“May I go back to sleep for a little while?”

“Of course,” Caroline said. “I can wait.”

Gino Parisi’s face had turned puce. “You chartered what?”

Frank gave a dismissive little wave. “An airplane.”

Gino was sucking in air fast now. “What kind of an airplane?”

“A small, cheap one,” Frank replied.

“How cheap?” Gino demanded.

“Six hundred bucks, cash,” Frank replied, handing him the receipt. “It’s deductible as a business expense.”

Gino’s jaw was working, but no words were coming out.

“Gino,” Frank said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “should I call the paramedics?”

Gino still couldn’t speak, but he shook his head slowly. “I’m all right,” he said finally.

“I’m glad to hear it. You shouldn’t get all worked up about a necessary business expense, Gino. It’s not good for your health.”

Gino’s color was nearly normal by now. “Tell me what’s necessary about chartering an airplane.”

“The person you asked us to . . . ah, meet with, shall we say, got into an airplane and flew to a little airport on an island in Maine. I know this, because I tracked his flight on my iPad.”

Gino’s face screwed up into a knot. “An I what? What are you talking about?”

“It’s an electronic device in common usage these days. It does lots of things—ask your grandchildren.”

“And how much did that cost?”

“A few hundred. Don’t worry, it’s included in our fee.”

“Well, un-include it! I’m not paying for any electronic crap.”

“I paid for it myself, Gino, and for the electronic tag I put on Barrington’s car.”

“Let’s get back to the airplane: You flew it to Maine?”

“That’s right. We landed where Barrington landed—his airplane was on the ramp there.”

“And what did you do to him?”

“Well, things didn’t go exactly as planned. We were unable to find him.”

“On an island? How many people on this island?”

“I don’t know, not many. None of them knew Barrington, though, and he wasn’t in the phone book. We searched the whole island and couldn’t find him. These things happen, Gino. We could be in Manhattan and not be able to find him on a given day.”

“I’m not paying for things that didn’t happen,” Gino said firmly.

“We’re not charging you by the minute, Gino. Our deal was our fee, plus expenses. This was an expense. It’s the cost of doing business.”

“But why Maine? Why didn’t you just wait for him to come back?”

“Think about it, Gino. Maine is better—it’s farther removed from you. And us, for that matter. Cops are going to get involved, eventually. Would you rather they be hick cops on a little island in Maine, or real cops in New York City?”

Gino’s features softened. “You got a point there.”

“In my judgment Maine was worth a shot,” Frank said. “One of the things you’re paying me for is my judgment.”

“Okay, how long is he gonna be in Maine? Maybe you could go back.”

“There’s no way of knowing that, but I’m working on finding out where he is on the island. If we find out where he is, we can go back and, ah, meet with him there.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Gino said. “You do that, and let’s deal with the hick cops.”

“If this goes like I want it to go, we won’t have to deal with any cops at all,” Frank said. “Now, I have to get on this.”

“You go get on it,” Gino said. “And if you find him, it’s okay to charter the plane again.”

“Thank you, Gino.” Frank left the office and walked back to the car, where Charlie was waiting for him.

“He didn’t shoot you on the spot?” Charlie asked, surprised.

“He listened to reason,” Frank replied. “Now we have to find out where Barrington is on the island, then we can go back.”

“Go all the way back to Maine?”

“If that’s where he is, that’s where we’ll go.”

“How we going to find out where he is?”

“I’m gonna call my nephew, who works in real estate, and have him do a search of the property records on the island.” Frank got out his phone and tapped in a number. “It’s ringing,” he said.

“How’s he going to search the property records? It’s Saturday.”

“Real estate agents work on Saturdays,” Frank said. “So do computers. Hello, Eddie? It’s Uncle Frank.”

On Sunday morning, at the crack of dawn, Frank and Charlie set out for Essex County Airport in New Jersey. Frank carried a large briefcase that held what he liked to think of as tools, plus a large-scale map of Islesboro with the location of Stone Barrington’s house marked. They were met at the airport by their new friend, the pilot, and paid him in advance for the charter, plus an extra hundred for flying on Sunday.

“The weather’s a little iffy,” the pilot said, as they buckled into their seats.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘iffy’?” Charlie asked.

“Scattered thunderstorms in the area of the island. Don’t worry, I have radar and Nexrad.”

“What’s Nexrad?”

“It’s the weather you see on TV. Helps us fly around the bad stuff.”

“Don’t worry, Charlie,” Frank said, “he can deal with it.”

They took off and headed northeast. They were half an hour out of Islesboro when they flew into clouds.

“I can’t see anything!” Charlie shouted.

“Shut up, Charlie!” Frank shouted back. “You don’t need to see anything. Everything’s under control.”

Charlie tried to tighten his seat belt, but it wouldn’t move; he unfastened it to get a better grip. Suddenly, it got dark in the airplane, and there was a flash of lightning. The airplane dropped fifty feet like a stone, and Charlie banged his head on the ceiling.

“Fasten your seat belt, Charlie!” Frank shouted.

Charlie, who was still plastered to the ceiling as the airplane continued to drop, could only scream. Then he was pressed against the floor of the plane as it began to climb again. Finally, Charlie was able to scramble back into his seat and get his seat belt fastened. A clap of thunder nearly deafened him and masked his next scream.

Then, magically, the airplane broke out of the clouds and the runway lay dead ahead of them. The pilot set the plane down as if nothing had happened, and on the ramp, everybody got out. Charlie vomited a couple of times. “I ain’t going back in this thing,” he vowed.

“Don’t worry,” the pilot said, “the storms are passing to the north as we speak. In an hour, it will be bright sunshine.” It began to rain heavily.

Frank got out his phone and dialed the number he had called yesterday for the cab.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice.

“Can I speak to Ernie, please.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Well, I need a cab at the airport.”

“Ernie don’t work on Sundays. He’s a Holy Roller.”

“Huh?”

“A Holy Roller—you know, religious-like.”