by H. L. Burke
Chapter Two
Nyssa smoothed the golden velvet of her skirts. Her hands glided over the fabric, so different from the sturdy clothes she was used to.
“You look lovely,” Ellis assured her as they sat side by side in the hired steam car. Ellis wore a black suit and bow tie, and a top hat sat on his lap. For once he looked every bit the son of wealth he pretended not to be. In the front seat, the driver stared forward, giving the illusion of privacy even though the thin pane of glass between driver and passengers probably wasn’t soundproof. The sky over the houses glowed orange in the sunset.
“I always feel out of place at fancy restaurants. I mean, I love the food and the conversation with you, but I can’t help thinking people are looking down their noses at me.” Nyssa touched her hair. She’d done her best to corral it into a fashionable updo, but unruly strands were already popping out like springs from a busted clock.
“It’s all in your head.” Ellis stroked her wrist. “Trust me. I don’t want to be gawked at any more than you do. Especially tonight.”
The car slowed in front of the restaurant. The driver parked beside the globe-like lights, and a valet hurried to open the door for Nyssa. She thanked him and stood on the curb to wait for Ellis.
Ellis took a briefcase from the steam car’s floor and passed it to Nyssa. She flipped a switch on the side. It unfolded in a whir of cogs and gears before forming into his chair while the valet stood back and gaped.
Nyssa smiled. Ellis certainly has a way of drawing attention to himself, whether he means to or not.
She took his hand, and they continued to the restaurant.
A wide glass door revolved in front of the entry. Nyssa entered and had to brace herself when the floor moved beneath her feet. Ellis chuckled as the conveyor belt-like floor spun them around then deposited them in the restaurant’s foyer. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, sending tiny dots of light over Nyssa’s skin.
A slender man with a thin mustache glanced up from a podium. Tropical shrubbery crowded the room, gleaming green. Nyssa suspected they were fake, coated with wax for shine, but didn’t want to appear naive in examining them too closely.
“May I help you?” the host asked.
“Reservations for Cormac.” In spite of his willingness to be a Dalhart again, Ellis had apparently made the reservations with his alias.
The host checked a black leather book then nodded. “Right this way, sir.”
Nyssa and Ellis followed the man into a dazzling dining room.
White linen reflected the light from the chandeliers. Everywhere she looked was the glint of silver or the sparkle of crystal. A waitress guided a clockwork dessert cart with glass domes covering chocolate delicacies. Men and women in elegant evening attire dined at round tables throughout the floor, speaking in hushed tones quieter than the clink of their glassware.
The host guided them to a corner table then beckoned a waiter in black tails to remove a chair so Ellis could fit. Nyssa took her seat and folded her hands in her lap. The host departed, and another waiter swept in with menus.
“Would you like to start with something to drink? We have an excellent wine selection.”
“Thank you, but I don’t drink,” Nyssa said.
“Even tonight?” Ellis tilted his head. “I was thinking of ordering some champagne.”
Nyssa hesitated. To her, alcohol summoned pictures of drunken men, rowdy and pungent, in smoky taverns and filthy alleyways. Champagne did sound glamorous, though. I can’t always be a stick in the mud.
“I suppose one glass won’t hurt.”
“Excellent.” The waiter beamed. “I will be right back.” With a bow, he left them alone.
“It’s nice to see you trying new things.” Ellis reached across the table.
She slipped her hand into his. “I want tonight to be special.”
“It will be.” He gazed at her, his eyes softening, and a strange, gentle smile on his lips. “You look so beautiful.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you. You do, too … I mean, handsome …” She cleared her throat. “That’s corny, isn’t it?”
“Not at all.” He squeezed her fingers. “You know we’ve been together almost a year now?”
“I guess we have. It’s odd. On one hand it feels like it was only yesterday. On the other, life with you is so familiar now, like I’ve always lived this way.”
He smiled until wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes.
Warmth crept through her. Shock me, I could stare into his eyes forever.
“I made you something.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box about the size of a book.
She took off the lid. Inside rested an object like a compact mirror, but with a dial marked with numbers on the front. Her throat tightened. “It looks a bit like the RAM from when you … from when we met.”
“It’s partially inspired by the remote access module. I call it a handheld radio … HR, since I know how much you like abbreviations.” He drew an identical item from his other pocket. “Instead of communicating with the computer system in Dalhart Manor, however, these speak directly to each other. Not a long range, about five miles, but on San Azula we’re rarely that far apart.” He tapped the dial on his. “You’ll need to turn this to the correct number to open it. That’s so only the two of us can use them. Think you can guess what I chose?”
Nyssa turned her handheld over. Before she could consider the riddle, the waiter returned, carrying a green bottle and a pair of glass flutes. She put the handheld to the side.
The waiter placed the flutes on the table and uncorked the wine. A pop made Nyssa jump and grip the tablecloth.
Ellis laughed. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you it does that.”
“Is it always that loud?” She rubbed her temples before joining him in a chuckle. Golden, bubbly liquid filled their glasses. Ellis thanked the waiter. The man gave a slight smile then left them alone again.
“Where were we? I suppose we should toast while we have this.” Ellis picked up his glass and held it towards her. “To us?”
“To us.” She mimicked his motion, and their glasses clinked together. The drink was somehow sweet and sharp at the same time. The bubbles tickled her nose then settled in her brain. She sipped slowly.
Ellis leaned forward, his eyes intent on her. “Nyss, I love you.”
Though she’d heard it perhaps a hundred times from him, her heart still fluttered. Maybe it’s the champagne. “I love you, too.”
He fingered his handheld. “I made us these partially because recently I’ve been thinking a lot about how we met. When we found each other, I was in the most isolated state I can imagine, trapped without even realizing it, and you … you saved me. I can never pay you back for that.”
She dropped her eyes. “I was lost myself at the time. I think we saved each other.”
“Maybe. The point is, I have you now, and I don’t want to ever lose you.”
A chill shot through Nyssa, though she didn’t know why. She opened her mouth to respond to his sentiment, but her eye caught a flash of copper red behind him, and words fled from her. Her grasp tightened on her champagne flute.
Detective O’Hara sat perhaps three tables away, staring straight at her.
Ellis’s brow furrowed. “Nyss? Are you all right?”
“The detective I told you about?” She dropped her voice low. “She’s behind you. The woman with the red hair.”
“She?” Ellis cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me it was a woman.”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, it does deflate my manly fantasy of defending your honor by punching her.” He laughed ruefully.
Nyssa tried not to look in O’Hara’s direction, but she could practically feel the woman’s stare boring into her. “How did she know we’d be here? I didn’t say anything about it.”
“I didn’t make it a big secret when I made the reservations and hired the car, though that was almo
st a week ago.” Ellis pushed his dark hair back from his forehead. “Is it possible she’s been watching us for a while now?”
Nyssa shrugged. The very thought made her queasy.
“Either way, I’m surprised a woman on a detective’s salary could afford a table here. I sincerely doubt dinner at an establishment like this is in the police department’s budget either.” He sat straighter. “Do you want me to say something to her?”
“No. Let’s ignore her. She can’t hurt us.” Nyssa forced herself to gaze into Ellis’s eyes, the only thing that might possibly distract her from O’Hara.
He scowled. “You’re as tense as an overwound clock, Nyss. This isn’t the mood I had in mind for the evening.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Nyssa bit down hard on her lip. She had wanted this evening to be perfect.
“Maybe the maître d’ can move us to a more private table … or at least one not directly in her line of sight.” He rolled away from the table. “I’ll be right back. Just drink your champagne and give her a big smile. Don’t let her know she’s getting to you.”
Nyssa nodded and took a sip. The fizzy alcohol seemed to have lost its magical effects.
As soon as Ellis disappeared, a messenger in a red uniform and round cap hurried through the tables, directly to her. Nyssa sat straighter.
“Miss Glass?” the man asked.
A jolt of anxiety raced down her neck. True, a few people on the island—Amara, their housekeeper, and maybe one or two others—knew her real name, but very few openly used it. “Yes?”
The messenger placed a black leather case, small enough to fit into her palm, on the table in front of her. “I was asked to deliver this to you. As well as this.” He handed her an envelope.
“Thank you.”
She eyed O’Hara as she slipped her finger under the envelope’s flap. The woman tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.
Inside the envelope was a brief note in blocky handwriting.
I can get you a copy, but if you tell anyone, even your friend in the chair, I will know, and I will destroy the recording. The police are onto you. How much longer do you think you can run? I’m your only way out. Meet me in the airfield Hangar 32 at midnight.
Nyssa turned the letter over. Nothing was written on the back. No name. No address. No hint of what it meant let alone who sent it. She pried open the leather case. Inside was a portable moving picture player. I haven’t seen one of these in years.
Flipping a switch, she waited for the picture to flicker to life. Her breath caught in her throat. From the small screen, the familiar face of Mr. C stared back at her, his expression stern. His mouth moved, but the video didn’t appear to have sound. Nyssa recognized herself, standing next to him. Mr. C whipped out a silver-handled revolver and aimed it towards the videoscreen. Nyssa instinctively averted her eyes as the wires of the attacker’s taser gloves sank into Mr. C’s chest, sending him convulsing to the floor. Her throat tightened at the memory.
This is video of the actual murder? And of me not committing it?
Her head spun. She tried to find a replay switch, but a smell of melted celluloid rose from the picture player. The film inside was ruined after one play. It took all her willpower not to toss the player across the dining room.
I have to get a hold of that video, but how can I not tell Ellis? She scanned the room. Is whoever sent this watching me right now? None of the diners seemed to be looking in her direction, except O’Hara.
Doubt trickled into Nyssa’s hope. A trap? But the recording proves there is video out there. She swept the black case, the player, and the note off the table and into the small handbag she’d brought with her.
Ellis wheeled into the dining room.
Nyssa’s stomach tightened. I have to find a way to tell him. Pass him a note? No, if someone is watching, they’ll see that. Wait until we’re home alone? But what if the sender finds out somehow and makes good their threat? My only hope to prove my innocence will be gone forever. No, for now, I’ll have to keep this from Ellis. He’ll understand.
Ellis settled across from her. “The host says we can move tables. There isn’t a private dining room available on such late notice, but at least we can be a little farther from unwanted scrutiny.”
She nodded. Her handbag felt heavy on her lap.
“You still seem flustered.” He reached for her hand. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, but all she could think about was the mysterious message and the secret it forced her to keep.
Chapter Three
Gas streetlamps glinted on the plate glass windows as the steam car pulled up in front of their shop. Nyssa barely stifled a sigh. In spite of the relocation, she’d still imagined all the other diners and most of the wait staff were spying on her. She’d barely gotten down half her meal, which was a shame because she’d always wanted to try lobster. It sounded so fancy in books and articles. Ellis, also, had spent a lot of time glancing over his shoulder, and their conversation had been half-hearted at best.
When they entered the shop, he groaned. “That could’ve gone a lot better. Nyss, I owe you another date.”
“No, it was fine,” she lied.
The irradiated hands of the wall clock showed just before eleven. She still had an hour to get to Hangar 32, and an hour to decide whether or not to tell Ellis about it.
“Yes. Well, it could’ve gone better.” He cleared his throat. “You still have your present, right?”
“Of course.” She drew it from her bag, her fingers brushing against the leather case.
“Oh good. Just … don’t lose that.”
Nyssa opened her mouth. They were safe now, at home. She could tell him about the message.
Lights flicked through the shop. A steam car with bright headlamps rolled slowly down the street. It stopped and idled across the road, the hum of the motor distant but unmistakable. She tensed.
Are they watching? O’Hara knew we’d be at the restaurant. Maybe she’s been watching for a while. Maybe she has a listening device planted somewhere. What if someone is listening now?
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a headache,” Ellis said. “I’m going to go to bed. Tomorrow things are going to be better if I have to toss that detective off this island myself. I promise.” Guiding her down, he kissed her then wheeled out of the shop and down the hall.
Nyssa drew a deep breath before hurrying upstairs to her room. Ellis will understand. I just need to do this. I’ll leave a note.
She changed out of her gown into her trousers, a white blouse, and gray peacoat. Even in tropical San Azula, it could be chilly near the waterfront after dark. By the time she finished and crept back downstairs, the light was out under Ellis’s door.
When she reached the workshop, the strange car was gone, but she still felt as if someone might be watching.
Trading her handbag for her satchel, she placed the video player and the mysterious note on Ellis’s workbench then took out her notepad and wrote, Ellis, I’m sorry, but someone has a video of Mr. Calloway’s murder. They offered me a copy, but I need to meet them in private, without telling anyone, even you, or they’ll destroy it.
I can’t risk losing this evidence. I know it’s dangerous, but I promise I will be careful, and if they really can help me prove my innocence, it’s worth it. I will try to be back before you even notice I’m gone, but if not, I love you. I have your handheld communicator with me.
Placing the notepad beside the recording device, she found the bug-zapper, and threaded its barrel through her belt. She slipped her goggles on her head. With a prayer, she left through the kitchen door, into the back alley. Trolleys didn’t run this late, so she would have a long walk to think about how much of a risk this was. Still, she couldn’t let this chance slip through her fingers.
***
A half dozen cigar-shaped zeppelins hovered like dark clouds over the waterfront. Smaller craft bobbed in the wind, attached to
their mooring towers. The sting of salt and stench of fish permeated the air. Search lights crisscrossed over the airfield, coming from the long, blocky hangars.
She pulled out her pocket watch. 11:45. Some time left. Good, because she wasn’t sure which hangar was hangar 32. Switching her goggles to their night-vision setting, she headed for the first in line, a smaller building without the exterior lights of the bigger hangars closer to the field.
Her footsteps crunched on the gravel path, loud in the silence. She winced and gripped the bug-zapper. This area didn’t seem to be guarded. No lighting, no fence to keep out vagrants. Perhaps nothing of value was stored here, but from the cracks in the windows and the weeds that had sprung up through the path, she guessed some of these buildings were simply abandoned.
She turned the corner. On the wall of the hangar, in fading, peeling paint, was the number 35.
“Almost there,” she whispered.
After she checked the number on the next building to make sure she was headed in the right direction, she walked two doors down. The folding door, wide enough for a small dirigible to pass through, was pulled up. It shadowed the entrance like an awning, making it too dark to see far inside even with her goggles. Every muscle in her body tightened, but she forced herself forward.
Hugging the wall, Nyssa slipped inside.
Stacks of crates lined the walls, creating more shadows. The middle of the large space, easily four steam cars in length, sat empty. She flipped through the settings on her goggles, looking for any sign of traps or ambush. No one here, though something small and round sat a little way from the rear wall, letting off a faint electromagnetic field.
Not wanting to be cornered, she turned to go.
Something crackled behind her.
She whirled to face the round object which now radiated a harsh, white light. A beam shot from it onto the wall. Nyssa’s heart leapt to her throat. Then the beam widened, and a moving picture began to play.
Settle down. It’s just a projector, you ninny.
Mr. C’s image filled the wall, and Nyssa’s pounding heart ached. His familiar face. She’d forgotten how accustomed she’d grown to his kind eyes. Now, however, his death approached, and just like before, she could only watch. She was there, too, standing behind Mr. C. Her face appeared oddly stoic, not how she’d pictured herself in that horrifying moment. Of course, in that moment, she’d had no idea what was coming next.
