“Never sure,” she said. “Looking forward to being closed in behind those iron gates at your place.”
“Are there things we should do here first? I was wondering about the police. You should write up a report. Maybe show them the crime scene – you know the routine.”
“I did consider contacting my partner, but he doesn’t work until noon.”
“I hate to desert you, but I have to return to the office – a bit of an emergency that I need to handle personally. I was thinking I’d pay for one more night here. You finish whatever you need to here and catch the first plane to Georgia. Or maybe I should fly and leave you the car.”
“No, please – go home. I’ll follow you once I’ve gone to the station and my team is on board the investigation,” Melanie said.
“Promise you’ll stay safe and not play the heroine,” Trevor said.
“Promise. Don’t want a repeat swim down the river.”
Melanie could tell he was upset about leaving the city without her. She watched the driver open the car door for Trevor from the upstairs window inside his hotel room. He glanced up and waved before he climbed inside. She returned the gesture, offering a reassuring smile that she hoped would calm both of their nerves.
Melanie hurried into the airport nine hours later. It was busy with evening travelers, but she knew her way around, and headed to check in her bag. Towing her carry-on, she boarded the flight that she’d managed to secure at the last minute. She signed with relief when the doors closed behind the last passenger, and turned to look out the window. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted but eager to get to Knight Manor.
She had just finished up at the police station when the call came in for the flight. At first, her peers bombarded her with questions about her vacation, but after she revealed the attempted murder, they gathered around to show support. The captain offered additional time off before she’d asked. While her report was given and documented, downstairs, they ran the plates of the vehicle she’d photographed at the motel. A team of detectives and the crime-scene lab prepared to head out to investigate the river location. Melanie became unglued at the thought of returning to the woods and broke down emotionally. It was decided that she may be at risk, and leaving for her safe house in Georgia became a priority. Everyone was supportive, and for the first time, she felt a part of something bigger than herself.
It turned out that closing the airplane doors did not magically put the jet in the air. A maintenance glitch postponed take off for thirty minutes. The passengers appeared preoccupied with books, phones, computers, movies, and no one seemed to notice Melanie until a wanna-be Casanova parked himself in the vacant seat next to her. He wreaked of alcohol from a drinking binge and drooled unwanted attention over Melanie.
“Hey, baby. Didn’t I see you last night at Drake’s Bar?”
“No. You’ve confused me with someone else.”
“She sure looked like you. Purty as a picture.”
He slurred his words and Melanie made a show of annoyance, wiping away the spittle that had landed on her bare hand.
“I doubt your eyes are focused enough to see any such similarities this evening.”
He laughed, a gurgling, disgusting sound, and Melanie squeezed closer to the window. “Right snippy tonight, aren’t you?”
Melanie breathed in deeply and beckoned for the flight attendant. “May I have a pillow, please?” She beaded threatening eyes on the man parked next to her. “I’d like to rest during the flight.”
The woman nodded and smiled politely. “Of course,” she said, “but you realize it’s a short flight.”
“I do.”
The cushion was brought promptly and after the flight attendant left Melanie said to the man beside her, “Sir, maybe you should try resting instead of talking.” She stuffed the cushion under her head and leaned against the window, turning her back to her pesky neighbor. Before she could settle, Melanie heard a tell-tale snore.
Really? It was just her luck.
Melanie couldn’t sleep or even pretend to sleep, so she changed positions and stared straight ahead. All too soon the snoring stopped, and the chatter began.
“Where you headed, little miss?”
“Georgia, obviously, unless I’ve boarded the wrong plane.”
“Didn’t sleep off that snippy attitude, did you?”
When she started to protest, he held his hands up in front of him. “Wait now. I think we got off to a poor start. My name is Stephen Alexander, the third, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I’d love to say the feeling is mutual, but…” She decided rudeness was unnecessary, and she softened her tone. “Fine. My name is…” She suddenly paused, not sure if she should tell him her real name since she was supposed to be dead. It might just be the thing someone would remember if the news hit the media in the near future. Melanie smiled and said, “Angela Decanis, the first, I’m afraid.”
“The first is good for my way of thinking. You don’t have a family reputation to live up to or have anyone to keep you pinned under his thumb.”
“My, that sounds like a pity party.” It was one she could relate to, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Suppose it does. Many would love to walk a day in my shoes, but for reasons beyond my control, the fit is too tight of late.”
She grinned. His story sounded all too familiar, but somehow, hearing it from someone else sounded arrogant and spoiled. She wondered if that was the way people read her.
Regardless, the small nap appeared to have cleared his mind. “So, tell me sir, what would you do differently if you were not Stephen Alexander the third?”
“Ah…I’d live checking things
