Page 45 of The Business Trip

“Lucy, I have just the person. I’m a former investigativejournalist, and you’re getting my juices flowing. I’ll get the signatures from the NPF and call my contact.”

The next morning, just as I was doing my Pilates and trying to stay calm about all things Steph-related, my cell rang again. Dashing for it, I saw that it was Dorothy. I answered breathlessly.

“Lucy, I got the NPF sign-in sheet and sent it to my handwriting expert. It’s definitely written by someone who is right-handed. We’ve got something here. And that’s not all. I went to your website and found a video of Stephanie giving a mission statement about your station. I wanted to compare her voice to the one I remembered from San Diego since the face wasn’t a clear mental image for me. Lucy, I don’t believe that’s the same voice I heard at the conference. We need to call the police.”

PART FOUR

CHAPTER 35Jasmine

The Day of the Flight

17A was my seat, and I walked down the aisle thinking of the new me, the happy me, the energized me, so different from the beaten-down me I had become with Glenn.

A woman was already in my row, sitting in the aisle seat. She had brown hair and a kind-looking face. I decided to try out the refurbished me.

“Hey, I’m in the window seat,” I said, hoisting my carry-on to the overhead compartment. She nodded and stood up to let me in. I set my fringed purse in the seat between us and added, “I hope we have an empty middle seat, don’t you?”

“That would be nice,” she replied.

Glancing down the aisle to see who else might be boarding, I noted a little old lady with curly gray hair, glasses, her coat over her arm, and a slight limp. She was moving gingerly, checking her boarding pass at each row. She stopped at ours.

“I think I’m here with you two,” she said. “I’m sorry to make you stand up.”

“No problem,” said the brown-haired woman. She stoodagain, offering to put the old lady’s coat and purse in the overhead. I reluctantly moved my purse to the floor by my feet, and the older woman lowered herself into the middle spot, buckling up and looking back and forth at the two of us.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” she said. “I get to be with two lovely young women. Are you sisters? Your hair is different, but you look similar. I bet you want to spend the trip talking!”

The stranger at the aisle and I glanced at each other, puzzled, and chuckled.

“No, we’re not sisters,” I said.

“Silly me,” said the older woman. “Would either of you like a stick of gum?”

She pulled a pack from her pocket. The brown-haired woman politely declined, but I decided maybe it would help calm my adrenaline and I took one.

“It’s funny you say that about sisters,” said the brown-haired woman. “My coworker told me about this website, Find My Doppelganger, where you can easily find someone who looks like she could be your sister, even your twin.”

“I don’t know much about doppelgangers… or websites,” said the old woman and we all laughed. She was wearing a white sweater and what you would call “sensible” slacks and shoes. Slightly pudgy in the way you don’t mind a grandma being so you can fold into her lap, she reminded me of my own grandma, and I felt it was another sign from above. I only wished this stranger smelled of patchouli instead of something that seemed to be an odd cross between mothballs and baby powder.

“Where are you both going today?” the older woman asked, looking to the woman on the aisle first for an answer.

“I’m headed to San Diego. Denver is just a layover. I’m going to a work conference,” said the woman.

A conference, look at you, I thought. I certainly couldn’t keepup with her on a professional level, so I decided not to go for the conference–in–New York idea in case she started talking hotel points and things I didn’t know about. Keep it simple.

“Denver for me. Visiting a friend,” I replied. That was vague enough.

“Oh, how nice,” the old lady replied. “I’m going to see my son and grandson in Fort Collins. They’ll be picking me up at the airport. I do wish they lived closer. My grandson is getting an award this weekend.”

“What kind of award?” asked the woman on the aisle.

The older woman started telling us all about the community service her grandson did and how the local Rotary Club was honoring him.

“Well, I hope you have a wonderful time,” said the woman on the aisle, and I nodded.

We all settled in, the plane took off, and I looked out the window at Madison receding behind me, my heart pounding with adrenaline about this escape and relief starting to pulse down into my cells.

As we reached cruising altitude, the older woman got up to use the restroom, and when she came back, she said, “Ladies, I noticed there’s an empty window seat just two rows back. I think I might move there and take a little nap. It’s been a busy day already. You two have a nice flight now.”

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