Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

“With P, T, and A,” Spear confirmed. P, T, and A was insurance jargon for Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. It was a clause that doubled the amount of insurance payable if an insured was killed while on company business as a passenger on any of those modes of transportation.

“What brought the plane down?” Nash asked.

“Don’t know yet. It’s at the bottom of Ghost Lake, along with Tenney. The lake’s in the Granite Mountains, six or seven thousand feet up, and it’s deep, very deep: fourteen, fifteen hundred feet. They’ve had divers looking for the plane and Tenney’s body for two days, but no luck yet. The lake is four miles wide and twelve miles long. I’ve been on the phone with the local sheriff up there; he’s not too optimistic. Says there’s half a dozen or more bodies in there already — fishermen, boaters, swimmers — that have never been recovered.”

“Ghost Lake,” said Nash. “Aptly named, apparently. What’s the pilot say?”

“He hasn’t been questioned too extensively yet; he’s hospitalized for exposure. Wandered around half the night soaking wet before he found a fishing lodge to get help. All he’s said so far is that the engine was missing badly and in danger of quitting. Says he either had to try a lake landing or risk a crash in the trees.” Spear rose and adjusted his ample belly back under his vest and belt. “Anyway, my notes are all there. I want you to handle this, Jack. You’re the best man I’ve got. Get up to Ghost Lake and start digging in every direction to see if you can find a reason to deny this claim. Company can’t afford to take a two-million-dollar hit this quarter. This could affect our bonuses for the whole year.”

The phone rang on Nash’s desk. He answered and handed it to Spear. “Nelson in data processing, for you.”

Spear took the phone. “Hello — yes — Richard Tenney — T-E-N-N-E-Y, that’s right.” The burly man frowned. “What! Are you sure? Social Security numbers and birth dates match?” His face reddened. “Son of a bitch!” He slammed the phone down.

“Another policy?” Nash asked, raising his eyebrows. He had worked for Sam Spear for ten years and knew what detonated the older man.

“Yes, goddamn it! A personal policy! Half a million!”

“With P, T, and A?”

“Oh, yes! Of course!”

“That raises the death benefit to three million.”

“I can add, Jack!” His face turned redder. “We’ve been double-shuffled!” A double shuffle was when an insured managed to obtain two policies for an amount in excess of what would have been allowed, according to his age and health, in a single policy.

Nash opened the credenza behind his desk and from a small refrigerator got out and opened a bottle of Pellegrino. Coming around the desk with it, he said, “Here, take one of your pills, Sam, before you have a stroke.”

Spear fingered a tiny white pill from his vest pocket and quickly swallowed it with the cold sparkling water. After a few breaths, he started to relax. Presently he gave Jack what he perceived to be a kind, fatherly smile. “You know, my boy, I may be getting too old for all this pressure.” He put an arm around Nash’s shoulders. “You know what? If we can find a way to deny this claim, so that I can go out on a high note, I’m going to put in for retirement and recommend you for my job. Let you move up.”

“You’ve been saying that for five years, Sam.”

“But this time I mean it,” Spear insisted. “It’s time. And you’ve earned it, Jack. Especially if you get us out from under this one. You know as well as I do, Jack, that we’re not Prudential or General America or one of those other giants. California All-Risk is a small regional company. A claim like this can impact our earnings two, even three years down the line. Impact my retirement, too. Find us an out on this one, my boy,” he patted Nash’s back, “and not only will the claims director job be yours, but you’ll be a hero at California All-Risk. A living legend.”

Spear left the office, taking the bottle of Pellegrino with him. Nash returned to his desk and dialed an in-company number. Presently the ring was answered by a female voice with a pronounced Southern drawl.

“Typing pool. This is Stella.”

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, there. Is your back sunburned?”

“A little. I felt it a couple of minutes ago when Sam put his arm around me.”

“Did he give you his retirement speech again?”

“Complete with promises of glory,” Nash said pragmatically. “Listen, I won’t be able to make supper tonight. I have to go over to Nevada on a big claim we’re going to get hit with.”

“That the corporate plane that crashed in some lake?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Two secretaries from sales were talking about it in the john earlier. Will you be gone long?”

“Couple of days is all. Unless I find something funny, of course.”

“Call me?”

“You know I will. You sunburned?”

“I will. ’Bye.”

“ ’Bye, now.”