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“Doris, you might get a phone call this afternoon, asking about who’s flying the airplane.”
“Tango Foxtrot, have you been buzzing the nude beach again?”
“Not yet. Just tell anybody who calls that the airplane was stolen by some joyrider.”
“That ain’t far off the truth,” Doris said. “You bring that thing back in one piece.”
“Over and out,” Jackson said. “Boy, that was fun. Now let’s buzz the nude beach.”
“What nude beach?” Holly asked.
“Oh, I forgot, the police aren’t supposed to know about that,” he laughed. He turned out over the water, then descended another five hundred feet. “We can legally fly lower over the water.
Here come the naked people!”
Holly looked out and saw a couple of dozen people disporting themselves on the sand and in the surf. They were, indeed, naked. “What on earth is a place like Orchid doing with a nude beach?” Holly asked as they whizzed past the bathers, who were grabbing for towels and making obscene gestures.
“Well, it’s not exactly an official nude beach,” Jackson said. “There are just a few adjoining property owners who have a few friends over now and then.”
“Sounds like you’re well acquainted with the spot,” Holly said.
“One hears things,” Jackson said, grinning. “Don’t worry, they’re outside the city limits, so you won’t have to arrest them. Look, there’s my place. Uh-oh, what’s that?” He was pointing to the parking area outside his house.
“Looks like a pickup truck,” Holly said. “A white one.”
“And somebody getting out,” Jackson said. He banked out over the water and turned back toward the house.
“What’s that flashing light on your roof?” Holly asked.
“That’s the strobe attached to my burglar alarm,” Jackson said. “It means that whoever that was has broken into the house. Hang on. The tide’s out, so I’m going to put this thing down on the beach.” He made another turn and lined up for landing.
Holly groaned and braced herself against the instrument panel. The wet sand was rushing at them.
CHAPTER
33
J ackson set the little airplane down on the sand, cut the engine and simultaneously stood on the brakes. The airplane ground to a halt on the firm beach. “Come on,” he yelled, hopping out of the airplane. He sprinted across the beach toward the house. As they approached, the electronic siren of the burglar alarm became louder.
Holly grabbed her handbag and followed. “Jackson, stop!”
He kept running, but he had reached dry, soft sand now, and that slowed him down.
Holly used her last few yards of hard sand to catch up. “Stop, goddamnit!” she hollered.
Jackson plowed on.
Holly slung the strap of her bag over her head and tackled Jackson, bringing him down. “Hold it right here!” she yelled.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, trying to get to his feet.
Holly dug her gun out of her bag. “This part is my job. You stay behind me!” She started across the dunes toward the house, with Jackson running behind her. As she hit the back porch she threw down her bag and struggled with the glass sliding doors.
Jackson reached the porch and came up with his key. “Hang on,” he yelled, unlocking the door. “Now go!”
Holly slid open the door and stepped into the house, pistol out in front of her in both hands, finger on the trigger guard. A tinny voice was screaming, over and over, “Unauthorized entry in progress! Vacate the premises at once! The police are on the way!”
Jackson stepped inside and disarmed the alarm with the keypad beside the door. The voice and siren went silent.
