Hide nor Hair (A Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa

last year’s big-screen blockbuster to keep my mind off of crash landings. I could have just killed Meredith and Ken for making me do this.
    We followed Drake out of the hangar doors to view more planes. Some, I noticed, had single propellers and seated only two people. These looked tiny and terrifying. Two others were similar to the plane Drake was working on inside the hangar—twin propellers and able to hold four people.
    “We’re going up in a Cessna 310, right?” I asked, wanting to make sure I at least got the model right for the story.
    “Unless you want to go up in one of those Cessna 150s. Of course, they only seat two, so one of you will have to sit on the wing,” Drake joked.
    A tall, slender man in his thirties strolled out from the hangar and came over to join us. “I’m Hank Barber,” he said.
    “Willy Rojas,” Willy said, reaching out to shake hands. “This is Colleen Caruso. She’ll be writing the story. I’ll be taking the pictures.”
    “How do you do,” I said, sounding rather formal. I wasn’t at all sure about this guy. He looked kind of scruffy, with two days’ worth of dark growth on his cheeks and chin. I had noticed him at Dizzie’s wake. He was seated behind Matthew Oliver, and I remembered thinking at the time how disheveled and out of place he looked. Of course, having crisp clothes and a clean-shaven face wouldn’t necessarily make one a good pilot, I reminded myself, though I thought someone who flies would be a little more—meticulous.
    “I’m gonna pop into my office for a minute before we take off,” he said, then disappeared back through the hangar.
    “A man of few words,” I muttered.
    “Hank’s been going through a tough time. First his wife walks out on him, and then his best friend’s wife dies,” Drake explained. “But Hank was never Mister Personality anyway. He’s kind of a quiet guy. Not mean or anything, just not overly friendly.”
    “Matthew Oliver is his best friend?” I asked.
    “Yeah. Freaky, huh? You’re not putting any of this in your story, are you?”
    “I would never write something about Hank’s private life without speaking to him first,” I said, skirting the issue.
    We thanked Drake, and Willy strolled away to take pictures of the various planes. Hank Barber returned and guided us to one of the four-seaters.
    “Did Drake tell you about the plane?” Hank asked.
    “He did. We have the particulars. You’ll need to tell us about the lessons.”
    We climbed into Hank Barber’s Cessna. Willy rode shotgun, next to the pilot. I crawled into the back, feeling claustrophobic and petrified.
    “Better buckle in,” Hank advised when he started the engine.
    Yeah, as if I would have forgotten to do that.
    We taxied to the runway and my blood pressure, I was sure, skyrocketed. Okay , I thought, I’m having a stroke . Fine, just let me have it before we leave the ground! I didn’t want to die up in the air, buckled into the backseat of a flying minivan.
    “Very cool!” Willy remarked as we picked up speed.
    I smacked the back of his head. “Oh, shut up. I want my mother!”
    We were off the ground seconds later, climbing our way into the wild blue yonder. I bit my bottom lip and watched as the hangar shrank, getting smaller and smaller. Willy’s red Jeep looked about the size of a kid’s wagon in the parking lot. I began to panic.
    “Can we go back now?” I asked in a very shaky voice.
    “Back?” Hank asked, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? We’re flying out over the ocean, so Willy here can take his pictures. You wouldn’t believe the view!”
    So , I thought. Now you decide to get chatty?
    The plane made a long, slow turn and we headed southeast. Beneath us was nothing but the beautiful sapphire ocean. Willy pointed out some fishing boats far offshore, and Hank descended to get a closer look.
    “I know how to swim!” I told the two men confidently, thinking that if we ditched, I’d at least have a fighting chance.
    Both