Dark Harbor (Stone Barrington 12)

“I looked it up in the directory,” Stone replied. “It’s a paved strip of 2,450 feet, with a paved tie down area. No fuel, no services.”

“Isn’t that kind of short?”

“The airplane can handle it.”

“Can the pilot handle it?”

“Pray that he can.”

Stone pointed out Rockland, as they flew over it during their descent. “That’s a bigger airport that can take jets, for future reference. Islesboro is over there.” He pointed at the long, narrow island ahead of them. “I can just make out the airstrip at the north end.”

Stone began thinking ahead about making a short-field landing. The strip was long enough, but not if he touched halfway down the runway. He continued his descent and lined up for a straight-in approach. The traffic screen showed nothing in the immediate area, and he could see no movement near the strip, but he announced his intentions on the published radio frequency. He put down the landing gear and ten degrees of flaps, then performed his prelanding check: three green lights showing the gear down and locked, fuel selector on the fullest tank.

He wanted to touch down on the numbers, and as soon as he had cleared the trees at the end of the runway, he cut power and descended more steeply. He touched down a few yards past the numbers and applied the brakes. The airplane slowed in plenty of time, and he taxied off the runway onto the tiedown area. There was only one other airplane, a small Cessna, parked there.

Stone shut down the engine, and they deplaned. There was no taxi in sight, but after a couple of minutes, a 1938 Ford station wagon appeared, pulled up next to the airplane, and a man of about sixty got out. He was tall, skinny and weathered. Stone felt a wave of deja vu. It was the same car and the same man who had met him at the Bangor Airport when he was eighteen.

“It’s Stone, isn’t it?” the man asked.

“It is, and it’s Seth Hotchkiss, isn’t it?”

“You’ve a good memory, Stone. Been a long time.” His accent was distinctly Mainer.

“It certainly has,” Stone replied, shaking the man’s hand.

“We don’t have taxi service around here until next week, when the summer folk start arriving,” Seth said, “so I just came out. I expect we can get you all in the wagon.”

“It’s beautiful, Seth,” Stone said, admiring the old car.

“Dick had it restored over at Rockland last year; they did a fine job. She’s like new.” He loaded their luggage, and Stone got into the front seat with Seth while the other three crowded into the rear seat.

“We’re booked into the Dark Harbor Inn,” Stone said.

“Nah, I told your secretary to forget about that. They don’t open until next week. You’ll be staying at Dick’s house. There’s plenty of room. We’ll put two of you in the guest house and two in the main house. You’ve never seen the place, have you?”

“No, I stayed in the old family place.”

“That barn,” Seth said. “I’m glad I don’t have nothing to do with it no more. It was a chore, just keeping it standing. Caleb’s got three men doing what I used to do over there. Dick brought over me and my wife, Mabel—she’s new since you were here—when he built his house, and we live in a nice apartment over the garage. We’re comfortable there, but I don’t know what’ll happen to us now.”

“Rest easy about that, Seth,” Stone said. “You’ll be kept on as always. Dick provided for that.”

“How do you know about that?” Seth asked.

“I’m Dick’s executor, and I’ll see that his wishes are carried out. He left me the use of the place for my lifetime and that of my heirs.”

Seth nodded. “You married? You got any heirs?”

“Not married, but I’ve got one heir, a boy. I hope you’ll get to meet him.”

“We can still give a boy a good summer up here,” Seth said.

They were quiet for a while. “Do you know what happened, Seth?” Stone asked finally.

“I know what I saw, and I don’t put the same light on it that the sheriff does,” Seth replied. “I’ll tell you about it after we get everybody settled.”

They drove through downtown Dark Harbor, which consisted of a few scattered houses and one business, a general store/real estate office/newsstand/ice cream parlor. It was astonishingly the same as it had been twenty years before.

They continued on past the Dark Harbor Inn, took a right and shortly drove through the gates of Dick Stone’s house.