"That's right, sir."

"At the time of the annual inspection, did you find anything wrong with the engine?"

Harvey Simpson opened a plastic briefcase and removed a book. "I got the engine logbook right here," he sid. "There's a list of what I done to it."

"My question was, did you find anything wrong with the engine?"

Simpson consulted the logbook. "I found two exhaust brackets broken.

That's a common fault; vibration weakens the metal. I replaced both brackets. The compression on all the cylinders was in the high normal range; that's a pretty good indicator of the health of the

All the airworthiness directives and service bulletins-were up to date on it." "We have heard testimony that the engine caught can you think of anything that might have caused to happen?"

"No, sir," the man said emphatically. "I did a fifty-hour engine three days before the crash--that an off change--and there wasn't nothing wrong with it."

"What, in your opinion, could cause an engine fire that airplane?"

"Leaking fuel would be about the only thing, sir, but Ichecked all the fuel connections during the fifty-hour and they was all tight."

"Nothing else could have caused the engine fire?"

"Well, a bad exhaust leak, maybe, but there wasn't no exhaust leaks, either."

"So you have no explanation for the engine fire?" "No, sir, I don't, and believe you me, I've done some considerable thinking on the subject. If I had the engine back and could inspect it, I might be able to tell you what caused the fire, but..."

"Quite," the coroner said. "Does any member of the jury have any questions for Mr. Simpson?"

A tall black man stood up. "I've got a question," he said.

"Go ahead and ask it," the coroner replied. "Harvey, Alene Sanders, who got killed in that crash, was my wife's sister-in-law. What I want to know is, who's going to pay for killing her?"

Simpson shook his head. "I don't know, Marvin. Chester didn't have nothing but that airplane and his house."

STUART WCXX)S.

"What about insurance?" the man demanded. Simpson shook his head again. "Chester stopped paying the insurance last year. Said it was too much, it was going to break him."

The man shook his head and sat down. Stone shook his head, too. That answered Harley Potter's question.

"All right, then," said the coroner, "the jury can retire to consider their verdict. I wont recess for another fifteen minutes, because I don't think it's going to take long."

The jury retired, and everyone stood up to stretch. Stone turned to find Hilary Kramer of the Times and Jim Forrester of The New Yorker in the row behind him.

"What brings you two here?" Stone asked. "Nothing else to do," Kramer replied. "Not until your case begins. I'll file a short piece on the crash. You happen to know anything about the Manning woman, Stone?"

"As a matter of fact, I had a call from a lawyer in Palm Beach. She left an elderly mother--no other family."

"No insurance for the mother, either," Kramer said,

jotting down some notes. "Got the mother's name?" "Maria Peters; a widow and retired actress." "Address?" "No idea." "The lawyer?"

"Harley Potter of Potter and Potter." He looked at Forrester. "I don't see you taking any notes, Jim."

Forrester grinned. "I'll clip Hilary's piece; it'll all be in there.

It'll be no more than a marginal reference in my piece."

"I guess not," Stone agreed.

"What was Elizabeth Manning doing down here?"

i "She wanted to know if she was mentioned in

's will. She wasn't."

"I heard you and she were looking over some documents in the Shipwright's Arms," she said. "What were

"Paul Manning's will; she wanted to see it." "When were they divorced?" "Something like ten years ago, I think." "When were they married?" "I don't really know."

a font of information, aren't you?" Kramer

"Is there something you don't want me

} know?"

"Hilary," Stone said, "why would I keep in forma-from you?"

She was about to reply, but the jury was returning. The coroner waited for everyone to be seated, then spoke. "Have you gentlemen reached a verdict? If so, read it."

A man stood up. "We find that Chester Appleton, Alene Sanders, and Elizabeth Allison Manning met their deaths by misadventure," he said, then sat down.

The coroner rapped sharply on his table. "A verdict of death by misadventure having been found, these proceedings are closed."

Stone made his way forward and introduced himself to the coroner.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Barrington, I remember you from an earlier inquest."

"That's right. A law firm representing the next of kin of Mrs.

Elizabeth Manning has asked me to act for them in St. Marks. They have requested a copy of the death certificate, so that Mrs. Manning's estate may be probated." "Of course," the coroner said. I'll give you an original." He sat down, took a pad of blank certificates from his briefcase, wrote one out, signed it, and handed it to Stone. "There you are," he said. "Nice that this inquest is so much simpler than the last, isn't it?" "Yes, it is." He smiled a little. "Not as interesting, though." Stone smiled with him. "No, I guess it isn't."

He shook the man's hand and left the hall. To his relief, the two journalists had disappeared. Back at the Shipwright's Arms, a fax was waiting for him.

Dear Stone,

Just a quick note to let you know I'm not dead. My research is going well. I've been spending all my time with Vance, who has been a dear.

I've been staying at his house, which is very beautiful, and I've met many friends of his. The life out here is really wonderful. Oh, Chip McGrath at the New York Times Book Review has asked me to review a big new book on the history of Hollywood and the studios-front page of the review, if you can believe it. It's a nice showcase for me. I might stay out here for a week or two

when I finish the piece. This California living gets under your skin.

Got to run. We're off to dinner.

i, Love,