Kasey Michaels: High Heels and Homicide

«Really?» Maggie looked from one thin sword to the other. «Troy's been lugging the real one around? Honest to God, Alex?»

«You doubt me, my dear?»

Again, maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe it was the four teaspoons of sugar. Most probably, it was Sir Rudy's brandy. Maggie grinned at Byrd Stockwell. «Is it real or is it fake? Well, punk? Huh? Do you feel lucky?»

An audible sigh came from the couches as Dennis Lloyd said, «Americans. No wonder you don't appreciate Shakespeare.»

Byrd yelled and went on the attack, only to be stopped in his tracks when Alex poked him hard in the solar plexus with the cane part of the sword cane. He grabbed onto his stomach and gasped for air. It was a simple matter for Sterling and Perry to, at Alex's suggestion, «Cage the robin, if you please, while we await the constable. Tie him up, Sterling.»

Maggie watched as Alex retrieved both sword canes, reassembled them, then tried to hand one to Troy, who wouldn't touch it.

«Alex? Were you bluffing?»

«As in any game of chance, my dear,» he said, smiling, «the winner is not obliged to show his cards once the other party has folded his. What do you think?»

«I think you switched them at some point. I don't know why you did, or if the Troy Toy just picked up the wrong one at some point and you decided that switch might come in handy and let it alone. But, yes, I think Byrd was holding the fake one. I think you even left it where Byrd might get hold of it because you were itching for a fight and it never occurs to you that you could lose a fight, even with a fake sword—except you're not that crazy, and you had the real one. I think I know you that well. So? Am I right? Alex, damn it, stop smiling at me like that. Am I right?»

Sterling returned to his seat on the plane after yet another short constitutional, as Perry had told him that it was important to stretch one's legs while on long flights… and after Perry had made that statement clearer, Sterling had realized that he'd meant getting up and walking the aisles from time to time.

He reached into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him and retrieved his journal, but didn't yet open it, as Bernie and Tabby were in the seats in front of him and they were speaking to each other.

«No, of course I won't see Dennis again. Isn't that what a fling is about—mad passion and then never seeing each other again? Besides, he told me his favorite movie line of all time is 'I'll alert the media.' «

Bernie laughed, then coughed.

«Okay, so that's almost funny. But you know what isn't, Bernie? Unless I tell him, David will never even know I had revenge sex. And even worse, if I do tell him, he might not care.»

Sterling quickly opened his journal, believing he'd heard more than he probably should have, and pulled his pen from his shirt pocket. He really should finish his entry, as they'd be landing soon and he wanted to watch as New York appeared outside his window.

How good it will be to be home again, dear Journal. And as I've already told you, we all travel together this time. Even Mr. Undercuffler and Miss Pertuccelli, although they are, most unfortunately, traveling below us, in the baggage compartment.

Saint Just told me as I spoke with him on this recent constitutional that, no, Mr. Byrd Stockwell has not yet made a clean robin redbreast of things, but Saint Just is confident that the man will not escape justice. He said there would be fingerprints and all sorts of what is called forensic evidence for the police to discover, although Saint Just is no longer interested, as there's really not all that much dash and romance — his words, dear Journal — in mucking about with such things .

Miss Campion remains in England, but on the much lesser charge of stealing fake jewelry, and Maggie assures me I'm not to worry about her overmuch, as the woman is bound to land on her feet.

Sadly, dear Journal, it would seem that the movie about Saint Just and myself will now be unavoidably delayed. Sir Rudy, who had seemed such a convivial gentleman, all but tossed everyone out on their ears the moment the rain stopped and the water receded.

Saint Just is convinced the man is a tad overset to learn that his lifelong dream has ended in a huge, horribly expensive house that sits in the middle of flood water several times a year, with no treasure to hunt for anymore and all his village chums openly laughing at him. I think he is pining for Marylou, who is also on this airplane, along with everyone else. She and Evan Pottinger seem to be hitting it off quite nicely, which is a surprise to me but not to Saint Just, who is rarely surprised by anything.

We saw very little of England during this short and quite eventful trip, sadly, but perhaps we will all return one day. In the summer, when it isn't raining.

But, dear Journal, all has not been murder and mayhem. Saint Just and Maggie have most definitely cried friends again, and once more my hopes run high in that quarter. After all, they are sitting side-by-side now, and Maggie had been resting her head against Saint Just's shoulder, which I consider an excellent sign. I even have begun to hope that they will soon Come To An Understanding.

«What do you mean, you solved it?»

«Now, Maggie, you must admit that—»

» Me , Sherlock. I did it. Okay, so you helped. A little. You pulled that harebrained stunt with the sword canes, I'll give you that. But I'm the one who jumped in that stupid lake and—»

«I think you might wish to rephrase that, my dear. As in, 'I stupidly jumped into that lake.' «

«Oh, yeah? Bite me.»

«Here? In first class? Is that acceptable?»

Sterling smiled, sighed, and wrote:

Then again, dear Journal, perhaps it is not yet time for the fairy-tale ending I dream of. But at least things are back to normal…