“I’m putting everything with Jack, myself,” Herbie said.
“Everything?”
“Sure, why not? Stephanie will be watching over it for me.”
“It’s a good idea to put her in charge of your money, Herbie. She probably doesn’t have a bookie.”
Herbie found that very funny. “No, she’s a lot more conservative than I am.”
“Everybody is a lot more conservative than you are, Herbie.”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“Anything else on your mind?”
“No, I was just passing by,” Herbie said.
“When are you off on your honeymoon?”
“In a few days. We’re rebooking everything.”
“Have a good time,” Stone said, turning back to his work. Investing with Jack Gunn seemed like a pretty good bet, he was thinking.
THIRTEEN
On Saturday morning Stone picked up Adele and drove to Teterboro Airport, to Jet Aviation, where the Mustang sat out on the apron, waiting for them.
Adele showed an interest in the airplane, so, after loading their bags in the forward luggage compartment, Stone took her along on the preflight inspection, then he hooked up the battery, and they prepared to taxi. Stone got his IFR clearance, then worked his way through the long checklist, started the engines, and asked ground control for permission to taxi. Shortly, they were lined up on runway one with a takeoff clearance. Stone did his final, brief checklist, then pushed the throttles all the way forward and held the brakes on while the engines spooled up. He released the brakes, the airplane accelerated quickly down the runway, and Stone rotated, then retracted the landing gear and flaps. At seven hundred feet, he switched on the autopilot and began flying the Teterboro Six departure, but shortly he was given a vector to the Carmel VOR, then a moment later, direct to Kennebunk.
Adele had been listening on her headset from the copilot’s seat. “Kennebunk? That’s in Maine, isn’t it? Are we going to Maine?”
“We are,” Stone replied. “To an island in Penobscot Bay called Islesboro and a village called Dark Harbor.”
“It sounds wonderful,” she said.
The countryside was mostly white beneath them and got whiter as they flew east and north. Stone showed Adele Islesboro on the chart, then he ran through his descent and landing checklists, to stay well ahead of the airplane. They had only just reached their cruising altitude of thirty-three thousand feet when Boston Center started their descent.
Soon Stone could point out Islesboro and the landing strip.
“The strip looks awfully small,” Adele said.
“It will look larger as we approach,” Stone replied, “and the airplane is very good at short field work. Now, excuse me, I have to concentrate on landing.”
His checklist called for a final approach speed of 88 knots, and he concentrated on reaching and holding that speed while extending the flaps and landing gear. He put the airplane exactly where he wanted it and right on the speed number, then applied the brakes.
“Very good brakes,” Adele said. “I didn’t think we’d be able to stop so quickly.”
“There’s Seth Hotchkiss,” Stone said, pointing at the restored 1938 Ford station wagon parked beside the runway. “He and his wife, Mary, take care of the place.”
“How long have you owned the house?” Adele asked.
“I don’t own it. It was built by my first cousin Dick Stone, who died a while back. He left me lifetime use of the house, and on my death it will go to a foundation he set up.”
“That was very nice of him,” she said.
“It was indeed,” Stone agreed.
Seth greeted them and put their bags into the back of the wagon, while Stone installed the engine plugs and pilot covers and disconnected the battery. Then they drove away.