Dead Silent (A Jettine Jorgensen Mystery, Book 1) Read online

  “Pick you up at noon?”

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll bring the Nomex flight suit my uncle gave me. Do the ejection seats still work in your old-generation fighter?”

  “It’s not that old, and I keep everything in tip-top shape. But just in case, you’re qualified in parachutes, right?”

  “Yeah, but how long has it been since you’ve flown it? A lot can go wrong with that older technology.”

  “Don’t worry, I flew it last week, and your uncle’s maintenance shop keeps it airworthy.” He drained his wine glass. “Looks like the players are leaving.”

  I turned as the couples and their spies weaved their way through the tables to the valet stand.

  He checked his watch. “It’s a little after ten. Want to go somewhere for a nightcap?”

  “No, thanks. I want to swim early-morning laps in my pool before the interviews start tomorrow.” I stood.

  “Of course. Let’s go.” He placed his hand at the small of my back and guided me to the valet stand.

  Five minutes later, he pulled in front of Valhalla, hopped out, and opened my car door. He walked me to the front door, waited until I unlocked it, then kissed my hand. “See you tomorrow.”

  The hand kiss made me tingle all over. Maybe Gwen was right about me dating again. Especially since the enormous empty castle magnified my loneliness. I double-checked the security system and then headed up four flights of stairs to the top floor, listening to every sound along the way. I changed into my nightgown and slipped under the covers. The wine I had enjoyed with dinner made me drowsy. It wasn’t long before I dropped into a deep sleep.

  My mother visited me in a dream. Her radiant golden eyes focused on me as her long black hair cascaded over a billowy powder-blue dress. Beckoning me to follow, she led me downstairs and into the study, located on the first floor in the southwest corner. Floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases lined the walls, and a Persian rug in vibrant hues accented the oak floor. She pointed at a book on a shelf full of mystery and thriller novels. Books I’d read.

  I reached for the book. As I pulled it off the shelf, the phone on the desk rang, shattering my dream. Waking with a sudden jolt made me drop the book. Confused, I turned and stared at the ringing phone, illuminated by moonlight shining through tall, corner windows. Is this still a dream?

  Lifting the receiver, I answered, “Hello?”

  “Jett, it’s Gwen. Sorry to call so late, but I tried your cell earlier, and you didn’t answer. I was worried.”

  I concentrated on keeping my voice steady as I recovered from the shock of another sleepwalking episode‍‍—one I wasn’t ready to discuss. “Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me. I forgot to turn my cell phone’s ringer back on after dinner.”

  “Good. Did you have a nice time with Pierce?”

  “Yes, and there are several new developments related to the murder case. I took pictures. I’ll be busy during the day, but we can meet here tomorrow night for dinner. Do you think Mike will want to see the evidence I gathered?”

  “I’ll ask him to stop by your house around seven with a big sausage pizza, and you can tell us all about it.”

  “See you then.” Disconnecting, I surveyed the dimly-lit room. Wine-colored cordovan armchairs and a matching sofa stood in a semi-circle in front of a stone fireplace built into the south wall. Bookcases flanked the hearth, and I spotted an action thriller nearby on the rug.

  My breath caught when I picked up Stranded by S.L. Menear and remembered the jet airliner depicted on the cover had crashed because of sabotage. Goosebumps erupted on my arms as my shaking hand returned the book to the shelf.

  What’s happening? Is Mother trying to tell me she and Dad were murdered?

  I collapsed into the wine-colored cordovan desk chair and stared at a framed picture of my parents perched on the desktop. Moonlight illuminated my blond father’s handsome face. His brilliant blue eyes stared back at me as my beautiful mother stood beside him, smiling.

  Are they trying to tell me something about their plane crash? Why wait until now? Am I reading too much into my dreams?

  Nine

  The next morning, I popped out of bed and pulled on a bathing suit, a terry robe, and flip-flops. I breezed down the stairs and cut through the great hall, which had a magnificent thirty-foot vaulted ceiling and oak-paneled walls. On the ocean side, tall windows showcased the ocean view, and wide glass doors opened to the broad oceanfront terrace. A long, outdoor infinity pool, level with the terrace, bordered the ballroom.

  I swam laps for thirty minutes, trying to burn off anxiety about my dream’s possible message. The warm water and early morning breeze caressed my skin.

  After a hearty breakfast, I dressed for the maid service interviews. All the companies had excellent reputations, so I chose the one that gave me the most positive feeling. Sterling Maid Service emailed the contract, and I completed the transaction online. Problem solved.

  I grabbed my cell as I trotted upstairs to change for the flight. The phone vibrated. It was Pierce.

  “Hey, Jett, hold off on eating lunch and I’ll bring a picnic basket of goodies for us to enjoy after our flight. It’s best to eat after the G-load.”

  That sounded ominous. “Alrighty, then, I’ll wait. See you soon.”

  I rushed to change into shorts, a fancy T-shirt, and sneakers. I folded the Nomex flight suit that would fit over my clothes. I’d pull it on right before the flight so I wouldn’t overheat.

  As I waited downstairs for Pierce to arrive, I relaxed in a comfortable leather armchair and called Uncle Hunter. I decided not to tell him about my dreams until I was sure what to say. He was my mother’s younger brother‍‍—tall and muscular with thick black hair, golden skin, and golden eyes. A former Navy fighter pilot and current airline pilot, he owned a flight school and a maintenance facility that also restored antique airplanes and built experimental aircraft. At forty, Hunter Vann was a confirmed bachelor and my closest relative. I loved him dearly.

  He answered on the third ring. “Hi, Jett, I was planning to visit you later today.”

  “I’m coming to Aerodrome Estates. Pierce Lockwood is picking me up in a few minutes, and he’s taking me for a ride in his fighter jet. After that, we’re having a picnic lunch, and I’d like you to join us.”

  “That’s even better. I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. Sorry I was working a three-day trip when your flight arrived. Otherwise, I would’ve picked you up. I heard about the murder. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but it was quite a shock. Where should I meet you?”

  “I’ll be in my workshop. Stop by before you go up in the jet.”

  “You think it’s safe for me to fly in the L-39 with Pierce?” I decided it didn’t hurt to ask, even though my gut said it was okay.

  “We keep that fighter in pristine condition, and Pierce is a good pilot. You’ll be fine.”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon.” The instant I disconnected Pierce rang my Viking doorbell.

  We climbed into his vintage Corvette and cruised over the Banyan Isle bridge with the top down and the sun overhead. It was a perfect day for flying with clear skies and light wind.

  “Do you mind if we stop by Hunter’s workshop and say hello before we launch?”

  “I planned to do that anyway,” he said with a smile. “I want to put the picnic basket inside his giant refrigerator while we’re up flying.”

  “You’d better give me some stick time. That fighter must be a thrill to fly.”

  “You’ll love it. The controls are instantly responsive, and it really rips through the sky. Just limit the G-load so you don’t black out.”

  “Oh, right, I don’t have a G-suit, just the fire-retardant flight suit.”

  “That’ll be fine, and I’ll go easy on you.” He grinned, brimming with confidence.

  We arrived thirty minutes later, and I gave my uncle a big hug.

  “Jett, you look as beautiful as ever.” He lifted me up and spun me around.


  Pierce laughed. “Looks like you’re preparing her for aerobatics in the L-39.”

  “She’ll be fine. Jett has a cast-iron stomach. If aerobatic lessons with me didn’t make her sick, nothing will.” He set me down and grinned.

  “Uncle Hunter, you’re way too good-looking. Flight attendants must have a tough time concentrating on their jobs when they work with you.”

  “Is that why they act so silly around me?” He laughed. “Mystery solved.”

  I playfully punched his bulging biceps. “You’re so bad.”

  “Can’t help it, sugar. It’s the wild Cherokee in me.” He took the picnic basket from Pierce. “Want me to put this in the fridge?”

  “Thanks, and please join us for lunch when we get back. We have plenty.”

  After a detailed thirty-minute briefing about the L-39, its ejection system, and our planned flight, we were suited up and strapped into the sleek fighter-trainer jet. The takeoff pinned me to the seat, and the brief, vertical climb was exhilarating. I loved it.

  “Woohoo! This is so fun, Pierce!” I was in pilot heaven.

  Minutes later, he said, “We’re in the practice area over the Everglades now. I like to stay near the southwest corner of Lake Okeechobee. Don’t forget, the hard deck is at ten thousand, so we don’t have to worry about the speed limit at the lower altitudes. Keep it between twelve and sixteen thousand feet.” He wiggled the control stick slightly. “You have the airplane.”

  I took hold of the control stick with my right hand and put my feet on the rudder pedals. “Here come some aileron rolls.” We spun horizontally for several rotations before I stopped it back in the upright position. I couldn’t believe the lightning-fast roll rate.

  “Do a wide loop to limit the G-load. Expect to use about three thousand feet vertically.”

  I gave it a try. What a rush! The speed was addictive, and the dives were thrilling.

  We played around, zooming up, diving down, and banking in steep turns as we rocketed around the Everglades. Time went by too fast. Soon Pierce took the controls, and we headed back to Aerodrome Estates. He made a whisper-soft landing and taxied to the jet-fuel pumps.

  My veins hummed with adrenaline when I climbed out. “What a thrill! No wonder you enjoy flying this so much.” I hugged Pierce and then pulled off my Nomex suit. “It must be fun and fast for traveling.”

  “No traveling. The FAA has it in the Experimental category, which restricts me to local flying only, except waivers for airshows.” He wriggled out of his flight suit. “You flew it like a pro. We’ll have to do this again soon.” Concerned, he asked, “Are you ready for lunch or does your stomach need to recover first?”

  “I’m good. Let’s put your baby in the hangar and then dive into that picnic basket.”

  We strolled to my uncle’s workshop and found him changing a spark plug on the radial engine of his beautiful red Beechcraft D17S Staggerwing. His antique cabin biplane was one of my favorites. When it was running, the big Pratt & Whitney R-985 engine made a deep rumbling that vibrated the cabin and made the airplane seem to come alive. I felt an almost spiritual connection to the venerable aircraft.

  “Hey, do you still have your old Panhead Harley?” I scanned the maintenance hangar.

  Hunter pointed at a shiny Harley Davidson motorcycle parked in a back corner. “Yep, it’s powder-coated, fully chromed, and ready to roll.”

  Pierce stood, hands on hips, looking at me. “I had no idea you were such a motorhead.”

  I blushed as Hunter said, “She’s only like this when she’s hanging out with me. I taught her to appreciate fine machinery.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

  Pierce grabbed the basket from the fridge, and Hunter took cold bottles of water. We found a picnic table under a big shade tree and settled in.

  Pierce handed out gourmet ham and cheese sandwiches from Giorgio’s and opened a big bag of baked potato chips with sea salt. No one spoke until we’d inhaled half the sandwiches.

  Hunter put his arm around me. “I have a nice surprise for you. I hope Pierce won’t mind taking it back to your house in his Vette.”

  “A greasy old motorcycle won’t fit anyway.” Pierce took a swig of water.

  “Nothing like that. I assure you they’re clean.” He finished his sandwich. “Wait here while I go get them.”

  “Them?” I arched an eyebrow.

  He grinned. “You’ll see.”

  A few minutes later, he returned with two balls of fur in his arms. He set them down beside me. A honey-colored male puppy and a black and tan female puppy.

  Pierce studied them. “Are they German shepherds?”

  “Nope, they’re Timber-shepherds‍‍—half timber wolf and half German shepherd from different parents so they can be mates,” Hunter explained. “They’re ten weeks old.”

  I sat on the grass and let them climb over me and lick my face. “They’re sooo cute! They remind me of the Timber-shepherds my family bought when I was twelve. They were so smart, they never barked at intruders. Instead, they snuck up and positioned themselves in front and behind, ready for an attack if necessary.”

  “They’re yours if you want them.” Hunter ruffled their fur.

  “I love them, but I won’t be able to keep them if I go back to the Navy.”

  “No problem. This early stage is critical in their training, and you’re so good with animals. If you return to the Navy, I’ll see to it they’re taken care of here.”

  Pierce nudged me. “Are you a dog trainer?”

  “No, but I have a way with animals.” I caressed their butter-soft fur.

  He reached down and stroked them. “Wolf puppies look a lot like regular dogs.”

  “What are their names?” I asked as I cuddled them.

  “That’s up to you.” Hunter smiled. “What names would you like?”

  I noticed the sleek Staggerwing Beech sitting in the open hangar in the background, and an idea popped into my head.

  “I’ll name the male Pratt and the female Whitney.”

  Hunter laughed. “Pratt and Whitney, like your favorite aircraft engine manufacturer. Perfect.”

  I suspected the puppies were part of a calculated plan to ensure I stayed in Florida, but they were so darling, I didn’t care.

  Pierce pulled Pratt onto his lap, and the puppy sniffed his shorts like a vacuum cleaner. “I bet he smells Mom’s cats on me.” He set him down and brushed cat hairs off his shorts. “I visited my parents this morning and petted Mom’s Persians. She has two big ones.”

  Hunter ruffled the dogs’ fur. “They haven’t met any cats yet. The yellow tabby who patrols the hangar has steered clear of them.”

  “Your mom’s Persians must smell strange to him.” I pulled Pratt to me.

  “If you’d rather not have the dogs in your car, I can drive Jett home,” Hunter offered.

  “No, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Pierce packed up the picnic basket. “Ready to go, Jett?”

  “Oh yes, I can’t wait to shop for puppy stuff. They’ll need collars, leashes, dog beds, toys, food, the works.”

  Hunter laughed. “Dog beds? I know you. They’ll be snuggled in your bed tonight and every night.”

  “I wouldn’t want them to feel frightened in an unfamiliar place. They’ll need time to get used to that huge house, and they might be too little to climb the stairs. Good thing there’s an elevator.” I scooped them up. “Let’s go.” I kissed my uncle’s cheek. “Thanks for the fur babies. I love them.”

  He grinned. “I’ll walk you to the car.” He took one wiggling puppy out of my arms so it would be easier for me to carry the other one.

  When we arrived at his Corvette, Pierce popped open the trunk. He dropped in the picnic basket and pulled out a blanket for the dogs.

  I sat in the passenger seat, and he spread the blanket over my lap.

  Hunter deposited Pratt beside Whitney and then leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Call me if you need anything.”r />
  “No wonder you’ve always been my favorite uncle.” I waved goodbye.

  As we drove away, he yelled, “I’m your only uncle.”

  I convinced Pierce to stop at The Pampered Pet on Banyan Isle. “Keep an eye on them while I grab some essentials. I’ll only be a few minutes.” I dashed out of the car.

  Inside the store, I grabbed a shopping cart and dropped in the best organic puppy food I could find, collars, harnesses, leashes, a few small toys, and water and food bowls.

  I wheeled the cart outside. “I think this stuff will fit.”

  Covered in wiggling puppies, Pierce struggled to unlock the trunk.

  I loaded the purchases and parked the cart in a return stall. When I slipped into the passenger seat and lifted the dogs, they greeted me with enthusiastic kisses. I turned to Pierce. “Thanks for stopping here. I hope they weren’t too much trouble.”

  “Not at all. They kept busy playing with each other.” He pulled away from the curb and headed for my house.

  He parked in front, and I unlocked my front door and held the puppies while he unloaded the car.

  “Thanks for a fun day, Pierce.”

  “My pleasure. We should do this again soon, and when you’re ready to date, I hope you’ll give me a shot.”

  He carried the bags into the foyer. Before he hopped back in his car, he leaned down and gave me a quick, feather-light kiss on the lips.

  My heart raced as I watched him drive away. Was it because Pierce kissed me or because I hadn’t been kissed in two months?

  Ten

  I deposited my furry friends on the front lawn so they could take care of business before entering the house. They romped around a few minutes, wrestling each other and chasing lizards before finally emptying their bladders.

  When I opened the front door, Pratt and Whitney raced around the foyer, their little nails clattering as they slid on the smooth marble floor. They plowed into me a few times, almost knocking me down when they tried to dart between my legs as I carried bags into the spacious kitchen and pantry.