Twenty Plus Two

Chapter 6

The stewardess led him to the only vacant chair, an aisle seat in the center of the plane. A woman, who had apparently also just boarded the plane, was settling down, adjusting her seat belt. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. In her expensive gray suit, she seemed different from the person Alder had seen the night before at The Tuilleries.

He seated himself beside her. “You’re Nikki Collinson...”

She regarded him steadily a moment before replying. Then: “Yes.”

“My name is Tom Alder. I was at The Tuilleries last night.”

“I know. You’re Linda Foster’s—” the faintest crinkle of a smile creased the smooth lines of her lips, “—friend.”

The stewardess’ voice came over the speaker. “Fasten your seat belts, please.”

The plane was racing across the long runway before Alder spoke to his seat companion again. “I seem to have a feeling that we’ve met before.”

“We didn’t exactly meet last night.”

“I was thinking it was before last night.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. I don’t live in Los Angeles.”

“You visit Los Angeles often?”

“Yesterday was the first time. We live in Burlingame. My husband’s interests take him to New York more often than to Los Angeles.”

“You’re going to New York, then?”

There was the slightest hesitation before she replied, “I get off at Chicago.”

There was a magazine on her lap. She picked it up. She did not open it but her handling of the magazine itself was an indication to Alder that she preferred not to strike up a lengthy conversation. She had responded to his greeting, had replied to the obvious questions. She was aloof, a fellow passenger on a fairly short, rather routine trip. That was as much as she wanted it to be.

The plane was flying smoothly at twenty thousand feet, nearing the mountains, before she spoke.

“I didn’t mean to be short with you, Mr. Alder. Linda and I are very good friends. I know all about you.”

Did she know about last night? It suddenly became important to Alder to know.

He said, “Until last night, I had not seen Linda since 1942.”

“I know.”

“Just how much do you know?”

The faint smile again played over her mouth. “I know that she developed a migraine headache last night. Harris was quite annoyed.”

“And?”

“She got over the headache, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Harris had a nightcap with us at the hotel. He phoned Linda — and didn’t get her.” She looked at him sideways. “Harris and my husband were roommates at Princeton.”

“That’s how you met Linda — through him?”

She nodded. “Linda’s a real beauty. Of course, you know that.”

He looked at her fully. “Yes, she’s beautiful — but, tell me, have you looked into a mirror lately?”

The blunt flattery did not produce coyness on her part and it pleased him, because he hadn’t expected that it would.

She said, “Of course I know how I look. But let’s not talk about it. Let me guess your profession. Lawyer?”

“You had help on that one from Linda. No, I never became a lawyer.”

“You’re not a stockbroker, because Harris would have known your name. You were at the bar talking to a motion picture actor?”

“Leroy Dane.”

“I’m not much of a moviegoer, but of course I’ve seen him on the screen. He’s very good.”

“Also a very handsome man, which he knows.”

“You have something to do with the picture business?”

“You’re getting cold.” Alder grinned.

“That leaves out television. Business — no, I don’t think you’re a businessman.”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t look like a businessman.”

“And how does a businessman look?”

“All right, I give up. What do you do?”

“Linda called me a ghoul.”

“What?”

“I find missing heirs.”

She turned in her seat and her clear hazel eyes looked into his. “You’re a... a detective?”

“Not exactly. I have no license, but in a way, I am an investigator. A free lance. I look for missing heirs.”

The faintest cloud dimmed the lustre of her eyes. “You earn a living doing that?”

He nodded. “Essentially, I’m a lazy man. I work only when I have to — when a case is interesting.”

She pursed up her lips. “You didn’t become a lawyer, although you were a law student. You’re still a bachelor, and you search for missing heirs, because it gives you much leisure — to think about Linda. To feel sorry for yourself. No, sorry’s not the right word.”

“To cry in my beer.”

“Bluntly put, but yes — to cry in your beer.”

He grinned again. “Got me nicely catalogued, eh? Well, let’s dissect you for a moment.”

“No!”

“You’re married to one of the rich men of the country. There’s a very high fence all around you, and you think you like it inside the fence because it’s so safe. So very safe and quiet. You’re afraid of what’s outside the fence because — well, you tell me why.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong. There are doors in my fence. The doors aren’t padlocked. I can go in and out. I’m out now. I live behind that fence because I like it that way. I happen to love my husband and our way of life.”

“There are fires behind those beautiful eyes!”

“No fires. I’m not afraid.”

“Did I say you were afraid?”

“You were going to.”

“No. One thing you’re not is afraid. You’re not afraid of anything. Cautious, perhaps. You don’t want to — to disturb what you have. Like one of your husband’s ships. It can weather any typhoon in the Pacific, but the captain prefers smooth waters.”

“Mr. Alder,” Nikki Collinson said firmly, “what good books have you read lately?”

He smiled crookedly. “Very well, we’ll discuss literature — if you call me Tom, not Mr. Alder.”

“I prefer the mister.”

“All right, but I’ve never known a girl named Nikki and I was hoping to try it out. Mrs. Collinson, I’ve just read John O’Hara’s new book. What did you think of it?”

They discussed O’Hara then. And Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Neither cared for Faulkner. She touched on Robert Wilder. And then she mentioned television. Surprisingly, she knew it well. Her taste in programs was catholic. She liked an occasional Western. She was an ardent fan of mysteries. She did not especially care for the panel shows. She sometimes watched the “late” movies when her husband was away on a business trip.

Their conversation wandered into other channels and a sudden twinge of near-panic assailed Alder when the stewardess’ voice came over the speaker. “Fasten your seat belts, please. We’re preparing to land.”

It was Chicago and she was leaving the flight. There was a half-hour stopover, but she obviously did not plan to spend it with him. As the plane taxied across the field she gave him her hand. Her clear eyes looked into his.

“I feel a little sorry — for Linda.”

He did not reply to that. He felt strain, so he said: “It’s been a pleasure — Nikki.”

She knew that the name was not a slip and she smiled.

Then she was unfastening her seat belt. He stood up to let her out from the window seat, but he remained on the plane. Through the window he saw her as she walked away.

She did not look back. Alder thought of that and it gave him a measure of comfort. If she had not been thinking of him she could not have resisted looking back at the plane. She was deliberately, consciously, not turning her head.