From The Grave

Chapter 15

Luane smiled coquettishly at the steward and accepted the glass of champagne, crossing her legs with a precise action. The steward flushed and returned her smile.

"If there is anything else..." He stuttered.

"You never know." Her eyes held his until he blinked and backed away, hurrying to the kitchen area behind the bulkhead.

First class was only half full and there was nobody who captured Luane's interest so she sipped her drink and did some internet searching on the Niue Airmail stamp and Gretta Lawrence. By the time the trip was several hours old, Luane had a complete knowledge of collectible stamps, an interesting biography of Gretta and a tame steward who was a pleasing pastime during the lights out period of the flight.

When she left the plane in New Zealand he looked like he had been hit by a train. Customs and immigration whizzed her through, happy to accept any kind of attention from the exotic beauty. A limo, hired by phone from the plane, stood cooling in the spring air, the driver in full uniform and armed with a bouquet of brilliant flowers.

She swished into the back seat and sat back while he placed the flowers in a vase on the pull-out console and handed her a dry martini with two olives.

"You know where we're going." The question was rhetorical as the driver slipped behind the wheel and moved the silent vehicle out of the airport terminal.

"South Skies Aviation, ma'am."

"Correct."

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Andrew Biggles, a short, waddley man with a smile that filled his face, greeted Luane with a hearty handshake, gathering up her bags and leading the way to the private plane parked on the tarmac.

"Welcome, Miss Treeline and thank you for choosing South Skies for your flight."

"I like the Lear, Andrew; comfort is important to me." She moved ahead of him and climbed the steps to the hatch.

Andrew tripped on the first step watching her ascent, cracking his knee on her luggage.

The flight was smooth, quick and very comfortable. Andrew really appreciated the use of the automatic pilot for the first time, even if it meant he had to swallow the cost of the flight. At Niue Luane had another limo waiting only this time she was being taken to a rented, private residence on the outskirts of Alofi overlooking the ocean on the east side of the island.

A house servant hurried down the steps to open the limo door while the driver fetched the luggage from the trunk. She strode into the house and quickly toured the rooms, running a finger over a small book shelf and nodding with satisfaction.

"Very good, Tilde. Right now you can draw me a bath and unpack my bags. I'm going to have dinner at the hotel tonight; I want to see the clientele they cater to."

"Would ma'am like to be formal or casual?"

"Casual is fine; put out something suitable." Luane went to the bedroom and began stripping down to bathe. "I am on your trail Miss Gretta Lawrence." She sang lightly to the empty room.

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Arlo and Hunter came ashore again after the sun went down and made their way to a small café down the street from the hotel. They were told about Luane Treeline, the fact that she there to neutralize Gretta Lawrence and they were to keep a sharp eye on her because he was suspicious she might have another agenda.

"Who is this broad?"

"Treeline is one dangerous woman. She once took out an entire board meeting; eight people. Nobody even knew it had happened until some secretary thought the meeting had gone on too long and went to see what was happening. She went into therapy for a while after opening that boardroom door". Arlo tapped a nervous finger on the table.

"Never heard of her." Hunter lifted a large mug of ale and drank thirstily.

"Maybe you'll get to see her in action. If it doesn't get to cool to sit out here."

"We should just go right to the hotel. Who the hell does that Cecil think he is anyway? We've got a right to be here."

"Go ahead, I'll watch from here thanks."

"So after this dame takes out Lawrence, we take her out?"

"Not necessarily, Gravestone just wants us to be very aware of her; he doesn't trust her. He has a partner who made the arrangements for the hit on Lawrence and he thinks she might send this Treeline dame after the stamp."

"His partner's another broad!"

"She's acting for somebody else. Anyway, that's not our concern. If this dame is down here to get the stamp we might just make use of that."

"You mean hit her after she gets the stamp from our fat friend."

"Why not? Let her deal with Cecil and his friggin' big six shooter."

"What about that Cecil prick? We just gonna let him get away with Yeager's death?"

"Gravestone didn't say anything about it but I think we could make an executive decision. If Treeline doesn't do the job then we can."

"Yeah, I'd like that. Shove that goddamn big pistol right up his ass and fire all six cylinders."

"Cecil didn't kill Yeager."

"So what? I'll save some for Hairyloo or whatever the hell his name is."

Arlo sat forward and poked Hunter's arm. "Check it out."

The same limo that brought Luane from the airport glided to a halt in front of the hotel and the driver fairly ran around to open the door for his passenger. Luane stepped out, paused to survey the street and then strode up the front steps and into the hotel.

"Holy shit! Did you see that?" Hunter fidgeted around on his seat.

Arlo didn't speak; he couldn't.

"Gravestone expects us to take her out? That would be criminal, man."

Arlo still couldn't speak.

"If I have to do that I'm gonna make sure it takes a long time."

"Yeah..." Arlo echoed. "A long time."

Luane commanded a table near the window but not directly in front of it and with an unobstructed view of the lobby entrance. The sole waiter scurried frantically to fetch her drink order and then darted into the kitchen to tell the cook that the customer wished to speak with him.

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"It was the one with the bright green trim along the edge of the deck."

"The Ocean Surfer."

"Right, but I didn't see any activity so I wonder if our friends are back on shore."

"Not many places to look in town."Arny offered.

"No... let's go back to the hotel and get some dinner. I want to pick up a sweater from the room. You want your jacket?"

"Nah, I'm Arny Wainright, international, globe trotting, outdoor tough guy."

"I'll bring your jacket."

"Thanks."