“What do you think the guy was looking for?” Holly asked.
“I don’t know. Let me have a look around.” Jackson checked his home office. “He’s been through my desk, and there’s a file drawer open.”
“Anything missing?”
Jackson went through the files, then checked his desk drawers. “Nothing,” he said.
“I guess we interrupted him before he could get any further.”
“Maybe so.”
“Have you ever had a burglary out here?” she asked.
“I had an attempt more than a year ago. The alarm went off, and by the time the cops got here whoever set it off was gone. They figured the alarm scared him off.”
“How come you’ve got a strobe light on top of your house, connected to the burglar alarm?”
“Just an idea I had,” he said. “After the alarm went off that time, I thought, suppose I’m walking on the beach and the alarm goes off? I might not hear it over the surf, so I installed the light.”
“Good idea,” she said. “It worked.”
“Even if not in the manner I imagined.”
Holly’s cell phone rang, and she dug it out of her bag. “Chief Barker.”
“Chief, it’s Jimmy Weathers. I’m duty officer today. No sign of your white pickup anywhere on A1A, south or north. We’re checking side streets now.”
“Good, Jimmy, keep it up and call me when you know something.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Holly hung up. “Maybe he was looking for you,” she said.
Jackson sat bolt upright. “Shit, the airplane! Come on!” He sprinted out of the house and across the dunes, with Holly close behind. The airplane was where they had left it, but the incoming tide was over its wheels. Jackson ran to it, opened the luggage compartment and got out a T-shaped bar. “Come help me,” he yelled.
Holly ran to him as he reached under the water and attached the bar to the nosewheel. Holly grabbed one side of the T and pulled with all her strength. For a moment, nothing happened; then, with the two of them pulling like oxen, the airplane began to move. They towed it well free of the surf.
“We’ve got to fly it out of here now,” Jackson said, “or pretty soon, all we’ll have left to roll on is soft, dry sand.” He hopped into the airplane. Holly got into the other seat, and Jackson got the engine started. “No time for a runup,” Jackson said, shoving the throttle forward. The airplane started to roll, slowly at first, then faster. Soon they were back in the air. They got their headsets on.
“Let’s look for the pickup,” Holly said.
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Fly right up A1A. It won’t be on the highway, but you can look out your side, and I’ll look out mine.”
“Right.”
Holly looked out over the passing subdivisions. “Can you make this thing fly slower?” she asked.
“Okay.” Jackson lowered the flaps and reduced power. “Okay, that’s seventy-five knots. I don’t want to go any slower. The controls are mushy enough as it is.”
“Well, don’t stall it,” Holly said. “Hey, I’ve got a white pickup over here.” She pointed. “No, I’ve got two.”
“I’ve got one over here, too, parked in front of a house.”
“Here’s another one. I’m beginning to get the feeling there are an awful lot of white pickups around here.”
“Your father drives one,” Jackson said.
“Oh, the hell with it, this isn’t doing any good. Let’s go back to the airport.”
“Right,” Jackson said. He went back to cruise power and retracted the flaps. “Here,” he said, taking his hands off the yoke. “You fly it.”
Holly grabbed the yoke on her side. “Are you nuts? I’ve never flown an airplane.”
“It’s not quantum physics, just keep her straight and level.”
Holly held on to the yoke tightly.
“Take your hands off for a second,” he said.
Holly removed her hands; the airplane continued to fly straight and level.
“See? You don’t need to strangle the yoke. You can fly her with a couple of fingers.” He reached over and adjusted something on the panel in front of Holly. “That’s your compass,” he said. “Now turn left to two hundred seventy degrees. Just turn the yoke.”
Holly turned left, overshot 270, then corrected.
“We’re already at traffic pattern altitude, which is a thousand feet AGL. See the field? Twelve o’clock and five miles?”
Holly looked out over the nose of the airplane. “Yes! I see the runway!”
“Very good. You see we’re approaching the runway at a forty-five-degree angle?”
“Yes.”
“When we’re one mile out, you’ll turn parallel to the runway; that’s called the downwind leg. I’ll announce our presence to the tower.” He called the tower and got clearance to land. “Okay, start your turn now. Just keep parallel to the runway.”
Holly made the turn.
“Now we’re going to put in a notch of flaps and reduce power,” Jackson said, performing the tasks. “When we get to the end of the runway, let the airplane descend to seven hundred and fifty feet.”
Holly did as she was told.
Jackson added another notch of flaps. “Now make a ninety-degree turn toward the runway, and descend to five hundred feet.” He reduced power further. When she had reached five hundred feet, he said, “Now turn for the runway, and you’re on final approach. Just point at the runway numbers.” He kept his hand on the throttle.
Holly watched the numbers come closer.
“Use the rudder pedals to help you stay on the center line. Now, start pulling back on the yoke. That’s called flaring. Further, further.” He helped her a little. “Get the nose up. Don’t want the nosewheel to touch first.”
Holly pulled back on the yoke, steering desperately with her feet to keep on the center line. The main wheels touched down with a little squeak.
“Now ease the yoke forward.”
She did so, and the nosewheel touched down.
“Excellent landing. Now steer with your feet. Use your toes for brakes, and make the first right turn and follow the yellow line to the flying club.”
Holly taxied to the club and parked the airplane where Jackson indicated. “Did I really land the thing all by myself?”
“All by yourself. Fun, huh?”
“A
“Doris will be so pleased. Either she or her boyfriend, Fred, will be delighted to sign you up as a student.”
They got out of the airplane, tied it down and went inside.
Doris looked up. “I had a phone call about you,” she said.
“Who was it?”
“Wouldn’t give a name. I hung up on him.”
“Good girl. Don’t worry, I don’t think they’ll be reporting me to the FAA.”
The phone in Holly’s bag rang, and she dug it out. “Chief Barker.”
“It’s Jimmy, Chief. We’ve stopped three white Ford pickups, none of them with a single male occupant.”
“Did you take names and license numbers?”
“Sure did.”
“I’ll check them tomorrow,” she said. “I think you can cancel the alert now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up. “Nothing,” she said.
“We better get back to the house,” Jackson said. “It’s unlocked.”
