Rick hung up the phone in the Spindrift library and turned to Scotty. "Jerry is using his car tonight. But Duke says okay. He'll make out a reporter's identity card for you and a photographer's card for me. Only if anything interesting turns up, we have to give him a story."
"Good thing papers have rewrite men," Scotty said, grinning. "It's all I can do to write a readable letter. A news story would be way beyond me."
Rick picked up the phone again. "I'll see if Gus is using his car."
Gus, owner, chief mechanic, and general factotum of the Whiteside Airport, had loaned his car to Rick on several occasions. His hope, he explained every time, was that Rick would drive it to pieces so he could collect the insurance and get a better one.
In a moment Gus answered. "It's Gus."
"Rick here, Gus. That ancient clunk of yours still running?"
Gus's voice assumed wounded dignity. "Are you speaking of my airplane or my automobile?"
"Your limousine. Using it tonight?"
"Nope. Don't drive it any more than I have to. When do you want it?"
"About eight, if that's all right."