“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I changed flights.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
A different kind of tension entered the hallway.
“Why?”
“My original flight was delayed. I had a meeting in Houston tonight.”
“So you moved onto mine?”
“Yes.”
“How close to departure?”
“Less than two hours.”
I tried to remember boarding.
The exhausted man beside me.
The navy jacket.
The ridiculous napkin animals.
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“If you changed flights at the last minute, then whoever wrote that note may have known.”
“Yes.”
“And whoever knew would need access to your travel.”
“Possibly.”
“Or mine.”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“Who was supposed to be in fourteen B before you switched?”
Adrian stared at me.
Then glanced at the photograph.
“I don’t know.”
There it was again.
