On Saturday morning Holly drove out to the Orchid Beach airport and found the Orchid Flight Academy. She had been there before, she realized.
The building was broken into a warren of small rooms with desks and computers, and most of them were busy. Ginny Heller was seated in a glassed-in office at the back of the small building.
“Good morning,” Holly said, rapping on her open door.
“Good morning,” Ginny replied. “What do you think of my place?”
“Used to be a flying club, didn’t it? I came out here once for a flight with a friend.”
“Right. I bought it from the couple who owned it for thirty years, and I’m expanding the operation. I’ve installed computers for ground school and hired a couple more instructors.”
“I didn’t realize you were the boss.”
Ginny waved her into a seat. “Yeah, I took my divorce settlement and put it to work here.”
“Have you been instructing for long?”
“About eight years. I took up flying because my marriage was boring me stiff, and then I started instructing. I’ve got more than three thousand hours now, and a bunch of ratings. It was the only thing I got out of the marriage, except the settlement.”
“Good for you.”
Ginny handed her a document. “These are our prices for aircraft rental and instructors’ fees. The first lesson is free.”
Holly read quickly through the price list. “Okay by me.”
Ginny picked up a canvas briefcase. “Shall we get started?”
“Sure.” Holly followed Ginny out to the ramp to a shiny Piper Warrior, and Ginny began to walk her through a preflight inspection of the airplane.
“We going to fly today?” Holly asked, surprised.
“We always fly on the first lesson; gets the student hooked.”
The preflight completed, they got into the airplane, Holly in the left seat.
“You ever flown an airplane before?”
“Yeah. Jackson was a pilot, and he would let me take the controls now and then.”
“Okay, let’s get started up. Here’s your checklist.”
Holly worked her way through the list of tasks to complete, and soon the engine was running.
“You steer with your feet; turning the yoke doesn’t help at all,” Ginny explained. “Tune the bottom radio to the ATIS frequency—that’s the automated weather report.”
Holly listened and wrote down the data, which was called Information Bravo.
“Now tune the top radio to the ground frequency—it’s on your checklist. Call ground control, give them your tail number—it’s on the placard over the yoke—and announce that you’re ready to taxi from the Orchid Flight Academy and that you have Information Bravo.”
Holly did so and was cleared to taxi to runway 18.
“The runways are labeled according to their direction. Runway one-eight is south; runway three-six is north. Keep the nosewheel on the yellow line and follow it, first to the taxiway, then to the runway.”
Holly steered with the rudder pedals and found it quite easy to keep the little airplane on track. They stopped at a parking place near the end of the runway and went through the run-up checklist.
“Now we’re ready for takeoff,” Ginny said. “Call the tower frequency, it’s on your checklist, and say you’re ready, number one for takeoff.”
Holly did so and was cleared for takeoff.
“Now check to see there’s no one about to land, then taxi onto the runway and line up the nosewheel with the center line.”
Holly followed the instructions.
“Now apply full throttle smoothly, and keep on the center line. When the airspeed indicator reads sixty knots, rotate—that means pull smoothly back on the yoke.”
Holly found the throttle and pushed it in slowly. The airplane began to roll down the runway. At sixty knots she rotated, and they lifted into the air. It was an exhilarating feeling, she found.
“Watch your direction indicator and keep her on a one-eight-zero heading,” Ginny said. “At five hundred feet of altitude, turn right to two-seven-zero.”
Holly made the right turn.
“Continue to climb to three thousand feet and hold this heading,” Ginny said. “You’re doing very well.”
Holly glanced outside at the flat, central Florida landscape moving beneath her. Her heart was beating fast. “This is wonderful,” she said.
“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.”