The thought sent a chill down my spine because I hadn't realized it before. Had Charles been protecting me from them? He'd been open to me meeting Karen, but not any of his friends. If so, why? There was only one that really stuck out in my mind, and I had to admit, he was a fairly unsavory character. With long, black, greasy hair down to his waist and his glazed over eyes, he'd never struck me as particularly friendly, but more predatory than anything.
“You've got quite the suspect list,” Beth said. “You could probably solve this case. You found the body and you had a birds-eye view of his life.”
“I don't know about that. I have no idea how to go about solving a murder.”
“Well, according to Perry Mason, you need a motive. Why would someone want to kill him?”
“Maybe Karen found out that he was married?” I said with a shrug. “Maybe the wife learned about Karen?”
“Oh! Maybe he owed a friend money?” Beth said, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Or it could have been the protestors,” I speculated.
“Perhaps even the nasty neighbor,” Beth said. “Lots of motives, Patty, and very exciting.”
“That's all well and good, but it doesn't mean I'm qualified to solve a murder.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Why not? Is it because you're a woman?”
And frankly, once I gave it some thought, that did have something to do with it. All the police had been men, and they'd been in charge.
“Men aren't smarter than us,” Beth continued. “A lot of them think they are. Some even believe women aren't good for anything but having babies and homemaking. Things are changing though, Patty. You just watch.”
Feminism. There definitely was a wave of women who were demanding equality to men. They wanted to work where men worked, to have the same opportunities as men. Of course, I did as well, and it was one reason I'd become a stew. I didn't want marriage and babies at that point, but my job prospects were limited, especially without a college education.
“No one has a better understanding of Charles than you,” Beth continued. “Except, maybe Karen, the girlfriend. But from what you've told me, you weren't really involved in his life.”
“He watched Ringo for us,” I reminded her. “I wasn't involved at all.”
“So your cat was involved in his life,” she replied. Interesting and true. Ringo knew more about the man than I did. “You weren't. You were a spectator. You know all the people involved, yet you can remain impartial about everyone. Who do you think did it?
“I have no idea,” I huffed. “And I wouldn't know where to start to figure that out.”
Beth glanced at her watch, then grinned and stood, throwing a couple bills on the table. “That should cover my share. To solve a murder, you need to talk to people, Patty. That's what Perry Mason does. You're so cute and personable, you'll have no trouble getting people to open up to you. Start with Karen though. Always start with the skirt, because women are just as awful as men on a basic, biological level, but men think of us as delicate and incapable of violence. They're wrong.”
As Beth strode away, I stared at the tabletop. What had that business about violence meant? Was she speaking from experience? I'd been angry enough to become violent before, but I'd never acted on it. Had she?
What if I did take steps to solve the killing? At least I wouldn't feel like a sitting duck when I was home. I allowed myself a brief fantasy of bringing the murderer to justice, being interviewed on television and receiving accolades from the police department and my airline.
The headlines would read, The Stewardess Who Discovered the Murderess.
Well, if it was Karen. Or the wife.
What would it hurt to talk to Karen? Even my neighbor? I could report anything I learned to Detective Peterson. Or, I could make myself a target for sticking my nose where it didn't belong.
The dinnertime crowd was always rowdy with businessmen having finished their meetings for the day and heading on to their next stop, or home. They usually arrived on the plane tipsy from the airport bar and proceeded to drink more with their dinners. The more alcohol they consumed, the more obnoxious they became. Sometimes I found it slightly amusing until someone threw up or passed out so hard, I couldn't rouse them at the end of the flight. Of course, there were also those who got a little handsy, thinking that no one saw them in the dimly lit cabin.
As my passengers filed in and down the aisle, I smiled and greeted them, hoping the flight back to San Francisco would be non-eventful.
A businessman grinned at me, and I could tell by his easy manner he’d had a great day. Probably closed a big deal. A couple boarded, and the wife fidgeted, her brow pinched in worry. A nervous flier. I spoke to her a few moments and assured her that I would take great care of her and airline travel was safe.
My hopes for a dull flight were quickly dashed when I saw the man teetering down the aisle holding onto the back of the seats as he eyed me, making absolutely no attempt to hide his appreciation of my looks. No doubt, he would be trouble.
“Hey, honey,” he slurred. “Can you help me find my seat?”
“Of course, sir. Let's take a look at your ticket.” I assisted him to his chair. “Here you are!”
“What's that?” he asked, pointing at the cushion.
There was nothing on the seat. I bent over to where he pointed to get a closer look, yet I still didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. The chair appeared to be in good shape.
When I straightened up, I caught him staring at my backside, and I realized he'd wanted me to bend over to see my skirt ride up my legs. Pig.
