He moved the phone away from his ear. “What?”
“Harry Potter. In the Harry Potter books they send mail by owls, not carrier pigeons.”
He looked at her for another moment, offering up one slow blink as his expression went blank. “Okay,” he finally said, then pressed the phone back to his ear. “I have to go, Bryce. I’ll see what I can do about Dad, but I’ll have my own work to deal with. Yeah, I’ll call you later.” He tapped his thumb against the surface and then slipped his phone into the pocket of his jacket. He leaned back in his chair, stretching a little, manspreading. Then he adjusted his computer bag so it would be more comfortable in its chair. Finally, he looked back at Emily and nodded, a positive assessment in his dark brown eyes. He was very attractive. She couldn’t deny that. Nick had been very attractive, too, and although it was a gross generalization to say that all attractive men bore a sense of entitlement and tended to be assholes, Emily had done a fair amount of personal research over the years, and all the data she’d collected seemed to support this theory.
“Fly through here often?” asked the Man with the Red Tie.
Case in point. That was the best he could come up with? Attractive men didn’t have to try very hard to capture a woman’s attention. They didn’t have to be particularly witty or clever or original. This one was clearly accustomed to making the ladies swoon with just a wistful smile and a soulful gaze. And while a wistful smile and a soulful gaze had their place, Emily had no time for this.
“Hardly ever. You?” She paired his cheesy line with a dry-as-merlot tone of voice. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Never. Never even heard of this place.” He rose from the seat abruptly and crossed to the window near Chloe, as if his energy just wouldn’t allow him to be still. He was going to be a joy to sit next to on the tiny seven-seater plane.
“Wow,” he said, leaning forward and squinting out the window. “Looks like we’re taking a Cessna Flying Coffin.”
Chloe’s eyes widened as she stared up at him. “Is that really the name of it?”
He laughed. “No, but it might as well be. That ride looks fifty years old.”
Chloe redirected her distressed gaze toward Emily. “Mom?”
Emily shook her head. He might be handsome, but he was an idiot. What kind of guy said something like that to a little girl? Okay, so Chloe was tall for her age and looked much older than twelve, but still. He was an idiot.
“It’ll be fine, honey. These small planes fly back and forth from the island all the time.”
“Not today they don’t,” called out the very old but apparently not yet dead man from the office. “We’re having technical difficulties.” He stood up and shuffled over to the folding table as Emily rose from her chair.
“What do you mean, not today?” she asked.
“Sorry, folks, but Bertie just called me from the hangar.” Emily imagined the hangar was what they called that rusty carport leaning against the side of this building. “She said that the what-cha-ma-hootchy in the airplane needs replacing, and she has to go pick up another one. She can’t install it until tomorrow, though.”
“The . . . the what-cha-ma-hootchy?” Red Tie Guy’s voice had gone up about four octaves. Emily could not agree more. They both stepped forward.
“Yeah, you know,” the old man said. “The thingamajig. The doohickey that makes the dealy-bobber in the engine work. I don’t know all them technical terms for airplane parts. I don’t really work here, you know. I’m just filling in for Ned on account of he’s off to the doctor’s office to have a mole looked at.”
“But this is serious,” Emily said.
“Naw, it’s just a mole. He’ll be fine. The thing has been there for years.”
Her jaw clenched for a moment and loosened only enough for her to say, “No, I mean this is serious that the plane can’t fly to the island until tomorrow. We need to get there today.”
The old man scratched his head without removing his John Deere hat. “Well, I guess you could, you know, drive on up I-75 for about two hours and take a flight from the Manitou airport. Course you’ll never make it there in time because that airport closes down at five p.m. and it’s already past that now.”
Emily’s impatience doubled, fueled by frustration, exhaustion, and low blood sugar, but she held it in remarkably well. She didn’t want to start yelling at this old man and scare him into having a heart attack, although in reality he appeared to be quite relaxed about the whole situation. “Sir, if we had a car to drive on up to Manitou, then we could just drive that car the forty miles to Michlimac City and take a ferry instead.”
Father Time nodded. “Eh, yep. I guess you could do that, too. Problem solved.”
She placed her fingertips on the folding table, resisting her urge to pound on it, even just a little bit. “Our problem is not solved because we don’t have a car. That’s why we bought airplane tickets.”
Wenniway Island sat in Lake Huron just a few nautical miles east of the mainland, and the only way to get there was by plane or boat. Very old plane. Or very slow boat.
The old man looked off into the distance for a moment, as if contemplating her words. Then he crossed his scrawny, crepey-skinned arms. “Well, that there is a conundrum, missy. I’ll be very interested to see how it all works out for you. In the meantime, I’m going home to have some meatloaf with my bride. Seventy-two years young, my Doris is, and still a looker. You folks are welcome to spend the night here in the terminal. Somebody will probably be back around eight or so in the morning. If you do make other travel plans, would you kindly turn out the lights when you leave? I promised Ned I’d be sure to turn off the lights.”
“But there must be other planes,” said the Guy in the Suit, his voice dropping back down into an authoritative range. It was deep with a kind of husky quality to it. The kind of voice that probably got him just what he wanted in the boardroom. And the bedroom. As if Emily had the time or inclination to dwell on such a thing. She shoved away that thought in favor of dealing with this problem right here in front of her.
The old guy, who was not Ned, and not yet dead, nodded his John-Deered head. “Oh yeah, sure enough. There’s lots of planes, but none of them are here. Plus, Bertie is the only mechanic who knows what parts she needs, and she just left for the Walmart.”
Chloe gave a little gasp. “She’s buying airplane parts at Walmart?”
The old man’s patronizing smile was nearly hidden beneath his shrubbery-like mustache. “Now don’t be silly, little miss. You can’t buy airplane parts down at the Walmart. She went there to get some lady loot for the women’s restroom. Apparently we’re out of them-there sanitized napkins.”