The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(98)

Still hugging her, Elena whispers in her ear, “Jenna Coeur. Kay saw her.”

“What?” Landry’s heart skips a beat. “Where?”

“At the airport.”

She jerks back, looking around.

“Not this airport. In Atlanta.”

Catching up to them, Kay asks, “Did she tell you?”

Landry nods numbly. “You saw her at the airport?”

“I thought I saw her. I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

Of course not. Nothing, according to Bruce, is a hundred percent certain. But . . .

“What was she doing? Was she on your flight?”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. That, I’m sure about. The woman I saw—if it was her—she was still sitting in the gate area when I got on the plane, and I was the last one to board.”

“They closed the door right after Kay,” Elena confirms. “Did she see you see her?” she asks Kay.

“I don’t think so.”

“What made you think it was Jenna Coeur?” Landry asks.

“She looked like the woman in the picture Detective Burns showed me on Saturday.”

“But she didn’t get on this flight,” Landry can’t help saying—again—as her gaze flicks uneasily at the other passengers coming from the gate area.

“No, she didn’t,” Kay assures her. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Every seat was taken,” Elena tells Landry. “I’m thinking she must have been on standby. She’s probably on the next flight from Atlanta.”

“There are a few more, this afternoon and tonight.” Landry knows the schedule. She took one of those flights herself, on Sunday. With Bruce Mangione.

I have to call Bruce.

Right now.

I have to tell him—

“Kay, I think you should let Detective Burns know.” Elena says interrupting Landry’s thoughts. “She gave me her personal cell phone number. I plugged it into my phone.”

“I have it, too,” Kay says, “but I’m not even positive it was Jenna Coeur, so—”

“You’re trying to talk yourself out of it.”

“Maybe I am,” Kay tells Elena, “but . . . I mean, I thought it was her. It probably wasn’t.”

But if it was . . .

If Jenna Coeur is on her way to Alabama . . .

Then what? Do you honestly believe she’s coming here to kill you all?

The thought is preposterous.

Still . . .

“Detective Burns needs to know anyway,” Landry says. “Do you want me to call her?” She, too, has the detective’s personal cell phone number.

“No. I can make the call.”

“Then I’m going to go to the ladies’ room,” Elena announces. “I’ve had to go since we left Atlanta, but they left the seat belt sign on the whole way and the flight attendant wouldn’t let me get up.”

“I thought you just wanted to talk to me,” Kay tells her.

“I did, but I also had to pee. I drank a couple of . . . cups of coffee during the layover. I’ll meet you guys by the baggage claim. Kay checked a bag,” she adds, to Landry.

“Sorry.” Kay shakes her head. “I should have done carry-on like Elena said, but I haven’t flown in a long time and there are so many rules now . . . I was a little intimidated.”

“I just hope your bag made the connection,” Elena tells her, “and I’m really glad Jenna Coeur didn’t.”

Apparently overhearing the familiar name, a nearby middle-aged couple turns their heads as they walk past, shooting Elena a curious look.

At Landry’s belated “Shhh!” Elena whispers, “Sorry. I’m used to speaking loudly and enunciating for my first graders. I’ll be down at baggage in a few minutes.”

She disappears into the ladies’ room, leaving Landry and Kay to regard each other anxiously.

“What do you think is going on?” Kay asks.

“You’re the one who saw her. I don’t know what to think.”

“I thought it was her, in that moment. I really did. But now I keep wondering if I was just imagining things.”

“Deep down . . . do you think that’s all it was? Just your imagination?”

Kay hesitates, then shakes her head, eyes wide. “She’s coming here, isn’t she?”

“I hope not. I really do. Call Detective Burns. I’m going to call my husband.”

“To tell him about this?”

“What? No! I just want to . . . make sure he landed. I’ll meet you over at the baggage claim in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Where is it?”

Landry points in the right direction, then hurries away, already reaching for her own cell phone.

She doesn’t dial until she’s slipped into a distant, shadowy, relatively private corner of the terminal.

He picks up on the first ring.

Not Rob. Rob can’t help her right now; he’s seven hundred miles away.

“Bruce Mangione.”

She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m in trouble. Big trouble. I need your help.”

Use a made-up word you wouldn’t find in the dictionary, not a name or initials . . .