Chapter 3
THREE
DALLAS
I was exhausted. The flight home had been short enough, but not exactly restful, thanks to my two seatmates.
They hadn’t been loud but they had been persistent.
They talked and laughed the whole time, when all I’d wanted was silence.
They’d each had at least two drinks, which seemed like a lot considering the flight was only an hour and a half, and even though I was trying to ignore them, I didn’t have much luck.
Eventually, I’d put my earbuds in and gotten back to listening to the book I’d started and had some peace, thanks to the noise-canceling feature.
It wasn’t perfect, though, and their giggling and talking kept me from fully immersing myself in the book, to my annoyance.
I thanked my lucky stars I’d never have to see the pair of them again after the flight. I hoped they started dating. Maybe it was their moment of serendipity—meeting in an airport on Valentine’s Day and teaming up to annoy me. I scoffed as I ruminated over the flight. They deserved each other.
Now that I was almost home, all I wanted was to get some rest. “At least tomorrow’s Sunday,” I murmured as I parked my little white sedan in the driveway, before hauling the heavy suitcase from the back seat and trudging up the stairs.
I left the suitcase on the bedroom floor and practically fell into bed the moment my suit was off, sinking into sleep quickly.
The next morning, I woke early and found I was looking forward to digging into the materials I’d brought home from the conference.
As a curator at our local museum, I’d attended the conference to learn about techniques in conservation and collections care, especially the ethics around the artifacts we collected and the best ways to preserve those artifacts.
It had been really engaging and I was glad I’d gone.
After making my bed, I gave my suitcase a determined look.
Standing over it, I nudged the thing with my socked foot gently before hauling it to the bed to unpack.
There was a scuff on the side I hadn’t noticed previously and I let out a soft sigh.
I hated that my luggage had been damaged in transit, but there wasn’t much I could do about it, was there?
I unzipped my bag, opened it wide, and peered in.
Instead of the neatly organized stacks of books, journals, and magazines, the inside of the suitcase was a mess.
It was stuffed with materials that didn’t look remotely familiar, and everything was askew, as if the person packing it had haphazardly thrown things inside and zipped it up in a hurry, without consideration for the books they’d been packing.
With a frown, I poked through the collection of books, magazines, and other materials. “None of this is mine,” I muttered as I went through the suitcase. “None of it.” There was also a small duffel inside, which I assumed held clothes or toiletries or something.
I stepped back and looked at the suitcase more closely. It looked identical to my own, besides the scuff I’d already noted, but there was no travel tag on it besides the one put on by the airport. I looked at the tag, hoping to find the owner’s name, and spotted it immediately.
Ace Williams.
Without thinking, I groaned. “Well, at least I know I’m not imagining things.
” I thought for a second before realizing I knew exactly who the suitcase belonged to.
Ace was the name of the annoying window seat guy who’d talked to Erica the entire flight.
“Shit.” I closed my eyes and sighed again. “Now what?”
I started to close the suitcase before realizing it would be a miracle if I managed to get it shut again the way it was.
It only took me a couple of minutes to re-organize the contents in a way that made it much easier to close.
Once that was done and I zipped the suitcase shut, I abandoned it on my bed.
I needed to get dressed and go back to the airport, and I was not looking forward to it.
A little over an hour later, I was standing in the airline’s office for lost baggage, the scuffed black suitcase standing next to me. The agent who was attempting to help me was tapping at her keyboard and shaking her head.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I don’t see that any bags were left behind last night.”
“Is it possible that someone claimed it?”
She gave me a look, her eyebrows dipping down and a furrow forming between them. “Sure is. But until that person calls or returns the bag, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
She shook her head. “Afraid not.”
“There’s nothing we can do?”
With a shrug, she turned back to her computer and tapped a few more things in. “Not at the moment,” she said finally.
“Well, can I wait here?”
The agent frowned deeper. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Miller. I don’t know that you’d accomplish what you’re hoping to accomplish by waiting. We can’t be sure the person who took your bag will be returning it this morning, if at all.”
“At all?”
She shrugged again. “It happens. Sometimes people steal bags.”
“Well, what compensation is the airline going to provide for losing my bag?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she looked at me and blinked, eyes narrowed slightly. “Sir, the airline didn’t lose your bag.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t here, is it?” I knew I was being rude, but frustration bubbled out of me. All I wanted was to get my bag and go home.
She cleared her throat and took a breath. “Sir.”