Killer Summer

43

Walt pulled the borrowed Prius up to the reserved parking at the Blaine County Sheriff’s Office. It was his prize, this long-sought-after, newly constructed headquarters and county jail. It had taken him three failed referendums to raise the bond before finally convincing the public of its necessity. Erected in the light-industrial zone adjacent to the airport, it was thirty-six thousand square feet of state-of-the-art law enforcement, and he was as proud of it as he was of his daughters.

“The airport’s right there,” Fiona said, pointing out the obvious. “Let me just run over there and look for him.”

“If you want to, sure,” he said, climbing out of the car. “Check with Pete.” He tossed the keys into her lap. “I’ve got to stay on point.”

“Happy to do it,” she said.

“Hey!” he said, stopping her as she hiked up her dress to climb behind the wheel. “Pick-up sticks. That was a good call.”

Caught!

She nodded, wiggling and tugging her dress down.

He shoved the car door shut and headed for the entrance.

His cell phone vibrated.

The caller ID read KEVIN CELL.

Walt pressed the CALL button.

“Where the hell are you?” he said by way of introduction.

The line crackled and spat.

“Unc… alt?” Kevin’s voice was nearly unrecognizable.

A roar erupted in the background.

“… got… her,” he thought he heard. He missed everything else.

He didn’t want to hear the true confessions of a teenage conquest. Playing Kevin’s surrogate dad required they both walk a fine line.

The roar grew ever louder. It dawned on him that it wasn’t static but background noise.

A plane-a jet-took off to the north, and he glared at it.

Maybe the background noise hadn’t come over the phone after all.

It took him several seconds to connect it with the jet. Even allowing for the delay over the phone, the two were inseparable. It meant Kevin was close by. Maybe at a hangar party, some rich kid throwing a rave.

“Where… are… you?” Walt hollered into the phone.

“I’m on-” Kevin’s voice stopped midword.

Walt checked the phone. It had lost its connection.

On? he wondered. It was the operative word that lodged in his thoughts.

He waved for Fiona to hold up, rushed to the car, and motioned for her to lower the window.

“Kevin just called. Have Pete check the north hangars. And see if Teddy Sumner owns or operates a private jet, and, if so, have Pete check that out as well. I think Kevin’s right here, somewhere ridiculously close.” He realized he was ordering her around like he would a deputy. “That is… if you wouldn’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” she said.

He looked up. The jet’s lights blinked in the gray of the evening sky.

“Aren’t you glad I came along?” she said.

“If I’m overstepping… There are people here…”

“Shut up, Walt. I’m happy to do it. This, and… more.”

She backed up the car. Her hair caught in the window when she put it up.

Amused, Walt stood there a moment wondering how long it had been since anyone had told him to shut up.