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Lynn Carter had hoped to book a flight on a 747, but had decided not to wait until the following day just to satisfy a whim. The 707 was quite adequate in luxury and she certainly hadn’t counted on getting an entire row of empty seats all to herself. Anyway, the whole thing was that she get to her darling, her handsome, sorely missed husband as soon as possible, and flight 641 to Los Angeles International Airport has provided that six hour transition from Bratham, Massachusetts.
She recalled that she’d smiled to herself as she gazed out the window at nothing but blue atmosphere and fluffy white clouds, smiled at the time-passing thought of what the two GIs were probably thinking just behind her. The empty seat to her right was going to make for some amusing and pleasant situations she’d decided, and it had. After all, she’d hardly resembled a wife of four years with her long blond hair and the way she was dressed … fashionable from the leggy, mini-suit standpoint and the fact that she was traveling solo. Who would ever guess that she was carrying six packets of ten one-thousand dollar bills in her purse … not a bulky arrangement, and snugly squeezed between herself and the inside arm of her seat? Sixty thousand dollars, the final settlement once the insurance company had decided that Earl Carter had truly and accidentally drowned at sea while on a fishing holiday. Of course, his body had never been found, how could it have been, when he was waiting for her right at that moment in California?
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.