Page 39 of Colton in the Wild
“But that was after. It doesn’t explain what happened to make the engine quit in the first place.”
The detective grimaced. “It appears the fuel pump was tampered with.”
Her brow creased. “The fuel pump? But that wouldn’t kill the engine, not in that plane.”
“So I was told, by your partner.”That word again.“He said the pump is only for extra juice on takeoff, landing, and pushing for altitude, because of the location of the fuel tanks, in the wings.”
Hetty nodded. “It’s a high-wing plane, the fuel is gravity fed.”
“Apparently our suspect didn’t realize that, any more than I did,” Barton said rather ruefully. “But the theory is whatever he did to mess with the pump eventually shifted and blocked the fuel line.”
A sudden memory shot into her mind and her pulse kicked up. “You need to go talk to Jake, the teenager who works down at the RTA dock. He mentioned right before we left that there had been some guy down looking at the plane.”
The detective went still. “Did he now,” he said quietly, obviously seizing on the idea.
“He thought it was just some curious tourist,” Hetty explained. “And all my preflight checks were fine, so I didn’t think anything more about it.”
“We’ll get right on that,” Barton assured her. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so,” Hetty said, feeling as if she had scraped the very bottom of her memory bank.
“All right. Thank you.”
He turned to the artist, who nodded to indicate she was done. And as he moved, his jacket slid back enough for Hetty to see the sidearm he wore on his belt. And suddenly something else floated up from that bottom. A brief but vivid flash of memory. And she felt she needed to say it, even if it might be pointless.
“I don’t know if this means anything, I’m not that experienced with weapons, but…”
“Go ahead, please,” Barton said.
“When I saw him, he was holding the rifle in his left hand.”
Again the man went still. And then he smiled at her. “Well, now, that may just turn out to be very helpful. Get well, Ms. Amos.”
“Working on it,” she said, feeling quietly pleased that she might have actually helped to find the man who had put her here in this hospital bed.
Chapter 20
Spence was yawning as he stepped outside, but it cut off with an awkward cough when he realized he’d almost walked into his father’s fist, raised to knock on his door.
He’d come home for a shower, a change of clothes, had almost dived into his bed for a nap, but told himself the shut-eye he’d caught in the reclining chair at Hetty’s bedside would have to be enough. He needed to get back there. He didn’t like being gone even this long. He’d only left because she’d had a physical therapy session. She was working hard at getting back on her feet, but she was going to be needing those crutches they’d given her for a while, no matter how much she obviously hated them.
Belatedly, he realized his father was holding out a bright blue mug with the familiar Roaster’s logo. The café down on Main Street had the best coffee around, probably because it roasted its own beans. It was a standing joke among the locals of Shelby that you could always tell a tourist because they were drinking from one of the Roaster’s paper cups instead of the refillable mugs all the regulars had.
But right now, all Spence cared about was the smell of that coffee and the caffeine jolt it promised. He grabbed it gratefully and his father let him take a long sip before he said, “We need to talk.”
There was a grim undertone to the voice and Spence wondered if he had enough energy left to brace himself for whatever was coming. He stood aside for his dad to enter and they walked over to sit at the small dining table he rarely used. He waited. When his father didn’t speak, he finally gave him a wry one-sided smile and said, “Just hit me with it, Dad.”
Ryan Colton nodded. “All right. Two things. Chuck says there was a partial cut of the line to the fuel pump, which is why it only gave out when it tried to turn on for the controlled landing. And a piece that was cut off the line, he thinks maybe accidentally since it was just floating loose, blocked the fuel intake from the wing tanks.”
That made sense, to him anyway. Hetty would be the one to really ask, but he didn’t want her getting all wound up about that yet. Time enough when she was well enough to be released from the hospital.
“And second,” Dad went on, “there may be a connection between RTA and your shooter.”
Spence blinked. He remembered Eli’s question and wondered at the instincts his cousin had developed that got him places long before anyone else. “What connection?”
“It’s not certain, just a possibility,” Dad cautioned. “In fact, it’s a pretty slim possibility.”
“Nothing in the last four—no, five—days has been certain,” he said, his tone a little sour. “Just tell me.”
