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He shrugged. “Not really. We were a lot busier before. Just flying him and his friends around wasn’t so bad. And it was steady work.”
He slid open the heavy doors. The first thing she saw was an enormous private jet, taking up much of the available space. It dwarfed the tiny prop plane next to it. “Wow.”
“It’s a beauty, no? I call her Big Blue.” He gazed at it proudly. “Mine, over there, is Little Blue. The boys got ol’ Big back in condition after the last flight. I let them go. Didn’t seem like much of a reason to keep them here if the Tates weren’t going to be doing any flying anytime soon. Ms. Tate doesn’t travel by air.”
“She doesn’t?”
He shook his head. “Afraid of flying, believe it or not. When they go anywhere, it’s by boat.”
“Oh.” Something dawned on her. “So does that mean . . .?”
“They’ll probably close this place down. Yeah. No sense keeping it.” He motioned her toward the plane. “Care to look inside?”
“Yes, please. So you piloted the plane on this last journey?”
“I did. Me and Bernie. He’s my regular co-pilot. Need two pilots to fly this baby. But he only comes on when I need him. Mostly for weekends.”
“I see,” she said, as he climbed the stairs to open the door and help her board. Inside, it was all light, fine-wood-grain accents and cream leather seating. The lighting was warm and comfortable, with a sofa and seating area with a large-screen television. She’d been on a private plane only once before, during her unexpected trip to Greece. She had to imagine that a ride like this would make any long-distance travel easy and fun. “Where was he seated?”
He walked down the aisle, stopping at one of the captain’s chairs. “Right here.”
“And there were five other men aboard?”
“As passengers. Then me and Bernie, and Erin and Darla. The flight attendants. We were the original ones who set off, and came back.”
“There were others?”
“Yeah, girls, mostly. They brought them aboard, let them go. It was like a revolving door. I couldn’t keep track of all the people who came in. Anyway, Darla was the one to find him. He’d been out most of the trip from Lyon. When she tried to wake him to tell him the plane had landed, she realized he was dead.”
“Did you see the body?”
He nodded, wincing. She gave him a curious look, to which he replied, “To tell you the truth, I thought he must’ve OD’d. He had white stuff all over his face. I thought he did one too many . . . hits. You know?”
“Were they partying?”
He laughed. “Whendidn’tthey party? Any time, any occasion, was reason for a party. When they went on these things, they made sure the supply of drink and drugs kept going. They were blitzed out of their minds, even before they got to the first stop. Monte Carlo.”
Daisy looked around. “Did the cabin have any cameras, so you could see what was happening back here?”
Arlo shook his head, removed his painter’s cap to reveal a slight bald spot that made him look at least a decade older than she’d originally though he was, and fastened it back on his head. “I’m sure if I did have those, I’d get an eyeful.”
He showed her around the rest of the plane, to a small bedroom in the very back, and a larger conference room with a wide table, taking up much of the space. Daisy frowned as a sickening feeling overcame her. “So if people kept coming on and leaving . . .”
“Yep. That’s the way it usually was. Like a party bus. He’d get drunk and invite people along—I don’t think he even knew half of them. They’d always leave the place looking like a wreck. The cleaning crew--” he whistled. “They sure had their work cut out for them, if you know what I mean.”
Daisy’s thoughts hitched on theI don’t think he even knew half of them.“So you’re saying that there was no way of knowing who was on this plane during each stop?”
“Si.” He tilted his head, studying her, as if something had just occurred to him. “Hey. Guess that makes things pretty hard for you, huh?”
Arlo grinned, but she couldn’t match it. She folded her arms over herself. She’d promised she’d check in with Goldie in a few hours, and she neededsomethingto report. She was hoping a list of suspects would be a good start. But now, would that even be possible?
“You saw who was on the plane during the last leg, though. From . . . Lyon?”
He nodded.
“So you know who was on it?” She pulled out the list of passengers that she’d compiled, with the help of the businessman and the housekeeper, and handed it to him. “Roberta said these men were on the plane. Correct?”
He scanned it. “Yeah. Except these two—Lionel and Mooch—they stayed in Lyon. Had some business, I think. Or pleasure. Never could tell with those guys.”
