The Race (Isaac Bell 4)

“Elastico!” said Danielle.

“Was your father elastico?” Bell asked gently.

Her big eyes lighted in happy memory. “Like biglia. India-rubber ball. Rimbalzare! He bounced.”

“Were you shocked how he died?”

“That he killed himself? No. If you stretch banda too much, too many times, it breaks. A man breaks when too much goes bad. But before, he was rimbalzare. Is Josephine piloting Celere’s monoplano in the race?”

“Yes.”

“How does she fare?”

“Behind by a full day.”

“Brava!” Danielle smiled.

“I was surprised to learn that Marco had another machine in the race. A big biplane with two motors.”

Danielle sneered, “Who do you think he stole that from?”

“Your father?”

“No. Marco copied the biplane from a brilliant student he befriended in Paris. At the École Supérieure des Techniques Aéronautiques et de Construction Automobile.”

“What was his name?”

“Sikorsky.”

“Russian?”

“And part Polish.”

“You knew him?”

“My father lectured at the École. We knew everyone.”

“Do you know Dmitri Platov?”

“No.”

“Did your father?”

“I never heard the name.”

Bell weighed another question. What more could he learn about her father’s suicide from her that might be worth the pain it might cause? Or should he rely on James Dashwood to ferret it out in San Francisco? Andy surprised him, stepping closer and muttering through tight lips, “Enough. Give her a break.”

“Danielle?” Bell asked.

“Yes, Mr. Bell?”

“Marco Celere convinced Josephine that he is the sole inventor of her aeroplane.”

Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. “Thief!”

“I wonder whether you could give me some. . ammunition to convince her otherwise?”

“What does she care?”