Arriving at the airport at six a.m., I found the sky as predicted, a Gulf Stream blue, the air cold and crisp. The line crew left my airplane up front in the hangar as requested.
With today's technology in aviation, nearly all aircraft are capable of climbing above most weather, but small airplanes like mine rarely go higher than ten thousand feet. Flying days like these are to be cherished.
The wind was blowing at twenty-five knots. Taking off to the south on runway 17, I experienced a rough ride up to five thousand feet. After that the air smoothed out and visibility was unrestricted. Leveling at eight thousand five hundred feet, the coastline at Gulfport, the skyline of New Orleans off to the southwest, and Mobile Bay to the southeast was visible. Below, the stark brown of winter fields contrasted with the green of the pine forests. The land seemed to breathe in the early morning sun. Today was a halcyon day for a pilot.
It had been a long time since I'd seen Guy Robins, so I decided to land in Gulfport, visit with him, then drive over to Ocean Springs for the meeting with Glossman.
Guy came out to the airport and we had a short, pleasant visit. He had clients all day, but graciously offered the use of his automobile.
"Please take care of it, Jay. It's brand new." It was a silver Jaguar, the first he'd been able to afford.
Guy and I had known each other all of our lives. We went to the same college, played football together, even dated the same girl. She showed her intelligence by marrying Guy. They have three beautiful children. I'm their Godfather.
Guy built a thriving law practice in Gulfport. He managed to stay away from large law firms who handled people and types of law he did not care for, and there were lean years, but slowly the business grew as people learned of his unyielding veracity, integrity, and rectitude.
When I went into the aviation consulting business, Guy sent me a lot of work, and it was he who recommended I get licensed as a private investigator, advising that the license would facilitate access to places I would otherwise be denied. He was right, and informed other attorneys on the coast about me and, as my office was in the state capital, I got a lot of legwork from that area of the state. During lean times, this paid the bills.
The drive over to Ocean Springs along the coast took me past white sand shorelines that, though not natural, were still amazingly beautiful. A string of barrier islands six miles offshore prevents the natural buildup of sand; it is dredged up from the seabed and spread by machine to make the beach. Old majestic water oaks line the once quiet waterfront highway on what used to be a pleasant, peaceful drive. Today it is a nightmare of heavy traffic leading to and from the many gambling casinos being built along the ocean side of the highway. It reminded one of the Las Vegas strip. Dockside gambling arrived with a thunder. It's been good for the economy, but the idyllic life has changed.
Passing by the Biloxi lighthouse, I remembered the artist-in-residence on the Mississippi coast, Joe Moran, a distant cousin of Bill Moran, whose studio and home is just off the beach, telling me of finding seaweed on top of the lighthouse after hurricane Camille in 1969. The lighthouse is forty feet tall.
Crossing the bridge to Ocean Springs, I could see the family compound of Walter Anderson, the tormented genius who painted life along this coast so brilliantly. His wife, Agnes Grinstead Anderson, died recently. A fine lady whose book, APPROACHING THE MAGIC HOUR, is a magnificent, heartrending memoir of her husband.
The morning breeze ruffled the water of Biloxi Bay causing the reflecting sun to turn the wave tops into a blue field of sparkling diamonds. There are some things even man cannot screw up.
Walking into Joe Glossman's office at precisely ten o'clock, his secretary politely offered me a seat. Mr. Glossman would be with me in a few minutes. The gray walls of the office had time to work me over, leaving me with a feeling of inadequacy in the presence of such wealth and power.
Glossman and Bill Moran were seated in the plain, functional inner office when I walked in and, much to my chagrin, so was Lynn Renoir. She didn't smile, her face appeared inanimate, but the eyes had a brilliant clarity. Interesting, I thought to myself, she doesn't listen. When this meeting is over, someone else can locate her sister.
My thoughts must have showed.
Glossman spoke, "Now take it easy, Jay. Don't blame Lynn. She told me that you didn't want her involved. I called her last night and asked that she be here today. I sent one of the planes up to get her this morning."
Nodding, I didn't say anything. Looking around at Glossman's office, I noticed that it contained nothing but a few pieces of furniture, all harshly simplified down to their essential purpose, though exorbitantly expensive in the quality of material and skill of design. On one corner of a desk was a piece of George Orr pottery. Behind Glossman's head was an oil painting of a Biloxi Schooner under full sail heading into a setting sun. It was a Joe Moran work.
"There are some touchy things here, Jay." Glossman continued. "Lynn should be present when they are discussed. Max Renoir set up this estate, and one of the stipulations was that it not be communicated with anyone outside the family, except for myself and Bill."
"I'm listening, Mr. Glossman."
"Max was worth a lot of money. He thought carefully about what was to be done with it in the unlikely event of the death of both he and his wife. Since Lynn was the oldest of the two girls, and the fact that Rene had a problem of a nature that will not be discussed, Max left control of everything to Lynn. The Will further states that Bill and I are to control the business and its assets as if they were ours, unconditionally, until Lynn reached her twenty-sixth birthday. At that time, control would go entirely to her. There are complex instructions as to how Rene is to be merged into the company, provided she meets certain conditions.
Lynn crossed her legs with a swishing of nylon, put both hands in her lap. We all turned and looked at her. She smiled.
Glossman said, "Both Lynn and Rene were informed of certain parts of the Will when each reached the age of twenty-one. That's why Lynn has been working in the bank in Jackson. She's been handling the accounts of her family business. We thought it the best method of letting her see how we were running the company."
Turning to her, I said, "You could have told me this yesterday."
Glossman held up a hand. "Lynn was supposed to take over the operation of the company this week. Rene was required to be present at the changeover. There were a lot of paperwork and court proceedings to be handled. Bill was in New Orleans yesterday working on some of this. The disappearance of Rene has stopped us from going forward. We will continue to run the company until she is found. We've had an injunction issued by a judge to allow this."
Now I understood why Lynn wanted her sister found. Huge amounts of money were involved. But why didn't she call Glossman to start with?
"When we finish here, Bill will show you what has happened with the company in the ensuing years. I think you will be surprised. For now, I want you to consider yourself working for Glossman Enterprises, for me personally. We want you to put maximum effort into finding Rene, dead or alive."
Lynn let out a sob.
"I'm sorry, Lynn. That was insensitive. Forgive me."
"You thinking kidnapping?"
"If so, there's been no demand," Joe said, with sadness. "Information leaks out."
Bill Moran shifted position in his chair, an uncomfortable look on his face.
"Yes, always does."
"If you need anything, get in touch with Bill. We want you to keep it quiet, but work as fast as you can. Report directly to Bill or me. He has the rest of the information in his office. He'll fill you in."
We all stood. This meeting was over.
After Bill and Lynn walked out of the office, Glossman put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
"It's good to see you again, Jay. If you're as good an investigator as you are an airplane pilot, I'm satisfied we've got the best man for the job."
"Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Glossman." I looked him directly in the eyes. "I'll find Rene, but you've got to promise me none of your people will be looking for her at the same time, and that Lynn stays out of it. I can't babysit her and do my job, too."
"It's your ballgame, Jay. Run with it. Oh, and I know what you are thinking, why didn't she call me first when she realized Rene was missing? I've already chastised her about that. She said she merely did not think it through, acted on her own. That's the way she is, Jay. Strong headed and strong willed. Just like her father."
"Thanks, it makes sense now. By the way, how is old T. Windom? He still trying to keep together that fleet of French-built, loosely flying collection of nuts and bolts that you insist on calling aircraft?"
Glossman laughed. He knew I was kidding. He owned some of the finest built corporate jets in the world.
"Windom's doing fine. You should call him, might have an opening. We always need good pilots."
"Thanks, I may contact him while I'm on the coast." We shook hands.
When I entered Moran's office, he was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. Lynn was seated across from him in a relaxed pose, a blank expression on her face.
Bill was a slim man, close to forty years old, with a head full of coal-black hair and intelligent, dark eyes to match. The sharp, athletic features of his face showed smooth, bronze skin, a color derived from his 'old Biloxi' heritage. It's a mixture of Indian, French, and Spanish. At a little over six feet, his thin physique betrayed the deadly power he possessed. A legend around the waterfront, he was not a man to be trifled with, mentally or physically.
"Jay, what I'm going to show you must be kept in the strictest of confidence." He slid a sheet of paper across the desk toward me. "Sign this document that states you will never divulge the contents of the Renoir Will or the financial status of the estate. It's legal and binding."
"Sure. But the company is open to public scrutiny. Why swear me to secrecy?"
"It's not the company we are concerned with, it's the content of the Will. It is not for public eyes. There are things you will not be allowed to see. Lynn and I will answer those questions that we can after you have perused the material."
Pushing a little, I said, "If I don't see the original documents how can I be sure what's here is the truth? Maybe it's something you concocted?"
"Who the hell do you think you're dealing with?" He exploded furiously, leaping from his chair, muscles in his jaw rippling like waves on an angry sea.
I grinned.
Lynn sat up straight in her chair, a frightened look on her face.
"Ah, Leicester. You had a right." He sat back down, let out a sigh. "I know how long you and Joe have been friends. It was the audacity of the insinuation. I'm sorry."
Bill Moran was a good man, an excellent lawyer. Glossman saw the potential in him as a young lad. He realized Bill was not cut out to lead a life on the ocean as five generations of his family before him. Slowly he worked his way up the ladder and he and Glossman grew close. Glossman had no children and he began to think of Bill as a son. In fact he arranged his affairs such that when he died Bill would take over the company.
The next half-hour was spent reading over the parts of the documents excerpted from Max Renoir's Will. There were the usual business transactions, disbursements to faithful employees, disposal of certain properties, the normal things that occur upon the death of the owner of a company. However, the most interesting and complex part of the Will was the way Renoir set up how he wanted his two daughters to share in the inheritance of the estate.
In essence, Rene was to get nothing, except for a small monthly allowance. If Lynn wanted, she could give Rene a job in the company, but one that would never allow her to advance into management. In other words, she was at the mercy of her sister who was instructed to keep her subservient.
"This will take some time to absorb."
"That's your copy. Don't lose it."
We were through. Lynn, who had said nothing during this exchange, stood, smoothed her skirt, and announced she was having lunch with Glossman.
No one at Glossman Enterprises invited me for lunch. Fisherman's Wharf beckoned with a bowl of the best gumbo this side of the French Quarter. The ten-minute drive from Ocean Springs to the restaurant gave me time to reflect on some of the information in the report. The big question was what could a fourteen-year-old child have done to cause her father to treat her with such severity in his Will? This was important, and it was not going to come from Glossman or Moran. Maybe Lynn? If only I could convince her it may help in finding her sister. Thinking for a moment, I came up with a plan. By leaving my airplane in Gulfport and riding back to Jackson aboard Glossman's jet, I could talk to Lynn, try and explain how important it was to know why Rene's fall from grace with her father was so necessary for me to know. I would call T. Windom, Glossman's Vice-president of Transportation, as soon as I got back to the airport, see if he'd allow a hitchhiker.
Crossing an unguarded train track a few blocks from Glossman's office, I was deep in thought. A fast moving freight train missed me by millimeters. If Guy had not washed his new Jaguar that morning, the train would have hit me. It scared me so that I lost my appetite. Shaking, I drove slowly to his office.
Guy dropped me off at the airport where I called Windom.
"Greetings, Jay. Mr. Glossman said you'd probably call. Come on by and we'll kick over old times."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but not now. I need a favor, though."
"Sure. Anything."
"One of your aircraft is scheduled to return the Renoir woman to Jackson this afternoon. I'd like a seat on that plane."
"Not a problem. In fact, I'm giving one of our pilots a checkride on the deadhead leg back to our airport. You remember B.W.? He flew a Lear 24 for our competition. You gave him a recommendation when we hired him."
"Great. Can you pick me up in Gulfport at McDonald Aviation?"
"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.