Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) (6 page)

“Max…! Max…!  What’s wrong with you?” Maggie was asking, as she shook him by the shoulder.  "Are you okay? You look like you’re spaced out or something.”  With that, Maggie beckoned to a waitress and ordered a black coffee for Max and a regular with cream for herself.

“Maggie, where did you go?” he asked. “I couldn’t see you, and there were so many people milling around like they were getting ready for some sort of ceremony.”

“I don’t know but I think there is something wrong with the second martinis,” she responded. “I didn’t try mine yet, and I don’t think I will,” she added.  While Max sipped his black coffee, she signaled for their check.  After paying the bill with the Canadian bills Max handed to her, they left the Red Café.  On slightly wobbly legs as Maggie held his arm, Max and she made it back to the parked Land Rover.  Maggie drove while Max manned the map as they made their way, with little conversation other than directional information, back to the bungalow on the river island.

The river waters, at high tide level, could be heard lapping at the edge of the unlighted causeway surface as Maggie drove the SUV toward their destination. She steered up onto the garage apron and continued into the garage as the automatic activator opened the door, and then closed it behind them.

Another cup of coffee brought Max back to grips with his situation with a banging headache. Maggie had suppressed her nervousness up until then but now, seeing Max as normal, she let loose with a tirade of obscenities, extremely agitated but not knowing at whom, or at what.

“What in the hell is going on, Max? I didn’t have any of that second martini because I was scared to death being in that strange place and with you looking like you were high on some bad dope, or something! All I got was the usual little buzz from the one drink.”

“I don’t know, Mag. I only had a couple of sips of the second round. It could have been the food for all I know, but one thing is for sure; I feel like shit and I’m going to puke!”  Max gurgled as he got off the counter stool and rushed into the half-bathroom in the nearby hallway. Shortly thereafter, Max, pale and looking tired, decided that he would take a shower and turn in for the night.

“Let’s hope tomorrow will be a better day, Maggie,” he said, grimly.

A bright Saturday dawned over the rolling hills and calm waters of Nova Scotia Bay and Max arose to the smell of fresh coffee brewing along with the sound of bacon sizzling.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Maggie said, as Max strolled into the breakfast area. “How are you feeling after a rough night?” she asked.

“Better, but not wiser,” he retorted regrettably. I haven’t gotten that whacked since my first pass into town after seven weeks of combat training. I was a lot younger then and passed it off as being naive. I can’t use that as an excuse now, though.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Max,” she said soothingly. “I would probably have been right along with you if I hadn’t gone to the ladies’ room. Which brings up the question, why would anyone have the motive to dope our drinks in a supposedly respectable restaurant like that?”

With questions on both of their minds, the couple showered, dressed and proceeded out to start the formal inspection of the Bickford Laboratory. While driving to the property, Max was trying to rationalize whether there was any connection with the events of the previous evening and the up-coming inspection.

“Do you think anyone would have a reason to side-track the purchase?” Maggie queried.

“Not that I know of, but, if it turns out that way, I’ll have a few questions for those back at USAP as to why we weren’t advised of it,” Max stated resolutely.

There were two cars and a motorcycle in the parking lot when the inspectors arrived at the laboratory site.  Max gathered his measuring equipment and camera while Maggie set up a voice recorder.  A uniformed watchman (not Howard) let them in and suggested a guided tour but Max explained about their pre-inspection trip the evening before. He and Maggie went about the measuring and checklist completion with Max dictating and taking pictures as Maggie held the recorder. Working as a team it went faster than usual. In the lunch room area, a supposed employee introduced himself as Harrison Bickford, a nephew of the deceased Partner. He was a marine biology student at a downtown college. He lived with his mother. She was a sister of the widowed woman who had been married to another deceased Bickford brother. Harrison worked at the lab part time.

Having completed the interior inspection, Max and Maggie measured and took pictures of the exterior of the structure.  As Max dictated his final observations into the recorder, a portly gentleman approached them, introducing himself to Maggie as a board member of a local lending institution.  He was leaving as he met Max, shook hands with him and was on his way.

“Well, you two had an involved conversation, it seems,” Max kidded with Maggie.

“You know how we financial people are Max, we love to talk about money,” she said with a laugh. “I did get some questions about where we dined last night.”

“Was there any discussion as to why he was here? Max asked.

Maggie told Max that the financier avoided any discussion concerning his involvement with the Bickford property, or the business, and she had no ready reason to pursue it. Max understood, but asked how the subject of the restaurant came about.  Maggie wasn’t sure as to exactly how, but as a member of a local commerce committee, perhaps his interest was in whether she and Max had seen much of the city, and what their impression was.

With the physical inspection completed, the two travelers went on their way. During the drive back to the bungalow Maggie asked Max if he had enough information to give the Partners a market value estimate of the laboratory.  Max explained that he had to research the commercial and industrial real estate data pertaining to the general location of the laboratory, which he would assemble through his contacts within the international real estate appraisal associations, and apply the applicable specifics to the subject property. The resulting analysis would provide him with a value, in Canadian dollars which could be translated to the current equivalent in American currency. That process would be done from his USAP office.

“So, are we done with the assignment here?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, that’s about it Mag,” he replied. “We could explore the Island a bit if you’d like, but I’ve got another idea,” he hinted with a mischievous look. “Let’s pack up and I’ll fill you in.”

They had reached the river island at that point. With the SUV parked back in the garage, they went into the bungalow to have some lunch and discuss Max’s plan.

Max had gotten the information that he needed which finalized the need for him to be in Nova Scotia. He and Maggie had also experienced some excitement, which neither of them had bargained for, but that was a matter to be discussed at a later time and place. His suggestion to Maggie, while they lunched on micro-wave-heated frozen pizza that Maggie prepared, was to stow their gear in the Beaver floatplane and fly south to coastal Maine. There, they could finish their weekend getaway exploring the ‘down east coast’.

“That sounds like a capital idea to me Max,” she responded. “I’m still a little unsettled over what happened last night, I don’t know about you.”

“My feelings, exactly,” he agreed. “We’re here on an out-of-the-country, pre-arranged visit, and under pre-arranged conditions, with which I’m not that comfortable. The sooner we get back over the border, the better.”

Maggie washed the used dishes and utensils and packed their belongings while Max went out into the attached boathouse to ready the floatplane for flight.

A check of the flight systems analysis showed everything to be in order and remaining fuel for 30-40 minutes of flight time. At the inland end of the boathouse, Max found a fuel drum. He un-reeled the fuel hose to the front of the right wing and stepped up on a stepladder. With the spout inserted into the opened fuel receptacle, he went over to the drum and cranked out 20 gallons. He repeated this on the left fuel tank.

“Are we ready to load?” Maggie asked, as she walked in carrying their baggage.

“Yes ma’am, we are ready to roll. You can stow that gear while I release the tie ropes.”

Once Maggie was inside and settled, Max began the pre-flight procedures and, within six or seven minutes he instructed, “Buckle up, here we go.”

He activated the boathouse door opener, and once the vertical stabilizer of the Beaver C2 was clear of the overhead, he gave a running shove to the pontoon supports, and the floatplane drifted back and out into the daylight. Max jumped onto the left pontoon and stepped up into the pilot seat. The automatic boathouse door closed as the whining engine starter spun the propeller for three revolutions. Then, with ignition activated and throttle half open, it sputtered into a full roar. Blue-grey smoke blew past the pilot’s door as Max pulled it closed and locked.  As they taxied out on the river surface Max noted the wind direction on a marker buoy. He nosed the floatplane into the wind. Both he and Maggie were pressed back in their seats as they surged along the water and rose noisily, but smoothly, into the early afternoon air.

Flying in the reverse directions and altitudes of their arrival pattern, Max turned to a 250 degree heading and followed a route parallel to the coast. After 15 minutes of this, he climbed the floatplane to a 1500 ft. altitude.

“We should be over US waters now,” he said to Maggie over the radio intercom. Maggie nodded and gave a thumbs-up sign. Max was reassured as he looked through his side windscreen and noticed a US Coast Guard ‘Cutter’ with the familiar red, white and blue markings, trailed by a white wake, as it patrolled the ocean waters off the coast of Maine.

“
That’s a welcome sight,
” he said to himself as he turned the floatplane northwest. He keyed the intercom and told Maggie that they were going to stop off in Bar Harbor, Maine.

“Have you ever been there?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t, but I’ve always been curious about that area. It seems so quaint judging by the ‘down east’ jokes and stories that we hear,” Maggie answered. “I’m in the mood for a day or so of fun.”  Max glanced over and noticed a hint of that after-hours smile beginning around the corners of her mouth. The large earphones she was wearing over her wavy auburn hair, with the reflections of the sunlight shining up from the ocean surface, gave her a dashing, adventurous kind of look, he thought.

Max had climbed the Beaver C2 to 3000 ft. elevation after the turn toward Bar Harbor and the sight of the seaward islands off the Maine coast came into view.

“We have to look for an island shaped like the letter Y,” he directed. “That will direct us to the main portion of Bar Harbor. Then we fly due north to a point at the end of Main Street where we can set down and taxi up the inlet to a dock operated by Jacques, an old college buddy. We called him ‘Jock’ in school,” Max noted. “We can tie up there and get the rest of the aviation fuel that I need to get this plane back to USAP.”

“I left my car in Lyme, Connecticut, did you forget?” Maggie asked, incredulously.

“Of course not, I’ve got that covered. In the aft storage there’s a parachute you can use as I fly low over Lyme on the way back.” Max lectured with an all-business attitude in his voice. “Just make sure that you put your car keys in the jump-suit.”

For a few seconds, a stunned Maggie just stared at Max with an astounded and incredulous look on her face. Then she realized that he had caught her drifting along, thinking about the night before, and consumed with the drama and intrigue that Max had been living with since he joined the USAP Partnership.

“Max! You son-of-a-bitch! Here I am thinking about what you’ve been going through with all this spy bullshit! I’ve been going along with everything you asked because I thought it was pertinent to your job…” Maggie trailed off as she realized she had over-reacted a bit.

“Oh-oh, the radio mike was on. I hope nobody heard that,” he said. Then he broke out in a loud laugh that he couldn’t stifle any longer.

After reacting for a second or two Maggie looked at the radio switch and realized it was correctly on intercom. She twisted in her seat and gave Max a sharp punch on the shoulder.

“Whoa, easy there, I’m the only one here that can fly this plane,” he kidded.

“Well, I’m glad you’re getting back to being yourself,” Maggie said. “It’s about time you loosened up. I was actually considering how risky it would be for me to use a parachute, you jerk! You’re going to pay for that, big time.” Max just looked at her with a wide, goofy smile.

The tension over the prior two days had broken. Both Maggie and Max knew it was going to be a fun trip from this point on.

Max cut back on the throttle as they descended to 500 ft. and flew at that level until he saw the dock. The Beaver shuddered as the pontoons made contact on the choppy bay waters. As he taxied the floatplane toward the dock Max called his friend’s number on his cell phone.  ‘Hello’s were exchanged and Max gave a quick re-cap of where he was. Jock, who wasn’t at the dock, told Max he’d make a call and have the dock manager throw out some tie lines to secure the floatplane.  A floating dock along the north side of the main pier proved to be perfect as they were waved in and then hooked by the dock manager. After ten minutes of shutting down and tying up, Max and Maggie climbed up to the main dock and walked with George, the dock manager, into the office area.

Jock was unable to meet with them but recommended that they stay the night at the Bar Harbor Grand Hotel, and recommended ‘Jed’s Pub’ a ‘shabby-chic’ café nearby, where he would make a reservation for them.  Max described the plan outlined by Jock to Maggie and she nodded in agreement. With that, they thanked George and took their tote bags on the short walk to the Grand Hotel.

The recommendation from Jock proved to be a door-opener of great proportions at the hotel. Jock (Jacques) apparently had significant influence there. The ‘room’ Max and Maggie were given, for a minimal charge, turned out to be an extravagant suite at the penthouse level.

“He must know somebody here,” Max remarked, as they stood on the south facing balcony. “Look, there’s the Beaver,” he said, pointing down at the dock where they had moored.

“Don’t tell me that’s Nova Scotia,” Maggie said, pointing out over the bay to the southeast. Max wasn’t sure. The Nova Scotia main island was some 150 miles away.

Jed’s Pub was a perfect match for Maggie and Max. They enjoyed a leisurely dinner and both agreed that it was a major improvement over their weird experience in Nova Scotia. Max indicated that he had decided to ask for any input, relating to the previous evening’s ‘adventure’, that he might gain from his USAP crowd when he arrived back at headquarters.

The excellent recommendation they had gotten from Jock was surprising to Maggie but she realized that since he was a long-time friend of Max, he obviously chose of the type of place in which he would accommodate important people in his life. She placed Jock up near the top of the list of people she could get to like.

The atmosphere, the seafood dinner and the Martinis were all perfect, as was the remainder of the evening back at the penthouse suite at the Grand Hotel.

After a leisurely stroll around the scenic Maine seaport on Sunday morning, the ‘Max and Maggie tour’ was complete. They mutually agreed that it was time to pick up their laundered clothing items and check out of the hotel. Max texted a few words of appreciation to his friend Jock and they walked to the dock for the flight home. The fuel tanks on the floatplane had been topped off and Max settled the tab with the assistant dock manager. The take-off and flight back to Lyme was uneventful. Max did not disturb Maggie when he noticed that the drone of the engine had lulled her into a nap. He made a mental note however, to remind her for future reference, that sitting in the co-pilot’s seat of an airplane in flight was much different than riding in the front passenger seat in a car, and dozing was not recommended.

After taxiing to the river docking station, and before Maggie got out to retrieve her car, Max called Tweed Airport in New Haven to reserve an overnight docking spot at their now-operational float plane facility. The couple exchanged ‘bye-for-now’s with a plan for Maggie to pick Max up there. Driving off toward route I-95, she waved to Max from the car window as he lifted off from the river and banked the DHC2 in a southward turn. She had a feeling that he might be the first to reach their meeting point.