“And did I mention we have complimentary bicycles for your enjoyment? — though it’s probably not the best time of the year to go for a bike ride. Been pretty darned nippy around here.”

She leaned over the coffeemaker and poured us Styrofoam cups of hot joe.

The steam fogged the lenses of Marlene’s red-frame bifocals and made her brunette shag even shaggier. Her face was soft and full. I noticed faint dark rings obscured by makeup under both eyes. Natural shading, or the result of being punched? I couldn’t tell.

“So nice of you,” Savannah said. “Thank you.”

“Just trying to keep the customer satisfied.” Marlene smiled. “I believe that was a lyric in an old Simon and Garfunkel song, was it not?”

“I believe it was,” Savannah said.

My ex-wife caught my eye and winked subtly. She knew that I keenly distrusted overtly friendly people until such time as they’d shown their true colors — people like genuinely nice Mrs. Schmulowitz. Geniality, I’ve learned the hard way, often belies the blackest of instincts, hard-wired impulses that cruise sharklike behind cordial smiles, ready to surface at little provocation. I’ve known remorseless murderers who would’ve been perceived as “nice” by any definition when they were not out slaughtering innocents. I’ve personally removed a few of those “nice” people from the planet. But that was before I was introduced to the Buddha who is all about giving strangers the benefit of the doubt, including seemingly well-meaning receptionists.

“Another cookie?” Marlene said.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

The door opened and Chad came in off the flight line, holding his iPhone to his right ear.

“No, ma’am, I’m not the pilot. I just work here. The pilot’s right here.” He handed me the phone. “El Dorado Sheriff’s Department. They want to talk to you.”

The voice on the other end identified herself as Sergeant Somebody. I didn’t catch her name. She said she was the watch commander on duty. I told her what I’d told Chad, about what I’d seen, and approximately where I’d seen it. If I’d had any presence of mind, I told her, I would’ve noted the exact location on my GPS receiver, the latitude and longitude, and written it down. But I hadn’t.

“Nobody’s perfect,” the sergeant assured me.

What I’d seen was likely nothing, she said, but department policy compelled her to have the tip thoroughly investigated regardless. Was I willing to talk to a deputy in person? She could have one at the airport in about half an hour.

I was in no hurry, I said, and handed Chad back his phone.

“My lord, a plane crashed?” Marlene’s hand was over her mouth as she sat down behind her desk. “I hope everyone’s OK.”

“We don’t know if it’s a plane crash yet,” Chad said, delivering an invoice to her, documenting how many gallons of fuel he’d pumped into the Duck. “It might be a crash. Or nothing at all.”

I noticed a small, round spider web tattooed on the right side of Chad’s neck as he leaned across the counter to hand Marlene his paperwork. Web tats of any kind commonly convey that the bearer has done prison time, but Chad didn’t seem like the inmate type to me. I kept the observation to myself.

Savannah said she wanted to drive into South Lake Tahoe and check into the $300-a-night bed-and-breakfast that she’d carefully researched online and insisted on paying for because she knew I couldn’t. When I was done talking to the deputy, I would call her. She’d then come back to the airport and pick me up. Time permitting, after that, we would drive to Incline Village at the northeast end of the lake, on the Nevada side, and take out a sixty-dollar license at the Washoe County Marriage License Bureau. Then we’d stop in at the Dream-Maker chapel — where Tom Selleck, among many other Hollywood types, got married, according to Savannah — and retie the knot. No muss, no fuss, she said. I wouldn’t even have to change my clothes.

“You’re getting married? How romantic,” Marlene gushed. “You should’ve said something.” She waddled into a back room and returned seconds later with a box about the size of a Twinkie. It was wrapped in plain red paper with a silver ribbon tied around it. “A small token of congratulations from Summit Aviation Services. We get a lot of people coming up here wanting to get married. Tom Selleck got married up here, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

“You can open it now if you want,” Marlene said.

“Sure. Why not?” Savannah slowly unwrapped the box, careful not to tear the paper, as all women inexplicably do.

Inside was a night light. Embossed on the plastic lens was a full-color rendition of Orville and Wilbur Wright.

“Their eyes light up when you plug it in,” Marlene said. “We got a whole bunch of ’em on eBay for next to nothing. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Savannah wasn’t sure how to respond.

I managed a persuasive smile. And then, if only to wow my ex-wife with my civility, I added, “Thanks for such a lovely gift, Marlene.”

Savannah seemed duly impressed.

Chad spread a copy of the San Francisco-area FAA aeronautical chart on a long wooden conference table in the pilots’ lounge. I pointed to the location where I’d spotted what I assumed was wreckage.

“And you’re sure that that’s where it was?” Deputy Kyle Woo said.

“Affirmative.”

Woo leaned over the map, studying it and jotting notes in a black leather binder. He was Asian-American, stocky, in his early thirties. The pumped muscles under his tan uniform shirt told me he was a power weight lifter. His insulated nylon sheriff’s jacket matched the deep green of his tactical pants. A .40-caliber Glock rode on his right hip.

“I used to go camping up there off of Chalmers Peak all the time,” Chad said. “I’m real familiar with that area. Saw a porcupine up near there once. I’m on this game trail and the dude walks right out in front of me, like, no big deal. Didn’t even look at me or nothing. I thought at first maybe it was a wolverine or a beaver or some such, but nope, it wasn’t. It was a damn porcupine. Can you believe that?”

Woo looked up at the kid from his note-taking and said, “Pretty weird.” His dark, narrow eyes betrayed zero emotion and seemed to miss nothing.

“Yup, pretty weird,” Chad said. He seemed nervous under the deputy’s gaze. “Well, anyway, I’m outta here. Started work at six this morning. So, unless there’s anything else I can do for you gentlemen…”

“I think we’ve got it under control,” Woo said.

“Cool, cool. Well, enjoy the rest of your day.”

Chad turned and nearly collided with a large man with a ragged haircut who reminded me a little of Fred Flintstone. He was carrying an oversized soda cup with a straw in it and a food bag from McDonald’s.

“What’re you still doing hanging around here, Chad Lovejoy? You were supposed to be off shift an hour ago.”

“I was just—”

“You were just stealing my money, is what you were doing,” the man said, cutting him off. “I’m not paying you overtime. How many times I gotta tell you that?”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“You do that. But before you do, there’s a couple boxes in the back of my station wagon. I want you to move them into the supply room.”

“You’re the boss,” Chad said as he left, shooting an anxious glance in the direction of Deputy Woo, who was still writing in his notepad. “I’ll get right on it.”

Chad’s boss was decked out in tan Dockers and a white, oxford-cloth dress shirt, over which he wore a blue, Northface ski parka embossed with the Summit Aviation Services corporate logo. His dour sneer suggested he was not happy at the sight of Deputy Woo.

“So, what’s going on?” He plopped his burger bag on the table along with a fat key ring. Attached to the ring was a small metal silhouette of a tailless Australian shepherd dog.

Woo barely gave the man a glance.