Frank’s funeral.”

Dennis had been one of Frank’s pallbearers. In the haze of that mournful afternoon, she didn’t remember doing any introductions, but whatever.

“It’s been a hectic week since Bill asked me to take over Frank’s job. He’s already deposited that chunk of change in my account. With our daughter, Savannah, off to college next fall, I appreciate all the moonlighting I can get. And I wanted you to know I’m going to write you a check as a finder’s fee in memory of Frank.”

She frowned into the phone. “Frank’s job? What job are you talking about, Dennis?”

“I’m taking over Frank’s contract to fly the Lawrences to Grand Cayman on Saturday.”

The Grand Caymans had been one of the stops on their cruise with the Lawrences last summer. Going again so soon? How nice.

For them.

She was amazed at how petty she seemed to be lately. Still, it was sweet of Dennis to think of her and her current financial need.

“That’s generous of you, but not necessary.”

“I insist. Frank had already done the legwork. I’m just fulfilling the rest of the contract.”

Intrigued, she frowned into the phone. “What legwork?”

“He’d completed all the paperwork preparatory to filing a flight plan. I kept Frank’s call sign. So it’ll be Piper-seven-seven-Charlie-Papa from RDU. Final destination Grand Cayman. I found the flight details stuck in the cockpit.”

Piper 77? That number rang a bell. Her eyes widened and she scrambled in her purse until she retrieved the pile of papers Claire had copied from Frank’s phone.

They were at the bottom of her purse, of course.

“Dennis? Could you hold on one second?”

She turned page after page until she found the photocopy on which Frank had recorded four sets of numbers. The first, 415, had been the sleazy motel where he’d conducted his out-of-town affairs.

Just as she thought, the second number began with 77. A crazy idea took hold. “Can you hang on a few minutes more, Dennis?”

“Sure.” He sounded puzzled by the urgency of her voice. “Are you okay, Alison?”

Alison typed in a question in the search engine on her computer. Five seconds later, she had her answer to one part of the puzzle. “When are you scheduled to fly the Lawrences out of the country?”

“Saturday morning, 10 a.m. I told Linda this evening would be a better time to travel. Meteorologists are calling for a storm front to sweep the Southeast tomorrow. Strong winds, maybe isolated tornados. But Linda was insistent they couldn’t leave till after that fancy-schmancy ball you folks have got going on tonight. I guess they’re heavily invested in its success.”

Suspicious now, she was beginning to question how invested they were. And what exactly was Grand Cayman’s extradition policy with the United States?

“When are you flying them back, Dennis?”

He laughed. “That’s the funny thing. Just the one-way trip. Bill told me their plans for returning were in limbo at the moment, and they would fly commercial or give me a call when they got tired of vacationing. Must be the life. I, for sure, wouldn’t know.”

“Or me.” She grimaced. “But if I have my way, you and I won’t know life inside a jail cell, either.”

“What jail?” A slice of fear trickled through his voice. “What are you talking about Alison?”

“You need to tell Detective Barefoot everything you just told me, Dennis. He’s the lead investigator in Frank’s murder.”

“Wait a minute.” Dennis’s voice caught. “You think these people killed Frank? Why would they do that? They were counting on him to fly them out tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure about all the details.” She gripped the phone. “But lots of things about the Lawrences are too good to be true. Maybe Frank discovered their plans to leave the country permanently and they silenced him.”

“I don’t know, Alison. Sounds far-fetched to me. All of this could be perfectly innocent.” She could tell he didn’t want to believe his cash windfall was a hoax.

“Wait, Dennis. Let me read to you a number Frank entered into his appointment calendar.” She read him the number.

“Okay, suspicious maybe,” he conceded, “with the first two numbers the same as the aircraft number, 77.”

“I looked it up, Dennis. The latitude and longitude of Owens International Airport in George Town on the Grand Cayman Island is 19°20’North by 81°20’West. 1-9-2-0-8-1-2-0.” She repeated the numbers to him.

Dennis groaned. “Oh, man. Alison, you may have saved me from making the worst mistake of my life. I’d be charged as an accessory to whatever they’ve done. I should’ve known. If it sounds too good to be true . . .”

“It probably is,” she finished. “I’m sorry about this, Dennis.”

He sighed. “Not your fault. I was dazzled by the cash and not suspicious enough.”

She gave him Mike’s cell number. “Give him a call and tell him everything we discussed. He can do a more thorough check on their background and advise you on how to proceed.”

Tears stung her eyelids. Had she managed to solve Frank’s murder by Dennis’s inadvertent phone call and a few computer searches?

“Don’t tip off the Lawrences to what we suspect.” She sucked in a breath. “Or you and I both could end up as dead as Frank.”

Mike tried hard not to grin. His face was beginning to hurt. But every time he thought about his date with Alison tonight . . .

His cell phone jangled on top of his desk. Caller ID denoted his friend, Ray, as the caller.

“Hey, buddy,” Mike kicked back. “How’s it going? Any news on the case I—”

He frowned, listening. “Sounds like an opportunity. Six months ago I’d have jumped at the chance.”

Ray filled his ear with the details.

“I know. Big city. D.C. Chance to work with the Feds . . .”

Ray interrupted.

Mike whistled. “Big salary jump, too. But, man, I—”

He listened again. “I know, I know. With my language skills, it would be right up my alley.”

He went silent as Ray gushed on about the career move of a lifetime.

“Okay. I’ll think about it and let you know in the next couple of days. But, I've got another opportunity of a lifetime right here in Raleigh . . .” He flushed, surprised at himself for revealing so much.

“Will do.” He ended with a promise to call soon. “And tell Serena once again I’m praying Baby Jude takes after her not you. Wouldn’t wish that kind of ugly on any kid.”

Laughing, he flicked the cover shut but quickly sobered. He glanced to the fluorescent lighting of the police station.

He’d been angling for a career change like this for ages. Was God trying to tell him something about his future or lack thereof with Alison? Or was this some kind of test?

Why now, God?

He’d sensed in these last few days, a crevice had opened in the door of Alison’s heart. Or was he kidding himself? Did he have a chance with her?

Should he stay and find something that until now he hadn’t realized he’d been looking for all his life? Or should he go and use his God-given abilities in the cause of justice? What if Alison didn’t feel the same way he did? What if God wanted him to sacrifice his feelings for her for a greater good?

He thought of her smiling at him over a cup of Kona. Her flip-flop collection—all of them her favorites. The special warmth—he told himself—in her eyes just for him. Was he imagining all that? Surely not.

But the idea of declaring his feelings for her left him more afraid than facing down a street gang. Not good with words, he’d attempted to tell her what he felt but got all tongue-tied and instead told her something totally inappropriate describing his latest case involving multiple homicides.

Yeah, that was him. Mr. Smooth-talker with the guts and gore.

Nobody would ever mistake him for a prince to be sure. But tonight?

Maybe the magic of a real, bona fide ball . . .

“God, I’d be most grateful,” he muttered under his breath as his phone rang again, “if You could see fit to bestow a little charm this way.” He frowned, a vague memory of a fairy tale playing through his mind. “Or at least help me not to be a frog.”