Dearly Departed

by Carly Winter

  “I'm a waitress at the burger joint up the street.”

  “Oh! Is that the place with the cute pink uniforms?” Donna asked.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Isn't that also the place where the waitresses aren't paid as much as the waiters?” Beth asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Karen said. “There's been quite a few protests in front the restaurant about it. A lot of the college girls come over and march.”

  Beth rose to her feet. “Good for them. Women should be earning the same as men for the same work. It makes me furious that this is even an issue in today's society. We're still stuck in the forties and fifties.”

  “A raise would definitely be nice,” Karen said. “So would a little time off to mourn Charles, but my boss already told me that isn't going to happen.”

  Beth swore under her breath and shook her head. “Miserable, wretched men.”

  “Not all men are horrible,” Donna said.

  “Her boss is,” I replied. “Karen should be allowed to grieve.”

  “I really need to go,” Karen said. “I'm going to be late.”

  We said our goodbyes and left the sad building. The three of us didn't speak until we were back inside our apartment.

  “So, what do you think?” Donna asked, stretching out on the couch like a lazy cat caught in a ray of sunshine.

  “I think she's a great possibility,” Beth said. “The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced a woman did this.”

  “Why?” I asked, pushing Donna's legs off the sofa so I could sit down.

  “It just seems that's what makes sense to me,” Beth said. “You've got the wife and the girlfriend.”

  “There's also Wayne, the friend he owed money to,” I said. “And don't forget the guy downstairs... Liberty.”

  “I never got the chance to ask you how that went,” Donna said. “What happened?”

  “Not a lot,” I replied. “They were having some sort of... I don't even know what to call it. A hippy fest? Anyway, everyone was high and naked and Liberty said they were meeting each other on a spiritual plane or something like that.”

  “Do you think he could have killed Charles?” Donna asked.

  I thought about the conversation and nodded. “He didn't show any remorse. I think in his mind, Charles being dead is a good thing.”

  Beth glanced at the clock, then cursed. After grabbing her uniform, she hurried into the bedroom, emerging soon after dressed for work. “I'll see you girls later,” she said. “Thanks for the wine and excitement. You'll have to keep me posted on what happens!”

  Donna and I walked her to the door and said our goodbyes. I made sure to lock up behind her.

  “She sure doesn't like men,” Donna said, shaking her head. Then, she lowered her voice. “Do you think she may be queer?”

  Her question caught me off guard. I'd never met a person who I knew for a fact was gay. “I... I have no idea.”

  “Not that it matters. I was just wondering,” Donna said. “More importantly, do you think we're safe here? I actually felt better with Beth around.”

  “I know. I did as well. I think we're okay, though.”

  Donna sighed, turned on the television, and sat down on the couch. “I never thought I'd say it, but I can't wait to go back to work. Knowing someone's been in our apartment and wondering who killed Charles gives me the creeps.”

  I couldn't have agreed more.

  Chapter 17

  Our phone rang before daylight. I’d moved it to the kitchen last night so I wouldn’t trip over the cord. I staggered over to it to answer as I heard Donna moaning from the bedroom. That bottle of wine she’d consumed the previous evening must not have agreed with her.

  “Hello?”

  “Patty?”

  “Yes?” I said, my voice cracking.

  “It’s Linda Delaware.” For a second, I couldn’t place the name in my sleep-induced haze, but then I realized I was speaking to my work superior, one of the stewardess managers. I immediately stood up straight, threw back my shoulders, and sucked in my stomach, just as I would have during an inspection. “Hi, Linda. What can I do for you?”

  “You and Donna need to come in immediately,” she said. “I have a flight to New York today and I don’t have a crew. Five girls live together and they all came down with the flu. Why you girls insist on shacking up like that, I’ll never understand.”

  “We don’t make enough money to live on our own,” I said, quickly wishing I could take it back. Shutting my eyes, I twisted the phone cord around my finger while mentally berating myself. Complaining to a superior probably wasn’t a smart thing to do.

  “The flight leaves at eight,” Linda said crisply. “Please hurry in.”

  Donna staggered from the bedroom. “What was that about?”

  “Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” I said, placing the phone on its cradle.

  “It’s too early for either,” she mumbled.

  “The bad news is that we’ve been called in. A bunch of girls who live together have the flu.”

  “What’s the good news?” she asked, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers.

  “We’re going to New York.”

  She stilled for a moment, then met my gaze with a grin. “New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, put the coffee on, Patty! Let’s get going!”

  My excitement at seeing New York again overrode any irritation I had at the early morning phone call. I’d been to the fabulous city once, and I couldn’t wait to go back. There was so much to see, so much to do.

  “Hopefully, the weather will hold up for us!” Donna said as she packed her overnight bag. “What should we do when we get there? Times Square? Broadway? Oh, my gosh. Do you think we can get a reservation at Delmonico’s? Maybe if we look foxy enough, we could get into Copacabana!”

  “Well, if we’re shooting for Copacabana, I better wear something of yours. I don’t own anything overly sexy!”

  As we discussed other potential plans and packed, my excitement grew. Finally, I’d be out of the apartment and able to forget about the murder, even if just for a little while.

  Ringo stalked into the bedroom and curled up on the mattress. His head moved from me to Donna while we talked and after a few minutes, he meowed loudly.

  We both stopped folding our clothing and looked at him. Guilt washed through me when I realized he’d be left alone.

  “Oh, Ringo,” Donna said with a sigh as she tossed her nightgown into the overnight bag. “I’m sorry, buddy.” She picked up the tabby and gave him a quick snuggle. “You’re going to have to stay home by yourself.”

  I quickly zipped my bag and hurried over to Donna, then kissed the tip of Ringo’s nose. “We need to get going,” I said softly. “Please, please don’t tear anything apart.”

  “Or pee on anything,” Donna added.

  We picked up our bags and walked to the door, then exchanged glances. Both of us knew we’d arrive home to something destroyed or soiled. The cat hated being left alone.

  “Let’s ask Mrs. Wilson to watch him,” Donna suggested.

  “I feel awful waking her at this time of the morning. The sun isn’t even up.”

  “We can slip a note under her door along with the key. She just needs to check in on him for a few minutes.”

  “Okay. That sounds like a good idea.”

  Donna ran back inside and emerged a few minutes later, then placed the note and key under Mrs. Wilson’s door.

  We took the elevator downstairs to our waiting cab. Once we were situated in the backseat and on the way to the airport, Donna leaned over and whispered, “I decided to try and get away with not wearing a girdle.”

  I burst out laughing, but secretly wished I was brave enough to do the same.

  When we arrived at the airport, I pulled out my compact and did a quick touch up before entering. Smiling, we walked through the sea of people eyeing us. I waved at a couple of kids while
Donna greeted a few businessmen, always on the lookout for a husband.

  We fell in line for our inspections.

  “Donna, I hope you have your girdle with you,” Linda said. “I saw your hips jiggling when you walked in.”

  I snickered as Donna rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do. It was an oversight, Linda. I’ll go put it on right now.”

  “Thank you, dear. And Patty… where are your heels?”

  I’d worn my most comfortable shoes—a navy blue pair of Mary Janes that matched my uniform. “If you recall, I sprained my ankle last week,” I replied. “I didn’t think I’d make it through the day in my heels.”

  “Ah, yes. I forgot about that. Very well, but we need you back in your heels as soon as possible. The Mary Janes give you a clunky look instead of the long, sleek profile we prefer our stews to have. You do look pleasantly refreshed, Patty. Well done on getting your rest.”

  I smiled, delighted that Linda was happy with me.

  “However, you do need some lip coloring. Please add a little something, okay?”

  I reached for my bag and pulled out my Mary Quant lipstick—a very light shade of pink that really made my blue eyes stand out.

  When inspections were finished, Linda approached me once again. “Patty, for this flight, you’ll be at the front of the plane. Donna will be stationed at the back. Your head stew will be Marsha. Have you two ever met?”

  “I don’t believe so,” I replied, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. The front of the plane! Wow! Donna may have had her trip to Paris, but I was finally moving up!

  Linda called Marsha over and introduced us. A bubbly woman with brown hair, green eyes, and a bright smile took my hand in hers and seemed incredibly excited to meet me. “We’re going to have an excellent flight! I can feel it in the air!”

  I grinned at the thick Texas accent, which immediately brought Special Agent Bill Hart to mind.

  Had he caught his serial killer yet?

  Donna, Marsha, and I crossed the tarmac and climbed up the stairs to our awaiting plane. Once we had our bags tucked away, we began our examination of the interior, making sure all was right for our onboarding customers.

  When the pilots arrived, we greeted them and everyone introduced themselves, then they moved to the cockpit. I had previously only met the co-pilot, a nice man who, based on his sheer physical size, should have been a football player. I’d dubbed him Large Larry.

  “The customers are coming!” Marsha called, and I hurried up to my spot at the front of the plane, leaving Donna at the back. I smiled, threw my shoulders back, sucked in my stomach, and took my place next to Marsha.

  “You sounded like Paul Revere there,” I whispered, keeping my gaze on the line of people crossing the tarmac.

  She laughed and grabbed my hand. “I can tell flying with y’all is going to be great fun!”

  As the customers filed up the staircase, we welcomed them, checked their tickets, and pointed them to their seats. We raced to help people with bags, hang coats, and retrieve coffee and cocktails. Before I knew it, the time had come for takeoff.

  With a sigh, I took my jump seat next to Marsha and closed my eyes for a few moments. It would be the only time I had to rest before we began service for the coast-to-coast flight. A child began crying a few rows back, and I made a mental note to grab some crayons to placate her, as well as to see about a trip to the cockpit. I’d never flown with our captain and co-pilot, so I hoped they’d be open to seeing children. I loved watching their faces light up when they entered the important space and received their airline pin.

  The loud rumbling of the plane made a cat-nap impossible, but when we were given the all-clear to begin breakfast preparation, I took two aspirin for my ankle that had begun to act up, and I was ready.

  Breakfast consisted of cheese omelets, a danish and a fruit bowl, and of course, a white rose. The coffee and tea flowed, as did the grapefruit juice and mimosas. I handed out magazines, crayons for the children, and chatted with a few women about my life as a glamorous stew—then fetched a cigarette butt from the floor. Glamorous? In the advertisements, yes. But when it came down to the nuts and bolts of reality, the actual job couldn’t be described as such. Why people couldn’t deposit the garbage in the ashtrays, I’d never understand.

  “Any more coffee for you, sir?” I asked a man who resembled Bob Crane so closely, I almost asked if he was the actor.

  “No, thank you,” he replied pleasantly with a smile.

  I returned to the front galley where I found Marsha preparing a tray. “That guy in 4C resembles Bob Crane.”

  She glanced over at me and smiled. “It is Bob Crane, silly.”

  I gasped and glanced around the corner at him again. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. He’s very dreamy, isn’t he? I’ve had him on my flight a few times.”

  “I have to tell Donna,” I said. “She loves him.”

  “Sure. Just make sure she doesn’t fawn over him too much. He doesn’t like the attention, and we want to keep him coming back to our airline, not send him somewhere else.”

  Could Donna meet one of her favorite actors without become a star-struck blabbering idiot?

  I was about to find out.

  After delivering my drinks, I hurried down the smoke-filled aisle to Donna and whispered my findings.

  Her eyes widened and she almost dropped her tray. “Are you kidding me? Don’t mess with me on this one, Patty. Bob Crane is here? On this plane?”

  “No, I’m not kidding you, but you need to play it cool. He’s in 4C. Go say hello and get your autograph.” I took her tray. “I’ll deliver these, but hurry back.”

  Thankfully, Donna had a napkin under each drink with its assigned seat written on it. While handing out the glasses, I kept my eye on her. She smiled and chatted quietly while Mr. Crane signed the piece of paper she’d handed him. When she returned to her station, she beamed with happiness.

  “You can kill me now,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve met Bob Crane. He’s just so nifty. Thanks, Patty.”

  I grinned and squeezed her arm. “You’re welcome.”

  “This trip couldn’t get any better. I mean, we’re on our way to New York with Bob Crane on the plane! Oh, my word. What’s next? We meet the Beatles?”

  The flight went on smoothly. No one got overtly drunk, the kids played quietly after getting to see the cockpit and meet the captains, and the stews performed like a well-oiled machine. Not even a moment of turbulence disturbed us. It was one of the easiest flights I’d had since getting my wings, despite the length. Even my ankle behaved and didn’t cause me too much trouble.

  When we landed, we said our goodbyes to the passengers, then retrieved our own things. We headed inside the airport, where I caught a glimpse of a pretty blonde stew wearing our airline uniform carrying a sign with my name on it.

  “Look at that!” Donna said, pointing at the woman. “Patty, what’s going on?”

  “I… I don’t know,” I said, now concerned something had happened to my family. They didn’t like my job and our relationship had become terribly strained, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care or love them. If one of them had become sick… or worse, I’d be devastated.

  I weaved my way through the crowd.

  “I’m Patricia Byrne,” I said once I stood before the woman. “What’s happened?”

  “You’ve received an urgent call,” she said, handing me a piece of paper. “From the FBI.”

  I opened the folded note and read Bill’s name and number.

  “He said it’s imperative that you phone him as soon as you get to your hotel,” the stew continued. “He wants you to call collect. It’s urgent.”

  Donna stared at me as my good mood slowly deflated.

  “I hope you aren’t in trouble,” the stew said, her New Jersey accent thicker than sludge. “The flu’s going around and our airline can’t afford to have too many other stews out.”

  “Don’t worry,” Donna said. “She has
n’t done anything wrong. We’ll be here tomorrow to catch our flight.”

  She smiled. “Excellent. Have a fun time in New York!”

  Had something happened with Charles’ murder? That had to be it. Why else would Special Agent Bill Hart track me down in New York?

  Chapter 18

  When we arrived at the hotel, we quickly checked in and I headed to my room, relieved the airline had given us each our own space. I wanted privacy while I spoke to Bill.

  I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my uniform and girdle, leaving them in a pile on the carpet. Taking a moment, I stood with my eyes closed, appreciating the freedom as the cool air caressed my skin before sitting down on the bed in my bra and underwear. I suddenly had a good case of the nerves and the urge to reach for a cigarette, but I didn’t have any. Instead, I grabbed the pen next to the phone and held it in my hand as I would if I were smoking. Then, I dialed to request an outside operator.

  “I’d like to place a collect call, please.”

  “Of course,” the friendly woman said. “Do you have the number, or shall I look it up for you?”

  “Yes, I have it.” I read off the digits Bill had given me. It rang three times before he answered and I realized he’d given me his direct line.

  “Bill Hart,” he growled. Someone was having an off day.

  “This is the operator, sir. I have a collect call from Patricia Byrne. Do you accept the charges?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice suddenly far perkier. “Thank you.”

  When the operator clicked off, Bill and I both started talking at the same time. We laughed and he said, “You go first.”

  “What’s going on, Bill? Why did you call the airline and have me tracked down?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Of course!” I replied with a huff. “I didn’t rush to the hotel to call you to listen to lies!”

  “I wanted to hear your voice, Patty.”

  A slow blush crept up my neck to my cheeks. I flopped back on the mattress with a sigh as relief swept through me.

  “I’ve been trying to call your apartment all day, but there wasn’t an answer. So, I phoned the airline and confirmed you were working. As soon as they learned I was with the FBI, they quickly agreed to look up your flight and get a note to you.”