The Race

“High enough to see the Hudson River. When I saw it, I knew I had to fly to it.”

Marion’s beautiful eyes widened. “You flew all the way to the Hudson River?”

Bell laughed. “It seemed safer than flying over the ocean – I could see that, too.”

Marion marveled, “At the same time you saw the Hudson River, you saw the Atlantic Ocean? Then surely you saw the skyscrapers of New York.”

“Like spikes in the smoke.”

“You must take me up to shoot moving pictures.”

“You will love it,” Bell answered. “I saw a giant sturgeon swimming on the bottom of the river.”

“When are we going?” she asked as excitement rose in her voice.

“Well, umm, flying is perfectly safe, of course. But not yet safe with me.”

Isaac Bell was reminded that his beloved could be as single-minded as Josephine when she asked with a challenging smile, “I wonder if Preston Whiteway would hire an aviator to take me up?”

“Let me practice first. By the end of the race I’ll have the hang of it.”

“Wonderful! We’ll do it over San Francisco. I can’t wait! But you will be careful while you learn?”

“Promise,” said Bell.

“I refuse to worry about gun battles and knife fights. But flying? You’re out of your element.”

“Not for long. Next time I see the wind has shifted, I’ll land accordingly.”

“How could you tell the direction of the wind when you yourself were in it? Did you see a flag blowing?”

“I watched the cows.”

“Cows?”

“There are dairy farms around the park, and Josephine taught me that cows always graze facing upwind. They point true as a weather vane and are easier to see from above.”

“What else has America’s Sweetheart of the Air taught you?”

“Keep an eye peeled for emergency landing spaces. But steer clear of bright green fields. They’re too wet to land on.” Bell left out Josephine’s warning to avoid extreme movements that would cause his wings to collapse. Neither would he repeat Eddison-Sydney-Martin’s dry “I’d avoid blundering into flat spins if I were you, old chap,” or Joe Mudd’s blunt “Don’t get fancy before you know your business.”

Marion said, “By all accounts, including Preston’s fulsome praise of her, Josephine sounds like an interesting character.”

“Josephine’s a character, all right, and I could use your help reading her. In the meantime, I would not mind another kiss. Shall I instruct the house detective to erect a barricade of Chinese screens and potted palms?”

“I have a better idea. By now, the maids have unpacked my bags. Let me get out of my traveling things and into a bath. And perhaps you’ll come up and join me for supper, or something.”

“Shall I order champagne?”

“I already have.”

“SERIOUSLY, DARLING, why did you decide not to take flying lessons?” Marion asked later upstairs. Bathed, perfumed, and arrayed in a long emerald green peignoir, she patted the chaise longue. Bell brought their glasses and sat beside her.

“No time. The race starts next week, and I’ve got my hands full, with Harry Frost trying to murder Josephine and a saboteur wrecking flying machines.”

“I thought Archie shot Frost.”

“Three times, with that little German pistol he insisted on carrying.” Bell shook his head in dismay. “I thought I shot Frost, too. He’s wounded but definitely not out of action. A Cincinnati banker reported that Frost’s jaw was swollen and that he was slurring his speech, but otherwise he was healthy, which hardly sounds like a man carrying a bunch of lead in him.”

“Maybe you missed?”

“Not with my Browning. It doesn’t miss. And I know I saw Archie pepper him point-blank. He couldn’t have missed. But Frost is a big man. If the slugs missed his vitals, who knows? Still, it’s something of a mystery.”

It was Isaac Bell’s habit to discuss his cases with Marion. She was an educated woman, with a quick and insightful mind, and always brought a new perspective to a problem. He said, “Speaking of mysterious misses, Frost himself apparently missed one of his shots at Marco Celere. An easy shot no hunter would fluff. I discovered that the rifle he probably used had a damaged telescopic sight. Yet another reason why I want to see Celere’s remains.”

“Could Harry Frost have worn some sort of armor when he attacked?”

“Armor won’t deflect bullets. That’s why gunpowder put the knights out of business.”

“Chain mail?”

“That’s an interesting thought because with modern alloy steel perhaps you could manufacture chain mail strong enough to stop a bullet. Lord knows what it would weigh. Some years ago the Army was testing so-called bulletproof vests. But they were too hot and heavy to be practical. . Interesting thought, my dear. I’ll have Grady Forrer sic his Research boys on it first thing in the morning.”

Marion stretched luxuriously. “Are there any other mysteries I can solve for you?”

“Several.”

“Starting with?”

“Where is Marco Celere’s body?”

“Any others?”

“Why does the Italian lady I bought my aeroplane from insist that Marco Celere stole her father’s secrets while Josephine insists that Miss Di Vecchio’s father worked for Celere and therefore had no secrets to steal?”

“What is Miss Di Vecchio like?”

“Startlingly attractive.”

“Really?”

“In fact, so attractive that it is hard to believe that Marco Celere, or any man, would turn his back on her.”

“How did you escape?”

Bell touched his glass to hers. “I’m immune.”

“Blind to beauty?” she teased.

“I am in love with Marion Morgan, and she has spoken for my heart.”

Marion returned his smile. “Maybe Marco had his eye on Josephine.”

“Josephine is cute as a button but hardly in Miss Di Vecchio’s class. She’s a pretty little thing, pert and flirtatious, but more farm girl than femme fatale.

“But ambitious? At least about flying,” Bell said, “and very skilled navigating flying machines. There are men who are drawn to accomplished women.”

“Well, love is strange, isn’t it?”

“If Marco and Josephine were lovers at all. Archie thinks she was in love with Marco’s flying machines. And as you know Archie has a pretty good eye for that sort of thing.”

Marion asked, “What does your eye tell you?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. Except she vehemently defends Marco on the question of who stole whose invention.”

“Could it be that Josephine is defending her flying machine more than she’s defending her lover?”

“That is very possible,” said Bell. “While Marco, I suspect, was in love with a girl who could afford to buy his flying machines.”

“Then everyone got what they wanted.”

“Except Harry Frost.” Bell’s eyes grew bleak, then hot with anger. “Poor Archie. Frost did such a terrible thing. How a man would load such monstrous ammunition into a weapon is beyond me.”

Marion took his hand. “I spoke with Lillian on the telephone. I’ll see her at the hospital tomorrow.”

“How did she sound?”