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high-winged plane had changed German history when it rocketed into the aeronautics scene after the First World War. It had an eight-cylinder, invert-V, air-cooled engine, a fifteen-thousand-foot ceiling, a stall speed of thirty-two miles per hour and a two-hundred-forty-mile flight range. And one machine gun, though it appeared that was missing.
    It was also supposed to be a very safe airplane. Which was good, because though large by the standards of most modern, private planes, it was still smaller than the jet Adora had expected. Which meant it was too small for her liking. In fact, just standing near it made her nervous. And that— however irrational—made her mad.
    On the other hand, this absurdity was a device of great historic value. She had always respected age. Anything that endured cruel, ravaging time deserved some deference.
    Uh-huh, it’s just old enough for the wings to be rotten—but don’t listen to me,
Joy said.
    Fear of flying fought with Adora’s love of history. Was this a sign, or was Joy right? Should she call off the trip?
    High time you started believing in omens,
Joy said nastily.
    â€œHey, there!” a cheerful voice greeted her.
    â€œRobin Christkind?” Adora asked, turning to the young man who appeared around the back of the plane, hoping that he would tell her she had made a mistake and wanted the small Lear jet on the next runway.
    â€œThat’s me. And you must be the writer, Adora Navarra. I hear you’re an historian and come from a family of pilots.” He stepped forward and offered a hand. It was encased in a fine kid glove. She was also amused to see that he was wearing a leather helmet with aviator goggles and a long white scarf.
    He looked like a young Charles Lindbergh. She liked a man who knew how to dress for a role.
    Still, the clothes were a little odd under the circumstances, so she consulted her inner weirdometer and was relieved when nothing stirred on the psychic dials. This guy was eccentric but probably safe.
    Probably—but you can’t really be sure,
Joy inserted.
    â€œAdora Navarra. The one and only,” she agreed.
    â€œDo you have any other bags?” Robin asked.
    â€œNo, this is it. I travel light. But—”
    â€œThen let me tuck it away and we’ll be off. Can you manage on your own?” he asked, eyeing her skirt and heels. “The seats are a bit high.”
    â€œOf course, but—”
    â€œGood. We’re running a little late, and I hate to keep Kris waiting. His schedule is so tight these days.”
    â€œI’m so sorry if I delayed you,” Adora said immediately. “We had some bad traffic—”
    â€œIt’s fine. But maybe I better help you in.” Robin reached out, but Adora stepped back quickly.
    â€œNo. I can manage.” She barely stopped herself from smacking away his outstretched hands. She thought she liked Robin Christkind, but that didn’t mean she was ready for him to touch her. She didn’t like strangers getting too close. She’d manage the climb somehow.
    â€œOkay. Holler if you get stuck.” His tone was good-natured as he turned away.
    â€œI will.”
Not
.
    It helped that the second seat was in the back of the plane and somewhat closer to the ground. Still, it took a bit of maneuvering to get in without snagging her stockings or showing off far more than was polite on two minutes’ acquaintance. True to his word, it took Robin only a moment to stow her bag, and then he joined her in the cockpit, looking back as she was arranging her somewhat twisted skirt. Adora frowned at him and he turned to face forward.
    The plane interior was larger than expected, not much like a coffin at all. Still, she could feel her heart skittering nervously. A part of her feared planes for reasons that were not entirely logical. Though it made no sense, something inside her was convinced that if she ever went up again, she might jump