"No problem. It will give us an additional approach. B.W.'s upgrading to Captain on the Falcon Fifty. He needs the work. We'll land there around two fifteen."
"Thanks. I owe you one."
Glossman built his own airport in Ocean Springs. It had more landing aids than O'Hare International. It was an imposition for them to land in Gulfport to pick me up. I appreciated it.
Calling the private school in Wiggins, I told the principal it would be a couple of days before I could get down. He inquired about Rene. There was nothing to give him.
Glossman's airplane taxied up to the FBO at exactly two fifteen. My old friend, B.W. was in the left seat. He motioned that they would leave the engines running. Windom opened the cabin door and I jumped aboard. Lynn glared at me, but said nothing. Easing up to the cockpit, I shook hands with both men.
"Jay, it's good to see you. How long has it been? Four years? Listen did I ever thank you for the recommendation that got me this job?"
"You don't have to thank me, B.W., but don't screw this flight up or I'll cut you out of my Will."
As we started to taxi to the runway, I went back and sat down in one of the club seats in front of Lynn. "My plane broke down. The crew was nice enough to give me a ride home. You mind the company?"
Her face with the sharp planes, aqua-blue eyes, and long, blond hair held the firmness of glacier ice. "You are a liar, Mr. Leicester. You arranged this so you could try and find out what my sister did that was so bad as to have her father cut her out of a share of the estate."
So much for my brand of deception. Lynn was an intelligent young woman.
"You are withholding vital information. It could be dangerous."
She looked blankly out the window at the scattered clouds passing swiftly under the aircraft. Slowly she turned and looked at me. Her face wore a drained expression, no amusement, no antagonism, and a look of resignation. "You remember Mr. Glossman saying you would not be allowed access to some information. Well, you won't, Mr. Leicester. I only learned the details on my twenty-first birthday. I was put to work in the bank to administer my father's business accounts. They wanted me to learn how the company was being run. I've been groomed to take it over for six years. Mr. Glossman and Mr. Moran taught me everything. I'm ready for the challenge. Rene's disappearance simply delays it. But what's most important is that my sister be found alive and unhurt. I'm sorry that I cannot tell you what you want to know. You'll have to work without it."
Without saying a word, I went back to the cockpit. "We can land anytime, guys."
Windom grinned. "Losing your touch, old boy?"
Ignoring the comment, I asked B.W. where we were.
"White Pigeon," he replied without cracking a smile.
Laughing out loud, I went and sat back down. It was an old joke.
After landing in Jackson, I walked Lynn to her car in the parking lot of the Fixed Base Operation. "Glossman wants me to report directly to him, but I'll call you every day, like we agreed, if you want?"
She stopped for a moment, looked at the pavement. "I'd appreciate it, Jay… can I call you Jay?"
"Sure."
"I care for Rene. Please find her. Don't let any harm come to her, and tell her that I love her dearly."
There was genuine concern in her voice.
Back inside the FBO, I checked with Delta Airlines. They had a flight leaving for Miami in an hour. I booked a first class seat. After calling Steve Henderson and telling him I was headed his way, I went to the airport bar and ordered a snifter of Martel cognac. It was time for some serious thinking.
CHAPTER FOUR
After a two-hour layover in Atlanta, I finally boarded a Delta Airline Boeing 767 bound for Miami. While sitting in the mostly deserted terminal waiting for my connection, I used the time to read the report Moran had prepared on Max Renoir's estate. It was a vast holding.
Renoir was a self-made man. Educated as a geologist, he saw a great potential for oil and gas in the swamps of coastal Louisiana and Mississippi. He bought up as much of the marshland as he could. Soon he had a producing oil well. This enabled him to buy more land. Eventually there was an oil well and a gas well on every forty acres of the thousands that he owned. It started to make him a lot of money. By the time he died, he had diversified into many other businesses.
Being a man of vision, Renoir saw in Joe Glossman a friend who would see to the welfare of his family and business in the event that something happened to him. He'd been right. Glossman took over the management of Max's holdings as if they were his own. He made it into a multi-billion dollar empire, and also carried out his last Will and Testament to the letter of the law. Except for normal operating expenses, Glossman had not kept one red cent for his effort. There had been many opportunities for him to do so.
Glossman took it upon himself to teach Lynn the entire operation of the company so that when she reached the age stipulated in the Will she could step in and take over without any delay and with full knowledge of how to run the business.
The world needs more people like Joe Glossman.
Boarding the Miami flight, I found only one other person sitting in first class. It was dark and quiet and gave me time to reflect back over the last twenty-four hours. At least this was turning into an interesting case. Missing persons rarely are anything other than drudgery and boredom, certainly not what I'm used to dealing with as an aviation consultant.
Rene Renoir was a week overdue from her two-week vacation. There was some horrible thing she did while still a teenager that caused her father to virtually cut her out of the family fortune. But what? Did she deserve to be punished for the rest of her life? There were many interesting questions and most of them could be answered by finding Rene.
It was a clear night. The Kennedy launch facility was visible out my window on the left side of the cabin. I couldn't help but think about the horrible loss of the shuttle a few years ago, and the seven-crew members. All because an 'O' ring wasn't tested for operation in freezing temperatures. It was a terrible waste of human life.
As we started our descent into Miami, I could see the outline of the coast from Ft. Lauderdale to the Keys. Henderson was going to meet me at the airport. It would be good to see him again.
Deplaning, I spotted him up the corridor leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and grinning from ear to ear. He looked as big as a bear.
"Jay, how you doing, Amigo? Welcome to Miami, home of the free, the brave, and the Cubano."
"Hello, Steve. Good to see you."
He locked me in a hug that squeezed the breath from my lungs and made my ribs ache. He was a powerful man, and looked the part. Broad shouldered and muscled arms with a slim waist leading to thighs the size of a running back. He weight trained every day. We were the same age, but he looked younger because he kept in better shape. His hair was still slick black with no gray, and the eyebrows were thick and bushy. The brown eyes could look at you and seem to stop a foot short, or pierce into the backside of your soul and frighten you to your knees, or look through you as if you didn't exist. One could rest assured, though, that those eyes did not miss a thing.
Steve Henderson was one of the most intelligent men I've ever known. Well-schooled, well read, and street-smart, he was a man to have on your team, regardless of what game you were playing.
He stepped back, cracked a one-sided grin, "I got your girl."
Stopping in mid-stride, I said, "You found the girl? Rene Renoir?"
"You asked me to find her, didn't you? You want to see her?" His face formed finely drawn lines that raised the corners of his mouth into a hint of a wise, sardonic grin.
"She's alive?"
"She's beat up pretty bad, but she's alive. You're not going to get much out of her. She doesn't know who she is, where she is, or how she got there."