Bird Crazy: A Novel

By Maryann Davenport

Bobbi Lawn investigates small companies her boss wants to buy. After the attractive owner of Valdez Flight School takes her up in a small helicopter, Bobbi decides to quit her old job and accept a new one in the little desert town nearby. She and Eric Valdez discover they both came from bitter families and have a deep desire to succeed on their own. They also learn they have a vicious enemy in common named Lionel Rasmussen. Valdez teaches her to fly while she settles into her new job and falls in love with him. Bobbi and Valdez' best friend scour the desert in the middle of the night to find Valdez after he fails to pick up an emergency shipment of medicine. Defending themselves from Rasmussen and his minions becomes a race against the harsh realities of the desert, the ingenuity of a madman, and the fears that pursue two people in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 16, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469772554

Maryann Davenport

Maryann Davenport will never forget the day she passed her helicopter flight examination and received her private pilot?s license. She shared the frightening and funny adventures of learning to fly in her story, Chance of A Lifetime, in the September/October 1997 issue of Woman Pilot magazine. Her novels are described on the website she shares with her husband, also a novelist: www.chimneystonebooks.com. Davenport is a member (# 1028) of the Whirly Girls, the international organization of women helicopter pilots.

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All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Maryann Davenport

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

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Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons or places is purely accidental.

ISBN: 0-595-28225-3

ISBN: 978-1-469-77255-4 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

About the Author

To the private pilots of America, especially my buddies in the Whirly Girls, the women helicopter pilots.

For all professional pilots there exists a kind of guild, without charter and without by-laws. It demands no requirements for inclusion save an understanding of the wind, the compass, the rudder, and fair fellowship. It is a camaraderie sans sentiment of the kind that men who once sailed uncharted seas in wooden ships must have known and lived by.

—West with the Night

Beryl Markham

Acknowledgements

I owe my chance of a lifetime to learn to fly to my loving husband, Joe, for building a beautiful bird and cheering me through the long training process.

CHAPTER 1

You are the most infuriating man on the face of the planet! The petite young woman stopped shouting and struggled to get control of herself while the tall, heavy-shouldered man on the other side of the mahogany desk chuckled and leaned back against his high-backed leather chair. First you send me out to scan a company you don’t even want and then you tell me I’m overreacting when I tell you Rasmussen tried to put the make on me. You spoiled son of—

Hey, wait a minute, Bobbi. I didn’t know if I wanted to invest in Rasmussen. That’s why I send you out to these places. I need information. As it was, I got a negative report from Carlyle on the kid who inherited so I changed my mind. I did not send you out there as a practical joke. Come on. You know me better than that.

Bobbi gave Alexander Hoba her best skeptical glares and took a deep breath. She knew Hoba could be a pill and a tease but she’d never known him to waste time or money, especially hers or his.

He gave her one of his giant smiles and raised his hands in a shrug that pleaded for her to believe him. There was a time when his handsome face and automatic charm could have talked her into anything but not anymore.

Alex, he tried to rape me. The only reason I didn’t kill him with a table lamp is that his secretary walked in after I screamed. She’s probably history now. Bobbi rubbed her right fist with her left hand.

She cupped her hands in front of her chin. She always did that when she felt threatened. A second later she was being cradled in big, hard arms against Hoba’s chest. He was stroking her honey-brown hair down to where it touched her shoulders. She looked up at him and pushed him away.

I’m sorry I didn’t get it, love. You never said rape the first time. If you want to press charges, I’ll back you up. Bobbi, you know I care.

Bobbi turned back to look at him. The amusement and superior air were gone. He looked serious.

Thanks. I already called it in. I made out a report at the precinct on my way back.

Good, the creep deserves it. What do you want to do now? You want some time off? Hoba said.

She thought about it for a few seconds. She’d been going to interviews at other companies until she felt like leaving the manufacturing world all together. Nobody seemed to want a woman to give them advice. How was she ever going to break into business management consulting at this rate? At least Alex always has work for me.

No. If I had the time I might just go put molasses in his gas tank or something. What else you got going?

Hoba brightened. That’s my girl. Don’t let them get you down. Spit in their eyes.

Bobbi could feel the glare return to her eyes. Forget the pep talk, Alex. If you ever fall in love, remember to show a little sensitivity when a woman has been terrorized or you’re going to be a lonely old man.

I knew you still loved me. Hoba’s voice took on his trademark dramatic flair. You wouldn’t be worried about me being a lonely old man if you didn’t.

He looked too sure of himself to suit Bobbi.

Just tell me about the new assignment and it better not be in Mexico. I’m not going out of the country for you again.

Hoba looked penitent and then his face returned to its usual boyish happiness. I want you to go get a little sun and fun in a place called Valenada. The people there are rich retired so you won’t be bothered by maniac bikers or kids who want to race you on the street.

You’re talking about that little place out in the desert? You want to invest in a resort?

I may but not this time. There’s a dandy little airport outside of town and it has this company that makes helicopter kits at one end and there’s a helicopter pilot school next to it. I’m interested in both of them. The kit company’s called Cloud Dancer and the outfit that teaches people how to fly them is called Valdez Flight School.

Alex, none of your companies make parts for helicopters. What’s this all about?

Well, I pay Jerry a lot of money to fly me around in his helicopter for one day trips.

And?

I think I’d like to learn to do that for myself. I think I’ll even build my own bird.

Alex, you have lost your mind. It’s one thing to restore one of your beloved old monsters but a helicopter? You can’t even fly a kite. Cars just run into ditches if you fall asleep or to the curb if you run out of gas. A helicopter has to stay in the air, for Pete’s sake. Or, are you talking about building a model?

No, I’m not talking about building a model. Hoba mimicked her voice and added a whine to it. I’m a damned good mechanic and you know it.

Yes, you are. Bobbi took a deep breath.

She decided it was none of her business if he started another project that never got finished. He could afford to store all those unfinished projects on the company grounds. It was his company, after all.

Sorry. Have you let them know that you’re interested and to expect me?

Well…

Alex? Bobbi stared at him.

I haven’t shown any interest because I don’t want to tip my hand yet. I want you to look it over before I say anything to them. There are other helicopter kit companies. It’s just that this one has a special incentive.

Which is?

It’s the only model that can carry someone as tall as me.

You mean that weighs as much as you do. Bobbi chuckled.

She felt that this was her chance to get revenge for all the times Hoba had laughed at her. He gave her a pouting look. Bobbi knew he was very sensitive about his weight. She couldn’t really understand it because he looked great. Other men would have killed to have shoulders like his and his stomach was almost flat. Besides that he was over six feet four inches tall. All the same, he would have paid blackmail money to keep her from telling anyone that he weighed two hundred and thirty pounds.

The important thing is they have what I want. You can always say you’re doing a story for a flying magazine I own. Look, you want the assignment or not?

Bobbi laughed again. Okay. She enjoyed seeing Hoba irritated instead of him irritating her, for a change. Has Byron got my stuff ready?

He promised to have it ready by five. Use this trip to lighten up. Have some fun.

Bobbi shook her head and opened the office door. Before she went out, she turned her head to look back at him. Don’t sell the place while I’m gone.

She heard Hoba yell something about a good trip and knew he was back to his usual overbearing and happy self. Her last remark was the one she always used to indicate she would be back at least one more time.

Hoba offered to have Jerry Fine fly Bobbi out to Valenada. Fine was the pilot who flew Hoba around in his four-seater Hughes helicopter. Bobbi knew Fine would jump at the chance to show off in his beloved Hughes but she declined.

It was a beautiful craft but Fine had given Bobbi a lesson in one of his smaller helicopters, a trim, red two-seater, and she’d hated every minute of it. She couldn’t remember what kind of helicopter it was because she had a knack for forgetting events and people she didn’t like.

Macho pain in the butt. She cringed when she remembered Hoba laughing when she told him she spent the entire lesson holding her hands back from Fine’s throat. Jerk thinks anyone who isn’t savvy about flying is a fool and he thinks all women are fools.

She told Fine she needed her car when she got to Valenada and then hurried home to pack. She didn’t want him to know he had frightened her with his cowboy flying technique. Bobbi always researched a new adventure before she tried it and the books she bought on helicopter flying said that straight up takeoffs and straight down landings were best left to turbine helicopters, not piston engine types. Fine preferred ninety degree angles and told her she was just a typical female wimp.

By sunrise, the next morning, Bobbi was headed inland and south toward the Mojave Desert. She hummed along with a theme in a Yanni piece in her tape player while the last of the outskirts of Sebastian whipped past her.

It was a peaceful little seaside town. That was an achievement in California. Most seaside towns had become overrun with shaggy bikers and gray-haired homeless hippies unless they voted in stiff laws and backed a well-paid police force.

Sebastian took the second choice. That was the reason Bobbi hated to leave even though it looked impossible to get started in business management in the little companies in the area.

Hang Sebastian. I’m going to show Alex I can take care of myself. I don’t need him or his condescending attitude.

She was realizing, more and more, that Hoba had made life too easy for her. He paid her top dollar for investigating small companies before he decided whether to make an offer to buy them or not.

He could have hired some hotshot man with a big reputation but he trusted her. She had only a high school diploma and an associate degree in business management. She wanted to believe that he thought she was the best. He said so whenever she threatened to leave.

Still, she had the nagging thought in the back of her mind that he wanted to keep her around because he figured he would get her back as a lover some day.

Never happen, buddy. She gave the rearview mirror a defiant look.

She wondered if sixty-five employees made Cloud Dancer typical for a helicopter kit company and whether they needed a production control manager. The thought lifted her spirits as she headed over a little pass and down into a beautiful valley with rolling meadows and horses on all sides.

Maybe I’ll check out this area on the way back. Gorgeous. Bobbi sighed as she remembered the motto she had learned when she left home after high school. Pretty country never holds paying jobs.

Bobbi checked her speedometer as she passed a highway patrol unit and then reached for some whole wheat crackers in a little tray in the passenger seat of her station wagon. She washed them down with a bottle of grapefruit juice and checked her watch. Great, I’ll be in Valenada in time for lunch.

Her mind began to wander to the material Hoba’s detective, Byron Fleece, had given her on Cloud Dancer’s owners and on Eric Valdez, owner of the flight school. She chuckled at the thought of Byron Fleece calling himself a private detective.

He was a short, fat, bald man with five clients. Hoba was his favorite. Fleece loved Shakespeare and antiques and limited his spying to financial data and gossip about small companies and their owners. Bobbi could picture him cowering in the corner if she had ever sounded grouchy to him. He was thorough, however, and perhaps his gentility and polish helped him get information that was not available to the public.

The dossier on Arthur Phipps, the majority owner of Cloud Dancer, was sketchy. Fleece reported that Phipps was a genius in the helicopter design world but had no business sense and treated people like field oxen. As a result, production had dwindled over the first ten years that the company was open.

At that point, Eric Valdez, owner of the flight school, bought a quarter share and the production stabilized. Fleece found no clear reason for the effect. He also warned Hoba that Phipps was known to offer to sell the company to people on the street when he was in a bad mood and then forget everything he’d said when his mood changed.

Sounds like a real screwball.

She drove through another beautiful valley, higher and more rugged than the first. It was called Santa Lucia. Bobbi was tempted to eat in the little town of the same name and look around but she wanted some time in Valenada before dark so she promised herself that she would make a stop on the way back to Sebastian.

She descended down a long grade that took her from four thousand feet to sea level in less than an hour. She was chewing on a peppermint candy to get her ears to pop when the green brush and wild lilac along the highway stopped and the bleakest canyon she had ever seen rose up on both sides of the road.

God, what a horrid place to break down. Hang in there, baby. She was thankful that she had had her station wagon tuned and lubed, the oil changed and two new tires put on in the last month.

There wasn’t a blade of grass or a damp spot in sight. The roadside looked like crushed rock and the sharp hills on either side looked like piles of boulders. Bet the rattlers even avoid this place.

She breathed a big sigh of relief when she drove out of the canyon into desert that looked like the post cards she had received from friends. There were a dozen different kinds of cactus, some of them blooming, and the brush still had a hint of green.

Bobbi opened her window to smell the vegetation and was stunned by the heat that blew into her face. If it’s like this in May, it must be hell in July.

Bobbi realized how much she was going to miss the moist sea breezes back home. She’d always avoided the desert after hearing her great aunt complain about her dry skin and sore eyes from the desert heat.

Bobbi had been in high school when the aunt visited and the poor woman looked so wrinkled and old that Bobbi decided she never wanted to go near a place that would do that to her skin. Even when she had scanned a little company in Mexico it had been perched on the ocean.

She decided this would be one of her quickest trips. I’ll save Alex some money. That always makes him happy.

She laughed at the thought of a man with all of Hoba’s money going over his accountant’s work to make sure no money was mishandled or wasted.

Well, he earned it. He has every right to hoard it or spend it as he likes.

Hoba was a generous man to his employees. He was also a tiger at the negotiating table when he was making an offer to buy a company. He had started out with money he borrowed from a doting uncle and everything he touched had turned a profit.

The guy’s phenomenal.

She had a warm thought for him when she remembered the fact that he lived in an ordinary ranch house on five wild acres and drove jeeps and pickups instead of sportcars. Money was a game for Hoba. If he lost it all tomorrow, he would shrug his shoulders and start over like a kid with a new toy.

The memory of his condescending attitude toward other people made her smile go away. He was kind, generous, and patient because he considered all other people, especially women, to be well-meaning but dumb. That infuriated Bobbi.

Just like my father and my brothers. They’re all so smug and so macho.

Bobbi could feel the old anger come back and pushed it away. I’m not going to let old hurts get in my way any more. Damn it, I’m not.

In the next instant, she forgot her anger. Bobbi had been driving past stucco houses on wide pieces of land. She came to a sign that said Valenada was a few miles off to her left on a wide, paved road called Calleluna.

Now she was looking at an oasis that was straight out of the Arabian Nights. There was a thick stand of palm trees waving behind four stucco buildings with domed roofs and stained glass windows full of blues and greens and rounded at the top of the narrow casements. The two story building on the left end appeared to be a restaurant.

Bobbi parked in a circular parking lot which fanned out from a stone fountain. The statue standing in the pool of water was of a turbaned man with a sword in his ornate belt and a grim look on his face.

They’re really into the Sahara thing around here. Bobbi was talking to a dark-eyed boy who looked about sixteen. She was standing in the cool, windowless entry for The Sheik restaurant. You serve American food here?

The boy smiled and nodded. Cheeseburgers to pizza.

Lead on.

Bobbi chose broiled chicken and sprouts on whole wheat and was amazed at the tenderness of the filet and the freshness of the vegetables.

She was on her way back to her car when she spotted photos on the wall of the entry. A news clipping explained that the man who had built the restaurant and the other three buildings was from Algeria. He loved Valenada because it reminded him of his home so he sold his company in Los Angeles and built this oasis called Amani Plaza. He was the son of an Algerian merchant and a French woman doctor.

Bobbi smiled and walked out into the sunshine. After the cool restaurant, the sun felt like the breath of a dragon.

Well, at least the town looks more interesting than I expected it to be. Wonder if this is a community of Arabs.

She left the plaza and saw another gathering of buildings a couple of blocks away. The two blocks in between appeared to be a city park with rock trails around flowering cacti and stone sculptures.

This is pretty classy for a little town in the desert.

The next gathering of buildings appeared to be a sprawling two-story hacienda style hotel. The sign said it was the Valenada Plaza.

What had been rooms for travelers were now little shops. Some held pottery or paintings. There was a beauty shop, an attorney’s office, and a realtor on the second floor balcony. The downstairs held a bakery, a tamale shop, a soda shop, and a Mexican restaurant. Little tables under red and yellow umbrellas dotted the courtyard. There were several teenagers at about half of the tables.

So much for peace and quiet.

She had to admit that they were talking quietly and the music coming out over the speakers was a soothing instrumental piece on a guitar.

They’re sure quieter than the kids were in my high school. Bobbi laughed at the memory. Maybe her high school had been rowdier than most.

She smiled at a waitress in a red cotton dress with a flared skirt. She had dark eyes and black hair. What would you like? Her Spanish accent was strong and seemed appropriate to the setting.

I’ll just have a glass of iced tea.

The waitress nodded and hurried to the table in the corner where she talked to two handsome young men. Her light laugh was sexy and her shoulders and hips swayed as she talked.

Can’t blame her. Those guys are damned attractive. Bobbi passed her eyes over the two men without raising her head.

Both men had golden brown skin and dark eyes but the eyes of the shorter man were different somehow.

Bobbi decided to study the dossiers in front of her. She didn’t want to intrude on them. She opened the folder marked Eric Valdez, the owner of Valdez Flight School. She wondered what she should look for that would help Hoba decide whether he should offer to buy the school or not.

What can you see at a flight school? You see a couple of instructors sitting around a dusty little office drinking sodas or you see them fueling the helicopters or flying with their students. I suppose I could interview a couple of their students.

She looked up from her papers when the waitress brought the tea and noticed that the shorter man at the corner table was by himself and he was staring at her. He had an appealing, intelligent face in spite of the fact that he looked very stern.

Maybe he doesn’t like gringos.

Bobbi wasn’t looking forward to meeting Eric Valdez. Her father and brothers had a lot of Mexican and Native American friends with whom they hunted and fished. They had always been too macho for her.

She remembered that the word macho had been a Mexican word first, sighed, and lifted the first page to see the photo of Valdez that Fleece had provided. Bobbi always insisted on photos of the owners of companies after she had a personnel manager pose as the owner and try to make a fool out of her in front of the real owner.

When she looked at the photo, she jumped. The man at the corner table was Eric Valdez. She glanced up without moving her head. He was gone. The photo showed her what was different about his eyes. They were a deep, dark blue.

Fleece described Valdez as never married, a loner, respected but not popular with the locals. The report said that he lived on the horse ranch he inherited from his father, located in the Santa Lucia Valley, on the mountain. After Valdez created the flight school, he bought a quarter of the Cloud Dancer company. Fleece believed that Valdez was respected by the employees there. He also reported that Valdez owned half of a casino on the Colorado River called The Yacht Club.

Bobbi read on. The horse ranch is managed by an uncle who is related by marriage only. Valdez’ father was a shrewd businessman who migrated from Mexico. Valdez’ parents were killed in a plane crash when he was nineteen.

Fleece speculated that Valdez would have lost the flight school and the horse farm during bad times if he had not borrowed against his share of the casino.

Valdez is thirty-three years old and served one four-year hitch in the Air Force where he learned to maintain helicopters. He reached the rank of sergeant.

Bobbi shut the file and stared at the tub of petunias in front of her table. Hoba would have his work cut out for him on this one. This young man might be as good a negotiator as Hoba. He had survived recessions that had taken out bigger flight schools, according to Fleece’s report on the industry over the last two detcades, and, Valdez was twelve years younger than Hoba. Bobbi decided that she was going to enjoy seeing Hoba come up against someone who just might put him in his place.

CHAPTER 2

By three o’clock, on her first afternoon in Valenada, Bobbi had decided that it was the most unusual little town she had ever seen. She did not see much of a population center and she wondered what people did for a living in the desert. There was a good variety of small businesses around the center of town near the Valenada Plaza. There was even a decent sized supermarket.

Most of the merchants had black or silver hair and dark eyes. She recognized a lot of Spanish accents but there were a couple of other accents that she did not recognize. All of them seemed polite and dignified. Some of the young clerks were a little lazy or rude but never when the older people were around.

She saw elderly people with very pale skin sitting at tables and benches throughout the town. Many were wearing loud shorts and ill-fitting shirts. They looked bored and tired.

So this is Sunday in Valenada. Bobbi shrugged and looked for her motel.

After registering at The Oasis she decided to find the airport so she would not have any trouble finding it in the morning. She headed down Calleluna, the main street of Valenada, until it took her away from the straggle of houses.

A tiny sign stood at the end of Calleluna. She could turn right or left on Airport Road. A long, gray strip in the middle of a fenced field appeared in the distance in front of her. The little sign said this was Valenada Airport so Bobbi assumed that the gray strip was the runway.

She looked at the compass on the dashboard of her car. The runway appeared to be running east and west. She decided to turn right so that she would face away from the low hanging sun. The road had been paved sometime in the distant past. Now it was full of holes.

She circled the field and was almost facing into the sun again before she came to a one-story stucco house that had been turned into the airport office.

Hoba had told her the only building with windows nearest to the runway would be the FBO or fixed base operator. He had told her the FBO usually had radio communications so that the dispatcher on duty could answer calls from pilots coming in and tell them which way to land in order to land into the wind and if there was fuel available or if there were any special problems at the airport.

He had told her not to expect a tower with a controller. The airport was too small. There should be a beacon for alerting pilots at night. She spotted a rising triangle of metal grid work with a large glass on top, glinting in the sun at regular intervals.

Bobbi counted four long metal sheds for sheltering airplanes. Bobbi was impressed with the number of hangars, what Hoba called the metal sheds, for such a remote air field.

I’ll bet this was part of a military base during the Second World War.

A small airplane was taxiing away from some gas pumps across the paved lot from the office. It appeared to be headed toward the second row of hangars. As the pilot passed her, he waved and smiled. Bobbi waved back and laughed at herself for the immense pleasure it gave her to see a smiling