Hide nor Hair (A Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa Read Free Book Online Page B

at least,” I informed him.
    “ What? ”
    “A few hundred. I’m not making it up. That’s the price for making curly hair straight.” God, it was like I was talking to Neil!
    He picked through the wallet and removed a credit card. “This is corporate. Don’t abuse it.”
    I made a fast grab for it before he could change his mind and left his office. Meredith caught me as I tried to make a dash out the front door.
    “I need that story on flying lessons by Tuesday morning!” she said. “No fooling around! They’re advertisers, and they’ve been calling here wondering why the reporter hasn’t contacted them yet. Willy’s ready to go anytime. Call him and set something up today. Plan on going airborne tomorrow.”

6
    I met Willy Rojas in the parking lot at Tranquil Harbor Airport early Friday morning. The small terminal was neat and white, with a large window in the front and a good-sized hangar around the back of the building. Nothing surprising there, but what I hadn’t expected were the annuals, still in full bloom, and the meticulously tended lawn with a quaint cobblestone walkway that led up to the front entrance. The runway also looked well-maintained, with no pits or potholes in the asphalt that could ruin a takeoff or a landing.
    “I’ve never been here before,” I told Willy.
    “I never even knew this place existed,” he admitted, lifting his digital Nikon to take shots of the grounds.
    I thought from an advertising standpoint, just the view alone would appeal to readers and potential flight-school students—which was the whole point of running the advertorial.
    We entered the building through double-glass doors and found ourselves standing in the middle of a snack bar with a seating area. An older woman stood behind the counter, filling ketchup bottles. I nodded hello and looked for an office.
    “You looking for Hank?” the woman asked.
    “We’re from the Town Crier  …” Willy began.
    The woman cut him off. “He’ll be back in a few minutes. He said to wait.”
    A man stepped out from behind a door marked PRIVATE and came toward us. He looked a little on the young side, clean-cut, and friendly. “Hi! I’m Drake Tuttle! I do most of the plane maintenance here. Hank Barber had to step out for a few minutes—he’s the flight instructor. How about I show you some of the planes? You can take pictures while you’re waiting.”
    “Sounds great,” Willy said.
    We followed Drake through the door and crossed the small, tidy office to get to the hangar, where two planes were being repaired.
    “Oil change?” I asked, thinking the whole setup reminded me of the dealership where I normally brought my old car for servicing.
    “Rigging,” Drake told me. “Yearly maintenance. Can’t do the usual gear swing and a lube on a 310.”
    I looked at Willy. He shrugged.
    “Okay,” I said to the mechanic. “Could you say that again in English please?”
    “Just maintenance for a Cessna 310. Hank will be taking you up in one of these. Twin engine. Nice machine. A real fuel sucker though.”
    I pulled my notebook out and started to write, despite my shaking hand. Cessna 310 was obviously the model of the plane. Twin engine meant two propeller things. Fuel sucker meant it used a lot of gas. I didn’t bother to write about rigging or swinging gears or lubes—whatever those terms meant. I didn’t want to get technical. I wanted the article to be about having fun, or at least as much fun as a person can have being up in the air, terrified, while awaiting the inevitable plummet back to earth.
    “And we’ll be going up in one of these little things?” I asked.
    “Just like this one,” Drake said. “They’re not so little. Do you have a problem with flying?”
    “Not at all,” I lied. It wasn’t like I had a phobia or anything. It was just that I preferred really big planes with attendants and drinks and, of course, those little screens on the back of the seat in front of me, so I could watch