Fool's Flight (Digger) Read Online Free PDF Page A

table on wrought-iron chairs whose vinyl cushions had lost almost all trace of color.
    Mrs. Donnelly seemed to have recaptured her pose as grieving widow, Digger noticed, because she shook her head sadly and said, "Poor Steve."
    "Your husband was a member of Wardell’s congregation?"
    "Congregation? That’s a laugh. Wardell’s zoo. Faith healing. Clapping their hands. Rolling around on the floor. What bullshit. Yeah, he was a member."
    "How long?"
    "Last year or so. After he hooked on with that rinkydink airline. This insurance is for fifty thousand?"
    Digger looked again at the Prudential policy. There was no double-indemnity provision for accidental death.
    "Fifty thousand dollars," he said. "The company bought this for him?"
    She nodded. "All the airlines do that. When I was a stew, I always had insurance. And Steve, too. When he was with Pan-Am and American. Mister Burroughs…"
    "Julian."
    "All right, Julian. You just look around you and you can see we’re not quite living in the lap of luxury. We haven’t even climbed up on its leg yet. Steve couldn’t buy a bus ticket. He couldn’t afford to pay for insurance. What about Wardell’s, how much is that for?"
    "If you don’t mind my saying, Mrs. Donnelly…"
    She touched his right hand. "My turn," she said. "Trini."
    "Okay. Trini, I always thought that airline pilotsmade a lot of money. I’m just…well, surprised that things are so tight for you."
    "Pilots do make a lot of money. It helps though if you’re flying for a real airline and not that barrage balloon outfit Interworld. It helps if you work regular. It helps if you don’t have a lot of old drinking and gambling debts to pay off."
    "Steve drank?" Digger could feel the woman flinch. Her hand moved away from his. She was thinking that she might have said something that could cost her insurance money. Digger put his hand on hers. "It doesn’t matter, Trini. It doesn’t have anything to do with the insurance." He smiled at her, reassuringly.
    "He didn’t drink anymore. He used to. He used to drink everything. He lost his good jobs because of his drinking. Then he got himself sobered up and went to work with Interworld. He didn’t drink anymore. He didn’t have time. He just went to church or whatever Wardell calls his tent show. I never thought he’d leave money to him, though. I used to think he was just telling me he was going to church and he had a girlfriend stashed somewhere. But I checked and there he was, in church with the other loonies. He’d hang out down there and I guess help them clean the elephant crap out of their tent. How much was the insurance for?"
    "Do you have any idea how the accident might have happened?" Digger asked, ignoring her question.
    She shrugged and took her hand out from under Digger’s to hold her martini with both hands. Her hands were small and her skin was soft.
    "It’s hard to say. Steve was really a good pilot. Maybe the plane exploded or something. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Steve’s fault. He was really good, Mr. Burroughs."
    "Julian."
    "Julian. Steve was really a good pilot, particularly now that he was sobered up. How much was the other insurance for?"
    "You didn’t really believe he was going to church at first?" Digger said.
    "No. Not until I followed him there. Then I thought he was getting it on with that Mrs. Wardell, but when I looked at her, I realized she’d never go for him. She’s too cold and formal, and Steve liked his girls bouncy. How much was the other insurance for to Wardell?"
    "A quarter of a million."
    "Bullshit. I don’t believe it."
    "It’s true."
    "I’ll sue," she said.
    "Sue who?"
    "Wardell. That brainwashing bastard. His wife. Somebody. I get a stinking fifty thousand dollars out of all this and that horseshit station wagon out there and two sociopaths for kids and this house with nothing in it and vinyl cushions you can read through and Wardell gets a quarter of a million? For what, for singing ‘Rock of