Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 (86 page)

"Let God sort them out," Stasi muttered as she brought the oar down good and hard a few more times. It ought to buy some time at least. Whack, whack, whack. Good solid body hits probably wouldn't kill anyone.

Running feet, and Lewis Segura all but jumped down the steps, white dinner jacket open and tie flying. He didn't hesitate, just jumped straight off the dock and made a grab for the first flailing body he found. Stasi held off whacking him.

Others were right behind him, three or four men Stasi didn't know, and Alma Segura and Henry Kershaw. "What happened?" Kershaw yelled.

Alma ran down the steps looking as if she intended to jump in too, but the men in the water had surfaced, Lewis and Mitch holding onto Lanier between them, blood beading at the corner of Mitch's mouth.

"That man tried to kill us," Stasi said clearly. "He threatened to shoot me if Mr. Sorley didn't do what he said. He was talking crazy! He said that he was going to kill me!"

"Come here, you," Lewis said, dragging Lanier toward the dock. Another man and Kershaw leaned down to help pull him up.

There was a bright flash, a reporter's camera flash going off. Stasi held the oar.

"Don't let him get away," Alma said, stepping in. Kershaw jostled past Stasi, brushing against her as he went, and the idea came to her fully formed.

"No chance of that," Lewis said, manhandling Lanier onto the dock.

"Call the police," Kershaw said grimly.

Stasi blinked right into the camera, into the reporter's faces. "I think he dropped this," she said innocently, holding up the Berlin Iron necklace.

"Oh my God," Alma said.

For once Kershaw looked utterly dumbfounded. "That's my stolen necklace!" he said.

Flash bulbs went off wildly. Stasi laid it in his hands. "I don't know why that man was screaming about it," she said.

Lanier saw it and twisted around in Lewis' grip. "It's mine!" he screamed. "It's mine! It kills! You know that! I'm just its instrument! I'm just the instrument of the curse! Give it to me, you little whore!"

Stasi widened her eyes. "I've never seen it before five minutes ago. Is it yours?"

"Yes," Kershaw said. His face was beet red.

"How clever of you to have found it," Alma said, her hand on Kershaw's arm.

"I'm going to kill you!" Lanier shouted. "I'm going to kill you and Sorley both! I'll see you in hell, both of you! That necklace is mine! I'll kill you, Mitchell Sorley! You're marked! Let that be known!"

"Not going to happen," Lewis said grimly, never letting go. "The police should be here soon."

"He's raving," one of the gathering crowd said.

Mitch climbed up on the dock heavily, soaked tuxedo dripping.

"I'll kill you!" Lanier shouted at Stasi. "Bitch! Whore!"

"That's no way to talk to a lady," Lewis said, hustling him toward the stairs.

"I think you need to calm down, buddy," one of the other men said.

"My necklace," Kershaw said, blinking at it.

One of the reporters was keen. "The one that you reported stolen in Los Angeles just before the race?"

"Yes," Kershaw said.

"It's mine!" Lanier shouted as the men bundled him up the steps, still struggling. "Mine! I hope it kills you and your wife too! The Devil's in it! May you burn in hell!" He twisted around. "May you burn in hell, Mitchell Sorley!"

Mitch shook his head, shaking water out of his hair, a rueful expression on his face. "This is hell," he said. "Nor am I out of it."

Lanier screamed. "I'll kill you! You wait!"

Reporters’ flashbulbs went off again, and Stasi blinked and smiled, holding the oar. "Tell me, Miss," one of them said. "Why did he use you as a hostage?"

"I suppose because I was talking to Mr. Sorley," Stasi said. "I imagine he thought that Mr. Sorley would do what he wanted rather than risk him injuring me."

"Do you know each other well?" another reporter asked, elbowing in.

Stasi shook her head, all big innocent eyes. "I only met him a few days ago. I came to the party with Dr. Ballard. Where is he, anyway?"

"Here," Jerry said, coming carefully down the steps. "You all right, Mitch?"

"Yeah."

Jerry handed him his handkerchief. "Your lip is bleeding. And the Marlowe is a bit much."

Mitch looked sheepish.

Stasi twined her arm around Jerry's. "I might have been killed if not for Mr. Sorley, darling."

Jerry didn't actually flinch this time. "I'm glad everyone is ok," he said.

"Sweetheart," Stasi said, and smiled for the camera flash.

A
lma stood by Jerry, watching Henry, Mitch, Lewis and Stasi talking to the police, Mitch still dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. For once the police had nothing to say to Alma or Jerry. Stasi was obviously the center of attention, gesturing wildly and animatedly. From the bemused expression on Henry's face, Alma could bet that anything unusual in the story was being washed away by a torrent. The police wouldn't even remember to ask by the time she got done.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" Alma said, taking Jerry's arm.

"What doesn't?"

"She helped us win the race and now she's high and dry again," Alma said.

Jerry sighed. "You want to give her money. Al, she broke into Henry's safe and burgled him! Yes, she was helpful in Pensacola, and yes, she's been helpful tonight, but Al…" He shook his head. "You know the nicest thing you can say about her is that she's a crook."

"I can think of a few nicer things to say," Alma said, watching Lewis talking to the police under Stasi's attentive eye, keeping all the stories straight. "We're not so different."

"The colonel's lady and Rosie O'Grady are sisters under the skin?" Jerry quoted, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that." Alma leaned on his arm. "Jerry, where do you think I'd be if I'd never met Gil?"

Jerry blinked. "What?"

"Where do you think I'd be?" Al shook her head, looking across the crowd. "You know what I was when you met me, an ambulance driver, a girl who knew what was what and didn't take any guff, but what do you think I'd have been when the war ended? I've never had any graces or accomplishments, nor a single class over junior year when my Pa died. He left me forty dollars and a saddle. What kind of work do you think there is for a girl cowpoke? Maybe I'd be a wildcatter? Work an oil rig? Cut stock?" She gave Jerry's arm a squeeze. "You think anybody would hire me for those kinds of jobs if I weren't a man, and tell me what respectable job I could do? Be a school teacher without a diploma myself? A nurse?"

"You're a fine nurse," Jerry said. "And I ought to know."

"Nursing school costs money, Jerry. Not so many scholarships for girls who can't recite and stand up straight." She shook her head again. "I loved Gil, no doubt about that, but there's also no doubt he was a fine thing for me."

"That's not why you married him," Jerry said.

"No, it's not." She tightened her fingers on his arm. "But it's true what people said, a good catch for a girl like that, a man with education and a pension coming, the kind of man who buys a house for cash and sets up his own business. If she's got to nurse him a bit, well, that's what she pays for what she gets."

Jerry looked vaguely appalled. "That's not what happened."

"It's not. And it is. Don't you think Gil was aware what a good thing he was doing for me?" She didn't let her voice shake. "He left me my freedom, Jerry. He left me wings and a business and a home and he made sure I'd never have to scrape around from town to town like she does. The only difference between the colonel's lady and Rosie O'Grady over there is that she never had Gil like we did."

"Everything he touched, he transformed," Jerry said in a low tone.

"Especially us." Al blinked hard. "All the terrible ways our stories could have ended, if Gil hadn't been bound and determined to save the world…"

"I'd have died alone in that boarding house," Jerry said. He laced his fingers with hers tightly. "I couldn't have done it alone, Al." He looked away. "Waifs and strays, all of us. Mitch too. A pack of pound puppies Gil took in and turned into a family."

"Sometimes pound puppies make the best dogs," Alma said. "Don't you think we owe it to Gil to give her a chance?"

"You know if you put it that way I can't say no," Jerry said.

Alma nodded cheerfully. "I do."

Jerry let out a breath. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to offer her a job," Alma said. "A legitimate job, working for Gilchrist Aviation as our new office clerk."

"Do you actually need an office clerk?" Jerry asked. "I've never heard you say you wanted one before."

"We could probably use one," Alma said. "Handling the office drives me crazy, and we can pay her out of the winnings that go into the business. And it's better than giving her a lump sum. If she takes off she doesn't get paid anymore, but if she stays and works she keeps on getting a check. And jobs aren't easy to come by these days, especially with no references."

Jerry shook his head. "Only you would hire a jewel thief to work the front office."

"Besides, she can teach Lewis," Alma said practically. "You know perfectly well that none of us have the right mix of skills to go any further with him. He needs a medium, and that's what she is."

"I do see the value of that," Jerry said. "But Mitch won't like it. And he is the co-owner."

"Oh, Mitch will be ok," Alma said. "I expect he'll get used to her."

S
tasi looked around the room in the Biltmore Hotel with satisfaction. This looked exceedingly comfortable, even though it was one of the smaller rooms, with a big fluffy bed with a headboard of white quilted leather and a window that looked out toward the water. Not that you could see the ocean from this angle, but it was there even if you couldn't. Three floors below there was a terrace that opened onto the ballroom, palm trees in pots nodding in the breeze, a few little tables here and there to catch the view, little lanterns hung among them to make a fairyland. The music drifted up from the orchestra playing in the ballroom below. And there waited an actual bed, nice and flat, with perfectly enormous pillows and soft, soft sheets. It was big enough for a small army, much less for just her.

Mitch opened the door and came in, taking off his wet tie, and stopped short when he saw her. "I'm pretty sure this is my room," he said.

"Really? I'm practically certain that Mrs. Segura said it was mine," Stasi said airily.

The ghost of a smile crept over his face. "I'm pretty sure she didn't, but it's ok. I'll share with Jerry."

"It would be gallant," Stasi said. "Unless you'd like to share with me. With a sword down the middle of the bed, naturally. Though we probably wouldn't need it, as that bed's so big I doubt we could find each other in it if we tried."

"I think I'll take my chances with Jerry. Let me get my suitcase."

"Of course," Stasi said. The orchestra was still going, an upbeat number that was cheerful and bright. "You can probably trust me not to take terrible advantage of you, though I imagine I could ruin your reputation for being an upright all-American hero."

"More likely the reporters would turn it into a terrible rivalry between me and Jerry." He sounded amused. "Here I am, going after Jerry's fiancée, after all we've been through together."

"Are you cheating on Alma with me?" Stasi asked. "How positively caddish of you, given that she's cheating on you with Jerry."

"And on Lewis with me." Mitch shook his head. "You know that's not true, right?"

"Yes, darling. I'd figured that out."

He picked up his suitcase from the bench along the wall and sat it by the door. He still squelched a little when he walked. "What were you and Alma talking about for so long?"

Stasi wandered over to the window, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "She offered me a job. At Gilchrist Aviation. Working in the front office. I'd be your typewriter girl."

"Can you type?"

"No." The moon was postcard perfect across the tops of the palm trees, swaying hauntingly in the wind. "But how hard can it be, darling?" Stasi shrugged. "LA has gotten awfully hot for me. It might be a good idea to get out of town for a couple of months and lie low until things settle down."

"I can see that." Mitch came around the bed and stood beside her at the window, looking out at the night, just as he had at the terrace rail.

She looked sideways at him, wondering how to ask. Perhaps flat out was just best. "And the necklace scrambled your memories?"

He shook his head, not looking at her. "No, that's just me. I told you I was a lunatic."

Stasi shrugged. "Well, as insanity goes, I suppose it's not so bad. Lots of people have things they'd like to forget, darling. It's just that your brain has managed it."

"A little inconvenient, don't you think?"

Her voice was light, she supposed. "Only if you go wandering off again. But I expect I could keep an eye on you and drag you back if you do. After all, if the worst you're going to do is go on a bender every few years, that's practically normal, darling."

Mitch looked at her sideways, eyebrow rising. "Compared to what?"

"Aren't you relieved to find out you're not an axe murderer?"

His mouth tightened. "And that one of my best friends is?" He took a deep breath. "Jeff was real good to me, a good guy, a good man. The war did this to him. He was the kind of guy you could always count on. He had your back. No, I'm not relieved to find out he's an insane murderer. This isn't a win, Stasi. Not for me."

She glanced away, back out at the trees, so she wouldn't see anything she shouldn't in his face. "What's going to happen to him now?"

"There isn't any evidence to link him to the Axeman's murders. Just a guy who's off his head raving and confessing to stuff that was in the papers years ago. And Henry's not going to press charges about the necklace, especially given that he knows Jeff didn't actually steal it and it would be kind of hard to come up with evidence that he did when he was in New Orleans at the time it was stolen in LA. So I expect he'll go back to a sanitarium." Mitch's voice sounded choked. "That's probably the best thing that can happen. Milly will be his guardian and he'll be locked up somewhere for the rest of his life."