“Fordham? Who’s that? No. I’m here for Rill Pierce,” she said.
The man’s scowl told her Rill was nearly as low a recommendation for an acquaintance in Vulture’s Canyon as this Fordham guy.
“What kind of a vehicle is that?” He nodded his head toward the window and the curb where she’d parked her car.
“That’s a Maserati GranTurismo.”
“Derek says the insides are filled with soft, cushy leather,” the man said before he took the last swig of his coffee and smacked his lips. “I reckon you weren’t doing taxes for the destitute, riding around in a monstrosity like that.”
“Shut it, Monty,” Sherona said wearily before she flipped a switch and the blender roared to life.
“You got an issue with sports cars?” Katie challenged once the noise from the blender ceased.
“I’ve got an issue with trouble,” Monty told her point blank. He opened up his newspaper and put it in front of his face, making it clear the conversation was over. Katie’s gaze shot defiantly over to the man in the farthest booth, a dark-haired, very thin male in his early thirties wearing a baseball hat that looked as if he’d found it at the muddy bottom of Dyer Creek. The hat couldn’t quite contain his large ears, which stuck out like two flesh handles from the sides of his head. Her irritation at Monty’s rudeness immediately softened when she saw the man regarded her with the manner of an eager puppy.
“I think it’s an amazing car, Miss . . .”
“Hughes,” Katie supplied. “I’m Katie Hughes.”
The way the man hurried out of the booth made Katie glance around to see if there was a fire. Her eyes widened when he rushed her, the flaps of his torn plaid shirt flying out around him.
“Slow down, now, Errol. You’ll freak the girl out.”
Sherona’s bark had the effect of a hose-down on a rioting crowd. Errol stopped midstride ten feet away from her, staggering back a step. He held out his hand shyly. Katie squinted at the tiny model airplane he offered.
“It’s the Spruce Goose,” Errol said in the manner of someone imparting a great gift.
“Errol,” Sherona interrupted with kind exasperation, “Ms. Hughes probably doesn’t like airplanes as much as you. Remember how we talked, about how your model planes are your special thing? Now . . . do you want another helping of biscuits and gravy?”
“No, I’m full,” Errol said as he lowered his hand, disappointment dimming his prior enthusiasm.
“Actually, Errol, I do like planes,” Katie consoled. “My dad is a distant relative of Howard Hughes. Do you know who he is?”
Errol looked floored.
“Errol,” Sherona warned quietly, but Errol resumed his former rush at Katie. At first, she thought she was going to be tackled, but then the gangly man hauled up short and sufficed to shove the model plane near her face, talking all the while with the rapidity of machine-gun fire.
“Howard Hughes is one of the greatest aviators in history. He designed this, the Spruce Goose. He set tons of air-speed records. You know him? You know Howard Hughes?”
Katie’s eyeballs crossed as she focused on the painted wooden plane an inch from her nose. She inhaled and gently put a hand on Errol’s wrist, encouraging him to lower the projectile.
“We’re a pretty distant offshoot of the family. I doubt Howard knew we existed. I don’t think I was even born yet when he died. So . . .” Katie attempted a smile at the child-man once he’d reluctantly lowered his arm and backed off a bit. “The Hercules is a favorite of yours, huh?”
“You know the Spruce Goose is the H-4 Hercules?” Errol shook his head, his dazed expression assuring Katie he was in the midst of ecstasy. He turned toward an amused-looking Sherona. “She knows the Spruce Goose is the H-4 Hercules.”
“I see that, but Ms. Hughes is going to eat her dinner now,” Sherona replied. There was a clinking of china and the rattle of cutlery. “If you’re done eating yours, you run on, now, Errol. You know what I told you about hovering around people when they eat.”
“Yeah, okay.” Errol backed away, his brown eyes still glued to Katie. “You probably know the Spruce Goose is the Hercules because you’re related to Howard Hughes.”
Katie picked up the ketchup bottle on the counter and shook it, inhaling the delicious aromas wafting up from the grill. In her cross-country trek from Los Angeles to Vulture’s Canyon she’d eaten some truly disgusting meals, but the Legion Diner smelled promising.
“Actually, I know about it for the same reason a lot of elementary school kids in Southern California know it. We took a field trip to Long Beach to see the Spruce Goose.” She paused in shaking the ketchup bottle when she noticed Errol vibrated where he stood.
“You saw the Spruce Goose?”
Katie glanced at Sherona uncertainly. “Well . . . yeah.”
It apparently was the wrong thing to say. Errol abruptly charged out of the diner like a startled cat. Katie stared after him, her jaw hanging open.