“You can say that again,” said Mr. Quayle.
Outside the office door, the crew of Flight Seventeen looked at each other for a long moment without speaking.
“What do you make of it, skipper?” Johnny Baker asked.
“I don’t even try.” The captain grinned. “I’ll leave that to the FBI.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll meet you all at the loading gate in forty-five minutes.” He turned and walked away.
“Come on, gals,” Johnny said brightly. “I’ll buy the cokes.”
“Not for me, thanks,” Vicki said. “I have an errand to do.”
She watched Johnny and Cathy stroll away in the direction of the soda fountain, and stood still a minute wondering what to do. Should she go over to the warehouse to talk with Joey? No, better not. No use calling attention to the fact that the stewardess of the plane that had brought in the gold was a friend of the only person thus far who was suspected of having a hand in stealing it. Maybe she’d find him in the snack bar. She directed her steps to the small air-conditioned restaurant. Inside, she looked all around, but there was no sign of Joey.
Well, she thought, there’s nothing she could do now. She’d just have to wait until she got back to Tampa on Sunday. Maybe a couple of extra days would give her a chance to straighten out these wispy, formless thoughts that were buzzing around somewhere in the back of her head.