“Did you call your FBI agent?” She asked as we rode the elevator down.
“Yes.”
“What did he want? Is everything okay?”
The door opened and a couple stepped in, smiled, then turned their backs to us.
“Everything’s fine,” I whispered. “He said he just wanted to hear my voice.”
Donna smiled. “He’s sweet on you, Patty.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said with a shrug. “He can be nice one moment, then almost condescending the next.”
“Typical man,” Donna said, shaking her head.
The couple in front of us glanced over their shoulders. The woman’s lips curved knowingly, while the man furrowed his brow and glared. Donna and I gave them our best, friendliest stewardess grin. When the elevator came to a stop, they stepped out.
“They need to mind their own business,” Donna said.
“I agree.” We met Marsha in the lobby and the three of us strode out the hotel onto the bustling streets of New York.
After walking across Time Square, we grabbed dinner and drinks at an Italian joint where the garlic bread was so strong, it probably put a little curl in my hair. We took a cab to the Copacabana, but the line stretched for blocks to get in, so we opted to return to the hotel where we found the bar with a live jazz band playing and a group of businessmen offering to buy us drinks.
After hours of flirting, dancing and laughing, the bar closed. I helped Donna to her room, then stumbled to my own. Thankfully, we’d been placed on the same floor. I did manage to remove my boots before crawling into bed, but I didn’t wash my face or take off the dress. Hopefully, my complexion would remain clear for our pre-flight inspection. My ankle throbbed but I tried to ignore it. I’d overdone it on the dance floor with a cute ad manager from one of the city’s firms. Cut-a-Rug Karl, I’d dubbed him, who’d also asked for my number. I declined to give it to him. He had been nice enough, but I didn’t need long distance phone calls raising my phone bill, and I certainly wasn’t the type of girl with a man in every port, so to speak. I’d leave that to other girls who liked juggling their men. Still, I’d been flattered he’d found me interesting enough to ask.
As I lay in bed, the city that never sleeps was still alive. The hum of traffic filtered up to my room providing a nice, lulling sound that relaxed me.
Or it could have been all the gin and tonic I’d consumed.
No matter how much fun I’d had, I still couldn’t stop thinking about Charles’ murder. It seemed to be like a mosquito bite that wouldn’t quit itching. Just when I could fully concentrate on what Cut-a-Rug Karl had to say, a little voice reminded me Charles’ killer was still at large and no one knew who it could be. Just like a mosquito bite, that little voice drove me nuts. I couldn’t help but feel that my subconscious mind knew who the killer was, but it wasn’t ready to reveal it to me quite yet.
And that scared me. If I was right, I’d come face-to-face with a murderer. I’d spoken to them, possibly shook the hand that had plunged the knife into Charles’ stomach.
Chills ran down my spine and I burrowed under the yellow comforter. Hopefully, Ringo was faring well during our absence. Mrs. Wilson had always been nice to our cat, but she’d never watched him before. That had been Charles’ job.
Ugh. Poor guy. His life hadn’t been easy and I hoped he’d finally found peace in his death.
Those cops better bring him justice.
Chapter 19
As we arrived at the airport for our flight home, I felt pleasantly refreshed, even though I had slept only three hours. My only guess as to the reason why: I'd been able to forget about the stress of Charles' death for a few hours and enjoy myself. I hoped my energy would carry through the day, but if not, I'd have to rely on my coffee pot.
Donna, on the other hand, looked a little green. As we strode through the airport, she kept her sunglasses on and her gaze focused straight ahead while Marsha and I smiled and waved enough for the three of us.
At inspection, I was again assigned the front of the plane, and Donna rolled her eyes when she was told she'd be in back. Once we reached our aircraft, we said hello to the rest of the crew and began our pre-flight inspections. Donna poured herself a vodka and slammed it back, then washed out the glass. When our gazes met, her cheeks flushed pink, but I wasn't sure if it was because the alcohol had hit her system or she'd been embarrassed she'd been caught.
“Hair of the dog,” she whispered.
I nodded and continued with preparation. Perhaps it was time for Donna to dry out, at least for a little while. I'd consider talking to her about it when we got home.
As the passengers embarked, I smiled and sized them up. A couple boarded with a toddler in tow. The mother's gaze met mine, her eyes almost lifeless with absolute exhaustion. As the child reached for his father's hand, the man pulled away from the boy, completely ignoring him. An absent father, no doubt—physically there, but unavailable. I followed them to their seat and bit my tongue as I took the man's coat while he insisted the child sit by the window and he take the aisle seat. Such a shame. I'd have to make sure the boy enjoyed the flight and maybe slip the mother a little extra alcohol in her cocktail if she asked for one.
I met the gaze of another man who sweated profusely. Sweaty Sam. Smiling, he wiped his brow. “Sorry, I'm a bit nervous. They say air travel is safe but flying through the air in a tin
