Santa Fe Edge

21

Todd Bacon landed his Agency-furnished Beech Bonanza at Vero Beach Airport and taxied to parking at Sun Aviation. He left a credit card number for his fuel and asked the woman behind the desk, “A friend of mine named Jack Smithson is in town and he keeps his airplane here. It’s a Cessna 182 RG. I wonder if you have a phone number for him?”

The woman checked her computer and gave him a number. “Jack left here a couple of weeks ago and hasn’t returned,” she said. “I don’t know what his intentions are.”

“Thanks,” Todd said. “I’ll call and leave him a message.” He rented a car and, using the onboard GPS, drove to the last known address for Teddy Fay. He parked his car next to the cottage and looked inside. It was nicely furnished and clean, but there was no sign of an occupant. Todd looked around, then picked the lock on the front door and let himself in.

He walked through the entire cottage slowly, looking at everything, but he could find nothing that seemed to belong to Teddy, except the large safe in a closet. He remembered that Holly had seen a note left there saying that the combination to the safe was T-E-D-D-Y, and he tapped it in and opened the safe. It was entirely empty. He closed the door and spun the wheel to lock it.

He picked up the phone and found it disconnected, then sat down in the comfortable chair next to it and picked up the local phone book. He turned to the yellow pages, then found a list of moving and storage companies. One of them had a small arrow inked in, pointing to its number. He called the number with his cell phone.

“Beach Moving and Storage,” a woman’s voice said.

“Hi. This is Jack Smithson. I left some things there to be shipped a couple of weeks ago, and I wondered if they’d gone out yet.”

“Let me check.” She came back a moment later. “I have nothing in your name, Mr. Smithson,” she said. “Could they be in another name?”

Todd had an idea and checked his notebook. “Try Lauren Cade,” he said.

She put him on hold for a moment, then came back on the line. “Yes, those boxes were picked up last Monday and should have been delivered to the storage company in Santa Fe yesterday.”

“May I have the name of the storage company, please? I don’t know where Lauren is having them sent.”

“They were sent to Adobe Moving and Storage on Cerrillos Road,” she said.

“To what name?”

“I assume to herself. I have no other name.”

“Thanks so much,” Todd replied, and hung up, jotting the name in his notebook. He got the number from information and was connected.

“Hi. This is Jack Smithson. I’m calling for Lauren Cade. Was her shipment delivered on time yesterday?”

“What was the name again?” the man asked.

“Lauren Cade.” He spelled it.

“No, we received nothing yesterday, the day before or today for a Lauren Cade.”

“Is it possible to check your receivables on those days again?”

“I’ve just done that in the computer. There’s nothing for a Lauren Cade.”

“Thank you,” Todd said, and broke the connection. He looked at his watch. A little late in the day to take off for Santa Fe. He left the cottage and found a motel nearby and checked in. He cranked up his laptop and did a search for fixed-base operators at Santa Fe Airport. There were three, and he called each of them and inquired, first, if a Jack Smithson had arrived there. A no from all three. Then he asked each if they had had a 182 RG arrive. Two of the three had had such arrivals, but only one, Santa Fe Jetcenter, in the time frame that interested Todd. He asked for the tail number.

Todd went to the FAA website and accessed the aircraft registration list and entered the tail number. Nothing. He typed in “Jack Smithson” and got nothing.

AS TODD WAS CHECKING the FAA database, Teddy Fay was flying his 182 RG to a small airport in Albuquerque that had a paint shop, flying at low altitude and without filing a flight plan. He landed, taxied up to the shop, got out, found the owner and introduced himself as Ralph Pearson. “I spoke to you on the phone yesterday,” he said.

“Oh, yes. You wanted your registration number changed. Have you got your paperwork?”

Teddy gave him the FAA documents he had created.

The man looked over the airplane. “It’ll take us two full days of work,” he said, “what with drying time and doing the shadowing in the contrasting color. You can pick it up in three days.”

Teddy thanked the man, then walked out to the parking lot, where Lauren was waiting for him in the used Jeep Grand Cherokee he had bought. “You can drive me back down here in three days,” he said.

They drove back to Santa Fe, to their new rental house, and Teddy went to his computer, where he entered the FAA mainframe and inserted registration for his airplane with the new tail number, giving a false name and an address in Fort Smith, Arkansas.

“I see your boxes arrived,” Teddy said. “Did you have them shipped the way I asked you to?”

“I did,” she replied. “My name appears nowhere on them.”

“Good.”

“We’re going to have to go out for dinner,” Lauren said, “since we don’t have any groceries yet. We can pick up breakfast at a convenience store on the way home.”

“Fine with me,” he said, closing the computer. “Another trip to Geronimo? We haven’t been there yet.”

“Sure, that’s fine. Shall I call?”

“Is the phone working?”

“We didn’t get phone service, remember?” she reminded him. “We’re using our cells.”

“Oh, right.”

Lauren called and made the reservations, then brought a drink to him and sat down beside him on the sofa. “What are we going to do with our days, Teddy?” she asked. “I’m used to being busy.”

“Then get busy,” Teddy replied. “Boredom is a self-inflicted wound. Get to know Santa Fe; learn to appreciate the light and the terrain; read books; TiVo the good stuff at night and watch it in the daytime. Maybe we’ll take up golf.”

“It all sounds wonderful,” Lauren replied, clinking her glass with his. “A whole new world.”