Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“Will you call Eduardo and tell him that?”

“Okay, I guess.” Dino did not like dealing directly with his father-in-law, but he seemed willing to make an exception this time. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

Stone began looking in the phone book under airports, and when he found what he was looking for made the call.

Dino finished his conversation with Eduardo. “What are you up to?” he asked Stone.

“I told our friend Mr. James that I was on the west coast of Florida, a couple of hours’ drive from the Palm Beach airport. I want him to go on thinking that until we get this settled.” He made the arrangements he required, then hung up. “There, I guess I’ve done what I can.” He picked up the phone again. “I’ll make some of the hotel calls. You don’t mind if I use your name, do you?”

“When did I ever mind?” Dino asked. “When did you ever care if I mind?”

45

AT MIDMORNING, STONE DROVE NORTH ON I-95 AND took the well-marked exit. Soon he was at North Palm Beach County airport, a small general aviation field a few miles from Palm Beach International. He found North County Aviation and parked his car.

Inside, he told the receptionist why he was there, and she made a quick phone call. “Don will be right with you,” she said. “You’re taking the Warrior, is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then if you’d like to give me a credit card we can take care of that while Don is on his way.”

Stone gave her his American Express card and watched as a Piper Warrior taxied up to the apron of North County Aviation and a young man got out and came inside.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Don. There she is.”

Stone looked at the neat little airplane. “Looks very nice.”

“Can I see your license and medical, please?”

Stone handed the man his private pilot’s license and his third-class medical certificate. They were inspected and returned to him.

“How many hours do you have in type?” Don asked.

“A little over a hundred, but it’s been a while. I did most of my private ticket training in a Warrior, and I’m real comfortable with it.”

“Come on, then, and let’s do a little checkride.”

Stone signed his credit card chit, pocketed the card and followed Don outside.

“You do the preflight,” Don said, handing him a fuel cup.

Stone put his briefcase into the airplane and walked slowly around it, running through a mental checklist. He drained some fuel from each wing and inspected it for dirt or water, checked the oil and handed Don back the fuel cup. “Looks good to me,” he said.

“Take the left seat, then.”

Stone climbed into the airplane, followed by Don. He started the engine, listened to the recorded weather from PBI, checked the wind sock and taxied to the active runway. He pulled into the run-up pad and did his final check of the airplane, then, looking for traffic, he announced his intentions over the unicom frequency and taxied onto the runway. He pushed the throttle forward and, watching his airspeed, started down the center line. At rotation speed he pulled back on the yoke and left the ground. It was a fixed-gear airplane, so he didn’t have to bother retracting the landing gear. Announcing his intentions at every turn, he climbed crosswind.

“Just stay in the pattern,” Don said, watching his every move closely.

Stone turned downwind, reduced power and prepared to land. He turned onto the base leg, then onto final and set the airplane lightly down on the runway.

“Okay,” Don said. “You can fly it. Just drop me back at the FBO, and you’re on your way. How long will you be gone?”

“Just a couple of hours,” Stone said.