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  “Looks like the good doctor is hunting you down,” Aston said.

  “Let her wait. I don’t answer when I’m having dinner,” he said and reached for another slice of pizza.

  The insect-like buzzing of a cellphone interrupted the most restful sleep he’d had in days. Eric sat up and looked around his office, unsure of where he was. He’d been asleep, head on the desk. He took a deep breath, “Hi, Pat. What’s up?”

  “What’s up is me. I’m up and at the airport. Can you come and fetch me?”

  He looked at his wristwatch—nearly four. “Oh, thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.”

  “Well, things have changed a bit, haven’t they? We have to talk.”

  “Be there in a half hour. Outside door seven.” He tapped the red dot on the phone’s screen and released a deep breath. “Jesus, now what?”

  Eric looked at the stack of Pat’s luggage. Through the windshield he could see her putting on lipstick. She smiled at him. He remembered what a salesman told him when he purchased his first Porsche years before: If you have enough luggage to fill the trunk you’re a tourist, not a car enthusiast. As he slipped into the driver’s seat, Pat leaned over to kiss him. He turned his face at the right moment and the kiss landed on his cheek, not his lips.

  “Ah, hi darling. Smells like you had pizza for dinner.”

  “Right. We were working late so Aston brought—”

  “Why don’t we stop for a drink, or, better yet, let’s just get something at my place.”

  Eric looked at the side view mirror and noticed a policeman moving cars from the pick-up area. “Yeah, we gotta move. Okay, your place it is.”

  As he began to close the heavy oak door, Pat said, “Hey, I have to take a quick shower and get some of this travel dust off me. There’s some red on the counter, or white in the fridge if you want. I won’t be a minute or two.”

  Before he could answer she was down the hall and out of sight. He stood in the middle of the living room and looked around. Nothing appeared to have moved since he was there the week before. Everything still looked new, certainly not lived in. In the kitchen two bottles of red wine stood, unopened, on the island that consumed more than half the floor space. He opened and closed cupboard doors until he found wine glasses hanging upside down in a special rack. It struck him that the entire place looked like a magazine spread. He thought of his own house with newspapers on the floor and his unmade bed. He stood, staring into the darkness of the backyard.

  The scent of her perfume reached him before she did—something flowery with a hint of tobacco. He could see her reflection in the window glass, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe as she moved toward him, hair still wet, feet bare.

  “Oh, couldn’t you find the corkscrew?” she asked.

  “Didn’t look, Pat. I really don’t want anything to drink. I need to get home for some sleep, but first, I need to know what’s going on with this medication Doctor Hechtua has me on. According to the pharmacist I went to today it’s nothing but Tylenol. What’s this about?”

  Pat didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to a drawer on the side of the island and rattled implements until she located a corkscrew. She did not look at him while she extracted the cork and poured a half glass of wine for each of them. She handed him a glass and took a sip of her own, staring at him over the rim of the glass.

  “Talk to me, Pat,” he said as he lowered the glass to the counter without taking a drink.

  “It’s complicated, Eric. The wonderful part of all of this, however, is that we’ve met and—”

  “What is, ‘all of this’?”

  Pat looked at the clock on the stove to her right. “You’ll have to trust me on this.”

  He felt his chest tighten. “And what is ‘this’?”

  She moved closer and looked up at him. “Eric, we haven’t been—well, that’s not right. We had an error in our lab. A mistake. A fuck-up, okay? A Doctor H fuck up. It involved some blood samples, including yours, that led to a misdiagnosis on the part of Doctor H.”

  “He did what?”

  “I mean, his diagnosis was correct, just not on the correct blood samples, yours and a few others. We thought, he thought, if word got out that we’d made this error, and the patients called in the lawyers, and they sued, shit, we’d be done for.”

  “Wait. You’re saying there was a mix-up with my blood. So, does that mean that maybe I really didn’t, or don’t, have HIV?”

  “No, you don’t. Your blood sample was mixed up with some other poor bastard’s that did show signs of HIV-1. The second round of samples we took from you proved that you’re not infected.”

  Eric sat back into a high chair next to the kitchen island. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at Pat who took a few steps closer to him. He felt his knees press into her thighs. She licked her lips.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you. I—”

  “Do you have any idea of—”

  “Yes, yes, I do. It must have been awful, but it’s okay, now. We caught all the errors and put you and a couple others on Tylenol and planned to tell you in six or eight months that you were clean. We’ll continue to monitor your blood and act as if—”

  “So that’s why you weren’t afraid to jump into the sack with me. How could you?”

  He stood so fast he bumped the wine glass in her hand. Wine spread like a blood stain down the front of her robe as she jumped back.

  “Christ, be careful,” she shouted. “Look at this.” She pulled off the robe and exposed her naked body. “Damn. This robe is brand new. It’s the first time I wore it. I wanted to surprise you,” she said, and tossed the robe in the sink to run cold water over the wine stain.

  “Well, it worked. You surprised me,” he said and walked toward the door. An image of the handgun, still in its box, waiting at home, flashed in his mind.

  “Wait, Eric, wait. We have to talk. I, ah, want to learn more about you. About your company. About the wonderful buried treasure puzzle. Please, come back.”

  “No, I don’t think so. If I do come back—” he said and slowly pulled the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As Gabby rolled through the recreation room, his eyes followed the rays of dust created by the sunlight. It looked more like evening than early morning. Phyllis sat, eyes on the first arrivals at the bird feeder. He let the back of his hand rest against hers. It was still early. Other residents wouldn’t be out of bed for at least another hour and aides rarely came into the room until after breakfast. She looked over at him. “We having fun yet, old man?”

  “You seemed to have plenty of fun last night.”

  She laughed and returned her attention to the bird feeder. “I meant with the puzzle and map thing.”

  “Oh, that. Sure. That damned Starke tossed us a real curve ball this time. I feel like I’m right on the edge of knowing what he’s up to. I’ve been busting my brain trying to figure out what he meant. If only I had a crystal ball. Problem is, I’m starting to get tired of this business, already.”

  Phyllis kept her attention on the bird feeder. “When I was a kid, bored by whatever it was I was supposed to be doing, my grandma would say, ‘Ya stay on the bus long enough and the scenery eventually changes.’”

  “Ain’t you just full of it this morning. I’m going to start calling you Buddha or something.”

  “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. I always felt Eastern religions made more sense. All that Christianity crap of becoming something else—you know, sprout wings to slip out of this troublesome life into some sort of blissful existence forever. You need to think easier, my darling, not harder.”

  He released a deep breath and watched small birds move between the feeder and the trees, forcing seeds between the layers of bark. One particular bird, a nuthatch Phyllis called it, went back to the same spot on the si
de of the tree time after time.

  “Why do you suppose that bird keeps going back and forth to that same spot?

  “Talking to me or the window, Mister?”

  “I’m talking to you, Bird Lady. That guy should be able to figure out that those seeds will probably get eaten by someone else. Why not find a better place to hide them?”

  “The easy answer is, I don’t have a clue. However, it might be because he’s familiar with that spot. Maybe he thinks other birds won’t look in the most obvious spot. Maybe ‘cause he feels safe with his companions. More questions than answers.”

  Gabby unfolded the note Aston and Phyllis brought back from Arizona. “Sonofabitch. The answer is right there in front of us,” he said. “Look, right here.” He pointed to the words and read, “‘If you want to hide bones, hide them in a boneyard, even if it’s in a penal colony.’”

  “I don’t get it,” Phyllis said as she studied the note.

  “Starke was, or is, a clever bastard. The key word here is not ’penal’, it’s Pinal. Capital P. Sounds the same but it’s a different spelling.”

  “I think you’re off your meds my friend. What are you talking about?”

  “Pinal Park Airfield out in Arizona, southwest of Tucson. It’s that boneyard for airplanes, thousands of ‘em. They’re parked out there, row after row. It also happens to be, or was, the headquarters for Intermountain Airlines, a front organization of the CIA during the Viet Nam war. You know, Starke and Yates flew for them.”

  “I vaguely remember something about the place when I lived out there. And you think that’s where he’s parked the palladium?”

  “We’ll soon find out. Get on that fancy cellphone of yours and round up Eric and Aston.”

  While Phyllis searched through her contacts, she smiled at the thought of making another trip to Arizona. “Hey, Aston,” she said when the sleepy voice at the other end of the line said ‘What?’. “Gabby’s hot on the trail and needs to talk with you and Eric.”

  “Oh, man. It’s the middle of the night. Why doesn’t he give it a rest?”

  “I think we should be thinking about another trip to the desert. Better wash your clothes.”

  “Great. I can hardly wait to get back to the spiders.”

  Aston dropped her phone back on the table next to her bed and looked up at the ceiling. She’d almost given up the idea of independent wealth after they’d found the empty box. Maybe it ain’t over ’til it’s over, she thought.

  Phyllis and Gabby waited at the end of the hall, looking toward the reception area. They watched Eric and Aston walk through the parking lot toward the front door.

  “How should we play this,” Phyllis asked, “Good cop, bad cop?”

  “Might be easiest to go with Dumb and Dumber.”

  “I think we should go with, ‘Have we got a deal for you’.”

  “Yeah. This is either the end of the road or just another pee break along the way. I’m beginning to think, with Starke involved, it could go either way.”

  “I think you’ve solved it this time Randal. It’ll be over soon. I think we need a new chapter, maybe even a new story. Or maybe this could be the final chapter in an old story. Last night I dreamt about us lounging on the beach, again.”

  “Ya know gal, I think you’re right. I wasn’t going to say anything, but maybe now’s the time for us to live out that sun-soaked dream you keep having.”

  “I like the way you think, Buster. You told me once you had a nephew with a fancy RV. Still in contact with him?”

  “Yep. Not exactly a nephew, he just calls me uncle. Actually, the kid’s somehow related to Starke. He calls me from time to time, asking about how the DEA worked. Lives in one of those giant motorhomes. Said he was writing a book or something. It felt more like he was checking up on me, now that I come to think about it. When I talked to him about six months ago and asked about that book, he said it was a mystery and he couldn’t talk about it. He’s probably headed back to Maine from Arizona this time of year. That fool loves to drive. In fact, I talked with him a few days ago. Told him about us and suggested we put together a little mystery trip for you. The punk really loves to drive.”

  “Who loves to drive?” Aston asked as she and Eric approached.

  “Oh, we’re just talking,” Phyllis said. “The old guy here has actually been using that brain of his. He thinks he’s solved the latest—hopefully last—riddle.”

  “And what do you think, Phyllis?” Eric asked.

  “I think I’ll go back to my room and see if my bikini still fits,” she said as she turned her wheelchair and moved down the hall.

  The other three watched her go. Gabby shook his head. “Never know what she’s going to come up with. Especially when she’s had one of her dreams.”

  Aston watched Phyllis turn and give a thumbs-up sign as she rounded the corner. “Hope you’re still taking your vitamins, Gabby,” Aston said.

  The three settled in a quiet corner of the recreation room, and Gabby explained his latest theory concerning the message they found in the box. Neither Eric nor Aston had heard of Pinal Airpark, nor Intermountain Airlines.

  “Intermountain was joke,” Gabby said. “One of those secret CIA operations during the Viet Nam War everybody and his brother knew about. Starke and your old man,” he said, looking at Eric, “once told me they worked for one of Intermountain’s subsidiaries, Air America.”

  “So, Intermountain flew a lot of covert missions?” Eric said.

  “Flew ‘em all. Employed a lot of vets during and after the war.”

  “What’s this have to do with us?” Aston asked.

  “Well, when military, civilian companies too, are done with their planes, they park them in the desert—sort of a graveyard—where they won’t rust. Then, over the years, people making repairs or rebuilding, cannibalize them for parts. It appears the government’s kept up the charade, I think. I Googled the place this morning. Would you believe they still call it the 309th Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Group? It’s in Marana, Arizona.”

  Aston thought about the note she and Phyllis found. Something about a boneyard and penal colony. “So, since you don’t really think Starke crashed, maybe he parked his plane in this graveyard?”

  “Right. And what better way to thumb your nose at your former employer than by using the company’s parking lot from now ’til eternity? Clever bastard. Odds are, he uprooted that stash by the Ruby Mine the other day when he figured we were closing in, then transplanted it into the boneyard.”

  “But why do that?” Aston asked. “Why not let us find the stuff?”

  “Could be Starke likes the added thrill of a competition that goes into overtime. Another reason could be, he knows someone else is looking and might figure out the location, so he wants to limit the number of players in this game.”

  Eric looked out the window, then back at Gabby. “So, there’s no real guarantee that it will be there, wherever ‘there’ is if we can locate the plane.”

  “Nope, just like everything else in this world, young man, nothing except death comes with a guarantee.”

  Eric made a sucking sound with his teeth. “Gabby, I have to tell you, this is getting way more costly than I originally thought. I don’t see how we can go chasing around the country any more.”

  “My, my. Just when this whole thing is beginning to make sense and come to some conclusion, you get cold feet,” Gabby said and turned to Aston.

  Aston sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Tough call, Boss. But you’re the boss.” Now that she had a good strong lead on where the stuff might be, she’d figure some way to finance the trip on her own.

  Eric looked at the ceiling then at Gabby. “Well, okay then, are you ready, willing and able to make the road trip to Arizona to find out what the hell Starke might be talking about?”

&nb
sp; “Not me, young man. Dry desert air doesn’t agree with me. Bird Lady kind of prefers humidity with her sunshine. We’re thinking about taking a vacation where we can get all greasy, sweaty—rub suntan lotion all over each other—maybe Florida, if you get my drift. Good chance we’ll be hitting the road pretty soon. Once we line up some transportation that is.”

  Gabby kept his eyes locked on Eric and smiled. “Ah, don’t look at me. I don’t like flying,” Eric said. “I have this company to run. Lots of people depend on me for their paycheck. No, I have too much responsibility here to be running off looking for buried treasure, besides, flying scares the shit out of me.”

  Gabby turned to Aston who was busy studying the tops of her new skateboard shoes. “What about you, young lady? Ready for the final chapter?”

  Aston rubbed her hands on her cargo pants, trying to imagine what she would do first if she could get her hands on the palladium. Where could she go? What mattered most, now? She looked at Eric, who stared out the window.

  Eric released a breath and shook his head. “I’m not so sure about this whole thing anymore.” He cleared his throat and turned to look at Aston. “I mean, it was kind of fun idea, like changing our names, when we started. But now, with all these people involved, the expenses of going out to Arizona, and—”

  “No problem, Boss, we’ll drive,” Aston said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Except for the hum of the Porsche’s finely tuned engine, the ride back to the office was silent. Eric and Aston were lost in thought. The car rolled to a stop and Eric shut off the engine. He examined the darkened windows of the odd business his father and a crazy friend created many years before. It was still too early for other employees to be in for work. Aston lowered her window to listen as the songs of birds overpowered the noise of the highway. She cleared her throat and turned to face him. “Eric, we have to talk.”

  “Four words that strike terror in a man’s heart.”