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.
