Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(8)

“It’s a damn good thing we’re getting out of here tomorrow,” Dino said. “This just looks worse and worse.” He turned and looked at Stone. “What would happen to us if we didn’t get out tomorrow?”

“Probably nothing much,” Stone replied. “Cal says this house didn’t flood during Wilma, which was the worst they’ve ever seen.”

Viv spoke up. “They’re saying on TV that houses built in recent years are constructed to a new building code, and those houses have the best chance of avoiding serious damage.”

“I think that’s true,” Stone said.

“How old is this house, Stone?” she asked.

“It was built in 1929, according to my closing documents.”

Everybody was quiet for a minute.

“Good thing we’re getting out of here tomorrow,” Dino said. “Any chance of going today?”

“Why rush?”

“Okay, we’ll just wait until tomorrow,” Dino said.

“Fellas,” Holly said, “they’ve just said on TV that all the airports in South Florida will close tomorrow; last flights out at four PM, and they’re all fully booked.”

“Fortunately,” Stone said, “we’re flying on Barrington Airlines, and there just happens to be seats available for all of you.”

“That’s a great comfort, dear,” Holly said.

“It certainly is,” Viv echoed.

“I think what this crowd needs,” Stone said, “are drinks.”

There was a chorus of affirmative responses, and Stone headed for the bar.

“We’re not nearly out of scotch or anything important, are we?” Dino called out.

“We’ve got enough scotch to render you unconscious for a week,” Stone said.





7



STONE GOT REFRESHMENTS for everybody, then called the yacht club to see if they were open for dinner. They were, though it was the last night until the hurricane was over. Prime rib was all they had left.

“Okay, everybody,” Stone said, “bottoms up! We’re going to the yacht club for prime rib.”

“Is that all they’ve got?” Dino asked.

“It is, but they’ve plenty of it. They’re abandoning ship tomorrow.”

“What about your boat?” Viv asked. “Is that secure?”

“Damn, I forgot; new lines and bumpers are in the trunk of the car; we’ll get it done before dinner.”

The wind was a steady 30 knots at the yacht club, and they all climbed aboard Indian Summer and began doubling up on the lines. “Leave plenty of slack,” Stone said, “because she’s going to rise and fall with the tide, or the storm surge, if there is one.” The new, bigger fenders seemed to protect the yacht, no matter which way the wind blew. More than half the berths were empty; apparently, a lot of people had decided to haul their boats. Hands aboard a 60-footer a couple of berths down from Stone’s yacht were hurriedly getting her ready for weather.



* * *



—

THE KEY West Yacht Club bar was jammed with members drinking with both hands.

“It’s as if there were no tomorrow,” Holly said, accepting a bourbon.

Stone had a response to that, but he didn’t want to frighten anybody.

Cal and Stacy waved them to a table. “Prime rib for everybody,” Stone told the waiter, “and please bring us three bottles of the Pine Ridge cabernet. We’re going to need it.”



* * *



—

AFTER DINNER, they left the club, and Stone made a final check on Indian Summer’s lines: all was well. They drove home, skipped the nightcap, and all went to bed.



* * *



—

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Stone woke at seven and called the FBO at the airport.

“Signature Aviation,” a woman said.

“Good morning, this is Stone Barrington. Will you please pull my airplane out of my hanger and top off the fuel, right up to the caps, for a nine o’clock departure?”

“Mr. Barrington,” she said, “there are three reasons why that can’t be done: First of all, the fuel truck has been driven to a high-ground location inland and secured; second, the wind is a dead crosswind from the north at 40 knots, gusting fifty; and third, the airport was closed to all traffic at four PM.”

“To all traffic?” Stone asked, incredulous. “Not just commercial flights?”

“Mr. Barrington, there isn’t an aircraft on the airport that can take off safely in a 40-knot crosswind. We’ll be happy to refuel you when the airport is open again. Good morning.”

Stone hung up the phone and pressed the button to raise his side of the bed.

Holly raised her side, too. “You look slightly ill, Stone,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Three things,” Stone replied, then enumerated them.

“Then we’re going to have to drive out of here?”

Stone shook his head. “There’s no gas anywhere in the Keys, and we don’t have enough in the car to make Miami.”

“Are you telling me that we’re going to have to ride out a level five hurricane in this house?”