Fire and ice by Dana Stabenow Page B

his, that he could have told her the instant she stepped from the truck, that he had known to the inch how close she was standing next to him now.
    "It's a radio," Wy said.
    "I can see that much," Liam said. "Why is it bolted to the bottom of the control panel instead of being built in like the other one"--he pointed--"and why does it look so much newer?"
    He turned to look down at her, and again surprised that look of fear on her face. It vanished, but he had seen it, it had been real, and he knew a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
    "It's a special radio. I installed it at the request of the skipper who heads up the consortium I spot herring for."
    "What's so special about it?"
    "It's scrambled. So if anybody stumbles across our channel, and I'm telling the skipper where I spotted a big ball of herring, nobody else can understand what I'm saying."
    "I see. I suppose there's a descrambler on the skipper's end."
    "Yes."
    Liam pointed at the garbage bag that held the Cub's inventory. "Then why these other three radios?"
    "Backups."
    Again, she couldn't quite meet his eyes. Liam waited, but she didn't volunteer any further information. He looked at Gruber, who had materialized on the other side of the strut and who was engaged in wiping his runny nose on the sleeve of his brown jacket, jaws champing again at a wad of bubble gum. He blew a bubble that broke with a splat against his nose, and he slurped it back into his mouth.
    "Want me to take that?" Wy said from Liam's other side, and he turned to see her indicating the garbage bag.
    "No problem," he said, "I've got it."
    He walked over to deposit the bag in the passenger seat of the Blazer, and as an afterthought locked the doors. It was evidence of a sort, after all, although he didn't have a clue yet as to just what it was evidence of, other than a serious sweet tooth and bad housekeeping. Back at the plane, he said to Wy, "Can you lock this thing up?"
    "She should move it out of here," Gruber said. "It's kind of in the way."
    "Have you got a tie-down?" Liam said. Wy nodded at the apron. "Okay, let's do it."
    Wy walked around him to the tail of the plane, picked it up, and began towing the Cub toward the section of the apron she had indicated. Liam and Gruber caught up to help, but the little plane was so light it wasn't really necessary.
    Wy's tie-down was some distance down the commercial side of the Newenham strip, off the main taxiway and behind three rows of other small planes. The tiny square of tarmac was at the very edge of the pavement, with a building the size and shape of an outhouse placed on the gravel directly behind it. Looking around, Liam saw other little houses lining the strip like so many miniature garages. Wy's was painted powder blue, and Wy towed the Cub to the tie-down in front of it.
    The tie-down itself consisted of two small hoops of bent metal rod set into the pavement. A length of manila line, black electrician's tape sealing the ends, was fastened to each hoop by an eye sealed with more electrician's tape. Liam threaded one length of line to the matching fastening on the right strut, Wy elbowing Gruber aside to do the other.
    Liam ducked out from beneath the wing. "At least I can do that much," he said, and smiled at her.
    She almost smiled back, and he rejoiced silently. This time he wouldn't back down, he wouldn't walk away. Not this time.
    She gestured at the prop. "Can I wipe that down?"
    Liam turned. The rain had pretty much washed the prop clean. "You sure it's okay?"
    "I disconnected the mags."
    "I thought I told you not to mess with it while I was gone," he said in a long-suffering voice. He looked at Gruber. "I thought I told you to keep everyone away from it."
    Gruber shifted his gum. "Well, yeah, but, you know. I mean, it's her plane."
    Liam suppressed a sigh. "So, can I clean the prop?" Wy said.
    "Sure," Liam said. "You can steam-clean the interior if you want. Doesn't much matter now." He hung back, Gary Gruber a silent ghost