An Evil Guest (21 page)

“Yes and no.” Always a fast driver, Zelda was driving faster than usual. “It seats four, so it’ll certainly hold the three of us. Only Ebony’s coming and bringing a tenor for the duets. So that’ll be five if Margaret comes.”

“Margaret’s coming,” Cassie said firmly. “I want her there.”

“Let’s hear it from Margaret. Ever warped through hyperspace, Margaret?”

Margaret shook her head, and Cassie said, “She can’t see you there in back. You’ll have to speak up.”

“No, I haven’t, Ms. Youmans.”

“Scared?”

“No, Ms. Youmans.” Margaret looked frightened.

“I was the first time, too. The saleswoman took me up for a test run, and I was scared to pieces. She talked me through it a dozen times, and after the third one I saw it was a piece of cake.”

Cassie said, “Ebony won’t take up much room. She’s as thin as a soda straw.”

“Bucket seats, so it doesn’t matter. Only there’s cargo space in back. You know. The tenor can sit back there.”

The airport was small. Ebony and the new tenor were waiting in the lounge, and looked at least as rain-soaked as Cassie felt. Ebony said, “This is Gil Corby. Gil, this is Cassie Casey, our star. She’s the one you’ll be singing with.”

They shook hands while Corby stared at Cassie’s new bracelet. Afterward, Cassie studied Corby’s rain-washed face while he met Zelda and Margaret.

Zelda said, “You’ll have to sit in the cargo space, Gil. The whole thing will only take ten minutes. Is that okay?”

“Certainly.”

As they were scampering across the tarmac, Margaret gasped, “I’ll never understand how these things fly. They haven’t got wings.”

Zelda overheard her. “Does an apple need wings to fall out of a tree?”

Margaret shook her head.

“Well that’s how a flier works. It falls, only it falls up.”

Margaret looked more baffled than ever.

“It’s what the saleswoman said, and the owner’s manual says the same thing. I don’t understand it either.”

Corby struggled to keep the green golf umbrella he had bought in the airport above Cassie’s head. “What makes the apple fall?”

Ebony said, “Gravity.”

“Really? What’s that?”

Cassie said, “I don’t know either, Gil. What is it?”

“It’s the name we give the property of warping space possessed by matter. All matter has it, even a feather. It’s just that in the case of a feather, the amount it has is very, very small.”

“You’d better get in first,” Zelda told him. In spite of her hooded raincoat, rain was trickling down her cheeks.

Awkwardly, Corby clambered into the cargo space.

Wondering whether Corby’s umbrella and her sopping jacket would hurt the upholstery, Cassie took a seat. “This is smaller than a lot of cars.”

“Just a li’l pink bug,” Zelda admitted cheerfully, “but I can drive to Mars if I want to.”

Ebony, seated in back with Margaret, turned to speak to Corby. “Do you really understand these things?”

He shook his head, and suddenly they were rising through the rain, buoyant as a cork in a thousand feet of water. Margaret shut her eyes.

“We’re warping space now,” Zelda told Cassie. “If you can’t imagine that, here’s an easier way to think of it. We’re grabbing the space over us and throwing it behind us, and that makes us go—less space ahead, more space behind. Are you a physicist, Gil?”

“Hardly.”

Cassie said, “He’s an actor and a singer, aren’t you, Gil?”

“Correct. But like most of us, I’ve held a great many odd jobs when I couldn’t find work.”

Ebony said, “Wait ’til you see him dance, Cassie!”

The rain had vanished while Cassie gawked at the instrument panel. “Are we really at fifty thousand feet? Why haven’t my ears popped?”

“I have no idea. Okay, folks. We’re up high enough that the hop-bang won’t break any windows. Here it comes!”

“I didn’t hear a bang,” Margaret said. Her eyes were still shut, tightly clamped against a glorious sun that darkened windows and windshield.

Cassie said, “I didn’t either, but I think the lights flickered.”

“We were gone before the bang.” Like Margaret’s, Corby’s voice came from behind her. “It wasn’t loud anyway, because the air was so thin.”

Ebony giggled. “You can open your eyes now.”

“I’m not opening my eyes,” Margaret told her firmly, “until we’re down.”

Cassie had turned in her seat to stare at Corby. “You remind me of somebody I know. You even look a little like him.”

Corby grinned. “Handsome, huh? I’d like to meet him.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Cassie promised, “if you’re still around.”

His grin widened. “I’ll wait. Zelda, do you have a big car?”

Zelda shook her head. “It’s not much bigger than this.”

“In that case, Cassie and I will take a cab to the studio. We’ll meet you there.”

“Cassie stays with me. Why don’t you and Ebony take the cab?”

Margaret asked, “Are we falling? I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Not very fast.” Cassie reached back to pat her shoulder. “You won’t mind riding with Ebony and Zelda, will you?”

Before Margaret could answer, the pink hopper pitched forward, then seemed almost to correct itself. Below, as Cassie could see more plainly than she liked, rolled a vast sea of pearlescent cloud. Above that sea, thousands of feet below, flew something that might have been a monstrous bat. As she watched, horrified, it dove into the cloud and vanished.

I
N
the back of the cab, Corby whispered, “Why did you want to talk to me?”

“Who said I did?” Cassie favored him with a sidelong glance. “I wanted to smell your aftershave. If you think I’d rather be in a crowded car with three other women than ride in a cab with a handsome man, you need to get to know me better.”

“I’d like to. But you may wish to keep your voice down. The driver can overhear us.”

“Naturally. If I have to say something he shouldn’t hear, I’ll tap your arm in code. One tap for A, two for B, three for C. You know.”

Corby took a deep breath. “I do want to talk to you. I want to talk to you more than I can say. Miss Casey, I need this job. You’ll get royalties on the recording, and thousands up front. I get five hundred for singing with you. If—”

“That’s not fair. I’ll speak to Zelda.”

He shook his head. “It is fair. I agreed and signed a contract. The thing is that my contract says I must be acceptable to you. If I’m not I won’t get paid. I want you—I need you—to understand that.”

“All right, I do.” Cassie hesitated. “I’ll tell you what. If I’ve got to dump you, I’ll give you five hundred myself.”

“I won’t take it.”

Cassie turned to look at him. “I thought you said you were hard up, Gil.”

“I am.” Something unflinching had crept into Corby’s face. “I am, but I won’t take charity. I’d sooner steal than accept money you gave me because you pitied me.”

“If you say so. By the way, lunch is on me.”

His grin returned. “That I’ll take—and repay the favor just as soon as I can.”

“Right you are. What about steak today?”

“Steak will be just the beginning. Is that bracelet real?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie made a tiny, helpless gesture. “I want to have a jeweler look at it.”

“So you think it might be.”

“If I had to bet, I’d give you two to one it is. But not three to one.”

“Wallace Rosenquist gave it to you.” Corby sounded positive.

“How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. I guessed. He’s a billionaire, according the newscasters, and a friend of mine who knows him says he’s, well, crazy about you. Deeply in love with you, in other words.”

“Your friend knows him.” Cassie was staring out at the suburban houses that had replaced the farmland nearer the airport.

“Yes, but I don’t. I wish I did.”

“You move in high-class circles just the same.”

Corby laughed; he had a good laugh. “My dear Miss Casey! At this very instant I’m sharing a cab with the most desirable woman on any known planet, and you think I move in exalted circles because I know someone who knows Wallace Rosenquist.”

“You know physics, too.”

He shook his head.

“You knew about the hopper. How it worked.”

“I do not, though I wish I did. It warps space, just as gravity does. Any child could tell you that much. Ask me how it does it, and you’ll see me at a loss. Any good physicist could tell you, presumably. I can’t.”

“Nuclear energy. I think somebody said that.”

“Perhaps they did. It may even have been me who said it. Warping space and nuclear energy are just words, and anyone can say them. An
astro-explorer named Chuck Finney discovered that Woldercan was home to an intelligent race. I can say that quite easily. Finding another planet with an intelligent native race would be rather more difficult. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Cassie smiled. “Here’s a bunch more questions. Could Zelda really go to Mars in her hopper?”

“That’s one I can answer easily. Yes.”

“Could she get out and walk around when she got there? Throw rocks? All that stuff?”

“If she had an air helmet, yes. She’d need the helmet because the Martian atmosphere is still too thin to support human life. They’re working on that.”

“One time I saw a diagram of a hopper, Gil. It had a big airlock, and the caption said how it worked. Zelda’s little hopper doesn’t have an airlock.”

“Actually it does, because those little hoppers are all airlock. When Zelda was suited up, she’d tell the onboard computer. A compressor would suck up most of the air in the cabin and store it. When it had finished, she could open the hatch and step outside. When she came back in—reassemble in reverse order, as the manuals say. She would shut the hatch, release the stored air, and take off her helmet. Clear?”

“Perfect. Next question. You said that like most of us you’d worked at all kinds of jobs when you couldn’t get a part. What were they?”

“Oh, Lord!” Corby shook his head in dismay. “It would take me an hour to go through them all. Have you ever been a waitress?”

Cassie nodded.

“Good tips, I bet. Well, I’ve been a waiter. I’ve been working at a little diner down the street from your theater. That’s my most recent job.”

“Well, by golly. . . .”

“What is it?”

“India was talking about getting somebody new to play the mate, and the man who was bringing our food said that there had been somebody in there earlier who might fill the bill. I thought he meant a customer.”

“I was in there earlier,” Corby said. “Mitch—that’s his name—relieved me. When you had gone, he phoned and told me about it.”

“India wanted him to send you over.”

Corby nodded. “Mitch told me that, too.”

“All right, besides a waiter. What else?”

“City planner. Teacher and substitute teacher—”

“Ah ha!”

“It pays well and I like working with students, but the bureaucracy and
paperwork drive you insane. To say nothing of having a camcorder looking over your shoulder every minute.”

The cab braked hard as Corby spoke, and the driver growled, “Trouble!” Then,
“No es cierto!”

He swerved down a side street, but not before Cassie had glimpsed Zelda’s old, familiar sedan. Zelda, Ebony, and Margaret were standing behind it, surrounded by four men.

One of the men held a submachine gun.

Cassie fumbled in her purse for her cell phone, only half aware that Corby was shouting for the driver to stop.

“I’ve been questioned already,” Cassie told the detective. “Questioned by you and by that ugly man with the cigar. I’ve got to get back to Springfield—”

The detective (his name was Ed Quintin) raised a hand. “I know, ma’am. One more, and I don’t think it will take long.”

“Where’s Mr. Corby?”

“He’s been released. The lieutenant you’re going to see now finished questioning him and let him go. From what he said as he went out, he’s probably trying to get you a lawyer. Satisfied?”

Cassie nodded and rose. They went down a gloomy and rather old-fashioned hall to an elevator and up one floor. “No interrogation room this time,” the detective told her. “You’re going to his office.”

It was a corner office with four windows. Its chief furnishings included a large modern desk faced by a small chair, and file cabinets whose tops were heaped with what were, presumably, souvenirs.

The big man behind the desk stood and offered his hand. A slight twitch at one corner of his mouth might have been a suppressed smile. “Pleased to see you again, Miss Casey. I’m Detective Lieutenant Aaberg, but you can call me Scott if you’re more comfortable that way.”

“Oh! Oh, my golly!” Cassie sank into the chair facing his desk. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

Aaberg laughed, a laugh as deep and rasping as his voice. “I ask the questions in this room, Miss Casey, and it’s a good thing I do. I couldn’t answer that one.”

She filled her lungs, determined to look and sound like a woman of great courage. “Suppose I ask you one I know you can answer, Lieutenant? Suppose I say—and yes, I’m saying it—that if you’ll answer I’ll cooperate in every possible way. But if you won’t I’ll tell you to go to blazes.”

“Margaret Briggs was your employee? You liked her?”