Chapter 9 Aftershocks

Ames listened to the set of coordinates coming through the ears of his headset. "Copy that. I'm heading that way now." A strange calm had settled over him during the past minute or two — enough to shoot off a hasty message to his brothers.

Plane is in trouble. Losing fuel. Please pray. Love, Ames

He'd added the love part in case he never got to see them again. Probably scared the bejeebers out of them, but there was no time to worry about that. Hopefully, they'd pray that much harder after reading it.

He could hear Laura praying on the floor behind him. Not weeping. Not acting hysterical. Just praying. He was surprised she wasn't having another one of her panic attacks.

"All of our hope is in You, Lord." Her soft, pleading voice surrounded him in the narrow space, buoying him from the darkness of his thoughts. "Whether it's our time to go, or if You still have more plans for us, I'm grateful for every moment You've given me with my parents, my sister, and Ames."

Hearing the woman he loved thanking God for him in what might be the last few minutes of her life was the most profound thing Ames had ever experienced. He gritted his teeth with renewed determination to give his attempt at an emergency landing his finest efforts. He didn't intend to give up before the last drop of fuel seeped out of their fuel tank, or the engine failed.

"Get your seatbelt on, darling," he shouted as the detour runway lights came into view. "We may be in for a bumpy landing!" The wind was picking up, rattling the jet like a rag doll. Unfortunately, they were flying straight into it.

As she scrambled to buckle into her seat in the cockpit, he caught sight of flashing, rotating emergency lights below them. First responder vehicles were converging on the runway as he got the jet into position and started to descend.

"Coming in hot," he muttered. Though he wasn't a military pilot in a fighter jet, he was heavily armed with faith, hope, and love.

And the greatest of these is love.

He replayed that short passage of scripture over and over in his head as he lowered the landing gear and performed a rapid descent. Knowing his fuel supply would shut off at any moment, he had to make each remaining second count.

Approximately twenty feet above the runway, he closed the throttles and tilted the nose of the jet upward. He touched down the main landing gear first with a light bump. The nose gear touched down next. Though a wave of exhilaration shot through him over being back on the ground, he knew it was too soon to celebrate. He applied the brakes, and the engine coughed.

And died.

"Brace yourself, Laura!" He reached for her hand, since there was nothing else he could do.

The runway turned into a taxiway as the jet flew blindly into the wind. The wind slapped head on into the nose of the aircraft, acting like a giant hand swooping from the sky to slow their speed. They reached the end of the runway and skidded past the warning lights. Once they rolled into the grass on the other side, they quickly came to a stop. The tree line was still a good fifty yards or so out. Ames knew with certainty that if it weren't for the buffeting wind, they would've kept going until they crashed.

He sat there for a moment in reverent silence, gripping Laura's hand. It was a miracle they were alive.

"Thank You, Lord." Laura whispered the words.

They went straight to his heart. He lifted their joined hands to his lips. "Yes. Thank You."

The emergency crew surrounded them the moment they stepped from the plane.

"Nice landing!" He lost track of the number of times he was high-fived and slapped on the back.

Laura gave a breathy chuckle at his elbow.

"What?" Not caring who witnessed it, he kept an arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, unsure if he was ever going to let her go again. They were alive. It was still sinking in.

"They keep using your favorite word on you." She snickered. "I know how much you love the word nice."

He turned his head to press a kiss against her cheek. "Guess you've used it on me so many times that it's growing on me."

They were led to an ambulance, examined for injuries, and pronounced in perfect condition considering what they'd been through. Ames took the opportunity to text an update to his brothers.

We made it. Thanks for praying. I'll call when I can.

A pair of police detectives strode their way wearing grim expressions. "We'd like to ask you a few questions." One of the policemen remained standing by the back door of the ambulance to speak with Laura, while the other policeman walked with Ames out of earshot.

It dawned on him that something must be wrong, since the lawmen were clearly attempting to keep him from corroborating his story with Laura's story. "What's going on, officer?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out, Mr. Carson. Have you ever experienced the desire to harm yourself?"

"No." He gave the guy an incredulous look. If he was suicidal, he'd have just kept flying his plane until it crashed.

"What about the woman you were traveling with tonight? To the best of your knowledge, is she prone to bouts of anxiety, depression, or thoughts of self harm?"

"No. She went through a rough breakup about a year ago, but I wouldn't describe her as depressed. Just sad and angry, but she's getting through it."

The officer nodded and typed something into his electronic notepad. "Can you think of any reason anyone else might be trying to harm you or Miss Lee?"

Ames' breath huffed out of him. "What's this about, officer? Did you find something wrong with my jet?"

"Your fuel tank may have been tampered with, sir. Do you have any idea who would do such a thing?"

Ames reached up to run a hand through his hair. "Honestly? No."

"You mentioned Miss Lee went through a breakup. Is there any bad blood between you and her ex?"

Ames gave a dry chuckle. "I doubt I'm his favorite person, but I barely know him."

"So you haven't argued with him?" the detective pressed.

Ames shrugged. "We've traded a few mild insults. Nothing major."

"We'd like to determine that for ourselves. Would you mind giving me his name?"

"Brex Morrison."

The detective recorded the name on his notepad. "Spelled like T-Rex, but with a B?"

"Never thought of it like that, but yes."

"Is Brex short for anything else?"

"I have no idea." Ames glanced around to seek out Laura and found her still sitting in the back of the ambulance. "Laura can answer that better than me."

"Is she your girlfriend, Mr. Carson?"

"I want her to be." They'd certainly done their share of kissing before the fuel tank had started leaking like a spaghetti strainer.

"Pardon the personal line of questioning, but did Miss Lee turn down the offer to date you, sir? Even seemingly unimportant details might matter in a case like this."

"I haven't asked her yet." Ames was feeling reckless enough to do exactly that right now. "But if you want to stick around..."

The officer's lips twitched. "After the way you landed that plane back there, I'm liking your chances, sir. I'll return you to Miss Lee now."

They rejoined Laura and the second detective. He hopped down from the back of the ambulance as they approached.

"Laura, darling," Ames called to her, grinning like an idiot. "The detective wants to know if you're gonna turn down the opportunity to become my girlfriend."

She blushed. "Are you sure you're ready to be more than friends?"

"I am." He took a running leap and hopped into the back of the ambulance to slide onto the bench beside her. Though he knew she was teasing, he was anxious to hear her answer. "So, will you?"

"Will I what?" Though her eyes misted with happy tears, she clearly wasn't going to make this easy on him.

"Will you be my girl?" He gazed at her with his heart in his eyes.

"You know I will." She launched herself into his arms.

As he drew her close, he shot a triumphant look at the officers. "I reckon that's one question you can cross of your list."

The two men chuckled through the remaining part of taking their statements and quickly ended the interview.

Laura gazed around them curiously. "I know this may be a dumb question, but where are we?"

"Tucson," he supplied. "A little over a hundred miles from Pinetop."

"Oh, wow!" She flicked a glance at her cell phone. "And it's not even midnight yet."

Which begged the question of what they were going to do next. "We can either crash in a hotel for the night or have one of my brothers come pick us up. Your choice."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Don't you want to stick around and deal with the repairs on your plane?"

"I wouldn't mind doing that, but if you'd rather get back home?—"

"Not at all," she assured quickly. "The most important thing is that we're safe. We'll figure the rest of this out tomorrow, okay?"

He dipped his head closer to give her a lingering kiss. "Where have you have been all my life?" She was so perfect for him.

"In too many cities and towns to count." She kissed him back. "I'm just glad my twisty turny path led me to you." Her voice grew dreamy.

"I love you, Laura." It felt like the right moment, so he hoped he wasn't blowing anything by laying the L word on her this soon.

"I love you, too, Ames."

The way her dark gaze grew all soft and melty told him the timing of his confession had been exactly right. Plus, she'd said it back. It didn't get any better than that.

It was another thirty minutes or so before a shuttle van arrived to take them to the pair of hotel rooms he'd managed to reserve over the phone. He helped carry her suitcases to her room and lingered outside her doorway.

"Do you want to join me for coffee or something after you get settled in?" He was still way too wound up to sleep.

"Absolutely!" She reached over to tangle her fingers with his. "I just need to call home first." She glanced laughingly down at her elf costume. "And finally change out of this. The detective who had me cornered in the ambulance asked some very interesting questions about my dress and striped stockings."

"I can only imagine." He shook his head. "If he was half as thorough in his questions as the detective who was grilling me…"

She smiled. "You got the full-blown interrogation, too?"

"Kind of felt that way." He leaned closer to touch his mouth to hers again. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He rolled his single carryon to the room next door. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he dialed his youngest brother.

Flint picked up on the first ring. "Is this the human version of you or the angelic version?"

"Ha. Ha."

Flint put him on speakerphone, and Nash's voice boomed across the line. "There's no such thing as an angelic version of him. You know that." His voice cracked with emotion as he added, "Man! We've never been so glad to hear from you!"

"Right back atcha." Ames was feeling a little emotional himself.

"Any injuries?"

"Nope."

"What about Laura?"

"Again, nope." He was anxious to share his other good news. "It's official now. We're dating."

Flint gave a whoop of delight. "Ol' Brex is probably gonna expire when he finds out. You should've seen him tonight after you left the float. He came looking for her. Not sure why. But when Lucy informed him she was on her way to Dallas, he hit the ground and started hacking up body organs."

"He did what?" Suspicion shot through Ames as he recalled the police detective's questions from earlier.

"Had some sort of meltdown. I don't know what else to call it." Flint didn't sound too worried about it. "When Lucy tried to help him, he jumped up and ran off."

"Strange." Ames plopped down on his hotel bed. "You want to know what else is strange? A pair of police detectives in Tucson claim there's evidence of foul play. They're saying the fuel tank on the jet was tampered with. I'm hoping to find out more tomorrow."

A moment of shocked silence followed his revelation.

"Where are you now?" Nash sounded troubled.

"Laura and I checked into a hotel here in town. Why?"

"Want us to head down there tonight?"

"Nah, that's okay. Best to get a good night's sleep first." Ames hated putting his brothers on the road for no good reason. It wasn't as if the plane would be able to undergo any repairs before tomorrow.

"Dude!" Flint finally rejoined the conversation. "Someone tried to kill you! Probably Brex, from the way he was acting."

"From the way he was acting," Ames repeated slowly, "I'm thinking he might've been trying to take me out, but not her. Think about it. He'd have no reason to assume she'd be on that airplane. However, he was very much aware that I'd be flying out tonight." He'd all but forgotten that detail until just now. "Laura and I ran into him at the Gingerbread House during lunch, and he didn't act too thrilled about seeing us together. Then, out of the blue, he wished me a safe trip back to Dallas. Not sure how he even knew I was headed out of town, but there you have it."

"I'm thinking you need to repeat word for word what you just told us to the sheriff." Nash's voice was firm.

"I intend to," Ames assured. "It's possible we're reading things into this that aren't there, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

He and Laura had almost died tonight. Whoever was behind the tampering had taken things to a deadly level. They needed to be apprehended and brought to justice before they tried to do any more harm.

Sheriff Dean Skeltonstrolled through the craft fair at the Pinetop Civic Center the next morning, waving at everyone who called out a howdy. He dutifully paused to sample the many jams, cookies, and crackers loaded with dip that they thrust beneath his nose. Though he was on the clock, he was enjoying himself. Patrolling the festive streets and buildings of his hometown was the fun part of his job.

Questioning a suspected felon was not. However, he owed it to the kind citizens who'd voted him into office to do everything he could to eliminate the growing crime rate in their town. It was a real shame about that jewelry heist and the series of petty thefts that had followed. It was like having a virus growing in their midst. Nothing like this had ever plagued Pinetop before. Some of the shop owners were blaming it on the all-time high number of visitors and tourists.

He wasn't convinced that was the case. If all they were dealing with was a little shoplifting, then sure. He might've agreed. But vandalizing an airplane was more than a crime of opportunity. It was personal and vindictive. It additionally had all the earmarks of being premeditated. He wasn't going to rest until he found out who'd done it.

He rounded the corner of the first line of craft booths with a full stomach, relieved to be leaving behind most of the food vendors. Strolling up the next row brought his target into sight. Though he didn't have any grounds for bringing Brex Morrison into the station for questioning, there was no law against approaching the gypsy craftsman in a public place and striking up a conversation.

Brex was engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument with a man Dean didn't recognize. The fellow was dressed similar to Brex — lots of beads, scarves, and layers. He was older than Brex by a good fifteen or twenty years, paunchier around the middle, and several decibels louder.

Despite Brex's hand waving attempts to coax the guy's volume to a more moderate level, he continued to bluster.

"I got every right to sell my candles and soaps at your booth. You owe me, and you know it!" The burly fellow proceeded to sweep an arm across the edge of Brex's table, sending one of his snowman nutcrackers flying. The tall snowman bounced to the floor with a cracking sound. His hat rolled off, and one of his twiggy arms snapped in two.

"Gentlemen!" Sheriff Skelton hurried forward to intervene. "What's going on?" Though he wasn't the least bit happy about someone creating a scene in the middle of the craft fair, the incident was providing the perfect excuse to get closer to his target.

The burly stranger whirled in his direction. "This is a private matter," he growled. As his gaze fell on the sheriff's badge, however, he seemed to deflate. "Sorry for the noise, sir." He held up his hands in surrender. "We'll try to keep it down."

"I don't believe we've met before." The sheriff placed his hands on his hips, facing the guy squarely. "Normally this many days into a craft fair, you don't see any new faces on the vendor side of things."

The large fellow ducked his head. "I was supposed to be here a few days ago, but I got delayed."

As far as Dean was concerned, that was a poor excuse for coming into the Civic Center and creating such a ruckus. No way was he letting the guy off the hook that easily. "I'm Sheriff Dean Skelton, and you are?" He held out a hand.

"Trent." The man hesitated before grudgingly shaking the sheriff's hand. He quickly let it go.

"You got a last name, Trent?" The sheriff boomed out the question in a cheerful voice. From experience, he'd learned to keep folks off guard in order to extract the maximum amount of information. He also didn't mind creating a bit of a scene, so there'd be plenty of witnesses to their conversation.

"Yeah, er, it's Burgess." Trent spared him a sullen what's-it-to-you look.

"Burgess," the sheriff repeated. "Now why does that sound so familiar? Oh, right!" He slapped his thigh so loudly that he made the guy jump. "We had a wrangler by the name of Oak Burgess working down at Castellano's for a while." Unfortunately, he'd quit his job without notice the same night he'd cinched Ames Carson's bronco too tight. "You any relation to him?" He continued to speak loudly, drawing every bit as much attention to Brex's booth as Trent Burgess had earlier. It was satisfying giving him a taste of his own medicine.

The man nodded sheepishly. "He's my kid. A bit of a klutz like his old man, but he has a good heart."

Dean wasn't ready to swallow the klutz explanation. Not for a second. The broken snowman on the floor was no casualty of a simple case of klutziness. He knew what he'd seen.

He eyed Brex Morrison as he squatted down to gather the pieces of the damaged nutcracker. "How about you just give me a quick look at your Pinetop vendor license, sir? Then I'll be on my way."

He could tell by the man's startled blink that he'd caught him off guard again. "Well, now, officer," Trent Burgess cajoled. "What Brex Morrison and I have between us is more of a gentleman's handshake."

Meaning he didn't have a legitimate reason for displaying his products in Pinetop. "Mr. Burgess, as one professional to another, I'm sure you can understand why we require more than a handshake to participate in our craft fair." He infused a hearty mix of kindness and firmness into his voice. "If you'll just follow me to the registration table, I'm sure we can make your vendor status more official in two snaps." After you show your proper ID and after you pay your fee, of course. "Our event coordinators will be happy to get you set up with your own table and everything."

Trent Burgess turned a dull red. His jaw tightened, and a vein ticked in his neck. He probably knew it was no mistake that Dean's hand was resting on the handgun tucked in his holster.

"That won't be necessary, sir." He spat out his words like bullets. Yanking a knobby satchel off the floor and tossing it over his shoulder, he stepped away from Brex's booth and stomped angrily up the aisle.

Normally, Dean would've gone after him to make sure he left the building. However, Trent Burgess had made a big enough scene that there were probably enough eyes on him to ensure that happened.

Dean hung back, instead, to address the fellow he'd actually come looking for. "You alright there, Mr. ah…?" He leaned over Brex's table, pretending to get a closer look at his name tag. "Morrison."

Brex gave him a weak nod, not quite meeting his eye.

"Though we haven't formally met, I'm sure you heard me introduce myself to Mr. Burgess. So I'll get right to the point. Would you like to press charges against him?"

Brex blinked in surprise. No small amount of horror bloomed in his expression. "No way! You heard him. It was an accident."

Dean studied the gypsy craftsman thoughtfully, more than a little surprised by his response. It was as if he was afraid of the other guy. Or at least intimidated.

He tried a different tactic. "Sorry about the damage to your products." He angled his head at the broken nutcracker.

Brex gave a strained chuckle. "It happens more often than you'd think. You know…with all the kids running around and such."

"I'm sorry to hear it, Mr. Morrison, especially after the rough evening you had yesterday."

Brex's swarthy features paled. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, sir."

"Of course you aren't." Dean slapped a hand against his forehead. "Here I am yammering on and on without explaining myself." He pinned him with a bland look. "Here's what's going on. Someone reported a guy meeting your description to the medical team last night. I'm here to apologize that our paramedics failed to make it to you before you left the event. I'm also here to ensure that you're alright."

A wave of heat chased away the pallor of Brex's features. "Oh, yeah. Perfectly alright."

"Are you sure?" Dean frowned. "I heard you fell to the ground and experienced something like a seizure."

Brex stared at him for a few seconds before giving another affected laugh. "I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, but I'd just found out that the woman I care for is dating someone else." He waved a hand dismissively. "We used to date. I was hoping to reconcile. Guess that ship has sailed." Two angry red spots appeared on his cheeks.

Used to date? Well, that was one way of describing a broken engagement. "Sorry to hear it, Mr. Morrison." That might be stretching the truth a little, but Dean was doing everything he could to increase his chances of extracting information. He started to turn away, purposely making it look like he was preparing to leave. Then he abruptly spun back in Brex's direction. "Any chance you have a pilot's license?"

Brex gaped at him. "Come again, sir?"

"A pilot's license. Do you have one?"

"No." Brex shifted nervously from one foot to the next. "Why?"

The sheriff took his time responding, rocking back on his heels to let the guy stew in his juice for a bit. "I don't normally discuss an ongoing case," he drawled, "but there was an incident at the hangar last night."

Brex continued to look uncertain. "I'm not following you, sir."

Oh, I think you are, Mr. Morrison. "Someone roughly meeting your description was witnessed coming out of the hangar." He didn't specify when, purposely keeping his fictitious story vague. "As it turns out, a fuel tank on one of the planes was tampered with."

The gypsy vendor's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "That's impossible," he rasped.

"What's impossible, Mr. Morrison?"

"About anyone seeing me near the hangar. I've never been there. I'm not even sure how to get there." Though his words rang with sincerity, his body language suggested that he might know something about the tampering incident. Something he wasn't being very forthcoming about.

"Guess that clears your name." Dean cheerfully tipped the visor of his service cap at him. "It's always nice getting to cross another name off my list of suspects." He was doing nothing of the sort since his gut told him Brex Morrison was very much involved. Dean would just have to do a little more digging into the man's background to determine the link between him and Trent Burgess. And maybe to Trent's son, Oak.

Unfortunately, there were no security cameras mounted in the remote mountain hangar, so there was no documented evidence of who'd tinkered with the compromised airplane. The owners of the hangar had already assured him that was about to change.

He moseyed his way back to his patrol car and put in a call to the next person on his list.

Laura Lee answered right away. "Hello?" Her voice sounded hesitant.

"Thank you for taking my call, ma'am." Dean knew a lot of folks were uncomfortable with giving information out over the phone, so he got right to the point. "This is Sheriff Dean Skelton from Pinetop, trying to get to the bottom of what happened to the Carson brothers' plane last night. Are you rested up enough after your part in the ordeal to answer a few questions?"

"I am, sir." She sounded relieved to hear from him. "I'll do anything I can to help with the case."

"Wasn't your inclusion in the trip to Dallas a bit on the last-minute side?" He was still piecing together the whole story.

"It was, sir." Her voice grew breathless. "Ames Carson and I have been close friends for about a year. Yesterday, we started dating."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir. Anyhow, his invitation to visit his ranch in Dallas was part of that, I think."

"Part of what exactly, ma'am?"

"Getting to know him better. Seeing a Texas cowboy in his own environment, so to speak…" Her voice dwindled. "I'm not sure if you've heard yet, but the Carsons are moving back to Dallas soon."

"Oh?" No, he hadn't heard.

"Yes, which means we're about to be in a long-distance relationship." Her tone changed. "Sorry for rambling. I know that's not why you called."

"Actually, I think your relationship with Ames Carson might very much be a part of what's going on here, ma'am."

"What do you mean?" She sounded stressed.

"I had a chat with Mr. Brex Morrison this morning. He suffered some sort of breakdown last night after hearing you were flying with Mr. Carson to Dallas. He reportedly fell to the ground and experienced something like a seizure."

She gasped. "That sounds a little extreme. Especially since he and I broke up more than a year ago."

"Apparently, he still cares for you, Miss Lee."

"Regardless, I've given him no reason to hope we'll ever be getting back together," she protested. "It's over between us."

"The only point I'm getting at, Miss Lee, is that Mr. Morrison doesn't appear to want you dead."

A bleating sound escaped her. "That makes two of us, sheriff."

He smiled without humor. "The other point I'm getting at is that he might've been privy to the fact that the plane you were on was going to experience mechanical difficulties. Hence his extreme response to the news that you were unexpectedly on board."

She blew out a breath. "That's a lot to wrap my brain around."

"Are you acquainted with a man by the name of Mr. Trent Burgess?"

She was silent for a moment, clearly caught off guard by his rapid change of subject. "I am. We aren't close friends or anything, but my family is acquainted with him. He was part of the same group of craftsmen we traveled with for years. They think of themselves as modern day gypsies. We moved from town to town, selling our products at vendor fairs across the country."

"Until your family made a name for yourselves in the toy making industry and cut ties with the old crew, eh?"

"Oh, it was nothing like cutting ties," she assured quickly. "We're still friends with a lot of them. But I guess you could say we finally broke free."

He was more curious than ever. "Free from what, Miss Lee?"

"The cycle of poverty." She sounded sad. "Though the gypsy craftsmen are like one big family, it's a very poor family. No guaranteed income. No health insurance. No retirement. Nothing but hard work, day after day after day. Every friend you make, you leave behind. You're always a newcomer in town and a short-termer. You have no roots. It's a hard life, sheriff, one I don't miss."

"Well, it's a family that may be missing you, as demonstrated by the way they keep popping up all over Pinetop. First Brex, then Oak, and now Trent."

"I see what you're saying, sir." Laura Lee sounded uncomfortable.

"What could they possibly want from you, Miss Lee? Or from Pinetop, for that matter?"

She was silent for so long that he was worried she might be done talking.

He was wrong.

"Sheriff Skelton, I'd like to share something with you, preferably off the record."

"I'm listening." He was making no other promises. There were too many important things at stake.

"Brex Morrison is more or less coat tailing off my family's success in the toy making business. The snowman nutcrackers he's currently selling were originally my design. He stole the plans from me and started making them without my knowledge or permission. Ames Carson found out about it and wanted to report him to the vendor oversight committee to get him permanently banned from selling his products in Pinetop. I asked Ames to hold off reporting Brex, only because I happened to be aware that Brex is using the money to pay his grandparents' nursing home bills."

Intrigue rippled through the sheriff the way it always did when he knew he was close to unraveling a case. "Have you ever met Mr. Morrison's grandparents, Miss Lee?"

"No, sir."

Probably because they don't exist. He couldn't wait to start digging into the whereabouts of the grandparents. Maybe his search would finally lead to something that would connect the seemingly unrelated crimes peppering his once peaceful hometown.

"It's possible my parents met them at some point," Laura Lee offered after a pause. "I could ask them."

"How about I do it?"

"If that's what you prefer, sir."

It most definitely was. "Thank you for your time, Miss Lee. I appreciate your cooperation with the investigation."

"Of course! If there's anything else I can help with, just let me know." She sounded like a woman with nothing to hide. She certainly had plenty to lose, though, if the crime spree sweeping its way through Pinetop was allowed to continue.

They all did.