Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 15

  “Good one. It’s English.”

  “Are you a freshman?”

  “Well, uh, yeah.” He blushed. “Third semester. I, uh, didn’t do too good my first two times but I figured, hey, third time’s the charm!”

  I nodded in reply, touched by his genuine enthusiasm and utter cluelessness. “So what are you reading?”

  “Hamlet.”

  “Ah.” I thought back to my own studies on the tormented Prince of Denmark and shook my head.

  “What?” he asked, perplexed by my sudden melancholy.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking, that play was written over four hundred years ago, but people can still relate to the characters and what they went through.”

  “Huh?” Connor’s face contorted with confusion. “How? This story’s wicked ancient!”

  I laughed at his response. “I mean betrayal by those closest to you, the people you trust. People who are supposed to care for you but end up betraying you for their own selfish motives.”

  I glanced at Rick. He was sleeping with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. I found myself wondering what could have transpired between him and the ambassador that would have led to such an irreparable falling-out.

  “You’ve been betrayed like that?” Connor’s question brought me out of my reflections.

  “Well, not like Hamlet, but yeah, I’ve been betrayed.” I thought about my ex-boyfriends, especially Greg, and shuddered. “Haven’t you?”

  Connor thought about the question. Finally, he replied, “Yeah, I guess I’ve been betrayed. Just last week, my friend Zack was supposed to hold this ticket to a Nashu concert for me, right? But the rat sold it ‘cause some guy he works with offered him twice the face value. Some freaking friend,” he frowned, banging his fists on the textbook containing the words of the Immortal Bard.

  “Yeah, that sucks,” I agreed, “but wouldn’t it be worse if your uncle murdered your father and then married your mother?”

  “What?” A disgusted look appeared on his face. “Ugh! That’s nasty! Whoa. Is that what this story’s about? Sounds like a freaking soap opera!”

  “Yeah, like, One Elizabethan Life to Live,” I joked. He frowned, confused by my joke. “Never mind. So is that what you’re going to school for? An English degree?”

  “Nah,” he shook his head. “Too much reading for that. I’m going for nursing.”

  “Nursing? Why not try for an MD?”

  “Too much work for that, too. Plus, as a guy in nursing, I’ve got the upper hand.” He winked.

  I was intrigued. “And how is that?”

  Connor leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, as if he were about to reveal the secret of eternal life. “Well, there aren’t many guys in this field, right, so they want us. Bad. My GPA doesn’t have to be as high as a girl’s to qualify. Plus, ninety percent of my class is female so the odds are in my favor all around.”

  It was apparent that Connor White, the flight attendant, had put a great deal of thought into this plan. The only motive lacking was a real drive to help others—something that some would consider at least mildly important if you are working in the medical field. However, not wanting to dissuade someone so passionate about school, whatever his personal motives, I nodded. “Nursing is a fantastic field and you are definitely a, um, people person, so I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  He seemed pleased by my response and turned his attention back to the textbook. His brow furrowed as he read and a frown formed upon his lips. “I know this is English, but it sure doesn’t sound like it.”

  I smiled to myself, but the smile disappeared as I reflexively yawned. I shook my head, trying to fight off exhaustion. Blinking to focus, I asked, “Where are you exactly?”

  “Act One,” he replied. He turned the swiveling recliner toward me. “Listen to this: ‘Before my God, I might not this believe without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes.’ What? What’s a true avouch? Who the freak talks like this?”

  I reached for his book. “It’s not modern English as in our English. It’s early modern English. England was originally settled by the Angles and the Saxons and was called Angle-land and it later became England. The English language was originally more Germanic but over the centuries, it’s become what it is today.”

  I glanced up and caught him staring at me in disbelief.

  “How do you freaking know all that?” Connor demanded.

  “A lot of English classes required for my major.” I grinned. “Okay, so you’re at the scene where the two guards are discussing the now-dead king’s ghost appearing. Bernardo asks Horatio if he thinks what they’ve seen is real and Horatio’s like, ‘I swear to God, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.’ Sometimes you need to read it a few times to get it. Try analyzing the situation. That should help, too.”

  I handed him the book and unbuckled my seatbelt. Yawning, I walked over to the couch and stretched out. I fluffed the pillow Connor gave me earlier before resting my head upon it. Closing my eyes, I heard him say, “You sure you don’t want to read this with me?”

  Chapter 12

  I opened my eyes and was greeted by an annoying light flickering off dark-brown walls. I knew in an instant that I was not at home, but didn’t remember where I was. Suddenly it returned to me. I was on a jet heading for London in the hope of finding Rick’s missing cousin, Arthur Cross.

  I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes. Yawning, I glanced around the cabin as the mental fog began to clear. In a chair several feet away, Rick was sound asleep. Across from him was our energetic flight attendant, Connor. He looked up from a magazine and his eyes brightened when he realized I was awake.

  “Hey, mornin’! Sleep well?”

  I ran my hand through my hair. During my nap, it had managed to become quite tangled. I reached in my purse for my hairbrush and while rummaging, noticed my phone was blinking. Looking at the screen, I realized I had two missed calls and one voicemail. They were all from Jon. I flinched as I considered listening to the voicemail and thought about the type of message he most likely left.

  I had a feeling it was going to be harsh since our last encounter hadn’t ended well. The most difficult part of my complicated friendship with Jon Riché was that most of his outbursts were the result of his concern for me, which made it hard for me to maintain even the most justified anger. I realized that Connor was watching me with a curious look on his face.

  “You all right?” Noticing the phone in my hand, he nodded. “Yeah, your phone rang. You two must be some freaking sound sleepers because that ring tone is really loud. And annoying. You know you can change that, right?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling my face warm. “I’m usually a light sleeper. I must’ve been really tired. Where are we exactly?”

  “I dunno.” Connor shrugged his shoulders. “Somewhere over the Atlantic. It’s, like, a seven-hour flight and we’ve been flying for, I dunno, four hours? I guess we have two and a half hours left.” He shrugged again. Sitting up and dropping the magazine on the table, he added, “You want something to eat or drink?”

  His inquiry was answered by my stomach, which let out a low growl. I felt my face flush again. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little hungry. Can I have some peanuts or something?”

  “Peanuts?” Connor scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re asking me for peanuts? You know this is a private jet, right?” He stood up, shaking his head, and called, “Be right back.”

  I watched him walk down the hall and enter the first room on the right. The sound of him banging around reached the cabin. Rick stirred. His head rolled slowly from the right to the left and he shifted his weight in the chair.

  Despite all that happened over the past weekend, Rick’s physical exhaustion somehow exceeded the concern he felt for his missing co
usin and the apparent frustration he felt toward the ambassador. After letting out a deep sigh, he stopped moving.

  Moments later, Connor emerged carrying a blue plastic tray with a plate of pot roast, asparagus and red potatoes. He placed the steaming tray on the coffee table in front of me before returning to his seat. He had been seated for less than a second before he jumped to his feet. “Damn! Oh, crap. Sorry, I forgot your utensils. And your drink. What would you like? Merlot?”

  “Merlot?” I stared at him in disbelief. “In the morning?”

  “It isn’t morning over here.” Connor laughed. “Okay, no merlot. You want, uh, beer? No? Soda?”

  “Water’s fine.” I brushed my disheveled hair behind my ears as I stared at the rich cuisine. “I really wasn’t expecting all this. Thanks.”

  “Hey, no prob.” He winked. “One water coming up. And maybe while you’re eating, we could discuss that Hamlet story again, huh?”

  Before I could reply, he was gone. I stared down at the plate. The food smelled delicious and it looked fresh. Before I had the chance to wonder who cooked such a feast, Connor raced back in the room and handed me my utensils, an off-white napkin, and a glass of sparkling water.

  He sat down and grabbed his textbook again. “So, Hamlet.” He grinned, waving the book high in the air for effect. “I tried reading it after you fell asleep, but I just don’t freaking get it.”

  I cut a tiny piece of roast and chewed it thoughtfully. The past thirty-six hours or so had been the most exhausting ones I had had since I investigated the death of Rick’s father nearly a year and a half earlier.

  I would have loved to help Connor White understand the tragic tale of Hamlet, but I was so tired I could barely find the energy to chew the most tender roast I had ever tasted. I took a sip of water. “Connor, I’d really like to help you but, honestly, I’m exhausted.”

  Connor’s smile faded. “Oh, I hear ya. Sorry if I bugged you. It’s just, well, you seem to know a lot about this crap, sorry, stuff. No biggie.”

  He closed the book and shoved it in a maroon backpack. He then grabbed his magazine and pretended to read. Although he had dropped the matter, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming guilt for letting him down. Luckily for me, my exhaustion, like Rick’s, outweighed everything else. I barely ate half the slice of roast before falling back to sleep.

  When I woke up, Rick was leaning over the couch, gently nudging my shoulder. I blinked several times before sitting up. “What’s going on?” I yawned.

  Rick smiled and sat beside me. He kissed my forehead lovingly. I looked into his eyes and returned the smile. “What’s that for?”

  “Nothing. You’re just adorable when you sleep.”

  “Ugh,” I cringed. “I don’t snore, do I?”

  “No.” He laughed. “You don’t snore.”

  I searched his eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I woke you up because the captain said we need to prepare for landing. You know, buckle up.”

  Just as Rick said this, the ambassador entered the room. He smoothed his lapels and straightened his necktie. Without a word, he sat down in one of the chairs and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number and clenched his jaw as he waited for someone to answer.

  Quietly, he muttered something beneath his breath. Just as quickly as he placed the call, he ended it. Connor raced around the cabin, carrying my dishes and several glasses to the kitchen. He then picked up miscellaneous trash that had appeared during the flight.

  The intercom popped just as Connor made his last check. “Good evening, folks. We are nearing Heathrow so if you would, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We hope you’ve had a pleasant flight and we should have you on the ground shortly.”

  Rick and I buckled the seatbelts on the couch as Connor sank into a chair, clearly winded. I glanced behind me and opened the shade. Sunlight poured in and it took several moments to acclimate myself to the change in lighting. When I did, I was impressed by the view.

  We flew over beautifully-manicured pastures whose colors ranged from pale green to vivid orange. A winding river that curled like a snake through the countryside caught my attention. Rick leaned in and pointed. “That’s the Thames River. Runs straight through London.”

  “It’s a lot longer than I imagined,” I mused.

  “It’s not as long as the Mississippi River.”

  I gave Rick a playfully angry look. “Listen, pal, just because I’m from the south doesn’t mean I compare all bodies of water to the Mississippi.”

  “I wasn’t saying that.”

  “Whoa! You’re from the south?” Connor interrupted. “That’s freaking crazy. Where’s your accent? Do you live on a plantation?”

  The ambassador cleared his throat and everyone stopped speaking. It was impressive to see someone with that much power. He placed his cell phone in his coat pocket and folded his large hands. “As soon as we land, my assistant Devin will meet us. He will drop you off at my flat. You can get yourselves ready. I have some business to attend to. When I return, we will begin the search for Arthur.”

  I nodded politely and Rick nodded his head once.

  “Now, Miss James, I understand you have never been abroad before. The time-zone change may take a lot out of you. I believe it’s almost five o’clock in the evening. If you find when I return that you are incapable of working tonight, you must let me know. I would rather have you well-rested with all your faculties sharp than overlook something crucial.”

  Although I knew the comment was meant to be considerate, it came across as insulting. During my brief career as a private investigator, I had proven myself countless times as a dedicated investigator and I had never halfheartedly worked on any case. I faked a smile. “I’ll make sure that I’m prepared.”

  He seemed satisfied with my reply and nodded once before turning his gaze to the open window. As soon as he looked away, I glanced at Rick. His brow was furrowed and Rick stared at the ambassador.

  When Rick realized I was watching, he softened his gaze, offering a slight smile. The plane began to drop in altitude and I felt the decrease as my ears popped. Without the reassurance of armrests, I swallowed hard, crossed my arms, and closed my eyes.

  I felt Rick lean closer. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “It’s nothing,” I replied, my eyes still closed. “I’m just not good at take-offs, or landings.”

  As if to taunt me, the plane abruptly dropped in altitude again and my stomach did a somersault. I tensed up and Rick replied, “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. This plane is totally safe. Mr. Cross never cuts cost on safety.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath. “And seriously, I’m not afraid of flying.”

  “Well, we’re almost there. The buildings are a lot larger now.”

  Less than five minutes later, the plane touched down and the pilot applied the brakes. I exhaled deeply and opened my eyes as the screeching sound subsided. Glancing up at Rick, I noticed an amused grin on his face. He threw his hands in the air playfully and exclaimed, “We’re alive!”

  “Ha, funny.” I smiled, shaking my head. Something told me Jon would have teased me a lot more. Thinking of him filled me with sudden guilt as I remembered his missed calls and voicemail. I need to call him. The pilot pulled the plane near the concourse but not up to it. Instead, an airport employee raced alongside the tarmac with a set of rolling stairs.

  The intercom popped one more time. The voice of Phillip, the pilot, said, “Well, folks, let me be the first to welcome you to England. We’ve received word that an airport official will be meeting you shortly so please sit tight. You’re welcome to walk around the cabin and again, thanks for flying with us today.”

  I unbuckled my belt and walked over to the bathroom to freshen up. Despite being told that it was ful
l-sized, I was still surprised to walk inside an airplane restroom and see a shower stall. I splashed water on my face and brushed my hair, removing all the knots I had acquired during my naps.

  When I felt I was presentable, I rejoined the group. The cabin door was open and two officials were boarding the plane. One was a short, stern-looking man with steely eyes and thin lips wearing a suit and identification badge. The other was a tall, lanky ginger-haired man in his late twenties with light-green eyes and freckles sporting a purple dress shirt and tan slacks. The taller man made eye contact with Mr. Cross and nodding, smiled slightly.

  “Welcome to London and Heathrow.” The stern-looking man greeted us in an English accent. “My name is Winston Kast and I work for this airport, overseeing security matters. I was informed that you departed from Barnstable Municipal this morning. Is that correct?”

  The ambassador stood up. At his full height, he towered over the security official. He crossed his arms behind his back. “That is correct.”

  As soon as Winston opened his mouth, the ginger-haired man exclaimed, “This ‘ere is Ambassador Gatlin Cross.”

  The security official turned his gaze to the younger man, frowning. “I am well aware who this is.” Returning his attention to the ambassador, he added, “For security purposes, I will need to see identification for each of you and will be required to search your bags before you leave.”

  Ambassador Cross extracted his black-leather wallet. While he handed the security official his license, Rick and I pulled out our licenses and handed them to him as well. He stared at our pictures then at us skeptically. I felt my face flush as he scrutinized the validity of my identification. Finally, he handed us our respective driver’s licenses.