Killer Cargo. Dana Mentink

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СКАЧАТЬ Shell often hired her to transport goods from his pet supply business and occasionally to carry along a crate or two of his prized honey. The pay was good. Two hundred dollars at pickup and eight hundred more when the delivery was signed for.

      Money. When had that item become so high on the priority list? Right about the time she sank every last dime into purchasing her beloved plane. She would be paying off that one-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar loan until the day she died, but it was hers, as long as she made the payments, and she was free to fly wherever she wished, even to remote corners of nowhere, free to make her own way.

      Rain slammed the sleek white sides and glass canopy of the airplane as thoughts chased each other around her head. Why would anyone send a shipment of pet supplies to the boonies? How many pet stores could there be in a place where even the people were few and far between?

      She pulled her wet hair into a ponytail and crouched next to her only passenger. The miniature bunny on the rear seat regarded her through the mesh sides of his cage. His tiny eyes looked as though they’d been ringed in mascara. He was no bigger than a meatball sandwich. The small cage was a crude affair, a wood crate with a few slats missing, chicken wire stapled over the space and an aluminum pan to catch his droppings. A metal strap nailed to the top served as a carrying handle.

      “You’re not exactly flying first-class. I wish I had something to give you, little guy.”

      The bunny shook his head, sending the long white ears flapping. He took a half hop toward her and fell over.

      Maria gasped, looking anxiously through the slats. “What happened? Are you all right?”

      The animal righted itself and Maria saw the cause of the mishap. He only had three legs. Where the left front one should be was a small fuzzy stump. Then she read the handwritten tag on the top of the cage: Snake.

      “Uh-oh. I don’t suppose they named you Snake?” That was highly unlikely. “Oh, man. You’re born without a leg and you wind up lunch for an anaconda. Where is the justice in that?”

      The rabbit turned its gaze on her and hunkered into a tight ball. Its fuzzy sides trembled, the pink dot of a nose quivering. Did those eyes really have a sheen of desperation in them or was it another set of eyes she remembered? With a shudder, she got up and looked again at the contents of the cargo area, noting with displeasure that her plane was beginning to smell like a bowl of chicken-flavored Alpo.

      She checked the packing list again. She was at the right location, as far as she could tell.

      The earlier jobs for Martin Shell ended with no problems, though none had terminated at this particular airstrip. Shell had even taken her to dinner a few times when he was in L.A. He was a sweet old guy, round and ruddy-cheeked. With his shock of white hair and booming voice she could easily picture him in lederhosen on the top of a mountain, blowing into a giant horn. Martin would come through. She was sure of it.

      She opened her cell phone again and dialed his number. After five rings the answering machine picked up with Shell’s booming baritone. “Hello, Mr. Shell. It’s Maria. I’m sitting at the airstrip in Oregon waiting for your guys to pick up the shipment.” She checked her watch. “I’m on time but so far, nobody’s here. It’s the right delivery point so maybe there’s been a delay on your end? Someone tried to call me but we had a bad connection. Please call my cell and let me know if the plan has changed, okay? Thanks.”

      Two minutes later her phone shrilled. She started and it clattered to the floor. “Hello?” she managed to say on the third ring.

      “Maria, dear. Marty Shell here.”

      Relief coursed through her. “Hi, Mr. Shell.”

      “Sorry I missed your call. I was smoking the hive.”

      She could picture the huge guy in his white bee suit, like some enormous cheerful snowman. “How is the honey today?”

      “Oh, perfect. I wish you could see it, liquid amber and perfect on the tongue. I know Mrs. Shell will relish it on her toast in the morning.”

      “Is she feeling all right?”

      He exhaled into the phone. “Ah, well. Good days and bad, you know.”

      Maria had only seen pictures of the tiny Asian woman who suffered with debilitating bouts of lupus. “I really enjoyed the honey you sent for my birthday,” Maria said. “It was amazing.”

      “You need to come to my place in Palm Springs, Maria. When you see those combs emerge from the wax, you won’t believe it.” He paused. “My stars. I’ve got another phone call coming in. I’m sorry my people are late meeting you. I’m not sure how to correct them of this terrible habit other than hanging them by their thumbs.” He chuckled. “Stay put, dear. They’ll be along shortly.”

      She disconnected with a happy sigh. All was as it should be. Shell’s people would be along in a jiffy. As usual, it was merely a case of her overactive imagination. The bunny hopped around in his cage, sniffing for food. She decided to try to locate some rabbit pellets from the stacks of supplies. Poking around the bags and boxes, she wondered how they made dog treats in the shape of tiny T-bone steaks. She pictured an assembly line of elves with cookie cutters stamping out thousands of the things. A cardboard box caught her attention. It was securely wedged in the space between the Savory Snacks and the Kibble Krunchies. She reached over the rear seat, pulled it out and set it on her lap.

      It was the size of an ordinary shoebox, wrapped in brown paper with no label or writing of any kind. She sniffed it. No telltale scent of kibble or alfalfa. She shook it. No movement from inside. It was probably some flea medicine or something. Or some of those squeaky toys for dogs they had just forgotten to label.

      The only sound in the plane was the quiet drumming of rain on the roof and the grinding of the rabbit’s teeth chewing on the bars. She looked at him. “You know, we really should come up with a name for you. Oh, sure, you’re destined to be swallowed whole, but everything deserves to be named, doesn’t it?” She opened the top of his cage and scratched between the silky ears. He flattened against the floor in bliss. “Peter? Fluffy? Nah. Let’s just go with Hank. How does that grab you?”

      Hank spread out even more and flopped over onto his side.

      “Hank it is. I wonder why they didn’t label this box? Weird.” She should put it back and walk away but some instinct wouldn’t let her. It wouldn’t hurt anything to take a quick peek. Besides, there might be rabbit munchies inside. “I can always wrap the box back up, when it turns out to be flea medicine or rubber hot dogs, can’t I?”

      Maria eased open the tape. She ignored the guilty pang and pulled the box out of the paper. Mr. Shell would understand. He wouldn’t want a rabbit to go hungry, either. The cardboard box top came off easily and she stared inside.

      Ice-cold terror hopscotched through her chest and constricted her throat. She blinked hard.

      When she opened her eyes, the stuff was still there.

      It was not possible. Not from a man who made honey and tended his sick wife. There had to be some mistake. They’d both been double-crossed.

      “Hank,” she said, nausea washing over her in cold waves, “I’ve got a bad feeling we’re both gonna be snake food.” A distant rumble of thunder made her stomach jump.

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