Romance in the Rain

by Anthology

  He didn’t answer right away, but kept walking. When they reached the door of his office, he stopped. “I think Lt. O’Day was stung by a bee, went into anaphylactic shock, realized she was in trouble, landed her plane, and died minutes later.”

  Charlie felt the wind slip from her lungs as she considered his response. Of course. It made sense. As hard as it was to accept, the doctor was probably right. Horrible and haphazard though it was, these kinds of things do happen in life, catching people off-guard, making them wonder what kind of fate awaited them around the next corner.

  A stiff breeze kicked up, biting through her wool jacket, giving her the shivers. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and hunched in on herself to keep warm.

  “So,” she began, her mind racing far ahead of her ability to form the words. “That’s that, then. We chalk this up to an unfortunate chemical reaction. No foul play, no sabotage. No cold-blooded, calculated murder. Case closed.”

  Opening the door to his office, Caldwell stepped across the threshold, then turned to Charlie. A slight smile curved his lips, but his solemn blue eyes belied the amiable gesture. “I didn’t say that, Lieutenant.” The intensity of his gaze held her hostage. She could not look away; didn’t want to. “Oh, no.” He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t say that at all.”

  16 December 1942

  Dear Joe,

  Nice to hear from you son. Sounds like you’ve got a lot of responsibility resting on your shoulders. But you’ll do as you’ve always done, your very best. Your mother and I could not have asked for better sons than you boys. We’re proud of you—always have been, always will be.

  With as much speed as wartime communications allow, it’s fair to say I moved heaven and earth to collect the information on the three individuals you named in your letter. I hope someday you’ll be able to share with me why you needed it, but until then, here you are.

  Beginning with Charlene Thompson…

  Two weeks had passed since Edie’s death, and Charlie still felt haunted by the way in which her friend had died. She sat on the edge of her mattress and closed her eyes, unable to look at the empty bunk on the other side of the small room.

  People died of big things—communicable diseases, long-term illnesses, car accidents, heart attacks. Healthy girls like Edie weren’t taken by something as arbitrary as the sting of an errant insect. They couldn’t be, because if it were true, then anybody could die at any time without any warning at all.

  But she’d learned that lesson already, hadn’t she?

  A year ago, she’d had to accept the fact that Johnny no longer existed in her life, that from then on he would live on only in her memory. Now, she had to do the same thing with Edie.

  She crossed her arms over her heart to keep the ache from crippling her. Tears filled her eyes, spilling unchecked down her cheeks. Within the course of twelve months, she’d lost two people dear to her and even though the nations of the world were in conflict, where love and loss were felt on a scale she’d never known, surely it would be all right to allow herself a few moments of personal grief.

  Charlie filled her lungs with the raw winter air—and her soul with resolve.

  She straightened, grabbed the hankie from her pocket and dabbed away the tears.

  Time to put on her thinking cap.

  Edie’s death made no sense and Charlie had lost a lot of much-needed sleep over the last couple of weeks analyzing and examining every detail of her friend’s final hours on Earth. Maybe she was just being stubborn, but Charlie found she just could not accept that Edie’s life had been ended by something as arbitrary as a bee sting.

  Even Captain Caldwell—Joe—had, at first anyway, implied there was more to it, but in the ensuing weeks, he hadn’t elaborated as to why he still found the death suspicious and seemed ultimately to have accepted both Hank’s assertion that the plane was fine, and Dr. Gregory’s conclusion of anaphylactic shock.

  Her heart missed a beat—it always did when she thought of Joe. In fact, the circumstances surrounding Edie’s death weren’t the only reason Charlie was having trouble sleeping.

  Captain Caldwell. Joe. All the girls were nuts over the handsome captain and openly envious he had singled her out to focus his attentions on. She’d tried explaining it was only because Edie had been her friend and Caldwell needed Charlie to help sort out what had happened. She assured them his attentions were strictly professional—it wasn’t as though he were attracted to her in a guy-gal sort of way.

  In her fingers, she twisted the hankie, still damp from wiping away the tears she’d shed for Johnny. Of course, it was a lie that Joe felt no attraction for her. He did, she’d sensed it. She also sensed he wouldn’t pursue it unless she encouraged him, but the heat was there, simmering slowly just beneath the surface of every conversation they had.

  Yet to encourage another man, any man, especially one like Joe Caldwell, would be an open betrayal of her lost love.

  Since she’d med Joe, she’d tried desperately to keep him out of her thoughts, but more and more, he crept into her dreams—when she was able to sleep at all, that is. Even though Johnny would have wanted her to move on, she couldn’t help feel it would dishonor his memory to become involved with another man so soon. It confused and alarmed her that she could so quickly forget Johnny and entertain even a flirtation with Joe. But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that the tall, good-looking captain had become so important to her in so short a period of time. She was cheating on Johnny just by considering a romance, wasn’t she? Was she really ready for love again? Shouldn’t her mourning last longer and her attraction to Joe Caldwell be less intense for it?

  She glanced at her watch. Time to forget about love and death and go to work.

  With a firm shake of her head, she set her personal thoughts aside and shifted her focus to the job she had to do today.

  Her student, Hazel Glenn, was probably already on her way to the flight line and the B-25 Mitchell they used for training. Hazel was going to be flying under the hood for the first time, so Charlie really needed to keep her mind on business. Flying blind—using instrumentation only—was complicated and unnerving, especially if you’d never done it before, and while Hazel was a certified pilot, she was still pretty green.

  Pushing herself to her feet, Charlie headed for the door. She only hoped Hazel had taken her advice about breakfast.

  Chapter 8

  SNAFU: Situation Normal, All Fucked Up

  “It took some time,” Dr. Gregory said. His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. “But my suspicions were confirmed. Lt. O’Day did not die from anaphylactic shock due to a bee sting.”

  Joe let this information settle in, then, “How do you know?”

  With his index finger, Gregory tapped the closed manila folder on the desk in front of him. “I had the lab in Houston check the decedent’s blood for various known toxins.”

  Joe took the seat across from Gregory’s desk. Leaning forward, he said, “And?”

  “Arsenic.” The doctor relaxed back into his chair. “There are some individuals who can determine arsenic by scent—it smells like almonds. I’m one who can. When I examined the lieutenant’s remains, I thought I detected the scent, but it was very faint. So I took a blood sample. I didn’t want to say anything until I had conclusive results. The young woman succumbed from arsenic poisoning.”

  “Making it murder.”

  Gregory nodded. “Making it murder.”

  “What about the bee sting on her neck?”

  “Now that I know what really killed her,” the doctor said, “I would have to say that whoever injected her with the toxin either wanted it to appear as though she’d been stung and anyone examining the body would therefore conclude she’d died of anaphylactic shock—which I did, I’m sorry to say…” He took in a deep breath. “Or they didn’t want Lieutenant O’Day to suspect poison had been introduced into her bloodstream and seek medical help.” He lifted his palms. “Or
possibly both.”

  Joe rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. “Either way, the intention was to kill Lt. O’Day.”

  “There can be no other reason why someone would do this. Depending on the amount injected, the young woman probably didn’t begin to feel the effects until she was in the air.”

  “Which is undoubtedly what the perpetrator counted on, figuring the plane would crash, leaving no physical evidence.”

  Gregory agreed. “But when she began to feel sick, she set the plane down to avoid crashing. She would have been very weak, but probably didn’t realize she was dying. She set the plane down, was overcome by her symptoms, and died. Arsenic poisoning is a cruel death. She suffered. Whoever did this has no conscience.”

  Joe cursed under his breath. “Well, that fits with what I’ve discovered. Let me ask you, Doc, would someone with even a passing knowledge of pharmacology know about arsenic and bee stings and such?”

  “Oh, most definitely.” Gregory lifted his brows. “You have someone in mind, I assume?”

  “I do.”

  The doctor tented his fingers. “I understand that before the war, you were a homicide detective.”

  “And will be again when the war ends,” Joe said. He let the information the doctor had just given him run around his brain for a moment. Meeting Gregory’s gaze, he said, “This individual I have in mind had motive, means, and opportunity. What I need to do now is collect the evidence that will prove it.”

  Gregory tilted his head. “You claim this person had a motive. A motive for what?”

  “For negatively impacting the WAFS program any way he could. He wanted to see it closed down.”

  Gregory sat up straight. “He?”

  Joe nodded. “I had a couple of people investigated. This guy’s father ran a pharmacy. He would have learned all about poisons from him. Couple that with the fact he came up 4-F due to a heart murmur, and you have a very angry guy bent on revenge.”

  “Okay,” the doctor said. “That’s motive and means. Opportunity?”

  Joe pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Opportunity and a position of trust. He examines every plane as it comes in and goes out. He can fiddle with the fuel line or tamper with a spark plug. He can probably sneak up behind a pilot, jab her with a syringe filled with arsenic and tell the pilot she’d just been stung by a bee…”

  Gregory was on his feet now. “A mechanic.”

  Joe turned the doorknob and stepped across the threshold. With a sharp nod, he said, “A mechanic. But without hard evidence, I have only a hunch to go on and in the meantime, some other pilot is in danger. Question is, who’s next and how can I stop it?”

  “I didn’t eat breakfast, Charlie. Just like you said.”

  Hazel smiled—but then, Hazel always smiled. She was one of the most congenial girls Charlie had ever met. Always had a kind word, never spoke badly of someone behind their back, was the first to raise her hand to volunteer for a tough assignment or a job nobody else wanted to do. Hazel’s husband was in the Navy on a battleship somewhere in the Pacific. Charlie knew Hazel carried his picture in her pocket, keeping it close to her heart wherever she went, sometimes taping it to the instrument panel of the planes she ferried, pretending he rode along with her—and was safe. Lots of the girls did that.

  Adam Glenn looked to be a strapping young man and Charlie hoped this lovely couple made it through the war, started a family, and lived happily ever after. It was what she’d wanted for herself, once upon a time, but truly happy endings seemed only to exist in books and films—stories to make people smile, but which were rarely realized in real life.

  “Good thing you skipped breakfast,” Charlie said.

  Hazel opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a shout from behind. “Safe flight, ladies!” They turned in time to see Hank raise his arm in a friendly wave, but before Charlie and Hazel could return the gesture, the mechanic’s smile faded and he’d melted back into the shadows of the hangar.

  They smiled and waved anyway, then climbed up into the cockpit of the B-25. “With all the spins and turns and not knowing which way is up,” Charlie said, “flying under the hood for the next several weeks is really going to confuse your inner ear, which will make you nauseous. It’s something you have to get used to, or the contents of your tummy will end up decorating the cockpit.”

  Hazel made a face. “No thanks to that,” she said with her usual infectious grin. “I love food far too much to waste it by wallpapering a B-25.”

  Their laughter turned solemn as they began going through their pre-flight checklist.

  Named in honor of Billy Mitchell—the Army general regarded as the father of the U.S. Air Force—the amazing bomber was a favorite of Charlie’s for many reasons, the most important being the aircraft had been used in April for the Doolittle Raid. Sixteen B-25s bombed Japan—just four months after Pearl Harbor. She considered it a sort of payback for the sneak attack on Oahu. The Japanese had figured their island was safely out of reach, but the Doolittle Raid showed them they were vulnerable to attack from the air. Now it was Japan’s turn to keep a nervous eye on the skies. Only fools underestimated good old Yankee ingenuity and determination.

  Since they were training today and weren’t going to bomb any enemies, Charlie and Hazel comprised the entire crew. Checklist complete, she handed the visor to Hazel.

  “Put this on the way I showed you in the classroom,” she said. “Make sure you can see the instruments, but nothing else.”

  Hazel did as instructed. The visor looked like lamp shade that had been cut in half and fitted with a band to keep it in place on the head. It looked silly, but it worked.

  “If you find a way to cheat and peek,” Charlie warned, “you’ll only set yourself back and we’ll have to repeat the exercise.”

  Only Hazel’s smile was visible from under the hood. “Got it.”

  Though her student couldn’t see her do it, Charlie grinned in return. “Believe me, Hazel, if you ever wind up in a situation where you have no visibility, learning to fly by instrumentation could save your life. The instruments will tell you precisely where you are and if you’re banking or diving, or whether you’ve overshot the runway. There may come a time when the only thing standing between you and instant death are your instruments. Learn to trust them. Okay, let’s get to it.”

  Following Charlie’s verbal instructions, Hazel began guiding the B-25 from the flight line to the runway. “Um, Charlie?”

  Her attention still on the clipboard in her lap, Charlie absently murmured, “Mm-hmm? Question?”

  “Well…” Hazel’s tone was hesitant, as though she were unsure whether she should continue or not. “I’ve never flown a B-25 before, but…”

  Charlie narrowed her gaze on Hazel. “But what?”

  As the bomber proceeded onto the runway, Hazel said, “I’m hearing something unusual. There’s either a mechanical problem with the starboard wing, or I think your seat may be unsecured. Hear that sort of rattling noise?”

  Refocusing her attention, Charlie listened for any sound that might indicate a problem. Leaning forward, she scanned the area around her feet.

  “Sorry, Hazel, I don’t hear anyth—stop!”

  Hazel instantly engaged the brake and the plane lurched to a violent halt.

  Charlie’s heart pounded in her ears. She felt the flesh on her entire body prickle as though a wave of icy water had just washed over her.

  “Hazel,” she said quietly. “Don’t move. Stay perfectly still.”

  Blinded by the visor, Hazel had no choice but to comply.

  Charlie didn’t move a muscle, but waited. Just when she thought she was imagining things, the sound rose again from beneath her seat.

  Even over the roar of the engine, she heard it.

  Around her ankle, she felt it.

  Looking down, she saw it.

  Hazel whispered, “Charlie? That sounds like—”

  �
�It is,” Charlie hissed, then waited while the rattling at her feet quieted. On the smallest breath she could manage, she whispered, “Take off the visor.”

  Charlie sat perfectly still while Hazel complied. As soon as the visor was off, Hazel’s gaze went immediately to the floor. Her eyes widened and she shot Charlie a look of fear mixed with sympathy.

  Like a glacier edging toward the open sea, Hazel slowly reached for the radio. Charlie watched, waited, counting the heartbeats pounding in her ears. Hazel’s small movements seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she curled her fingers around the handset and brought it to her lips.

  “Attention, tower,” she whispered. “Mayday, mayday. There’s a rattlesnake in the cockpit. Repeat, there… is… a… rattle… snake… in… the… cockpit… and… it’s… coiled… around… Lieutenant… Thompson’s… right… foot.”

  Charlie swallowed. In a teensy voice, she said, “Tell them to get Captain Caldwell—and Dr. Gregory.” Hazel nodded and relayed the message.

  All they could do now was wait. The B-25 offered an overhead escape hatch that could be opened from the inside by the pilot, or the outside by a rescue team. If the ground crew popped it, Hazel stood a good chance of climbing out without being bitten. As for Charlie…

  Thick perspiration began soaking her jumpsuit, dampening her hair, sliding like sticky fingers down her spine. What was taking so long? Where was he? Where was Joe?

  As though responding to her agitated thoughts, the snake suddenly began to rattle again. Like a living rope, it coiled more possessively around her ankle.

  Trying to stay calm, she kept her gaze focused across the field on Joe Caldwell’s office door and nearly jumped out of her seat when the door slammed open and he emerged at a dead run, Sgt. Franklin a few paces behind. With the speed and agility of an Olympic athlete, Joe covered half the distance between them in a single beat of her heart. The nearer he got, the more clearly she could see his face, read his expression.