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“We are here to give you our information for the travel documents,” I interrupt.
“Ah yes. Mr. Evans said you two would stop by. I will just need your driver's licenses. I will get your plane tickets and hotel accommodations booked, and you can stop in at the end of the week to pick that up.”
“What is this?” I stare down at my plane ticket. “DEN is Denver, not Aspen. Why are we landing in Denver?
“I’m so sorry.” Kimberly looks up at me. “I must have put in the wrong airport code and by the time I realized it there was nothing I could do. All the flights from Denver to Aspen were booked. Don’t worry. Mr. Evans advised me that the company will provide a rental car for you and Seth, and you can drive to Aspen. But the good news is we were able to change your outbound flight to fly out of Aspen.”
“Well, thank God for that.” I look at my plane ticket again and back to Kimberly. “How long of a drive is it from Denver to Aspen?”
“A little under four hours.” A deep voice sounds behind me. Why does my soul die a little every time I hear his voice? Turning around, sure enough, Seth is standing there, his gaze following the words on his own plane ticket. I whirl back toward Kimberly.
“Four hours. I have to be stuck in a car with him for four hours?”
“I can’t say it’s my ideal way to travel, but here we are. Thank you, Kimberly.” Seth holds up his travel documents to her before turning around and walking away.
I nod to Kimberly with a snarky smile before I’m on Seth’s heel. “You’re seriously okay with this?”
“I’m not going to make a show out if it like you are. It’s four hours. We’ll survive. What can go wrong?”
Four
Who murdered a pine tree
Seth
Lifting my wrist, I check my watch. Thirty minutes late. If she’s not here in the next five minutes, I’m checking my bag and boarding the plane without her. It’s the week of the conference and while I’m excited to see what goes on at one of these, I’m also nervous about the interview. I spent all weekend perfecting my marketing campaign and I think the board will have a hard time saying no to my ideas. At least, I hope that’s the case.
My foot taps on the tile floor and I check my watch again. Four minutes. Why did Mr. Evans think this was a good idea? She can barely keep it together on a normal day, let alone one where we’re on a time crunch. Three minutes.
“I’m here! I’m here!” Parisa barges through the automatic double glass doors. “Sorry. I thought I had everything packed and then I didn’t. I’m not too late, am I?”
“Only thirty-two minutes late. Let’s go.” I lift my duffle bag on my shoulder and make my way to the ticket counter. The rumble of Parisa’s suitcase wheels trail behind us until we’re standing at the counter. “We need to check our bags.”
“I just need to see your boarding pass and identification,” the middle-aged ticket agent says. I pull out my identification and lift my bag onto the scale. Her long nails click away on the keyboard.
“That’s all you brought?” Parisa eyes my duffle bag and small carry on.
“I’m an efficient packer.”
“Huh.” Parisa glances at her full-size suitcase and smaller carry-on and personal item.
“Ma’am, do you have your identification?” The ticket agent’s tone is more stern this time.
“Oh. Yeah. Where did I put it?” Parisa digs through her purse, riffling through every pocket and compartment. I give the ticket agent an apologetic smile but secretly pray Parisa’s forgotten hers, so she has to catch a later flight.
Parisa stands and checks her back pocket and pulls out her ID. “Here it is.” She holds it out to the now annoyed lady and then hoists her bag onto the scale. Luckily, the scale stops at forty-nine point three pounds. I don’t think the ticket agent wants to deal with us any longer.
After she tags all our luggage and hoists them on the conveyor belt, we make our way to security. The best thing about this regional airport is that it takes five minutes, give or take, to get through security. Within a few minutes, we’re at our gate, one of the four in the airport. I take a seat to wait for boarding while Parisa roams around the small airport and their one open shop. As soon as they call our boarding group, I’m rising to my feet and move to stand in line. Glancing around me, Parisa is nowhere to be seen. Do I need to put her on a leash or something?
Finally, she pops out of the shop with a twenty ounce coffee in one hand and a small bag of crackers in the other. When she strolls up to me, I eye her coffee. “Did you get the largest coffee they had?”
“No. They had one larger, but I decided to execute some self-control.” She glances at me, then to the cup before taking a sip of her piping hot coffee.
“I didn’t think that was possible.” She narrows her eyes at me and snarls her lip. I give her a bright smile in return. She turns and faces the front of the line. After they scan our boarding passes, we walk down the jetway until we step on the plane and find our seats. Parisa takes the window seat and I take the one right next to her.
Thirty minutes into our flight, a tap on my right shoulder catches my attention. I tug out my ear bud and turn to Parisa.
“I have to pee.”
