“Hello?” he called out. “Chuck?”
“Alden Knox,” came a voice from behind him, and he whirled, his heart hammering. He let out a breath when he saw it was Chuck in his jumpsuit.
“Damn it, Chuck, you scared me half to death.”
“That’s two days in a row you got a good scare, then,” Chuck said with a rough chuckle. “Though yesterday you were scared almost all the way to death.”
“Don’t remind me. Do you know what happened to the plane?”
“After the crash? They brought down a construction barge from up the river and used a crane to pick it up just after sunrise. Dropped it on a truck at the airport’s dock. Then a couple of NTSB people came and looked it over, and off it went.”
“Already?” Alden checked his adventure watch. “Ten thirty? I wanted to get a look at it. Maybe talk to the investigators.”
“They work pretty fast.” Chuck’s eyes twinkled.
Alden raised an eyebrow. “What do you know? Were you there?”
“Damn right I was there. I maintained that plane. There’s no way the engine just died on me. I wanted to see what they did when they got it ashore.”
Alden looked around, making sure they were alone. “Tell me how it went down.”
Chuck wandered out to him, past him, toward the big open doors of the hangar, and Alden followed. There were hangars on either side of this one, running down the length of the small airport. The tarmac spread out before them, wide open, the runway stretching toward the water.
A small plane—a Piper Cherokee, he thought—filled the air with its drone as it accelerated down the runway, lifting as it passed in front of them, the pitch of the engine dipping in that satisfying Doppler-effect shift as it soared out over the lagoon.
“Flying lesson,” Chuck said. “It takes some guts to do that the day after a crash.”
They stood there, watching the plane get smaller and smaller, birdsong replacing the growl of the engine as the Piper flew away. Small white clouds hung around in the blue, still waking up, waiting to fluff and puff and rain on someone.
“You’re killing me, Chuck. What did you see?” Alden was a pretty patient guy, usually. Patience worked for some sources. But he knew Chuck. And Alden had almost died yesterday. He had to know.
“They did a thorough inspection. I offered to help. Mostly they said no, but I made myself invaluable, and I was right there when they sampled the fuel.”
Alden swallowed. “What about the fuel?”
“Contaminated. I have no doubt. I could smell the jet fuel.”
“Jet fuel? But the Cessna uses avgas.”
“Exactly.”
“So it was an honest mistake? Sebastian put the wrong fuel in?”
“Absolutely not,” Chuck said. “There are avgas pumps here—that’s what most of the pilots use. That’s what Sebastian uses. The jet fuel truck comes regularly, but Sebastian would never use it to fuel up. Somebody added just enough to kill the engine, little enough that the plane was able to get in the air. Was it running rough?”
“Yeah. And then it just croaked.” A dim memory surfaced in Alden’s mind. “I thought avgas had a particular color?”
“You’re right. Sebastian should’ve seen the blue color when he sumped it during checks. But if there wasn’t a lot of jet fuel in it, he might not’ve noticed. It still would’ve killed the engine. But I don’t get why he didn’t smell it.” Chuck kicked at a pebble. “Makes me wonder if he knew all along. I know that’s crazy, though. Sebastian loved that plane. And I don’t think he’d invite passengers along on a kamikaze flight.”
“That’s a horrible thought. Thanks.”
Chuck laughed at Alden’s sarcasm. Then his face grew more serious. “I don’t think that was it. He didn’t notice, for whatever reason.”
“He might’ve been in a hurry to get us in the air. Wait—he was sneezing yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah!” Chuck brightened. “He’s been kvetching about allergies for weeks.”
“So maybe he couldn’t smell it.” Alden gave Chuck an intent look. “And you didn’t notice anyone messing with the plane?”
