The safety presentation concludes, and the flight attendants go back to preparing for takeoff as the plane joins the endless line of other delayed aircraft inching toward the runway. The worst weather has passed—for now—but a stormy day is forecast here.

Actually, there was unsettled weather along the entire East Coast. She overheard other passengers talking back in the gate area. One was trying to connect to Philadelphia, another to Hartford.

Wondering whether Elena will be able to fly out as planned, Landry gazes past her row mates, noting the still-gray sky beyond the portal. Then the man in the window seat abruptly pulls the shutter down, obliterating her view.

She looks around for another portal and once again makes eye contact with the man across the aisle.

“So where do you live in Alabama?” he asks.

She keeps the answer vague: “Baldwin County.”

“Me too. Gulf Shores. Right on the beach.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Alabama is the best place in the world to retire, did you know that?”

“Is that a statistic?”

“No. Opinion. Mine. My wife wanted to go to Florida, but I won that battle. I don’t win many, believe me. But that was the important one.”

Wife—so he has a wife. She relaxes at last. He’s just a nice, friendly guy making conversation to pass the time. Nothing more.

“You’re not that far from Florida,” she points out. “The panhandle, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, my wife was thinking Boca. She has family there. Too fancy for my blood. Hers too—but she wouldn’t admit it.”

“How does she like Alabama?”

“Loves it. What’s not to love? Can’t beat the weather, or the friendly people, or the tax breaks.”

“So you’re both retired?”

“Not exactly. The wife’s in real estate, so she got licensed down there, and I’m licensed down there, too.”

“To do what?”

“Pack a pistol,” he says with a grin. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just kidding around. Well, not about the gun license. But it’s just for my job.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, passes her a white business card. “Here. In case you ever need me. You never know.”

She looks down.

BRUCE MANGIONE, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR AND PERSONAL SECURITY

“No, you never know,” she agrees, and tucks the card into her bag.

“I can’t believe you’re spending all this time and money to go to a funeral for a perfect stranger,” Tony tells Elena as they barrel along interstate 93 toward Logan Airport.

“She’s not a stranger. She’s a friend. One of the closest friends I—”

“You never even met her!”

“So? I have plenty of friends I’ve never met.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just . . .”

He doesn’t bother to complete the comment, and Elena isn’t about to ask him to.

Jaw set, she keeps her head turned toward the passenger’s window, eyes fixated on the suburban landscape flashing past against an overcast sky.

Anything is better than looking at Tony.

Whenever she thinks about last night, she cringes. Of all the one night stands she’s ever had—and there have been plenty, more than she remembers—this is by far the worst. She doesn’t even like the man. How the hell did she end up bringing him home?

Oh, come on. You can guess, can’t you?

After a few too many glasses of wine, the usual loneliness and bad judgment set in . . .

That’s how it usually happens—more and more often, it seems.

You try to fill the gaping void left by your mother’s death, or your father’s neglect, or your own illness, or . . .

Who knows what really lies at the root of her problems? The only thing that’s certain is that she feels empty inside; has felt empty for a long time now. Most of her life, but the real problem started when she got sick.

So she tries to fill the emptiness with booze, and empty talk, and meaningless sex . . .

Tony Kerwin. For God’s sake.

When are you going to learn?

Sometimes, the morning-after haze is frustrating, and she struggles to piece together the events of the evening before. But in this case, she realizes, amnesia might actually be a blessing.

“So you said this woman is someone you got to know online?” Tony asks.

“Did I?”

“Last night.”

“Oh.”

Maybe amnesia isn’t a blessing.

What else did I say to him last night? she wonders nervously. How much does he know about Meredith—and the others? About me?

“Did you ever even talk to her on the phone?” Tony asks.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t get it.”

She shrugs and gestures at the car in front of them. “You might want to back off that guy’s bumper.”

“I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I’d like to get there alive. Back off, okay? Please?”

He ignores her.

Damn him.

Thank goodness the school year is almost over. Another few weeks and she won’t have to see him again until fall. By then this will have blown over.

That she was forced to accept a ride to the airport from him is beyond maddening, but what choice did she have? There wasn’t time to collect her own car from the restaurant parking lot, nor even time to arrange for a car service. Her only option was to let Tony drive her—or miss the flight.

Even now that might happen. She steals a quick glance at the dashboard clock. They’re cutting it really close. Maybe the tailgating is okay after all.

“What time does your flight get back into Logan tomorrow?” he asks.

“Why?”

“So that I can pick you up.”

Pick her up? Does he think . . . does he think this is—that they are . . . a thing?

“Oh—that’s okay. I’ll get a cab.”

“To Northmeadow? I don’t think so.”

“I meant a car service. I’ll get a car service.”

“That’ll cost a fortune. I’ll pick you up.”

“I don’t get back until late.” She’s trying to remember what time the flight is. Six? Seven? She can always pull the reservation out of her bag and check it, but . . .

It doesn’t matter. He’s not picking her up.

“I think . . . not until eleven, maybe midnight,” she tells Tony. “Too late.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“No, don’t pick me up. Really. Please.”

“Please?” he echoes. “I’m trying to do you a favor and you’re begging me not to? Okay. Whatever.”

Great. Now he’s hurt. Or pissed off. Both, apparently.

Do you really care how he feels?

“Listen,” he says after a long pause, “about this Cincinnati thing—”

“Did I tell you it was Cincinnati?” She could have sworn she’d just said Ohio earlier, when she was rushing around trying to get ready to leave.

“Yeah. You did. You don’t remember?”

She sighs inwardly.

“Anyway . . .” he goes on after realizing she’s chosen to ignore the question, “do you want me to come along?”

“Come along? To a funeral in Cincinnati?”

“Why not? I got nothing better to do this weekend.”

That, she believes.

He goes on, uncharacteristically earnest, “You might need a friend there to support you.”

You’re not my friend, Tony.

“No, thanks,” she says.

“Okay. Just thought I’d offer.”

“That’s very sweet, but I’ll be fine.”

“Is someone picking you up there when you land?”

“Yes. A friend.”

The word spills from her tongue with deliberate emphasis.

So what if it’s a lie?

“Who? Another ‘friend’ you’ve never met?”

She doesn’t bother to answer that.

“You know, you should be more careful, Elena,” Tony tells her. “All these strangers . . . it’s not a good idea to be so trusting. I mean . . . you said your friend was murdered . . .”

Oh, crap. Did I tell him that, too?

“How do you know that whoever killed Meredith isn’t going to come after you next?”

Meredith. She apparently even told him the name. What else did she tell him? Next thing she knows, he’ll be rattling off her e-mail password and bank account PIN number.