Chapters (66)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- Acknowledgements
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
Willa laughed. “I believe there may be a double entendre couched in your question.”
“Then take your pick,” Stone replied.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-SEVEN
Stone awoke alone, the other side of his bed unmussed. “Oh, well,” he said aloud to himself, “she made her choice.” He showered, shaved, and had breakfast at his desk.
Joan came into his office. “Do you need me earlier than usual on Monday morning?” she asked.
“Good idea,” he said. “I’ve offered these people breakfast, and you could help Helene set up a buffet in time for their nine-o’clock arrival.”
“Will do,” she replied. The phone rang, and Joan picked up the one on Stone’s desk. “One moment, please.” She pressed the hold button. “A Willa Crane for you?”
“Thank you,” Stone said. “Good morning, Willa.”
“And good morning to you,” she replied.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Probably not as well as I would have if I had chosen the other option,” she said.
“I’ll give you another chance, if you’ll promise not to hound Herbie Fisher to an early grave.”
“Be specific.”
“If you can get off a little early today, I’ll pick you up at two o’clock and bring you back on Sunday afternoon.”
“And our destination?”
“That will remain a mystery, but rest assured, it will be a comfortable one.”
“All right, two o’clock. Shall I meet you downstairs?”
“Perfect. Bring warm clothes.” He hung up and buzzed Joan.
“Yes, my lord and master?”
“Will you call Seth Hotchkiss and ask him to meet two of us at the airfield around four-thirty this afternoon, and that we would appreciate dinner around seven-thirty?”
“Yes, Sahib.”
“Are you wearing a turban?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“Never mind.” Stone hung up.
As they were waiting to be cleared for takeoff that afternoon, it occurred to Stone that the last time he had taken a woman to Maine, she had ended up dead. A moment’s thought allowed him to rationalize away that possibility.
“What are we waiting for?” Willa asked from the copilot’s seat.
“For release by the tower,” Stone replied.
The tower came onto the radio frequency. “November one, two, three Tango Foxtrot, cleared for takeoff. Climb to six thousand feet on runway heading, expect direct Carmel.”
That amounted to a good break over the routine departure. “Tango Foxtrot, six thousand, runway heading, rolling.” He lined the airplane up on the runway, pressed a button to center the heading, then pressed the autopilot heading button, switched on the pitot heat, and pressed the switch that brought up the command bars to follow after takeoff. He moved the throttles to takeoff power, let the engines spool up, then released the brakes.
“Wow,” Willa said. “It accelerates!”
Stone rotated, got the gear and flaps up, and at seven hundred feet engaged the autopilot and removed his hands from the yoke. “Yes, it does,” he said.
“November one, two, three Tango Foxtrot, contact departure,” the tower said.