Into Thin Air by Carolyn Keene Page B

she continued, “I need to pick your brain. Remember the Anderson Industries case?”
    Mac threw his arms into the air in a gesture of hopelessness. “How can I forget? I lost one of my best choppers that night.”
    â€œHow did it happen, Mac? Tell me everything you remember.”
    MacIlvaney gave her an odd look. “You aren’t nosing around on a case, are you? Your father tells me you have a habit of getting involved in some pretty strange situations.”
    Nancy gulped. She could never be sure if her reputation was going to work for or against her. Sometimes people didn’t want to get involved in mysterious goings-on, even if they were nothing more than innocent bystanders.
    â€œWell, I guess you could say I was checking into some loose ends involving the case,” Nancy said carefully. “I have read all the newspaper accounts, but the facts are always better from the horse’s mouth.”
    â€œI know how proud your dad is of you, so it would be a pleasure to help Carson Drew’s daughter.” MacIlvaney slammed his account books shut and pushed his chair back from the desk to give her his undivided attention.
    â€œI had the chopper out on the runway, ready to fuel up that night,” he began. “I was going to Chicago. I went into the office to make a quick call. The next thing I know was that my chopper was hovering over the landing pad, and police cars were swarming all over the runways. Johnson must have known how to flya chopper because it isn’t something you pick up by looking at the instrument panel.”
    â€œHe was a naval pilot,” Mark volunteered. “I found that out when I was checking him out at Crabtree.”
    Nancy nodded. She remembered reading it in his bio in the corporate report, too.
    â€œYeah, well, that explains that part of it,” Mac murmured. “So there I was, standing on the landing pad, watching my best helicopter fly off without me, and a herd of police cars chasing down the runways after it. Next thing I know, it’s about a mile away, coming down low over Hoffner’s farm out beyond the airport limits. Then suddenly it blows up.”
    He reached toward a basket filled with papers on one side of his desk and flicked a pile of forms. “Since then, it’s been one insurance form after another,” he finished sadly. Then he shook his head.
    â€œYou know,” he added, “what I still don’t understand is why the helicopter blew up like that.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Nancy asked, puzzled. “According to the news reports, when the police fired at it they hit the fuel tank.”
    Mac ran his hand over his crew cut and scratched the back of his head. “That’s a good explanation, Nancy, but remember I said I was about to refuel it? That chopper was just about bone-dry. If the police hadn’t shot it down, itwouldn’t have gone much more than a mile anyway—max. I can’t figure out how so little fuel could make such a big bang.”
    â€œDid you tell that to the police?” Nancy said, astonished at the sudden twist in the story of Johnson’s getaway.
    â€œSure did,” Mac said, folding his arms across his chest. “What they do with the information is up to them. I guess as far as they were concerned, that fellow Johnson was dead and done with, and the money he stole was gone, too. You know, they found some of his clothes in the wreckage, and they were all bloodied up.”
    Nancy nodded her head slowly, thinking about Mac’s story and Johnson’s final moments. “Thanks for talking to us,” she said.
    â€œAnytime,” Mac replied with a grin. “You need anything else, just give me a call, hear?”
    A few moments later they were walking back to the car, each lost in his or her thoughts.
    â€œWhat do you make of all that, Nancy?” Bess finally asked, breaking the silence.
    â€œI’ve got to think about