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CHAPTER
32
J ackson used a card with a magnetic strip to open the security gate at Orchid Beach Airport. This was Holly’s third trip there, but now they drove past the terminal building with its tower and stopped a quarter of a mile down the runway at a low, concrete-block building with a windsock on top. A number of light aircraft were parked outside. Jackson led the way in.
“Hey, Doris,” he said to the woman behind the high desk. “Is 123 Tango Foxtrot available for a couple of hours?”
“You’re in luck, Jackson, we had a cancellation.” She put the keys and a printed document on the desk for him to sign.
“Doris, this is Holly Barker, our
new chief of police.”
“Acting chief,” Holly corrected.
“Well, hey there, honey,” Doris said, standing up and offering her hand. She was a buxom woman, pushing fifty, in tight pants with a pile of peroxided hair on her head. “Welcome to Orchid. I was real sorry to hear about Chief Marley’s death. Anything new on that?”
“Nothing so far, but we’re working on it,” Holly said.
“He was a nice man. Say, can I interest you in some flying lessons?”
“You might be able to a little further down the road, when I get my feet on the ground,” Holly replied.
“We’re about getting your feet off the ground,” Doris said.
Holly laughed and looked over Jackson’s shoulder.
“This is a document,” he said, “which commits my entire net worth to the flying club if I bend the airplane, and makes Doris my sole heir if I kill myself in it.”
Doris laughed. “How else can I ever retire?” she asked. “The way Jackson flies, it’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m beginning to reconsider this trip,” Holly said.
“Oh, he’ll get you back alive, honey,” Doris said. “I taught him all he knows about flying.”
“And most of what I know about life,” Jackson laughed. He picked up the keys and a clipboard. “Let’s get out of here.”
Holly followed him outside to a yellow-and-white airplane. “I’ve never been up in one of these,” she said.
“A Cessna?”
“In anything smaller than one of Delta’s jets, except for army helicopters.”
“This is a Cessna 172, the most popular airplane ever built,” Jackson said. “Come on, we’ll preflight her together.”
She followed him around the airplane while he wiggled things, peered into holes and checked the oil and fuel. “How much experience have you had at this?” she asked.
“I’ve got nearly five hundred hours,” he replied. “I’m working on my instrument rating right now, and I ought to have that soon, then maybe I’ll buy a good used airplane.”
“Five hundred hours sounds like a lot,” she said, seeking reassurance.
“Not really. A couple of thousand is more like a lot.” He helped her into the airplane and showed her how the seat belt worked.
“Have you ever carried a passenger?”
“Oh, sure. The airplane is a great seduction tool: by the time you get them back down, they’re so grateful to still be alive, they just fall right into bed with you.”
“Let’s see if it works,” Holly said.
