Coffee, Tea, or Murder?

Table of Contents

 

 

We walked down the Jetway to the aircraft’s main door where a police officer stood. George indicated for me to wait as he disappeared into the flight deck. A few minutes later, he poked his head out and motioned for me to join him. Up to that moment, I’d been anxious to accompany him into the cockpit, but I was now hesitant. His raised eyebrows said, “Either come or stay, Jessica. Don’t prolong this.”

I joined him in the cockpit and looked inside. The lighting was dim, but even in the shadowy illumination I saw the figure of a person in the captain’s seat. It was the body of Wayne Silverton. George took a few steps into the area, and I followed. Now the scene was clearer, and tragically real. Silverton’s lifeless form was slumped forward over the pilot’s control yoke, his weight pushing it fully forward. . . .

O
THER BOOKS IN THE
Murder, She Wrote
SERIES

 

Manhattans & Murder
Rum & Razors
Brandy & Bullets
Martinis and Mayhem
A Deadly Judgment
A Palette for Murder
The Highland Fling Murders
Murder on the
QE2
Murder in Moscow
A Little Yuletide Murder
Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch
Knock ’Em Dead
Gin & Daggers
Trick or Treachery
Blood on the Vine
Murder in a Minor Key
Provence—To Die For
You Bet Your Life
Majoring in Murder
Destination Murder
Dying to Retire
A Vote for Murder
The Maine Mutiny
Margaritas & Murder
A Question of Murder
Three Strikes and You’re Dead

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Murder, She Wrote
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eISBN : 978-1-101-01078-5

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For our editor, Kerry Donovan, who
makes our books better.

 

And to today’s flight attendants, who face
the possibility of crazed terrorists, and the reality
of fed-up, angry air travelers every day they
come to work. Our hats are off to you.

“W
e are about to embark on a new and exciting era in commercial aviation. The days of passengers having their knees jammed into their chins and three-dollar bags of pretzels are over. Today marks the introduction of a sensible and civilized approach to air travel. Passengers on SilverAir will be treated like human beings; people who are willing to spend a little more—and I stress ‘a little more’—can travel in comfort and style. I am extremely gratified that all of you are here today to help launch SilverAir. I see many friends who are ready to experience this new dimension in air travel, and for the press who will travel with us—well, I hope you’ll write nice things about SilverAir.”

A few members of the press laughed as Wayne Silverton, founder and chairman of SilverAir, stepped down from the portable podium that had been erected next to the freshly painted, sky blue 767-200 jet aircraft with the name of the airline emblazoned in silver on both sides and vertically on the stabilizer. The occasion was SilverAir’s inaugural flight from Boston’s Logan International Airport to England’s Stansted International Airport, an increasingly popular airport in the UK for start-up airlines. Located forty-five miles northeast of London, it had become the third busiest airport in the UK—home to forty airlines and handling more than twenty million passengers a year. Arriving there would be a new experience for me. On my many trips to London, Heathrow had been my destination airport. But I always enjoy deviations from the norm when traveling, and flying on Wayne Silverton’s airline, to a different airport, certainly represented that.

Because the aircraft was parked in a specially designated spot at the airport, away from the main terminal with its Jetway access to planes, we boarded by going up a set of stairs that had been rolled into place. Wayne and his wife, Christine, stood at the foot of the stairs and personally welcomed each passenger.

“Ah, Jessica,” Wayne said, flashing his characteristic broad, brilliant smile. He was a stunningly attractive man by any standard, his perpetually tanned square face providing a contrasting background for very white teeth. “I am so glad that you could find the time in your busy schedule to help us celebrate this special day.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I said. “How exciting to be a guest on a new airline’s maiden flight.”

“I never thought this day would come,” Christine said.

She was as beautiful as her husband was handsome. Christine had been a stewardess for Pan Am until that proud airline eventually went under. Of course, by the time that happened, stewardesses were no longer referred to by that name. They became known as flight attendants, the change having mostly to do with an influx of males working flights. You couldn’t very well refer to them as “stewardesses.” But no matter what they were called, I’ve always had a special fondness and respect for the men and women who make their living at thirty-thousand feet, keeping passengers happy, but most important assuring the safety of those in their charge, particularly when emergencies crop up. Fortunately, that was a rare occurrence in modern commercial aviation.

“You must be bursting with pride,” I said.

“And exhaustion,” Christine replied, the smile never leaving her finely chiseled, classically beautiful face. “But all the hard work was worth it, especially having so many of Wayne’s friends from Cabot Cove with us this morning.”

Wayne Silverton had been born and raised in Cabot Cove, Maine. A standout high school athlete—football, basketball, and track—he went to Purdue University on a full scholarship, majoring in aeronautical engineering, a discipline for which that Indiana university is well-known. It was assumed that he would forge a career in engineering, which was where he started out after serving three years as an officer in the air force. He was hired by Pan Am and quickly rose through its ranks to become executive vice president of that once dominant airline, which was where he met, and wooed, Christine. But an indomitable entrepreneurial spirit had taken hold of him, and he left the airline to join a well-financed real estate consortium that bought a series of small, unprofitable casinos and hotels in Las Vegas. The group renovated them into attractive properties, resulting in their sale for many millions more than the group had paid. Those deals made Wayne a rich man, and he left that real estate partnership to form his own construction company, building high-rise condominiums in that gambling Mecca. Unfortunately, he was ahead of the curve; it would be years before the condominium craze in Vegas caught hold. According to what I read in the business press, Wayne eventually fell on hard times, and it was rumored that he was on the brink of bankruptcy.