This book is dedicated to my sister, Becky Priest Santavicca. She didn’t have anything to do with writing it and none of the characters are inspired by her or anything like that. I don’t even know if she likes mysteries. But the other day I complained about running out of people to dedicate books to, and she called dibs on this one, so I told her I’d do it.
I bet she thought I was joking.
1.
Leda Foley of Foley’s Far-Fetched Flights of Fancy cringed at her phone screen. Grady Merritt’s name flashed like an accusation.
“Mr. Merritt, I was just about to call you regarding your—”
He stopped her right there. “You changed my flight?”
“Yes, sir, I changed your flight. Please let me explain—”
“I was supposed to connect in LAX and be home in time for dinner. I promised my kid! Now you’ve got me routing through…” He trailed off, checking his own phone for the updated flight notification. “Hartsfield? Why am I going to Atlanta?”
“Mr. Merritt, if you die and go to hell in the South, you have to stop in Atlanta first. I’m very sorry, but this was the next best option.”
“Next to what? The original flight isn’t canceled,” he protested, and then the background noise drowned him out. He was hustling through some crowded corridor of Orlando International Airport, scrambling to come home from a convention.
“The LAX flight wasn’t canceled, but it’ll be… it has been… there were… difficulties.”
“This is ridiculous. I know I’m running really late, but I’m almost to the gate. The original gate,” he emphasized, “for my original flight. I think I can still make it. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to go through Atlanta. Maybe they’ll let me change it back.”
“Sir, please—if you want to get home this evening, you have to take the rebooked flight. Please, Mr. Merritt.”
But he continued wheezing into the phone, jogging to a backbeat of someone repeatedly paged to security for a lost item.
Then she felt it: a little “pop” in the back of her head. An option had closed, and now Leda knew it in her bones—he would officially, certainly, absolutely miss that first flight. Maybe the boarding door had shut, maybe the plane had left the gate. Whatever had happened, she’d successfully run out the clock.
She exhaled, kind of relieved and kind of depressed. Maybe this guy would never hire her again, but he’d get home safely before midnight.
“Mr. Merritt, there’s no way you’re going to make the original flight. But that’s okay! You’re safely booked on the next one out, leaving in a couple of hours. I apologize for the unforeseen traffic delay and the inconvenience of rebooking.”
“Delay? Inconvenience? You changed the flight I approved last week. It’s not like you knew I’d get stuck in traffic on the way to the airport.”
“No, sir, I did not know… that.”
If she wanted to be completely honest with him—and she didn’t, so she wouldn’t be—she’d admit that she didn’t know why she’d changed his flight. It’d been a feeling, hard as a fist in her stomach. Leda had tried ignoring those feelings in the past, but doing that had often come around to bite her in the ass. Now she didn’t ignore them anymore.
He sighed. His feet quit squeaking against the floor. He was breathing hard, and he sounded wholly defeated when he asked, “So why’d you do it?”
But she’d already decided not to answer that question. “Did you make it to the original gate?”
“I’m standing right in front of it. Watching the plane pull away. Dammit, now I have to call Molly.”
“I can call her for you, if you’d prefer. Give me her number, and I’ll do it. You can blame it all on me.”
“I do blame this all on you.”
“It’s not my fault you were stuck in traffic, sir.”
“Well, not that part.”
She worked hard to sound upbeat. “Let’s look at the big picture, shall we? You would’ve missed the flight anyway, and you would’ve been rebooked regardless. I assure you, I’ve put you on the first confirmed seat assignment back to the West Coast. I even scored you an upgrade to Comfort Plus!”
He didn’t fight her. Either he didn’t have the energy or he sensed that it’d be useless. He’d lost this round, whatever it was. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
Leda was touched. Usually the next step after getting yelled at was getting hung up on, so all things considered, this was going quite well. “Aw, you didn’t really yell. Travel is stressful for everyone, even under the best of circumstances.”
“I mean, you did rebook me before I even knew I needed… to be rebooked. I guess we would’ve had this conversation anyway.”
“That’s the spirit, sir.”
He sighed again, and she tried to feel less terrible. He was really making the best of it, and she appreciated that.
“Oh, hell,” he mumbled, half to Leda and half to the empty gate. “Would you look at that—they’re first in line for takeoff. Those lucky sons of bitches.”
She cleared her throat, and, since he was being such a mensch, she took a chance. “Sir, maybe your luck is about to change.”
“For the better, I hope. I’m not sure I can take any more bad luck today.”
“For the better, yes. Any minute, Mr. Merritt. I apologize again about not contacting you before I made the alterations, but I grabbed the last upgraded seat assignment on flight 3422. More leg room and free booze is lucky, right? I promised you’d be home in Seattle today, and I intend to fulfill that promise. Please believe me when I tell you this: You would have never made it home tonight. Not if you’d caught that flight.”
“What do you mean, I wouldn’t have made it home?”
“I don’t know exactly. It’s just a feeling I had. A very strong feeling.”
“You changed my flight… because you had a feeling.”
She nodded, like he could hear her head rattle over the cell connection. “A very strong feeling, I think I’ve made that clear.”
A muffled thump suggested that he’d dropped himself into a seat to catch his breath. He had ninety minutes before boarding would begin for his next flight. “As long as I’m home tonight, everything will be okay. Even if I have to detour through Atlanta.”
“Atlanta isn’t that bad, sir. You have enough time during your layover for a massage, a drink, even a mani-pedi—if you’re into that kind of thing.”
He was calming down, resigned to his southbound-connecting fate. “Drink, yes. Massage, maybe. The mani-pedis, I’ll leave to my daughter. She’s seventeen, home alone for the first time.”
“She must be a very responsible young woman.”
“Generally. She has a dozen emergency phone numbers, a key to our neighbor’s place, some cash, a credit card, and the dog. This was an act of faith. A leap of faith?”
“Gesture of faith?” Leda suggested.
“Sure, that works.”
“I have no doubt that she’s fine, sir.”