"Jesus," Kathy murmured softly. It was all she said. It was enough.
Turning back to the west, we were high enough to see all the way north, past Green Turtle Cay, to Walker's Cay, then we could see Grand Bahama Island with the towns of Freeport and West End. Abeam Freeport, the Florida coast was visible.
Over the cabin speaker Windom announced we were currently passing through thirty-five thousand feet enroute to our cruising altitude of forty-one thousand and that our estimated time of arrival at Jackson International Airport was one hour, forty-two minutes and thirty-three seconds. Then he asked that I come up to the cockpit.
The aircraft was one of the new Falcon Fifties which have three engines. It was an airplane I was unfamiliar with and equipped with the latest state of the art flight guidance and controls, much more automated than the aircraft I'd flown on preciously. Windom got up out of the left seat and offered it to me. "B.W. will give you the fifty cent tour. I'm going back and flirt with that pretty lady."
We were at cruising altitude crossing the Florida coastline. To the south we could see the keys, all the way to Key West, lying in the blue water like pearls dropped by a child. Having worked a lot out of this area of the world, it brought back memories of flying that I sometimes missed so desperately that it hurt, and others I hope never to experience again. Thanking B.W. for his patience and answers to my many questions, I went back to the cabin.
Landing at the precise time predicted, we all applauded the crew. Taxing around to the Fixed Base Operation, we parked next to the terminal and remained aboard until the Customs agent arrived. It was after hours and we must have interrupted his dinner as he gave us all a hard time. Drugs are transported into the U.S. aboard aircraft, but on board a thirty million dollar corporate jet belonging to one of the most prominent men in the state? Customs is a hard job, I guess.
We retrieved Dave's car and drove to my house. I put Kathy's bags in the guest bedroom, and took a quick shower. Then we went to Dave's home. He'd called Sally from the plane and she had the steaks grilling when we arrived. It was a relaxing evening.
After dinner, Dave offered me a cigar and we walked out back and sat beside the kidney-shaped swimming pool and watched the automatic cleaner sweep along the bottom like some giant worm. Kathy and Sally were finishing up in the kitchen and would join us later.
"It's a terrible thing, what happened on Sanchez's boat."
"Let's not speak of it again."
"Agreed."
"I guess you are wondering what I did with the last ten kilos of cocaine?"
"I'm glad they weren't on board the Falcon when we went through customs."
"I took it over to Doc's place. He mixed it with cow manure and fertilized his tomatoes. Ironic isn't it?"
"I'd like to see how the tomatoes turn out."
Dave reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me.
"What's this?"
"Fifty thousand in cash. I found a hundred thousand under the cabin sole on board the Sun Dog when I was opening the sea cocks."
"It's dirty money. I can't take this."
"It's payment for services rendered to Billingsly Investigations. I'll even write you a receipt if you want to share it with Uncle Sam."
It was no use arguing.
"Something else on your mind?"
"You read Max Renoir's Will. What was the story on Rene?"
A thick forearm and a wide, knotty hand reached up and slicked back wavy, graying hair, muscles rippled in the hinges of his jaw, his eyes danced all around me. "I don't remember a thing about that part of the Will."
"You're lying."
His thick eyebrows arched up and seemed to hold a secret amusement. "Alright, hot shot, but you didn't get this from me."
When he was through, I watched the giant worm slowly work its way up the side of the pool, and said nothing.
Kathy and I left around midnight and drove back to my house. She slept in the guest bedroom. I dreamed of making love to her on Family Beach with sand fleas and flies biting me, my feet bleeding, but I didn't care.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The red digital numbers on the clock beside my bed glowed 4:30 a.m. I tried to drift back to sleep, but gave up at five o'clock and eased out of bed. When my feet hit the floor the coral cuts rudely reminded me of the past few days.
Trying not to make noise, I padded to the bedroom where Kathy slept. The door was open and the outline of her small, compact body showed under the sheet. Her breathing was slow and regular. I stood watching her, thinking of Lynn Renoir and how two such wonderfully beautiful women could be so different.
Quietly shutting the door, I went to the kitchen and made coffee. Morning was breaking in the east like fresh paint. Taking a cup of the strong brew out back, I sat on the patio and listened to the birds. The early feeders were easily recognized by their chirps. There were cardinals, tufted titmice, blue jays, and mockingbirds. It was a peaceful time of day.
The sky brightened and the colors above the tree line changed from black to gray to blue in a matter of minutes. At the top of a cottonwood tree a squirrel ate seeds from the blooms. The rapid pulse of a strobe light and a faint contrail high up among the cirrus clouds painted a silent picture of an airliner ghosting its way to New Orleans. A dog barked in the distance, and downtown, at the railroad yard, the heavy clanging of a switch engine cried urban life.
It was going to be a clear, cool day, a good day to travel to the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. Joe Glossman was expecting me. Kathy and I would drive down. We planned to spend a week aboard Guy Robins' sailboat, Picaroon, exploring the offshore islands.
Going back inside for a refill, I found Kathy standing at the kitchen counter wearing one of my robes, pouring a cup of coffee.
"Good morning." She flashed a smile and pointed to my empty cup with the coffeepot.
"Yes, thank you. Hope I didn't wake you."
"No."
"Let's go out back."
"You don't mind me wearing your robe?"
"Consider it my contribution to the modesty of the feminine gender."
We sat on the patio drinking the hot coffee, thinking our own thoughts. It was light now, and I could see the individual spiny leaves of the pine trees against the cobalt sky. This was spring in the south and, except for early fall, the most pleasant time of the year.
"You thinking about the Renoir woman?"
"Yes."
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Do you think it will take long to finish?"
"It should be over tomorrow morning."
She sat in the patio chair, her feet curled up, and the shiny black hair a sharp contrast to the white robe. She was truly a beautiful lady.
"I'm looking forward to sailing to the barrier islands. That fort you told me about, the one twelve miles off the coast, it should be interesting."
"Fort Massachusetts on Ship Island."
"Right."
A friend who owned a rental car agency had two Gulfport cars, a sedan and a Mustang convertible. I took the Mustang. It would be doing him a favor returning the car to the coast, it afforded me free transportation, and I could retrieve my airplane from McDonald Aviation.