The Hindenburg Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,55
flying over Boston and New York and I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Where’s your friend—Leuchtenberg?”
“I think the drinking finally caught up with him. He should have a Hindenburg-size head about now.”
A steward brought a cup of coffee to Charteris, who chatted with his friend in fancy goods for a few minutes, then returned to his cabin.
It was still too early to knock at Hilda’s door, so he used the time to prepare his papers for customs and pack his things. He left the shaving kit out, in case he should decide to freshen up before landing in New Jersey; but otherwise he was ready for arrival. Then he left the cabin and angled across the hall to Hilda’s door.
He gave her a good-morning peck. “You look even more beautiful than usual, my dear.”
Which of course she did. Today, for the first time, her braids were tucked under a stylish, raffishly angled hat—a shallow-crowned, wide-brimmed straw hat, a vivid rose color matching the rose-and-pink-and-black floral design of her white crepe dress with attached cape and long tight sleeves. It was a slinky affair that made her look tall and slender without downplaying her curves.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her arm tucked in his, as they moved down the cramped corridor.
“Sound and deep. I couldn’t have slept sounder if a building had fallen on me.”
She laughed. “You are so funny.”
A laugh riot, he thought inside his throbbing head.
In the dining room, they sat nibbling fresh rolls, saying little. Charteris was distracted by the knowledge of the behind-the-scenes investigation in progress; but there was also a certain sense of loss, knowing his comely companion on this journey would soon be exiting his life. As he was usually the one who drove the conversation, the couple settled into silence broken only by the occasional comment about how good something tasted, the clink of dishes and silverware, and the patter of rain gently pelting the skin of the ship.
“You are quiet today,” she said, buttering a biscuit.
“It’s always sad, when a pleasant journey ends.”
“Has it been pleasant for you?”
“You’ve made it so. Hilda… I hesitate to ask this, since you made it clear that ours is a… temporary friendship.”
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “What is it, Leslie?”
“It’s just that I know a shipboard romance in most instances should be tucked away in one’s memory book, each party moving his or her own separate way.”
A wonderful smile blossomed. “Are you saying you would like to see me again, Leslie? After we land?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. You’re visiting your sister in New Jersey, and I’m heading to Florida, to see my daughter… but I’ll be back in that part of the world next week, to meet with New York book and magazine editors.”
“I would love to see you again.”
He raised his coffee cup in salute. “Just for old times’ sake. That’s what this will all be by next week, you know—memories, old times.”
Suddenly passengers were crowding around the promenade windows. Charteris and Hilda rose from their table to join them, finding a place along the slanting Plexiglas, where they discovered the sun was finally out, the fog burning off, the vast blue shimmer of Boston Harbor revealing itself below, ship whistles blowing them a robust welcome to America.
Holding hands, he and Hilda watched as the airship—at an altitude of merely five hundred feet—coasted over suburbs, people tinted blue in the ship’s shadow as they would run out of houses to gaze up and point and wave, cars pulling over along roadsides as drivers got out to get a better look, dogs barking wildly, and, in rural stretches, barnyards where stirred-up pigs and fluttering chickens reacted in apparent terror, which for some reason elicited giddy laughter from the high-flying sightseers.
Miss Mather flitted to his side, beaming, saying, “Is it ridiculous for me to feel so happy?”
“Not at all,” he told her. “I feel the same.”
“Did you see the flower gardens? Yellow forsythia in bloom, and other flowers trailing pink, grass plots so vivid green, apple trees in blossom, woods full of dogwood and young green leaves—”
“Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”
“I can’t steal myself away!”
Then, like a hummingbird, she flew off. Hilda was amused, and so was he.
They were wandering back to their table to finish their coffee when Chief Steward Kubis approached Charteris and again delivered a whispered message.
“There’s something I need to do,” Charteris told her.
“That’s all right. I have to go to my cabin to pack my things and collect