Twenty minutes after takeoff, Hazel nudged her mother.
“Mom, that lady keeps watching us.”
Lydia looked back.
The woman immediately turned toward the window.
“Maybe she’s looking past us.”
Hazel shook her head.
“She isn’t.”
Lydia was about to tell her not to worry when a commotion started across the aisle.
An elderly man in a gray jacket was checking his pockets.
“I’m sorry,” he told the flight attendant. “My wallet was here when I boarded.”
Hazel looked down.
Something dark was wedged beneath the edge of the seat in front of her.
She bent carefully and pulled out a leather wallet.
“Is this yours?”
The man stared.
“Yes. That’s mine.”
Before Lydia could ask how it had ended up there, Hazel opened the flap slightly to check for identification.
A photograph slipped onto the floor.
The elderly man leaned forward.
But another passenger reached for it first.
