least a foot taller than me—lots of people were, of course.
I looked around desperately. There, some wooden pallets were stacked against the wall. I ran to get one, put the bag on it, stood on it myself, and with the extra height I managed to wrestle the bag into the plane. It was not sitting up neatly in the passenger’s seat; it leaned awkwardly over into the pilot’s side. But it was in the plane, as Sally had specified.
I returned the pallet, wiped the bag with a rag to remove my fingerprints (wondering all the while why I felt that was necessary), threw the rag back in the metal drum, and hightailed it out of the hangar.
I had to back down the track until I came to the point where it led down to the parking lot. There I was able to maneuver Sally’s car to face downhill. Once I had her car back in its original position, I looked at my watch. Ten minutes, most of which had been absorbed by extricating the bag from the trunk, and hoisting the bag into the plane.
It felt like double that. I closed my eyes, scrunched down in the passenger’s seat, and wondered if I could go to sleep. No, here came Sally accompanied by an older man who had a fine head of gray hair and an orange jumpsuit that looked quite good on him. An earphone set was around his neck, the little gray pads looking like buds on the ends of the metal arc. Wires led down to a tape player strapped to his waist, like the set Angel listened to so often while she did yardwork.
Sally was smiling and Stanford Foley was smiling, and I wondered if I was seeing the start of a Good Thing. The tall older man caught sight of me in the car, and said something to Sally, something on the order of “Why didn’t your friend come in?” because I could see the question on his face. Sally said something with a conspiratorial smile and he began laughing. I decided Sally’s debt had just escalated.
She said a few more words, then traipsed down the sidewalk and slid into the car. Stanford Foley watched her with a happy face. I handed Sally the keys, and she started the motor under the watchful beam of her new swain.
When Sally had finished smiling and waving, and actually reversed the car, I asked in an acidic voice, “When are you and Stanford going out?”
“Oh, Roe,” she said in a wounded way, “can’t I enjoy a man’s company for just a little minute?”
“Not when I’ve been yanking my muscles all to pieces for you,” I said, and I meant it.
“So, tell me about it. How long did it take? I couldn’t believe it when I looked out the window and the Toyota was back.” Sally could be tactful when she chose, and she could tell she’d better choose now.
I gave her as long an account of my ordeal as I could, since it had lasted only ten minutes.
“How’d you do with Mr. Foley? Other than the obvious.”
“He’s really a sweet guy. Did you know he lives in half of that little building? I think the line between being at home and off duty, and being at work and being alert, have kind of blurred for Stanford.”
“I saw he was wearing earphones.”
“That seems to be his main pleasure, listening to music on that Walkman set. He likes country and western.”
“He play it loud?”
“I got the feeling he does.”
“So did he even hear you park the car in the lot?”
“No.”
“Did he know I’d moved the car?”
“No.”
“Did he even look out in the lot and ask how you’d gotten out to the airport?”
“No. He was in the living quarters when I knocked on the door. He had the earphones on, and he was singing along with the tape. It took him forever to hear me. He never looked out the window the whole time I was there.”
“He could have missed the car or truck with Jack in it completely, then.”
Sally nodded, her attention focused on turning back onto the interstate.
“How does he know it was Jack who reserved the plane?” I asked.
“Jack called. He said to reserve the plane for ten o’clock on Monday morning. He asked if anyone else had reserved a plane for that morning, because he might have the Piper up for a while.”
“So Foley told him there were no more reservations.”
“Right.”
“How come Mr. Foley’s so sure it