Paul Drake to the Rescue
"Della, please…"
The swift reply was as sharp as the request had been pleading. "No! You know how I feel. At least I thought you did."
Perry Mason, Los Angeles' most prominent attorney, was at a loss for, if not the first time, then certainly the first time that day. His usually sweet, understanding secretary, Della Street, was being anything but right now. He crossed the office to where his secretary stood, arms crossed, a frown marring her lovely features. Putting his hands on her shoulders he gently massaged the knots forming there.
"Della, just listen," he murmured against her ear, "You know how important this case is to us. But we need to get there fast, before Burger can interfere. And Jimmy Grant is a very, very experienced—" At the shake of her head his sentence cut off.
"I don't care, Perry," Della's firm assertion had a note of iron in it. She shook her head again, sending her chestnut curls swaying. She repeated for emphasis, "I don't care. Even the most experienced pilot can crash!"
Perry sighed and dropped his hands, glancing over at his erstwhile-silent detective and best friend, lounging in a jackknife position in his client armchair.
"Well don't just sit there, Paul! Help me!"
Not willing to be drawn into the argument between his two friends, Paul flashed a sardonic smile and informed him, "Forget it, pal. You're on your own with this one. Far be it from me to dispute the lady's fears."
"A lot of help you are," Perry snarled at the lanky detective, then without hesitation, added, "Fine… you're fired."
"Perry!" Paul and Della exclaimed in unison.
Perry crossed the room to slump in his chair, head in his hands. Della looked from Perry to Paul and back again. She knew she was being irrational, that her fear was overriding the need to work on the lead for the case, but she knew herself. If Perry had asked her to go to jail in the hopes of interviewing a potential witness, she wouldn't have batted an eyelash. But to accompany him on a flight—a flight in a tiny plane!
Perry's voice was low and muffled as he spoke. "Della, call Burger and tell him where to find Mr. Wells."
Her head swiveled, staring hard at him. As usual, he had sprung his ace in the hole at the right moment. The stinker! He knows he's manipulating me! Give up and surrender to Burger before he even interviews the man? Who does he think he's kidding? She felt her resentment bristle at his high-handed method, but she swallowed her pride (if not her fear), and yielded with what little grace she had left.
"Okay, Perry. You win. Again." Her voice was hollow. "I'll inform Gertie." There was a long pause before she added, "Stinker."
Perry raised his head, doing his best not to smile, knowing Della would hand him his head if he did.
When they arrived at the private airfield Jimmy Grant, the aforementioned pilot, was just finishing up his maintenance check on the small aircraft. Seeing the engine exposed and the pilot holding a wrench and screwdriver did nothing to calm Della's nerves. If anything, her stomach bottomed out and her anxiety hit the ceiling. She wasn't sure she could order her legs to carry her the rest of the way to the plane.
When Perry realized his secretary had stopped walking beside him and was now standing frozen, her eyes wide and staring, he immediately hurried back to her. Taking her hands in his, he drew her attention away from the plane.
"Focus on me, Della. Just look at me. Good girl." Her eyes trained on him, but they were still too wide, too wondering. "Jimmy's just doing a pre-flight check. All pilots—all good pilots—must do this. It's fine."
Della stared into his mesmerizing, deep blue eyes. She knew in her heart Perry would never let anything happen to her, if it were within his power to prevent it. But Perry couldn't control the unexpected, could he?
"Della?" His eyes revealed his concern far more than his voice did. Now he was the one having reservations.
She read the expression in his look and sought to reassure him. Get it together, Girl! You aren't some weak woman scared of life or death! You are Della Street, confidential secretary to the most important lawyer on the West Coast, and you live for adventure and danger. Now show him your gumption and get on that darn plane! She gave him a tremulous smile.
"I'm okay. Let's go."
Perry walked to where Jimmy had closed the cowl. He turned with a smile, clapping Perry on the back.
"Mr. Mason. It's a great pleasure to see you again."
"You too, Jimmy." Reaching out his hand to pull Della forward, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
"And this lady is my confidential secretary, Miss Della Street. Della, this is Jimmy Grant, finest pilot the Navy ever turned out." He winked at the man, then added to her, "But don't believe any of the stories he tells you… Jimmy's prone to exaggeration, especially about his buddies!"
Della took Jimmy's outstretched hand. "It's a…pleasure…to…meet you."
When Jimmy looked at Perry over the top of Della's head, Perry mimed Della's nervousness.
Jimmy smiled at Della, hoping to put her at ease. "Well, Miss Street, as our late president has been so often quoted, 'The only thing we have to fear is Fear itself.' Shall we get you settled aboard and begin our trip?"
Don't be a chicken, she counseled herself, then failed to take her own advice. Looking to Perry for reassurance, he smiled at her and his eyes darkened to a beautiful midnight blue. Perry will be right beside me. What can possibly go wrong? He leads a charmed life!
She allowed Jimmy to help her up the steps to the plane. Perry flanked her, providing the needed strength and protection her courage needed before it gave up the ghost completely.
Seated side by side, both the lawyer and secretary held hands as the engines caught fire. A moment later the plane jolted slightly as the wheel chocks were removed. Della buried her head in Perry's shoulder, her hands gripping his so hard he winced.
"Steady, girl," he said softly. She felt it when his lips touched her hair in a soft kiss. "This is it. I have you, Della. Nothing is going to happen at takeoff. I promise."
As he promised, it was a bumpy but uneventful takeoff. When the landing gear made a thump as it secured in the belly of the plane, she let out a small yelp, then laughed at herself. Finally feeling the plane level off, Della released her grip on Perry and raised her head.
Perry opened and closed his hands, trying to get the circulation back to his fingers. She didn't notice. Easing back in her seat, she was gripping the armrest instead. But when he abruptly unlatched his seatbelt and stood, she turned those wide hazel eyes on him again and the anxiety in her body soared higher than the plane itself.
"Perry! What are you doing? If you stand you'll alter the balance of the plane and we'll pitch over!"
He had to choke back a laugh. "Della, don't be ridiculous! You've seen people walk around on planes in the movies! There's nothing to worry about!"
"Don't you dare laugh at me, Perry Mason! One chuckle out of you and I am walking out of here!"
He blinked at her, even as his dimples flashed. "With or without a parachute?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Just wait until we land. You're going to make this up to me."
"You have a deal," he promised, then started moving toward the cockpit.
"Perry, wait!" The anxiety showed in her strained voice, "You're not leaving me!"
"Keep your seatbelt fastened, Worrywart. I'm going to have a brief conversation with Jimmy and then I'm going to get something to drink. I won't be out of your sight. Okay?"
The thought of drink made her brighten. She gave him half a smile. "Okay."
Perry gave her hand a squeeze then turned and headed for the cockpit.
"Everything okay, Jimmy?"
Not taking his eyes from the controls, Jimmy frowned. "We have a little bit of weather before we reach Denver but I should be able to get above it."
"Sounds like I better fix my nervous secretary a strong drink."
Jimmy laughed, "I'll try to keep it as smooth as possible."
"Thanks Jimmy."
Turning to the small galley, Perry opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses. Carrying the glasses back to his seat, he handed one to Della.
"Jimmy says everything's fine. We should be in Denver in two hours."
Della put her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "Thank you, Perry."
He raised an eyebrow in question. "For?"
"For putting up with me, my fears . . . just everything."
Perry patted her hand. "Well, I have to take care of my secretary. No one else but Paul can put up with me. And he can't type."
"No," she teased, "But he does have nice legs."
"Too hairy for my taste. Besides, you have a lot more attributes than your legs, and you know it."
She grinned, took a sip of the champagne, and baited the hook. "Oh? Attributes like a keen mind and a quick wit, right?"
He bit. "Uh-huh. And hands that are nimble and powerful, a waist meant to have my arm around it, and the most delicious lips God gave woman."
"Careful, Counselor . . . Men have been kissed for less compliments."
Once the champagne was downed and the flirting was over, they turned to business. Della pulled out her notes on the case and they reviewed them together. They knew where Frank Wells was hiding out. With the Denver police watching him, all they had to do was convince him to come back to L.A. and clear his name.
"Perry, I think we…"
The plane suddenly gave a violent jolt, sending Della to the floor and Perry landing on top of her. The next jolt sent them both across the cabin floor.
"Perry!"
The third jolt was the worst. They elevated, right up to the ceiling of the cabin, then hit the floor hard. With Della beneath him, she took the brunt of the hit, cracking her head and then exhaling in a woosh as Perry landed on top of her. Then everything went upside down as the plane started its nosedive.
Perry rolled off of her as quickly as he was able, and was staggering to his feet as she caught her breath. Then she started screaming as that very real fear swallowed up the last of her bravery. He couldn't stay with her; he had to get to Jimmy and the cockpit.
Fighting the g-forces, he managed to get to the pilot, only to find him unconscious. Struggling to the co-pilot's seat, he pulled as hard as he could on the control stick. The plane was shuddering so badly Perry knew there wasn't much chance. Still, he fought to gain some kind of control.
"Jimmy? Jim!"
There was no answer. Perry was in this alone. Then he heard Della moving toward him. Without looking back toward her, he noted the rugged terrain ahead and prayed as he had never prayed before.
"Della, get back, and get down," he commanded tersely.
Doing the only thing he could think of, he searched the controls, found the one he needed, and cut the engine. Then he was out of the cockpit, fighting to get back to Della. Reaching her, he threw himself on top of her again, covering her with his massive body.
"Hang on!"
The impact threw them both violently toward the cockpit. Only the small wall of the galley prevented them from reaching the pilot's seat. Both were unconscious before the plane came to a sudden, firm stop, then a slide, into a deep ravine. Smoke, mixing with rain and periodically illuminated by lightning, was the only physical sign anything was moving at all.