Stuart Woods Holly Barker Collection

by Stuart Woods

  “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.”

  “I see it,” Ginny said.

  “How do we contact your office?”

  “We use the unicom frequency,” Ginny replied, dialing it into the radio.

  “Call them, tell them to call the police and tell them to get a partrol car and two officers to the chief’s house, pronto.”

  Ginny made the call.

  “Good,” Holly said, “now land this thing on the beach. Tide’s out, and we’ve got hard-packed sand to land on.”

  “We’re not supposed to land on a beach,” Ginny said.

  “I’ll square it with the authorities,” Holly said. “This is police business.”

  “I’ve got the airplane,” Ginny said, taking the controls. “We’re going in.”

  14

  Ginny made a turn and began losing altitude. “We’re going to pretend that the beach is the runway. From the direction of the waves, the wind is from the southeast, so we’re going to land to the south.” She made another turn and was now at right angles to the beach. “Now we’re on base leg, about to turn final for our runway.” She made another ninety-degree turn, aligning the airplane with the beach, and continued descending, out of five hundred feet.

  Holly was looking for the van, but now it was hidden behind the house.

  “Tighten your seat belt,” Ginny said. “We’re going to make a soft-field landing, which means I keep the nosewheel off the ground for as long as possible before letting it touch down. If the sand is soft that will help keep the nosewheel from digging in and flipping us over on our back.”

  “Swell,” Holly said, staring at her house. They touched gently a hundred yards north of the house, and Ginny eased the nosewheel onto the sand, which was wet and firm. As they swept past the house, Holly thought she saw a dark figure inside. She suddenly realized she was unarmed. Ginny braked to a halt and cut the engine.

  “Stay here,” Holly said. “Don’t let the tide catch the airplane; that nearly happened to Jackson and me once.” She unfastened her seat belt, opened the door, and hopped out onto the sand at a dead run. Daisy was in the house, and Holly was praying that she hadn’t been hurt.

  Holly reached the sliding doors that opened onto the beach, but they were still locked and couldn’t be opened from the outside. She saw Daisy lying on the floor, apparently unconscious, but she could not see the intruder. As she ran around to the front door, she wondered why the burglar alarm siren wasn’t sounding. She raced up the front steps, and as she did, the door opened and a man wearing dark clothes and a ski mask chose that moment to run out of the house, colliding head-on with her and knocking her off the front porch.

  Holly struggled to her feet and started moving toward the man, who was moving toward where his van was parked. She ran after him, grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and kicked hard at his knee. He grunted, and then she saw he had a semiautomatic pistol in his hand.

  “Bitch!” he yelled, then slammed the pistol into the side of her head.

  Holly fell to her hands and knees, crying out with pain, but she raised her head in time to see the man limp to the van, start it, and tear out of the driveway. Holly felt faint and collapsed onto her belly.

  When she woke up, Ginny was pressing a cold cloth to her head, and two of Holly’s cops were standing over her.

  “Are you all right, Holly?”

  “I think so,” Holly said, sitting up. “Where’s Daisy?”

  “She’s lying on the living room floor with a dart in her chest, out like a light,” one of the cops said. “She appears to be all right, otherwise.”

  Holly tried to get up, but Ginny held her down. “Easy, there. There’s nothing you can do for Daisy until the drug wears off. Do you remember anything?”

  Holly tried to concentrate. “A male, six feet, a hundred and eighty pounds, probably under thirty-five. He was wearing dark clothes, a mask, and gloves, so I don’t know about race. He drove a late-model van—the family kind, not commercial—medium blue or gray, windows darkened. I didn’t register the plate. His gun was a semiautomatic, looked forty-caliber, a little bigger than a nine-millimeter. That’s all I can remember.”

  “An ambulance is on its way,” the cop said. “We need to get you checked out.” As he spoke, an ambulance turned into the driveway.

  “I’m not going without Daisy,” Holly said. “Call her vet and tell him to meet us at the hospital.” She gave the name to the cop. “The number is in an address book on my living
-room coffee table.” The second cop went to get it.

  Two EMTs approached with a litter. They looked her over, and one of them put an ice pack against her head and told her to hold it there.

  “I can walk,” Holly said.

  “You shouldn’t,” the cop replied. “You’ve had a blow to the head.”

  Holly relaxed and let them put her onto the litter. “Ginny, you get the airplane off the beach before the tide comes in.” Holly dug into a pocket with her free hand and came up with her car keys. She handed them to the cop. “My car’s at the Orchid airport; get somebody to drive it to the hospital, will you?”

  “I’ll come to the hospital after I get the airplane back,” Ginny said.

  “Don’t bother, I won’t be there,” Holly replied. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  The ambulance took Holly to the Orchid Beach hospital, with Daisy lying on the floor alongside her cot. In the ER a young doctor performed a neurological examination and ordered an X-ray. When a radiologist had checked it, the doctor came to see her and gave her two Tylenols. “There’s no fracture, and I don’t think you’re concussed,” he said. “The blow was cushioned by your hair and didn’t break the skin. You’ll have some bruising, but it will mostly be under your hair.”

  “Where’s my dog?” Holly asked.

  “The vet’s with her in another room. She’s coming around, I think.”

  Holly hopped off the table and went looking for Daisy. She found the Doberman lying on the table, panting. Daisy lifted her head when Holly came into the room, then lay down again. “How is she?” Holly asked the vet.

  “She’s all right, just a little groggy.” He held up a small dart. “It’s a veterinary tool,” he said. “The sort of thing they use for small animals at a zoo.”

  “Can I take her home?” Holly asked.

  “Sure. I’ll help you carry her out to the car.”

  A cop was waiting and handed Holly her keys. “You want me to drive you, Chief?”

  “No, thanks, I can manage.”

  “I had a look around your house. As far as I could tell, nothing was disturbed, but your burglar got at the alarm box in a closet and cut some wires. I checked with the station; they never got a call.”

  “Make a call for me, will you? Phil Sweat at No Sweat Locksmiths. Tell him I’ve had a break-in and ask him to come out to the house ASAP.”

  When Holly arrived back at the house, Daisy was awake enough to hop out of the car, although she moved a little unsteadily. Holly opened the door and let her in. “You go get in your bed,” she said, and Daisy dutifully walked over to the soft bed next to the fireplace and lay down. In a moment, she was asleep again.

  Holly felt surprisingly well for someone who had been hit on the side of the head with a gun. She walked around the house, looking for signs of anything disturbed, but there was nothing. She pulled down the ladder to the attic, walked upstairs, and took the videotape from the VCR that Phil had installed. She put a blank tape in, then went back downstairs. As she arrived in the living room, Ham walked in, followed closely by Phil Sweat.

  “You all right?” Ham asked.

  “Nothing that a couple of Tylenol couldn’t cure.” She put a hand to her head. “I’ll be a little sore tomorrow, probably.”

  Phil Sweat was already looking at the alarm control box. “The guy knew what he was doing,” he said. “If you find him, tell him I’ll give him a job.”

  “Ginny called me and told me what happened,” Ham said.

  “I should call her,” Holly said, heading for the phone.

  “Don’t bother; she’s flying with another student. Come sit down.”

  Holly put the videocassette into the living room VCR and sat down next to Ham on the sofa, picking up the remote control. “Let’s see what my camera got,” she said, pressing the play button. “Phil, come and look at this.”

  They watched as a snowy image appeared on the screeen, then locked into place. It was a good picture, clear and in color. At the bottom of the stairs, the coat closet was open, and they could see a man’s back.

  “He’s disabling the alarm,” Phil said.

  “Daisy’s already down,” Ham said, pointing to a black lump halfway offscreen.

  “She must have met him at the door, but he was ready for her,” Holly said.

  “So he knows you’ve got a dog, and he knows how to disable your alarm,” Ham said. “This guy sounds very competent and well prepared.”

  “He’s a regular cat burglar,” Phil said, “right out of the movies, or the CIA. You got any jewelry, Holly?”

  “Some; it’s in the safe upstairs.”

  “What did he want? You missing anything?”

  Holly watched the man turn from the closet and walk up the stairs, passing under the camera. “Not so far. Let’s see what else he does.”

  A minute passed, then the man walked back down the stairs and into the study off the living room. Holly glanced at her watch. When the man left the study, three minutes had passed. He walked around the living room, checking the magazines on the coffee table.

  “Look,” Holly said, “he’s arranging the magazines again; he did that last time.”

  “Neat freak,” Ham said.

  The man looked around the room once more, then walked to the front door and opened it.

  “That’s when I arrived,” Holly said. “I collided with him, and I fell off the porch. When I went after him, he hit me with the gun.”

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Ham asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Holly replied. “Let’s take a look at the study.” She led the way into the small room where Jackson had once worked late on case files. About all she used the room for was paying bills. “Neater than I left it,” she said.

  “He doesn’t care if you know he was here,” Phil said. “That’s weird.”

  “Weird describes it,” Holly replied.

  “Holly,” Phil said, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to work on the alarm system right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “What I want to do is to put the original box back together, to look the way it was, then I want to install a second box that really controls the system, and I’ll do it where he can’t find it so easy.”

  “Go right ahead, Phil.”

  “You need to get some rest,” Ham said. “I’ll cancel dinner with Ed Shine.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Holly said. “I’ve got a touch of cabin fever and I want to get out. I feel all right. I’ll take a nap and pick you and Ginny up as planned.”

  “If you say so,” Ham said.

  When Ham had gone, Holly left Daisy asleep in her bed and stretched out on the living room sofa, so she’d be nearby when the dog woke up. It took her a few minutes to wind down enough to doze. She dreamed of taking the gun away from the intruder and pistol-whipping him.

  15

  The car arrived on time, and Holly was impressed. She’d been expecting Ed’s Cadillac, but when she walked out of the house she found a Bentley waiting for her, and it looked brand-new. The driver was a nearly silent Hispanic man who greeted her and held the door while she got in.

  They cruised up A1A, and, through the darkened windows, Holly watched the expressions of people on the street as they drove through downtown. Nobody had ever seen anything like this in Orchid, she thought.

  Ham and Ginny were equally impressed with the car. “Pullman interior,” Ham said, referring to the two sets of facing rear seats. “Not as long as those things with hot tubs that people rent so they can get drunk and not have to drive, but long enough.”

  “How are you feeling, Holly?” Ginny asked. She looked sensational in a red dress that worked with her hair.

  “I’m perfectly all right,” Holly said, putting a hand to the side of her head. “It’s sore under there, but that’s all.”

  “I can’t see a bruise,” Ginny said. “And nobody who sees you in that dress is going to look at your head.”

 
Holly laughed. “It’s Armani; I went down to Palm Beach and bought it . . . before the wedding.”

  “I didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory,” Ginny said.

  “It’s all right; I’ve learned not to be bothered by things like that.”

  “Any luck finding your burglar’s van?” Ham asked.

  “None,” Holly replied. “There are dozens, maybe hundreds, like it in the county.”

  They pulled up at Ed Shine’s house, and he came out and got into the car with them.

  Ham introduced Ginny. “Terrific car, Ed,” Ham said.

  “Thank you, Ham; I just got it—ordered it special, six months ago. They custom-made the stretched body.” He settled into a seat, then he opened an armrest and pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne and four flutes. “Let’s celebrate the car,” he said, pouring wine for everybody.

  The Yellow Dog Cafe turned out to be a low building squeezed between the highway and the Indian River, just south of Melbourne. The interior surpassed the exterior and they were given a corner table overlooking the river. Holly did not bring up the events of her day, and neither did Ham or Ginny.

  When they had ordered drinks, Ed raised his glass again. “This toast is for Blood Orchid,” he said. “We’ve now sold four of the existing houses and one building lot.”

  “Congratulations, Ed,” Holly said, raising her glass.

  They ordered dinner, and Ed took the floor again. “Now let me tell you the real reason for asking you here,” he said, “apart from the pleasure of your company. Holly, I want to offer you a job.”

  “A job?” Holly asked, puzzled. “Selling real estate?”

  “No, I’d like you to become chief of security at Blood Orchid.”

  “Barney Noble’s old job,” Ham said. Noble had been an old army acquaintance of Ham’s who had been up to his neck in the illegal operations at the place when it was still called Palmetto Gardens. He now resided at the Florida state penitentiary.

  “I never knew him,” Ed said. “But Holly, I’ve got a pretty good idea what you’re making in your current job, and I’ll increase it by fifty percent, plus a benefits package and a month’s vacation every summer. You can hire your own people, invent your own job.”