Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  The radio played through a few more bars then squawked and its dial light went off.

  “So much for the radio,” Mike said. He glanced at Robin. He could see she was thinking about something else than the old song.

  “We used to do this, driving around, taking time,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “You got too busy worrying about your father’s museum.”

  “Employees have to eat, “said Mike.

  “I admire what you are doing,” she said. “I just keep thinking that one of these days you are going to walk out of there and start your life all over again.”

  “I could play jazz,” he joked.

  “You don’t play an instrument.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “If you’d pilot an airplane again, that would be a first step.”

  “My father was the flier,” said Mike.

  “I remember the day I first circled the Museum airport, seeing the old planes parked there, the DC3. I decided to land and ask for a job.”

  “Just like that?” asked Mike.

  “It was sunny, just like today,” she said. “Your father met me at my plane, right on the strip. I remember thinking that it might be the best day of my life.”

  “Was it?”

  “Back then, my life was jumbled. Maybe it started coming together that day. Being around airplanes, being around airplane people, being paid for flying. Then, when I met you later on that week, that was a bonus.”

  “A lot has happened since you arrived,” Mike said.

  Robin went on, “I was dressed in jeans, I remember, and I thought that I’d have a chance to change my clothes before the interview. No way. He was right there when I taxied up. I got out of the plane, told him I was looking for a job.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked me if I was a good mechanic.”

  “That you are not,” said Mike.

  “I told him I could do stunt flying. That seemed to be enough of a resume. Your father looked at me, then he shook my hand and walked me right into the office.”

  “Gladys told me she thought Dad had a girlfriend,” said Mike.

  “She didn’t stop suspecting me for a month.”

  “You impressed him,” said Mike.

  “Yeah, and I wasn’t in the Navy, too.”

  “No, but he thought you flew like you were,” Mike said. “He thought you had guts like his old buddies, I guess. He had this little club in his mind and he only admitted certain people. I think you got in. I know I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t like what he did to you, Mike.”

  They found the Queenstown airfield located at the edge of a cornfield, down a long dirt road with no signs. They could see a square building rising over the corn, windows at the top of white walls, but the windows were broken and the walls were streaked with rust coming from the metal frames of the windows.

  “Deserted control tower,” he said.

  Mike parked along a side road near the old tower. Several hundred feet away, over a worn strip of blacktop, stood the hanger, or what was left of it. Wind torn tar paper hung over the side of its curved roof. The faded painted letters on the corrugated steel wall over the front doors of the hanger proclaimed, “Queenstown Air Service.” Further beyond the hanger was a small shack, its sides covered in tar paper.

  “Looks like someone is over there,” said Mike pointing to an older model Ford coupe, covered with dust and mud, parked in front of the building.

  They walked across the blacktop which was laced like a spider web with cracks and was hot and pungent with melting tar in the sunlight. As they walked by the partly open doors of the hanger, they could see a twin engine Douglas DC3 aircraft, under repair, its engine cowlings open.

  “That’s probably what’s left of Queenstown Airlines.”

  “I see a small plane in there too,” said Robin, pointing to a high wing yellow, single engine, two seater.

  They walked over a concrete apron, grass growing between the slabs of white rough surfaced cement, to get to the shack.

  “You folks want something?” a voice called from inside the small building.

  Mike opened the screen door to the darkness within. Dead insects littered the floor. Inside a heavy set man in his fifties, bare chested and wearing an oil stained white and blue yachting cap, sat in filthy jeans in a plastic swivel chair. He was watching a soap opera on a small television. The volume was turned off.

  “Weather seems hotter when I got the volume on. I want to cool off this time of day so I just watch ‘em.”

  “Good idea,” said Mike.

  “We want to rent your small plane,” said Robin. “The tail dragger Aeronca in the hanger.”

  “Who’s gonna do the flying?”

  She stared at him, waiting for him to tell her the price.

  “How much you got?”

  Robin didn’t answer. She put some twenty dollar bills on the top of the television.

  “Minimum I get is one hour. That’s all the fuel I give you.”

  “Looks like the Aeronca’s been around a while,” said Robin.

  “Student pilot I had a few years back caught a wing landing in a cross wind. We fixed her up right here. Did all the work ourselves,” he said proudly.

  “You want to fly?” Robin looked at Mike. Mike shook his head.

  “You two make up your mind.”

  “I just thought I’d ask again,” said Robin, looking at Mike, who did not meet her gaze.

  She handed her flying papers to the man. The man looked at Robin and then at the papers.

  “I seen you somewhere before, ain’t I?”

  Robin smiled. “You’re a little old for me, mister.”

  The man smiled. “Never too old to look.” He glanced at the papers again. “Don’t get many New York people in here. Of course, when Terment was shipping tomatoes down to River Sunday, he had a lot of you Yankee buyers coming in.”

  “That’s what your Queenstown Airlines was for?” said Mike.

  “Queenstown Air Service,” the man corrected. “Yeah, we transported people to the city, handled some cargo. You rich?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you don’t look rich. Don’t even get no sky rides anymore. They all fly in from Baltimore for their looksees.”

  “All right,” he handed back the papers to Robin. “She’s got gas in her. You’ll have to help me roll her out.”

  They followed the man out into the sunlight. It was a short walk to the hanger. There, the three of them pushed the large hanger door back to the side. Then they rolled the small plane out.

  Robin climbed into the plane and started the engine. Mike got in the other seat directly back of her.

  “One hour. You land her here too. I don’t want no fetching,” the man called above the din of the engine.

  Robin looked at him with another stare.

  “All right,” he said, looking at the sky. “You get aloft, just follow the road. Real pretty scenery. You’ll like it. Make sure you don’t get lost.” he cackled as he went back inside.

  “I wonder if he recognized us? Hiram must have had spies in all these airports,” said Robin.

  “It’s a chance we had to take,” said Mike.

  They were flying as the man had suggested, following a highway that ran due south as far as they could see. Mike tracked their progress on the map Jesse’s mother had prepared for them.

  After only a few minutes at altitude and level flight, the engine began to run rough. Robin had to constantly monitor the carburetor settings to keep up airspeed.

  “Engine’s seen a lot of hours,” Robin shouted over the noise.

  Below, the farmland was neat, like a checkerboard.

  “You don’t see all the vines and the trash from up here. I love it,” Robin commented. She kept the little aircraft about five hundred feet off the ground. The shadow of the plane raced across the ground below not stopping at small streams or high hedges or trees and any o
f the other impediments.

  Then, suddenly, Mike was aware of another shadow, another blot of darkness moving along with their own. He watched for a few moments, then he knew what it was.

  “A plane is following us,” he said. “He’s hanging off the woods down below, hard to see, but when we turn, he turns.”

  “Not good. I think that airport manager reported us.”

  “I don’t think it’s police,” said Mike. “They’d be beside us, demanding we return to the field. This guy wants to find out where we’re going.”

  Robin cut back her speed. The second shadow overlapped the one of their own plane. The other was larger.

  “He’s below us, “she said.

  Mike twisted in his seat and looked out under the wing. “It’s a Cessna and she’s got no police insignia on it.”

  Mike watched the plane. “If those are Aviatrice people following us, more of their team will be searching the ground area in a few hours. Maybe we should try to lead him away.”

  “I’m not sure that would get us anywhere,” said Robin. “We can delay him a little. Hang on,” she shouted as she pushed the rudder pedal forward and threw over the stick.

  The Aeronca dropped sharply. Mike grabbed at the sides of his seat.

  “Hold your gut, Mike.”

  The Aeronca was behind the Cessna and out of sight of the other pilot. Robin continued to maneuver until she had flown between the Cessna and the sun. The other pilot would be blinded trying to see them.

  She edged closer. Mike could see the rivets in the top of the Cessna fuselage. They were directly above the other plane and flying at the same speed. Robin dropped further until the Aeronca fuselage and tail wheel was in front of the Cessna rudder, so that the other pilot could not escape without damaging his aircraft and risking a crash.

  The Cessna pilot, realizing his predicament, tried to bank from one side to the other but Robin checked his progress.

  “He can’t get away,” said Robin. “If I was him, I’d start thinking that I’m not being paid enough for this kind of risk.”

  The trees below broke into an opening. It was a large series of fields connected with low fences and hedgerows.

  “I’m going to force him down.” Robin dropped closer to the Cessna, forcing the other plane to fly even lower.

  “You’ve got them scared shitless,” said Mike. “You’re going to get me scared too.”

  “Hang on,” said Robin, her eyes intent on the chase, her hands steady. The Cessna moved across one of the larger fields.

  “Somebody is going to mess up a lot of soybeans,” said Mike.

  The Cessna flew lower and lower to escape Robin’s plane. As the Cessna was forced to land, Robin pulled up. The Cessna grounded, bumping along over the ruts. Robin lifted the Aeronca higher.

  Mike looked at her with admiration. “I didn’t know you could do that with an airplane.”

  She grinned. “One of my instructors was a fighter pilot in the Pacific. Hellcats. He told me a buddy of his in Corsairs ran out of ammunition one time and brought down a Japanese plane by chewing up the Zero’s rudder with the Corsair propeller. I finally got a chance to try it.”

  “Not a bad landing, you bastard,” yelled Robin, out her window, to the other pilot as she flew over the Cessna. The Cessna, still moving through the corn, wobbled, caught a wingtip and stopped quickly, its nose into the soybeans and its tail and rudder up in the air.

  Robin banked and turned slowly back over the field. As they came closer to the grounded Cessna, two men climbed out and stood in the soybeans, one of them waving his fists. Mike recognized Bullard’s large form.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Mike. “They might start shooting, and this old plane wouldn’t take a round from a bee bee gun much less a bullet.”

  Robin banked again and flew over the tree line, out of sight of the grounded Cessna. Then, after a few minutes and far out of sight of the Cessna, she turned again south.

  Mike looked at the map remembering what Jesse’s mother had told him about landmarks.

  “We must be near Hoopersville.” He looked out the small window. “I see a crossroads with a small store. Yes, I can spot the long dirt road stretching to the east. Two creeks intersect just past the road. Magnolia Creek is the name on Loretta’s map. This has to be the right place.”

  A group of houses along a narrow road suddenly showed among the heavy growth of trees and hedges.

  “That must be the village. Let’s circle around.” Robin went into a slow bank. In a few moments they were coming at the village again, this time lower to the ground.

  “I can see one large building, like a round top utility building. Look at it. It’s really big.”

  “That must be the church, the Tabernacle,” shouted Robin, as the engine became more noisy. “Jesse’s mother was right. The way that village is set up, no one could get in there without being spotted.”

  “That big building. It’s big enough for a seaplane.”

  Mike was grinning. “I think we’ve found her, Robin.”

  “We better get home. Don’t want to draw too much attention to us. Besides, the way this engine sounds, we’ll have to land pretty soon.”

  “If the plane was there,” said Mike, “Why would they keep it? That’s what I don’t understand.”

  “I guess,” said Robin, banking the plane, “One way or the other, we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Chapter Twelve

  4 PM, July 2

  Queenstown, Maryland

  Robin circled the Queenstown airport. Below them they could see increased activity. Two green station wagons had arrived and were parked in front of the shed. Mike recognized the hat of the airport manager. He was out on the macadam airstrip pointing up at them and gesturing. Around him were several men in dark suits.

  “I don’t think they’re police. Probably security people from Aviatrice.”

  Robin nodded. “Might be machine guns under those coats.”

  “Bullard called in about the bent up Cessna,” said Mike.

  “Whatever, he’s got those goons ready to give us some trouble.”

  The engine sputtered. She tapped a dial on the panel in front of her. “Fuel’s gone. We have to land somewhere.”

  Mike looked at the airfield. “We certainly don’t want to talk to any of them. Maybe we can gain a little time.”

  He looked down at the tarmac. “I got an idea. Bring her in closer to the control tower.”

  “I get it,” said Robin. “Land her farther away than they think.”

  “First, bring her in like we are going to land near them,” said Mike. “Just before we touch down, we’ll gun her and extend the glide toward the tower. While they are still starting up their vehicles, we’ll be in our car with a head start.”

  “Pray that Volkswagen’s got a little bit left.”

  “It’s a chance, but that’s all it is,” said Mike.

  Robin had the plane in final approach. They were two hundred feet high and about a thousand yards from the Aviatrice cars. Suddenly the engine ran out of fuel. Mike watched as the propeller slowed then stopped. Robin tried to restart the engine, but it only coughed and sputtered.

  As the plane coasted toward the green cars, Mike could see one of the men pulling a pistol from his shoulder holster.

  “I don’t think we’re going to get any Miranda warnings,” he said.

  She rocked the plane. “Maybe this will get us some gas.”

  The plane was only a hundred feet from landing. Robin twisted the stick and the controls to stay in the air. The men were running toward the place where they would have to touch down. At that moment the engine caught and the propeller whirred. The plane sputtered forward again, as Mike had hoped, enough so that it lifted again, the wheels just clearing the roofs of the station wagons.

  More guns were in sight. Mike could have reached the muzzles of the men’s weapons that were aimed right at him and Robin. The plane was flying further across the airfield,
leaving the men behind. Yelling at Robin to stop, they began to run after the plane.

  “Come on, you old Aeronca, you can make it,” pleaded Robin, holding the control stick. Then the engine stopped again. They were about a hundred yards away from the tower. Behind them, as Mike watched, the men were being picked up by their vehicles.

  “That’s it, Mike. We’re coming in for sure,” said Robin. The plane bounced on the strip and then raced along. Robin hit the rudder pedals and they turned toward the tower. Mike could see the cars coming fast. The plane bounced on the rough grass along the side of the runway and then stopped a few feet from the Volkswagen.

  They climbed out as the plane was still moving. Robin got to the car first and opened the door. She threw Mike the ignition key.

  “You drive. I’ve had my turn.”

  He started the small car. Black smoke burst from the small tailpipes.

  “Run, car, run,” shouted Mike, trying to get the engine to rev up.

  “I think it wants to be babied a little bit,” said Robin.

  “Too bad,” said Mike as he floored it. The engine idled, then as Mike pumped gas into the carburetor, the cylinders caught and roared to full revolutions, making the car tremble.

  Robin looked behind. “I see one of the vehicles coming around the tower.”

  “Hold on,” Mike said, and aimed the car into a small path running between two nearby fields of corn. The corn plants had some height and Mike was betting that in some of the rows, the car would be out of sight as it crossed the field.

  “This isn’t a road,” yelled Robin, over the high pitched banging of the Volkswagen engine.

  “Welcome to an irrigation ditch,” Mike said.

  The car shuddered as its rear axle hit the ground and then its springs flexed in recoil. Half dried clods of field mud hit the windshield ahead and brown streaks slid down the glass.

  The radio began to play full blast another oldie.

  “Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no.”

  The radio stopped. Mike held the wheel with one hand and grabbed at switches on the dash. “Wipers. Wipers. Here they are,” he said.

  “Hard to see,” she said, trying to reach out her window to clean the glass. The wipers started. Daylight came through the blotches. The car bumped hard again and the hood flew up and then back down, clanking.