Owen nodded. “It’s kind of hard to tell, because it’s so messed up, but I think so. See, the engines on this wing are fatter and rounder, and short from front to back. Hang on a sec.”
He ran to a stack of books on the bedside table and pulled out a thick volume. He flopped it onto the bed and began flipping pages before coming to a stop and turning the book around so they could all see the picture. “This is a DC-six—it looks just like it. See how the engines are kind of stubby-looking?”
Gibbes scratched the back of his head. “And these were used until about when?”
“The mid-fifties. That was the beginning of the jet age, when everybody started making the new turbo props. Like these.” He flipped through the book and stopped on a page. “This is a Vickers Viscount British turbo prop—it was a passenger plane they used here in the U.S. in the late fifties. The engines are skinnier than the DC-sixes. They’re round but more streamlined—see?” He showed them the page and then flipped through the book again until he found what he was looking for. “And this was the first really successful commercial jetliner—the Boeing seven-oh-seven. It’s way different-looking from the DC-six, isn’t it? I think those started in 1959.”
Gibbes stared at Owen for a long moment that made Loralee’s heart swell with pride. “You’re a really smart kid, Rocky. Thanks for all your help.”
Owen beamed, and Loralee had to look away so nobody would see the tears in her eyes.
Gibbes rubbed his finger along the top of the plane. “What is this made of?”
“Papier-maché,” Loralee announced. “I know for sure because Mama and I went through a craft-making period when I was in middle school and made lots of stuff from papier-maché. We made a Nativity set, but the baby Jesus ended up looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy, so we moved on to making pot holders using spandex headbands.”
Merritt began coughing, her face turning red as she faced away from them until the fit stopped. Gibbes just looked at Loralee with bright eyes and a big smile.
After clearing his throat, he said, “Well, somebody must have used an X-ACTO knife or something like that, because this plane has been cut apart and pieced back together.”
“But why put it together with clear parts?” Merritt asked, her brows knitted. Loralee wanted to press her thumb in the spot above her nose like her mama used to do, to smooth out any wrinkles.
Gibbes studied the plane. “Good question. But if I were to guess, I’d say if somebody were putting together a crash re-creation, they’d want to be as accurate as possible, showing which pieces had been found, and which ones were still missing.” He met Merritt’s gaze. “But why a crash re-creation would be up in the attic, I don’t even have a guess.”
“What’s with the hole in the side?” Owen asked, his eyes huge behind his glasses.
“I’m not sure,” Gibbes said slowly, his fingers gently probing the furled edges. “Does anybody have tweezers?”
“I do!” Loralee said without hesitation. To Owen, she said, “Sweetie, can you go get my pocketbook? I left it on the hall table downstairs.” As Owen ran out of the room she said, “My mama always told me to never go anywhere without tweezers, lipstick, and a roll of duct tape.”
Merritt was looking at her oddly again, but she didn’t look angry like she usually did when Loralee mentioned something her mama had told her. Instead, it looked like she was just confused.
Owen raced back into the room and handed her the pocketbook. It took her a couple of minutes to find the tweezers at the bottom, but she proudly held them up before giving them to Gibbes.
Leaning over, he reached inside the hole on the side of the plane and stuck the tweezers inside. Slowly, Gibbes plucked out a passenger seat with a man in a striped tie still strapped into it, the little white dot pattern of the cloth seat clearly visible. He held it up to eye level and examined it closely.
“This is remarkable. Each seat has those little white head covers on them, and the ashtrays in the armrests actually open,” he said, using the tweezers to demonstrate.
“And he’s got a little dopp kit on his lap,” Loralee pointed out.
“A what?” asked Merritt.
“It’s like a cosmetics bag for men,” Loralee explained. “Although I guess the guys would prefer to call them ‘toiletries.’ When I was a flight attendant I saw them all the time. I’m sure men still use them, but I’m not sure if they’re called dopp kits anymore.”