“Hmm. It’s possible—”
Today was Tuesday. She had seen Lucy Rowe from the air on Saturday, in California. Since then Vicki had flown to Chicago, had a rest day in Chicago on Monday, and now was flying from Chicago to New York. The Electra had taken off from Chicago half an hour ago, at noon. With Jean she had greeted the boarding passengers but hadn’t seen anyone she could have imagined to be Lucy Rowe. Still, with sixty-eight passengers enplaning, she might not have noticed every face.
“Yes, it’s possible she’s my Lucy Rowe,” said Vicki. “I’m surprised, of course. Lucy must have left Pine Top rather suddenly—or at any rate, awfully soon after I was there. It seems like a strange coincidence.”
“One point,” Jean said. “Her ticket reads ‘Miss L. Rowe.’ It doesn’t read Lucy. Her first name might be Lillian, for all we know.”
“I’ll go forward and speak to her first chance I get,” said Vicki. Not that Gravy’s abstract portrait provided a sure means of identifying the girl, by any means. “Did she come on from California?”
“Her ticket doesn’t say, it just reads Chicago as point of origination. But she could have started from California, and changed planes in Chicago. That could involve two separate tickets.”
“That’s right. So her ticket doesn’t tell us anything. Gosh, I’m intrigued! It could very well be the right girl. Well, back to the coffeemaker.”
Captain Tom Jordan had been delayed several minutes in take-off and had notified the stewardesses he intended to make up the time during flight. That meant Vicki and Jean had even less than the usual two hours in which to take care of the needs of sixty-eight persons, and set up and serve sixty-eight hot luncheons. The stewardesses hadn’t a minute to spare. Vicki’s one chance to see Miss L. Rowe was when she brought her a lunch tray.
