Tail Spin

the Parlow Clinic with the nurse muttering under her breath about macho men with muscles in their heads, Jack clutching a prescription for pain pills in his hand.
    She eyed the prescription and said, “First let’s go to Peabody’s Pharmacy.”
    “Nah, I don’t really need any more pain meds right now.”
    “You will soon enough.”
    “No, I think—”
    “Shut up, Jack.” And so Jack shut up, cupped her elbow, as if afraid she’d bolt, knowing he couldn’t catch her.
    “I think Agent Savich got you a room at the B&B where we’re all staying. If you’re wondering, everything is ducks around here. I was thinking Old Squaw Lane over there was a tacky insult, but no, it’s a duck.”
    “Well, of course it is,” Jack said, aiming her toward Peabody’s Pharmacy. Once he had a bottle of Vicodin in his pocket, and one in his mouth, they walked to the sheriff’s office at the top of First Street, next to the firehouse. “I wonder if the firefighters have lots of business—look at all these old wooden buildings.”
    “Hey are you the pilot of what’s left of the Cessna rescue plane?”
    Jack smiled at the tall, fit fiftyish woman with cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a drill sergeant’s voice. She stood right in front of them on the sidewalk by the big glass window of the sheriff’s office. “Yes,” he said, and raised an eyebrow.
    “I’m Dot—Dorothy Malone—silly name my parents fastened on me, but my daddy loved her, the actress, you know. I spent a little time looking over your plane. I’m thinking bomb, but the sucker didn’t do the trick, thank God.”
    “Actually,” Rachael said, “thank God for Cudlow Valley.”
    Dot nodded. “That’s for sure, but still, that must have been some flying you did.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Sheriff Hollyfield’s assigned a deputy to guard the wreckage.”
    “Good thinking,” Jack said, shook her hand, andopened the door to the sheriff’s office. Jack knew Dot Malone was right. If the bomb had worked as expected, both he and Timothy would be memories. Fortunately, he’d had time to send the mayday and to spot Cudlow Valley stretching narrow and straight between that impossible mess
    of mountains.
    There was no one at the front desk, so he and Rachael walked through a large room that held ten or so cubicles, three occupied by uniformed deputies who watched their every move. Jack nodded to each of the men, no women, and continued to follow the sound of Savich’s voice to Sheriff Hollyfield’s sparse office. Jack saw Savich on the phone through the open door. Rachael shoved Jack into a chair, eyed him. “Here I thought you were well enough to make this little trek, but you’re not. You’re hurting again. Stay put and don’t you move. Give the pain med a chance to kick in.”
    “Nah, I’m—”
    “Be quiet. What you really need to do is crawl into bed for a while and sleep. Lean your head back, close your eyes, and rest your mouth.”
    No sooner had Savich hung up than Tommy Jerkins poked his head in.
    Things moved quickly. Savich and Sherlock and Sheriff Hollyfield went with Tommy out to the crash site. Even better, ten minutes later, after the blessed Vicodin was happily swimming in his bloodstream and Jack could see straight, he and Rachael walked over to Greeb’s Pond, the finest lodging in Parlow.
    Rachael held him up while Mrs. Flint checked him into the last available room.
    Mrs. Flint said, “You’re the federal agent whose plane was shot down and landed on the highway, right?”
    “Close enough,” Jack said.
    Rachael helped him up the stairs to the second door on the right. It was a lovely room, with high ceilings and windows overlooking Canvasback Lane.
    It could have been a closet for all he cared. “More ducks,” Jack said as he eyed the duck border wallpaper and eased down onto the bed. “I feel fine now, Rachael. We can go out to the plane. Oh, man, this bed feels really nice and—”
    Rachael pushed him onto his back. In under three seconds, he was out.
    She poured a glass of water and left it and the bottle of pills on the nightstand next to his bed. She covered him with a duck-themed afghan and went back to her room.
    When she left ten minutes later, she looked as good as she could with what she had in her duffel bag.
    Mrs. Flint called to her before she could get through the front door. “Miss, are you a federal agent, too? I didn’t get your last name.”
    “Abercrombie, Mrs. Flint. No, I’m not an agent. I’m