Wings in the Dark (6 page)

I'd guessed it, but I didn't have to like it.

He led me back to his assistant. “William, go with Mr. Donovan.”

“Go where, Mr. Putnam?”

The kid deserved an explanation. “Son, your boss wants you to come with my wife and me while we investigate the murder.” I gestured toward the corpse.

William gasped. “What? I don't…I mean…how can I…”

Putnam didn't notice, or didn't care about, his secretary's concerns. “One more thing, Donovan. In case you're right and Amelia might've been the target, I'd appreciate you taking her back to our hotel.”

“She'd be safer in a patrol car.”

Putnam rolled his eyes. “And a nosy reporter gets a front-page picture. No thanks.”

As if I had any choice. “Come on, kid.”

I checked my watch again. My time was up, and the investigation into the murder of Hank Kalua was about to begin. Problem was, I had no idea where to start.

A soft breeze stirred the trees growing beside the hangar as Laura as I stepped outside and waited for William and Amelia.

Trying to remain calm about Putnam using his influence against my publisher, I took a deep breath and gazed at the bright stars overhead. In the space of two hours, our carefree, romantic honeymoon had come to an end. Now Laura and I were involved in something I never would've imagined, investigating the murder of a prominent local businessman and hopefully removing suspicions police might have about America's sweetheart, Amelia Earhart.

The movie star waiting beside me was no stranger to investigations. Years ago when Mickey and I opened our detective agency, Laura was struggling to catch a break on Broadway. She helped out around the office and made sure clients paid for our services.

As business picked up, her duties expanded to helping out with a few investigations, mostly involving cheating spouses or people who didn't show up in court. Her acting ability and good looks came in handy more times than I could count and, at her insistence, I showed her how to handle a gun. She'd proved her courage and skill with a handgun more than once, but a murder investigation was different and often dangerous. Murderers possessed two traits that kept me up at nights: they'd demonstrated they were capable of taking a life and they used that capability to keep from being caught.

Laura's career as an investigator ended when she landed her first Broadway lead. By that time, I'd started my first novel.

A few years ago, when I was in Florida, Laura helped Mickey out on a case that ultimately took his life. When I returned to New York, I got involved and took a bullet in the leg, but Laura somehow escaped unscathed. Still, I wouldn't endanger her life for Amelia Earhart, George Putnam, or my career, if I didn't have to.

I considered suggesting she stay at the hotel with Amelia until morning while I pounded the pavement, but she'd never go for it.

As we waited, I couldn't shake the possibility Amelia might've been the target all along and Kalua had interrupted the plans and got shot for his trouble. But that didn't explain why he showed up at the hangar at night. With Amelia's transpacific flight scheduled in three days, how had her chief promoter ended up dead alongside her plane?

Laura's instincts often turned out more accurate than mine. We moved out of earshot of the young cop guarding the hangar entrance, and she outlined two possible motives. One, someone wanted to derail Amelia Earhart's career by making her a suspect in the murder of one of her promoters. Two, a rival aviator was trying to stop Amelia's flight, like Fanny Chandler or someone else whose name we'd yet to learn.

I shared the possibility that Amelia was the intended target, then suggested Laura wait back at the hotel with Amelia.

Laura's eyes widened. “We need to get the police to offer her protection. Why don't you take this up with Tanaka?”

“You think he'd listen to my suggestion?”

I was impatient to get started, but inside the hangar, Amelia and her husband appeared to be dictating to William, who was frantically scribbling on a notepad.

I glanced toward the black Cadillac. The bored-looking cop was smoking a cigarette, a half-dozen butts at his feet. “Does the Caddy seem out of place to you?”

“I bet it's Kalua's. Want a peek inside?”

I doubted if I'd get anywhere near the car.

Laura winked. “Honeylamb, are my seams straight?” She turned her back to me and lifted the hem of her skirt.

The officer's cigarette almost dropped from his mouth. My wife had fabulous legs, I'd come to know and appreciate over the years. One of those trashy movie magazines even ran a story about them.

“Perfect, dollface.”

Laura checked inside her purse then stepped toward the cop. “Officer, I was wondering if you could spare an extra cigarette. My date doesn't smoke.”

The cop practically snapped to attention. He slipped a pack of Camels from his pocket and offered her one. She hated cigarettes and only smoked when a role called for it.

She remained where she was and held the cigarette between her fingers.

The cop pulled a lighter from his trousers and lit her cigarette.

I calmly walked to the passenger side of the car. The cop wouldn't notice me if I were wearing a clown suit.

Laura feigned interest in his career while I checked the door. It was locked. Damn.

The car looked clean as a whistle inside, except for a business card on the dashboard with Kalua's name and an office address. I pulled a piece of paper from my wallet and jotted down the location then flashed Laura a thumbs-up.

She crushed her half-smoked cigarette and coughed. “Thanks, Officer.”

He tipped his cap. “It was a pleasure, Miss…”

She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers, showing off her diamond. “Mrs.”

As we walked away, a blue Model A belching smoke skidded to a stop in the lot. The reporter Hunter Conway jumped out and hurried toward the open hangar. He ran past us then slid to a halt. “Miss Wilson, Mr. Donovan. I got a report of a shooting next to Amelia Earhart's plane. What are you doing here?”

Within hours, reporters would climb all over this case. It was our luck this guy was the first.

To my surprise, Laura deferred to me.

“I received a call from George Putnam, an old publishing buddy. He asked me to come down and take a look at the crime scene.”

Conway cocked his head. “So, you're investigating the shooting?”

I held up both hands. “Nothing to investigate. Looks like suicide to me.”

“Suicide?”

If Conway had been at a crime desk, he would have crossed paths with Tanaka. “You're probably wasting your time but check with the lead detective. His name is Tanaka. You'll want to talk to him.”

Conway let out a grown. “If Tanaka's involved, he won't speak to me.”

“Like I said, it's a suicide.”

Even Laura's acting ability couldn't hide the smile that threatened to turn into laughter.

At the front of the hangar, William, in his three-piece suit, and Amelia finally appeared. When Amelia saw us talking to Conway, it was like she sensed his occupation. She pulled a New York Giants cap from her pocket and set it on her head, tucking her hair inside. She tugged the bill of the cap over her face.

Giants? Didn't anyone root for the Yankees anymore?

The reporter removed his fedora and scratched his head. “You know anything about the deceased?”

I shook my head. “I hope he's a lawyer.”

I pointed out the cop who liked Laura's gams. “That man is a wealth of information.”

“Thanks.” Hat in hand, Conway hurried to the black Cadillac.

As we reached the Olds, the kid looked like someone about to attend his own funeral.

I nodded to Laura. “Why don't you and Amelia wait in the car a second?”

I led the kid away from the Olds. Since he was coming along, I had to find out if I could trust him. “You smoke?”

He shook his head.

“Drink?”

“I'm not quite twenty.”

“You might want to start.” I waited for him to laugh or at least smile, but it never happened. I had a lot of work to do. “Putnam calls you William. What do your friends at Yale call you?”

He cocked his head. “I don't have that many friends at school, but when I was a kid, everyone called me Billy.”

“Billy it is.”

His voice trembled. “Mr. Donovan, I don't think I can be much help.”

I took another look. He was young and wiry. I bet he could be tougher if someone took the time to show him how. “Just stay out of the way. I expect the rest of the night will be strictly routine. You'll probably be bored. These types of things often require long hours of stakeouts or digging through people's trash, that sort of thing.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought investigating a murder might be dangerous.”

“Naah. Just in the movies.” I couldn't tell him the truth. I led him to the car and opened the back door.

Billy sat beside Amelia, who glanced back at the hangar, clearly impatient to leave.

I smiled when I glanced toward the open door, where the reporter was trying to talk the cop into letting him inside.

The starter coughed for several seconds. I slapped the steering wheel, as if that would do some good. Mikayla's damn car wouldn't start.

“Mr. Donovan.” Billy leaned forward from the backseat. “Pump the gas a couple of times to prime the engine. Oldsmobile carburetors aren't as good as Ford's. They need a little help, especially in humid climates.”

“Really?” What did this kid know? He was barely old enough to drive. To humor him, I pumped the pedal and tried again. The engine caught right away, but smoke again billowed from the tailpipe.

Amelia smiled. “She coughs like my first plane.”

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “It's a rental.”

We drove away from Wheeler Field. I couldn't wait to drop Amelia off. “Where are you staying?”

Amelia's forehead wrinkled. “You're not taking me back to the hotel.”

“Where am I taking you?”

“I'm going to help you and Laura find out who killed Hank Kalua. You're not going to risk your lives without me doing the same.”

“Risk our lives?” Billy wheezed.

I wasn't going to back down, even if she was Amelia Earhart. “You're not coming with us. This could be dangerous work. There's a killer out there who doesn't want to be found. He has a gun, fired three bullets—one dead center in Kalua's back, then a bullet to his head to make sure the job was finished—and got away without anyone spotting him.”

“But…but…” Billy stammered. “Mr. Donovan, you said it'd be routine and boring. Do you really think it might be dangerous?”

I told the truth for Amelia's benefit. “Sure. Murderers don't take kindly to being apprehended, especially by a group of amateurs.”

It was bad enough I had to take a kid along, but I wouldn't put Amelia Earhart in harm's way. “I'll drive you to your hotel or back to the hangar.”

Amelia crossed her arms. “I got you two into this mess when I let George convince me to call you for help. Besides, I know Kalua and his associates and can save you a lot of time. And time is of the essence, right?”

Laura leaned forward. “Jake, maybe Amelia would be safer with us.”

“Safer?” Amelia raised one eyebrow. “Why would I not be safe?”

“Safer?” Billy echoed with a high-pitched chirp.

Amelia nodded. “I get it. You think the killer might've targeted me.”

Laura tried to assure her friend. “We have to consider the possibility.”

Amelia shrugged. “You're suggesting the killer followed me to the hangar and waited around until everyone else left. When Mr. Kalua arrived, he interrupted the shooter's plans, so the shooter shot him.”

That was just one of many possibilities.

“Laura's right. I'm safer with you two.” She patted Billy's leg. “You three.”

Billy rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “Would you pull over? Please!”

I yanked the wheel and stopped on the shoulder of the road.

Laura patted my hand. “Don't make him feel bad. He's just a kid.”

“Son of a bitch!” I got out stood beside the back bumper.

Behind the car, Billy was retching into a clump of grass at the side of the road. I waited until he finished.

When he straightened up, I tossed him a handkerchief. He wiped strings of vomit from his mouth and handed the handkerchief back.

“Keep it.”

Billy stuffed the cloth into his pocket. “I'm sorry, Mr. Donovan. I just…that talk about danger. I'm only a student and a secretary.”

I handed him a stick of gum. I felt bad for the kid. He didn't want to come along any more than I wanted him to be there, but at this point, we were both working for George Putnam. “All that talk about danger was to get Amelia to go back to the hotel. I laid it on pretty thick.”

He cocked his head, trying to figure whether I was blowing smoke. “You're not just saying that?”

“You think I'd let my wife come along if there was any chance we'd encounter trouble?”

“No, I guess not.” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “I'll be all right.”

I gestured toward the car.

When I climbed in, I tried again to get Amelia to go home. “I promised George I'd take you back to your hotel.”

Amelia scoffed. “And you have to keep your promise or it will jeopardize your friendship?”

Laura stifled a chuckle.

At a traffic light, Amelia met my gaze in the mirror. “I understand what's going on back there. Detective Tanaka thinks I killed Kalua and hid the gun. It's my life, my career that's in jeopardy.”

In the backseat, Billy cleared his throat. “Mr. Donovan, logically, I think Miss Earhart's right. Don't forget she knows a lot more about the deceased than you do.”

I turned and shot him a look. Traitor.

It was time to set Amelia straight. I pulled to the side of the road again and kept the engine running. “Laura and I will do what we can to get you out of a jam, but if your husband hadn't put the squeeze on my publisher to get them to pressure me, Laura and I would be back at the Mambo Club sipping champagne.”

“But you're not. You're investigating the murder, and I can help.”

I wasn't going to back down. “Laura and I can handle ourselves if things get dicey. If something happens to you, the papers will be all over it. We would take the heat. How do you think our careers would play out?”

Amelia seemed to be weakening. She let out a long sigh. “I suppose you're right.”

“We play it safe because you're along, and we'll be less likely to find out what happened back there.”