Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

“It’s like sex,” Ginny said. “The more you do it, the better it gets.”

Holly laughed. “Losing my virginity wasn’t this much fun.”

“But it got better, I hope.”

“It sure did.”

“So will this, the better you get at it. You’re coming up on three thousand feet. Push the yoke slightly forward and reduce power to cruise; it’s on your checklist. The checklist is your bible. Using it will eliminate half the ways you can get into trouble in an airplane.”

“How about the other half?”

“We’ll go through those as your training continues.”

“Give me an example.”

“The most important things are checking the weather before your flight, and making sure you have enough fuel for your planned flight.”

“That seems sensible.”

“Way too many pilots fail to do one or both. Most of those news stories about small airplanes landing in fields or on the interstate are people who didn’t have enough fuel for the flight. And flying into bad weather is the single most common cause of fatal crashes. Now let’s make some turns.” Ginny guided her through several ninety-degree turns, showing her how to coordinate rudder pressure with turning the yoke. “Just keep the little ball on that instrument centered,” she said, pointing.

Holly followed her instructions, learning to make coordinated turns and to fly a compass course.

“Watch your altitude,” Ginny said. “It tends to change when you make turns, and keeping your assigned altitude is very important. You’re doing extremely well, Holly; you’re going to be very good at this.”

“Thank you.”

“You want to do a little sightseeing?”

“Sure.”

“Turn to oh-nine-oh, and we’ll fly over to the beach area.”

Holly made the turn.

“Now drop down to one thousand feet so we can see things on the ground better.”

Holly descended. Ahead of her she saw a long runway on the barrier island. “Look,” she said, pointing. “That’s Palmetto Gardens—sorry, Blood Orchid. They have their own six-thousand-foot runway.”

“I’ve heard about it. You can get any kind of corporate jet and a lot of airliners onto a six-thousand-foot runway.”

“The previous residents flew passengers in and huge sums of money out—the income from drug deals all over the country.”

“The place could make a good fly-in community,” Ginny said. “There’s a place up near Daytona that has a long runway, with houses built around it. You can taxi right into your own hangar, attached to your house. Now make a right turn and fly along the beach; stay about a quarter-mile offshore.”

Holly turned the airplane south. She passed a dozen gated communities, then the small Orchid Beach business district, and flew on south, toward Vero Beach. In the distance, she spotted her own house. “That’s where I live,” she said, pointing.

“Which one?”

“The one with the sea grass around it, white clapboard.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ginny said.

“Jackson took the land in payment for some legal fees in a case, then he bought an old Florida farmhouse, had it sawed in half and moved it to the property. Then he made some additions and renovated the old house.” She stopped talking and looked at the rapidly approaching house. A feeling of déjà vu swept over her. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“What is it?”

“There.” She pointed. “That van behind the house. That’s not supposed to be there.”