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Tabs: I would dearly like to see it--I'm a pilot myself."
Mr. Greenlee looked delighted. "A pilot, you say? Why I've never seen such a thing. A lovely young lady like yourself? A pilot? You must be from Texas, Miss! I'd be happy to give you a tour of our airfield." Greenlee waited for Tabs to finish her tea and gather her things, then he offered her his arm and led her out the door. As they exited, he could be heard asking, "How did you end up with that nasty shiner on your head?"
"But what about these voodoo stories that Greenlee talked about? Could you tell us a bit more about that?"
The Major lowers his voice, not wanting any more outside attention. "You know how strange some of Mr. Smith's habits are. If he had a past, though, nothing that could not be accounted for by personal eccentricity, I admit. However, the man is using a false identity. That is still merely suspicious, with possible innocent explanations . . ."
Kirk adds: "Maybe a story about the disappearance of Joyce Armstrong . . . "
"Texas? I'm a Rhode Islander--and fiercely proud to be one, too. Not one of your southern softies! You, Mr. Greenlee, may address me as Ms. Barclay." She laughs. "No! Tabitha will do nicely, and I can call you 'Big John'?" "Yes--I'm a pilot. I thank my lucky stars, or rather, I thank my father's money." She holds on to "Big John's" arm tightly. "My friends and I were involved in a car crash just down the road from the airfield. Luckily Major Lofton came to our rescue. The crash was caused deliberately, you know--by a hit-and-run driver of a brown truck. I hope the police catch the culprit."
"What an awful story," Greenlee said, "You think Mr. Smith was involved in that? That seems so unlike him. He's practically a recluse around here, not a villain. What could be the motive?"
While Greenlee and Tabs talked, he gave her a tour of the airfield. They walked across the road to the field that held the private hangars. A rusty metal box at the back of the field was where he stopped. "That's Smith's hangar." It didn't look very impenetrable, but it did have a lock on the only door.
"I don't suppose anyone has a known sample of Joyce-Armstrong's penmanship handy for comparison?"
After reading the torn text, he frowns and asks: "Why do you think this was really written by Joyce Armstrong?"
"It's locked!"Can we--I mean you, really--ask around to find out if Mr. Smith has been seen today?"
Clark found Wilbur Smith's picture and his plane. It was a candid photo. Smith was not looking at the camera. Clark put his finger down onto the plane in the photo and mumbled, "What are you up to?"
"Let's go talk with Bob Taggert."
"Mr. Clarke... Do you have any idea about what it was that Joyce-Armstrong found in the skies?"