but what is the foundation?” Samuel Bernard had been a law-school professor of Stone’s and had remained a mentor who had historic connections to the CIA.
“It’s set up to provide for the families of Agency officers killed or disabled in the line of duty,” Lance said. “How much did Dick leave the foundation?”
“A million dollars,” Stone said, “in the event of his own death. As I said, in the event of the whole family dying simultaneously, most of the estate goes to the foundation.”
“And how much is that?”
“Thirty million dollars, give or take. Dick’s wife was a very wealthy woman.”
Lance drew in a quick breath. “That is astonishingly generous,” he said.
“Lance,” Stone said, “what reason do you have for thinking that Dick murdered his family and killed himself?”
“That is the opinion of the sheriff and the state police in Maine,” Lance said. “My superiors would like for you and me to determine if he’s right.”
“Do you think Dick was mentally ill? You’ve seen him more recently than I.”
“I have no reason to think so, and certainly the contents of his letter to you and his will are lucid and make him seem sound of mind.”
“So the sheriff wants us to believe that a man who has spent his career handling intricate intelligence matters and who has just received the promotion of a lifetime is so nuts and despondent as to murder his family and commit suicide?”
“At this date, I suppose the sheriff’s conclusions are preliminary and based only on the physical evidence.”
“And what is the physical evidence?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then I guess we’d better go to Maine,” Stone said.
“I could take some time,” Dino said. “Mind if I come along? It would keep me out of Mary Ann’s way.”
“We could always use another experienced homicide investigator,” Lance said.
“Then I’ll fly us up tomorrow morning,” Stone said.
Chapter 3
STONE CAME DOWN to breakfast to find Dino dressed and drinking orange juice in the kitchen. “Sleep well?”
“Not as well as I thought I would,” Dino said. “I’m not used to sleeping alone.”
Stone scrambled them some eggs and fried bacon in the microwave. “Was divorce mentioned?”
“No, but death was. Mine.”
“You think she wants out?”
“She was madder than I’ve ever seen her, and that’s saying a lot.”
“You should leave a message about where we’ll be.”
“Where will we be?”
Stone picked up the phone and buzzed his office.
“Good morning,” Joan Robertson, his secretary, said.
“Good morning. I have a couple of things for you to do.”
“Shoot.”
“There’s an inn on the island of Islesboro, in Maine; I think it’s called the Dark Harbor Inn. If it isn’t, find it on the Internet and book four rooms for me, starting tonight. Make it for three nights, but tell them we might need to stay longer.”
“Got it.”
“There’s a will on my desk, witnessed by four people. Please call them all and ask them to confirm that they witnessed the will of Richard Stone.”
“Right.”
“One of the witnesses is a man called Seth Hotchkiss, a family retainer. When you speak to him, ask him about a taxi service on the island and arrange for a cab to meet us at the airstrip on Islesboro at noon today.”
“Got it.”
“Also, find out what county Islesboro is in, call the sheriff, tell him I’m Richard Stone’s executor, and I’d be grateful if the lead investigator on Stone’s death would meet me at his house in Islesboro around one o’clock today.”
“Done.”
“I suppose they have cell-phone service up there, but in any event, I’ll check in with you after we arrive.”
“Okay. I’ll hold the fort.”
Stone hung up and finished his eggs.
“How’s the flying weather?” Dino asked.
“Looks good on TV and the Internet. I’ll get an aviation forecast in a few minutes and file a flight plan.”
THE FOUR OF THEM arrived at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey a little before 10:00 a.m. in Lance’s car. Stone did a preflight inspection of the airplane and got everybody aboard.
Their route took them north to Carmel, then northeast through Connecticut and Massachusetts to Kennebunk, Maine, then direct. Ceiling and visibility were unlimited.
“What kind of airport they got up there?” Dino asked.
“I looked it up in the directory,” Stone replied. “It’s a paved strip of 2,450 feet, with a paved tie down area. No fuel, no services.”
“Isn’t that kind of short?”
“The airplane can handle it.”
“Can the pilot handle it?”
“Pray that he can.”
Stone pointed out Rockland, as they flew over it during their descent. “That’s a bigger airport that can take jets, for future reference. Islesboro is over there.” He pointed at the long, narrow island ahead of them. “I can just make out the airstrip at the north end.”
Stone began thinking ahead about making a short-field landing. The strip was long enough, but not if he touched halfway down the runway. He continued his descent and lined up for a straight-in approach. The traffic screen showed nothing in the immediate area, and he could see no movement near the strip, but he announced his intentions on the published radio frequency. He put down the landing gear and ten degrees of flaps, then performed his prelanding check: three green lights showing the gear down and locked, fuel selector on the fullest tank.
He wanted to touch down on the numbers, and as soon as he had cleared the trees at the end of the runway, he cut power and descended more steeply. He touched down a few yards past the numbers and applied the brakes. The airplane slowed in plenty of time, and he taxied off the runway onto the tiedown area. There was only one other airplane, a small Cessna, parked there.
Stone shut down the engine, and they deplaned. There was no taxi in sight, but after a couple of minutes, a 1938 Ford station wagon appeared, pulled up next to the airplane, and a man of about sixty got out. He was tall, skinny and weathered. Stone felt a wave of deja vu. It was the same car and the same man who had met him at the Bangor Airport when he was eighteen.
“It’s Stone, isn’t it?” the man asked.
“It is, and it’s Seth Hotchkiss, isn’t it?”
“You’ve a good memory, Stone. Been a long time.” His accent was distinctly Mainer.
“It certainly has,” Stone replied, shaking the man’s hand.
“We don’t have taxi service around here until next week, when the summer folk start arriving,” Seth said, “so I just came out. I expect we can get you all in the wagon.”
“It’s beautiful, Seth,” Stone said, admiring the old car.
“Dick had it restored over at Rockland last year; they did a fine job. She’s like new.” He loaded their luggage,
