The Hindenburg Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,37

the rain,” she said.

“Ah, but you live in the city. Rain is just a nuisance in the city. To feel the excitement of the rain, you have to be where the rain belongs—out in the open, where you can see it falling all around you, separated from it by the least possible protection necessary to keep you dry—and sometimes not even that.”

“I love it, too,” she said.

“I’ve always been a sucker for rain—but, you know, I never loved the rain more than I love it right now. Right this moment.”

“I love it.”

They made love in her cabin, twice that night, and then they slept snuggled together in the lower bunk—the sound of rain nowhere near them, but they imagined they heard it.

They imagined they heard it clearly and well, though the only real thunder was the muffled sound of snoring from the cabin next door, leaching through the linen-covered foam panels of the wall.

DAY THREE

WEDNESDAY, MAY 5, 1937

NINE

HOW THE HINDENBURG PROVIDED A PUZZLE, AND LESLIE CHARTERIS POSTED CARDS

WELL OUT OVER THE ATLANTIC, the Hindenburg loped along, stoically battling forty-five-knot head winds. Severe electrical disturbances continued to create a radio blackout, though occasional messages did get in and out—at six A.M., thirteen kilometers east of St. John’s, Newfoundland, one thousand kilometers southeast of Cape Farewell, the airship sent a message reporting continued electromagnetic storms and requesting weather information. Two and a half hours later, a transmission made its way through from Canada, informing the Hindenburg radio operator that lighter rains waited ahead.

Outside the slanting promenade windows, a cold, gray morning glided by even as Chef Xavier Maier’s fabled fresh rolls warmed the tummies of the airship’s pampered passengers.

Leslie Charteris and Hilda Friederich were latecomers to breakfast, barely beating the ten A.M. cutoff. They had slept in, cuddled in the lower bunk of her cabin, Charteris in his T-shirt and boxers, Hilda in a lacy slip. She had sent him off, a little after nine, to his own quarters, mortified by a knock at her door.

Charteris had slept through it, but apparently a steward had come by to make up the cabin—seemed Hilda had neglected to hang the little “Do Not Disturb” placard on the door handle—and she was suddenly embarrassed.

“Who cares what some steward thinks?” he said to her, pulling his trousers on. “If they have the poor manners and lack of sense to come around at such an ungodly hour, they can—”

But he hadn’t finished his thought, and had barely buckled his belt, when she jostled him out into the hallway. Shoes and socks in hand, he told the door, in a firm voice, that he’d return in half an hour, to escort her to breakfast. A noncommittal, nonverbal response from behind the door was just ambiguous enough for him to take as a “yes.”

Barefoot, he had returned to his cabin, washed up, shaved, slipped into fresh underthings over which he slung studiously casual attire, chiefly an open-neck light blue sport shirt, gray flannel trousers, and blue plaid sport jacket. Staring at himself in the small mirror, brushing his mustache with a thumbnail, he frowned at his reflection, thinking, What’s missing from this picture of perfection?

Then he gave himself half a grin, shook his head: his monocle.

Sometimes he thought he should abandon the silly prop, but the simple truth was he either had to wear the thing or accept the indignity of reading glasses. And, of course, he was too goddamn vain for that, at such a tender age. Thirty, in just seven days, a single week left of his twenties…

He’d forgotten the damn chunk of glass in her cabin, of course, and when he stopped by to pick her up, she almost blushed as she smiled and handed the little round object to him, delicately, holding it between her thumb and forefinger like an entomological specimen.

He tucked the monocle into place, and gave her his most charming smile. “You look lovely to me, my dear, with or without this chunk of glass in.”

And she did look lovely, of course, in a dark yellow crepe dress and jacket ensemble with a white cravat, her hair back up in braids. Did the latter signal that, though she’d let her hair down last night, today was another day?

“I feel a little foolish,” she said.

“Whatever for?”

“For rushing you out like that. I apologize.”

“Well, I won’t accept your apology.”

Eyelashes batted over her deep blues. “No?”

“Because it’s unnecessary. I should have had the proper decorum to slip out before dawn like any good philanderer.”

She drew